Eye of the Law (5 page)

‘We’ll be having Saturday morning off if we have to spend Saturday afternoon working, won’t we?’ Fourteen-year-old Aidan tried to insert a note of nonchalant certainty into his voice.

‘I think I may need you to do some investigating for me on Saturday morning.’ Part of Mara’s instruction of these scholars was to share her work as Brehon with them. The boys had to learn how to manage the day-to-day legal business of the kingdom.

‘I don’t mind that. It’s all that Latin and learning judgements and law texts that tires me out,’ said Aidan fretfully. ‘It’s all a muddle to me. I feel like that old king who kept saying
ba gó
(it is false) to everything that the judge Caratnia told him. He probably just got fed up at the judge telling him about all of these laws. Sometimes I feel that my head is going to split open if I put anything else into it.’

Mara shot a quick concerned glance at him. There was no doubt that there was a very heavy burden of study before someone could become a Brehon; even boys like Enda and Shane who were naturally quick learners had to work hard. Aidan and Hugh, who were of a more average intelligence, were finding the work difficult at the moment. She would talk to Brigid about Aidan; perhaps he could have some herbal drink or some special food. His skin was bad and he was growing almost visibly. He was a worry to her at the moment. Moylan, though not as clever as Enda, had a natural sharpness and would probably do well now that he was settling down to work. And Hugh, at barely thirteen, had more time ahead of him.

‘Let’s talk about the case and plan our work,’ she said now, and watched affectionately as Aidan shut his Latin grammar with a relieved sigh.

‘Who are the suspects, Brehon?’ asked Enda in a businesslike way.

‘And we do remember our oath to say nothing outside the law school about any matter discussed here,’ added Hugh with a smile.

Mara laughed. She enjoyed the company of her scholars.

‘I’m not sure whether you heard the tale told on Monday when Iarla turned up from the Aran Islands?’ she began.

‘It was all over the place,’ said Moylan. ‘Donogh Óg O’Lochlainn was there when Iarla spoke to the
taoiseach
. He was fighting mad.’ Moylan gave a long, low whistle.

‘Who? Donogh Óg? Why was he annoyed?’ asked Hugh in a puzzled tone.

‘Well, what would you expect, birdbrain? Donogh Óg’s father is the O’Lochlainn’s
tánaiste.
’

‘So if the O’Lochlainn dies,’ said Shane in a practical manner, ‘then Donogh O’Lochlainn becomes
taoiseach
and probably Donogh Óg would be his
tánaiste
.’

‘And,’ said Moylan impressively, ‘the O’Lochlainns of Glenslade would be very, very rich, then.’

‘Even as it is, they benefit,’ said Enda shrewdly. ‘Ardal O’Lochlainn is always giving presents to them all. Every horse that Donogh Óg and his brothers own came from Ardal.’

‘What would Iarla’s honour price be, Brehon?’ asked Hugh.

‘Well, I suppose he would have to be counted as a blacksmith, that’s if he did finish his training. I suspect he was more of a fisherman than a blacksmith, but I suppose we would have to give him the benefit of the doubt, or rather his family,’ she amended. There was no need to explain to her scholars that the family of the murdered victim, once one twelfth had been deducted for the Brehon’s fee, received the fine.

‘So, the honour price of a blacksmith is seven
séts
 . . . and the fine for a secret and unlawful killing is eighty-four
séts
 . . . that means that the whole fine is ninety-one
séts
or . . . forty-five and a half ounces of silver, or forty-six cows,’ said Hugh slowly.

‘Oh, well done!’ Moylan had a look of exaggerated admiration on his face and Mara hastened to divert their thoughts before Hugh had worked out the true meaning of his fellow scholar’s praise.

‘Let’s go back to the sons of Donogh O’Lochlainn,’ she said hurriedly. ‘So you think that they resented Iarla’s claim that he was the son of the O’Lochlainn. And that caused the fight, then, did it?’ And as they looked at her in surprise, she added, ‘Liam, the O’Lochlainn’s steward, mentioned that there was a fight between Iarla from Aran and some of the young people.’

Enda and Moylan exchanged glances and then looked for help from Fachtnan. He was usually the diplomatic one who soothed the way between Mara and the younger boys whenever there was trouble brewing.

‘That fight was about something else.’ Fachtnan’s voice was hesitant and then when Mara raised her eyebrows, he said to Enda resolutely, ‘I think we must tell. This could be important. Iarla has been murdered and everything that happened to him in the last few days is significant.’

Mara turned her eyes towards Enda. After a moment he nodded. He paused for a moment, marshalling his thoughts and then rose to his feet. He is going to make a very impressive lawyer when his time comes, thought Mara admiringly. He has brains and presence, a good voice and perfect sense of timing and of drama.

‘Well, this was how it happened,’ said Enda slowly and impressively. ‘It was quite late, but the moon was full, the fires were warm and the drink flowed freely, so everyone, except the old people, was still dancing in the courtyard.’

‘I see,’ said Mara, biting back a smile.

‘Iarla from Aran was drinking – to be honest, we were all drinking – but he was probably drinking more than the rest of us,’ continued Enda. ‘And then the drink gave him courage and he went off to have his wicked way with a girl.’

‘How bright was it?’ Aidan sounded much more alert now than he had done while coping with the gerundival attraction in his Latin grammar.

Enda bowed. ‘I’m glad that my learned friend brought that up,’ he said graciously. ‘As my learned friend will remember, it was the first night of the full moon and there were fires, but between the pools of light there were black shadows.’

Mara leaned back with a smile, one hand stroking Bran’s harsh coat. Enda, she thought, certainly could paint a picture with words.

‘And in one of the cabins over by the stables, the girls had a little place of their own,’ continued Enda. ‘They had a curtain hanging over the window opening, but you could see shadows passing the curtain as they had a lantern inside and when the door opened, you could see the girl for the moment and then when the door closed she was in the shadows. So Iarla from Aran must have waited over there in the shadows near the door and when a girl came out, he put his hand over her mouth and dragged her into the stables.’

‘What!’ Mara sat up abruptly.

‘Luckily for that girl, another girl came out after her.’ Enda’s voice was low and full of drama.

‘Mairéad O’Lochlainn,’ supplemented Moylan.

Enda looked irritated. Mairéad O’Lochlainn was the sister of Donogh Óg O’Lochlainn, a beautiful girl with a mass of red-gold curls. Enda was very attracted to her, though Mara had, she hoped successfully, persuaded him not to take love matters seriously until he passed his final examinations.

‘Are you going to tell it, or am I?’ he demanded fiercely of Moylan.

‘
Pax, pax.
’ Moylan spread his hands widely in a gesture of peace.

‘Well, the girl couldn’t scream because Iarla had his hand over her mouth, but Mairéad could and . . .’ Another dramatic pause. ‘And she let out a shriek that woke up all the horses in the stable. They began to neigh and to stamp and Mairéad kept screaming all the time while she kicked and thumped him.’ Enda had an admiring grin on his face.

‘I see,’ said Mara. ‘And then help arrived!’

‘Myself and the O’Lochlainn lads,’ admitted Enda.

‘And me!’ said Moylan proudly.

‘We didn’t do too much to him,’ Enda informed Mara.

‘Because the O’Brien steward came down and broke it up,’ said Aidan smartly.

‘I see,’ said Mara. ‘You’ve just left one thing out of the story, Enda. Who was the girl that Iarla dragged into the stables?’

Enda and Moylan exchanged glances. ‘The O’Brien steward told us not to say,’ said Moylan virtuously.

‘I think we should tell the Brehon,’ said Enda rapidly. ‘I think that Fachtnan is right. Anything to do with Iarla from Aran is of significance. No one here –’ he cast a stern eye over the junior members of the school – ‘is going to say a word about it outside this room.’

Mara waited patiently. Who was the girl? Obviously it wasn’t Mairéad O’Lochlainn, who had come rather well out of this episode, she thought admiringly. Was it the younger O’Lochlainn girl? No, she would have been too young and was going home with her mother at the time that Mara herself, with the two younger scholars, had been leaving.

‘It was Saoirse O’Brien,’ said Enda after a moment.

‘What Teige’s daughter, Donal’s sister?’

Enda nodded.

‘And did her parents know?’

Enda nodded again. ‘Yes, Saoirse was in a terrible state. Her gown was torn. Mairéad grabbed a cloak from inside the front door and then took her upstairs to her mother. Mairéad told me that Saoirse’s father was furious, but he didn’t like to say anything to Iarla. He thought it wouldn’t be polite to the O’Lochlainn, Mairéad said. She thought the O’Brien was stupid and she went and shouted at Iarla herself when she came down.’

‘We heard her from inside the kitchen,’ said Moylan.

‘And what were you doing in the kitchen?’ asked Mara.

‘Liam took us into the kitchen house – he said that he wanted to have a word with us, but –’ Enda grinned, his strong teeth startlingly white by contrast with his tanned skin – ‘he just gave us all a wacking great cup of mead and some cinnamon bread to go with it. When he heard Mairéad, he went out and brought her in too. Gave her a little bit of mead too. He was in grand form. We all had great
craic
inside there in the kitchen.’

‘And what happened to Iarla of Aran then?’ asked Mara.

Moylan shrugged. ‘Nothing, he just went off and got himself another girl.’

‘Would anyone like to ride over to Doolin and meet the ferry?’ asked Mara when afternoon school had finished. ‘I’m expecting Becan from Aran and I would like to talk to him before he goes over to Lissylisheen.’ No doubt, Ardal, in his efficient way, had already made arrangements, but Cumhal could send a man over with a message to forestall him.

‘Me!’

‘Me!’

‘Us,’ amended Moylan. As so often he and Aidan had spoken simultaneously.

‘Take a spare horse with you for him to ride. Oh, and you could take Bran with you too. He’ll enjoy running beside the horses and I am not giving him enough exercise these days.’ Mara turned her attention to Hugh and Shane. ‘Would you like to walk over to Kilcorney with me? I want to speak to Dalagh the basket maker. I think you two would be useful to me in cross-questioning his children. I seem to remember that they are very shy. They won’t be so tongue-tied with you as with me.’

‘Is there anything you would like Enda and me to do, Brehon?’ asked Fachtnan politely.

‘I was wondering if there were some way that I could chat to Saoirse O’Brien without making any big fuss about it. Can you think of anything, Enda?’ Mara’s face was bland as she saw Enda grow slightly pink under his tanned skin.

‘Perhaps I could call for Mairéad and then she, Fachtnan and I could ask Saoirse to come for a ride and we could come back here to have supper at Cahermacnaghten,’ suggested Enda, with the virtuous air of one who is willing to do anything to help.

‘Perfect,’ said Mara. The O’Briens were probably being very careful of Saoirse at the moment, but everyone on the Burren liked and trusted Fachtnan. He would be regarded as the ideal companion to escort the girl. ‘Just pop into the kitchen before you go and ask Brigid if it would be all right. Tell her that Hugh, Shane and I are just walking across to Kilcorney to see Dalagh the basket maker.’

The sally garden, as it was known, was full of beauty when they arrived. The sky was very blue; the sun was fairly low in the sky, but it still formed a bright backdrop to the willow rods which were lit up by its light until they shone like jewels, some fire-red, others yellow, a few smoky-purple and some a plain green.

Dalagh was out in the swampy ground cutting last year’s growth of yellow rods from the stump of an old willow. Dalagh’s eldest son was doing the same with some purple rods and two other boys were vigorously attacking the green shoots. The youngest, a boy of about seven, was cutting some slender, finger-thick red twigs. Mara stopped to admire. These would be used for small, light baskets, suitable for sewing silks and cottons, whereas the heavy baskets would be used to carry a weight of turf sods or even stones.

The boys and their father worked with huge energy and the pile of rods at their feet grew by the minute. Dalagh’s family was large, but it looked as if that was an asset to him; his baskets were very sought after and even the poorest kitchen had one or two for storing either vegetables or sods of turf to be put on the fire.

‘God bless the work,’ said Mara as Dalagh came courteously over to her. ‘You have a hard-working family.’

‘I have indeed,’ he replied, but his eyes were wary.

‘You were out yesterday selling your baskets. Did it go well for you?’

The wary expression increased. ‘That’s right, Brehon, we did very well with the basket selling yesterday. We were out all day and we sold every last one of them.’

‘All day?’ queried Mara. ‘I understood from Fiachra that you left about noon.’

He grew flustered, dropped an armful of rods, and bent to pick them up before answering.

‘That’s right, Brehon. I just meant that we spent the morning loading the cart and trimming up the few baskets that needed it, and then we went from farm to farm selling them.’

‘It was about yesterday morning, about the killing of Iarla from Aran, that I wanted to talk to you,’ said Mara, noticing that Shane and Hugh had gone over to the boy nearest to them in age and were helping him to tie the rods into neat bundles.