My Lady Judge (8 page)
Brigid beamed with delight as she picked up some of the
empty platters and took them out to the kitchen. She would treasure these words, and once again Mara thought what a wonderful man this King Turlough Donn was.
empty platters and took them out to the kitchen. She would treasure these words, and once again Mara thought what a wonderful man this King Turlough Donn was.
‘Let’s come and sit by the fire,’ said Turlough, getting up and stretching. ‘I don’t believe I could eat another bite. Will you have some more wine?’
‘Just a little,’ said Mara. She rose and moved over to her cushioned bench by the fire. Turlough followed with the two glasses and sat beside her. It was not really a seat for two, but Mara found his bulk beside her strangely exciting. She relaxed slightly against him. Certainly the wine was extraordinarily good, she thought, as she took another sip.
‘It’s strong, this wine,’ she warned and put her glass on the small table in front of them.
Turlough drained his glass, placed it beside hers, and then suddenly threw his two arms clumsily around her, drawing her tightly to his chest.
‘Mara,’ he whispered. ‘I wonder, do you realize how much you mean to me?’
‘Wait,’ she said quickly, gently pushing him away. ‘Brigid is coming.’ She stood, moved away from him, and was quickly beginning to pile the remaining platters just as Brigid came in with the tray.
‘I’ll do that, Brehon,’ she said. There was a note of suspicion in her voice as she looked at Mara and then at the king. Mara flushed and walked over to the window. Brigid and Cumhal had been in her father’s service since she herself was a baby. Sometimes she felt that they could read her every thought.
‘That was a wonderful meal, Brigid,’ said Turlough hurriedly. He has forgotten that he has already said that, thought Mara with amusement. He just wants to get rid of her quickly. Brigid smiled modestly but her eyes continued to move rapidly between the king and her mistress, her sandy brows drawn together in a slight
frown. How quick she is, thought Mara. She has already noticed something different.
frown. How quick she is, thought Mara. She has already noticed something different.
‘Another flagon of wine?’ she asked, hospitably seating herself again beside the king. Brigid cleared the rest of the table and retired to the kitchen. No doubt she would, this moment, be whispering to Cumhal.
‘I only need one thing to make me happy at the moment,’ he said, putting his arms around her again. He’s had too much wine, she thought, smiling with pleasure. Then a flash of light from outside made her stand up and go to the window again.
‘Your two bodyguards can’t have enjoyed their supper too much, they certainly didn’t linger over it,’ she said, watching the two bulky figures pacing up and down the dark road, swinging the pitch torches and sending arcs of light across the grey limestone.
‘They’re just worried about the O’Kellys,’ said Turlough casually, his eyes following her gaze through the window.
‘The O’Kellys?’ she questioned. ‘What …’
Then there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
‘My lord,’ said Cumhal, hovering in the doorway. ‘Your bodyguards want to know when you would like to be escorted back to the guest house. They have been out and they have checked the road and the fields.’
As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Mara could see them more clearly, one outside the window now, and the other out in the road, checking both ways. The interruption of the tête-à-tête may have been Brigid’s idea, but this threat from the O’Kellys must be a very real one if the bodyguards were so concerned. She had not remembered this degree of security on the king’s last visit. Obviously they would be uneasy until they got the king safely behind the huge walls and high locked gate of Cahermacnaghten. There would be no protection for him within
her small house. Mara turned to face Turlough, who still sat there with a stubborn expression on his face.
her small house. Mara turned to face Turlough, who still sat there with a stubborn expression on his face.
‘Sleep well, my lord,’ she said formally. ‘And may the blessed St Patrick guard you and keep you safe through the night.’
He kissed her, but without his usual exuberance and there was a shadow of something which she could not quite read or understand on his face. She felt oddly restless, oddly disturbed, when he left, closely followed by the bodyguards. She knew she should go into the kitchen and thank Brigid again for the meal, but instead she found herself going out into the garden and smelling the heavy scent of the sweet woodbine. It soothed her restlessness a little to walk there for half an hour among her flowers, pausing to pinch a clump of lavender or to slice through an aromatic needle of rosemary with her sharp nail. In the moonlight everything was peaceful and beautiful and yet still she felt agitated.
‘We’re off now, Brehon,’ said Brigid, coming out of the house, Cumhal at her side, carrying her basket filled with pots and pans in one hand and a large key in the other. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
‘No, Brigid, I’ll be going to bed soon, thank you for a delicious meal. Everything was perfect. Thanks to you, too, Cumhal. Good night to you both.’
Not yet midnight, thought Mara with a glance towards the great mountain of Mullaghmore. She could see some pinpricks of light from the terraces but these would only be from torches; once the bonfire was lit on the summit there would be no mistaking it. The noise of Cumhal and Brigid’s footsteps ceased and everything seemed very still and very quiet. It was almost as if the whole stony land of the Burren had been emptied and she was left alone. She sat on the stone bench and thought about that strange look on Turlough’s face. What had he been about to say?
In the distance, very faintly, she heard the bell from the abbey and then almost immediately there came the great flare of light
from the summit of Mullaghmore as the bonfire was lit. Once again the people of the Burren, like their ancestors before them, had celebrated the ancient festival of
Bealtaine.
She gazed at the bonfire for a few minutes, wishing that she were there amid all the fun and merriment.
from the summit of Mullaghmore as the bonfire was lit. Once again the people of the Burren, like their ancestors before them, had celebrated the ancient festival of
Bealtaine.
She gazed at the bonfire for a few minutes, wishing that she were there amid all the fun and merriment.
And then there was a slam of a door. She sat up a little straighter and turned her face towards the law school enclosure. She knew that door. It was the door of the guest house. There was the turning of a lock, a clang of the iron gate and the sound of quick young footsteps coming down the road. She could see the figure now; it was the younger of the two bodyguards. She rose instantly and went down the path to the gate of her garden.
‘The king has asked me to give you this, Brehon,’ he said once he reached her. He handed her a small roll of vellum.
‘Thank you, Fergal,’ she said calmly as she took it from him. ‘Sleep well.’
Mara waited until the guard had gone back into the law school enclosure before unrolling the vellum. The moonlight was strong and the handwriting large and bold. She read the opening salutation and instantly she knew:
‘Mara a rúin’,
Mara, my love.
Mara, my love.
She put down the scroll and stared for a moment across the flat tableland towards the sacred mountain with its flaming summit. Then she took up the scroll again and read it through carefully, but she didn’t need to. Once she had read the opening words, she had known what it would contain. He loved her; he loved her and he wanted to marry her. She would be his queen.
CRITH GABLACH (RANKS IN SOCIETY)
The honour price of a Brehon is sixteen sets, or eight milch cows, or eight ounces of silver. A Brehon must be learned in seven main areas of legal knowledge:
1.
Cáin mac ina téchta,
the law of sons
Cáin mac ina téchta,
the law of sons
2.
Cáin manac,
the law of monks
Cáin manac,
the law of monks
3.
Cáin flatha,
the law of lordship
Cáin flatha,
the law of lordship
4.
Cáin lanamna,
the law of marriage
Cáin lanamna,
the law of marriage
5.
Cáin cairdesa,
the law of kinship
Cáin cairdesa,
the law of kinship
6.
Cáin criche,
boundary law
Cáin criche,
boundary law
7.
Cáin cairde,
the law of treaties between territories
Cáin cairde,
the law of treaties between territories
M
ARA L
NGERED IN THE garden for some time, not touching the letter, but gazing at the leaping flames on the distant eastern skyline. Eventually she went to her bedroom. She undressed slowly and thoughtfully, but knew she would not sleep. Her mind was busy with the surprising proposal from the king.
She would consider it; he had asked her to promise him that. He had vowed to give her all the time she wanted to think about her answer and he had promised not to press her, not even to mention the subject until she brought it up. This marriage would have much to offer her; she knew that. She was fond of him, perhaps even loved him, and she was honest enough with herself to realize that she liked men of power. Her brief marriage of a few years had given her a distaste for being dominated by one whom she regarded as inferior to her, but she had enjoyed lovemaking and realized now that this had been missing from her hard-working life. If she became the wife of King Turlough Donn she would have love, mental stimulus, status in the eyes of the world, she would be one of his Brehons; he had promised that also. And he would listen to her views. What could she throw on to the other side of the scales? Autonomy, freedom, the easy companionship of the independently minded people of the Burren, and the care, the education of intelligent boys, entrusted to her by their parents. Mara smiled. The scales were unevenly weighted.
ARA L
NGERED IN THE garden for some time, not touching the letter, but gazing at the leaping flames on the distant eastern skyline. Eventually she went to her bedroom. She undressed slowly and thoughtfully, but knew she would not sleep. Her mind was busy with the surprising proposal from the king.She would consider it; he had asked her to promise him that. He had vowed to give her all the time she wanted to think about her answer and he had promised not to press her, not even to mention the subject until she brought it up. This marriage would have much to offer her; she knew that. She was fond of him, perhaps even loved him, and she was honest enough with herself to realize that she liked men of power. Her brief marriage of a few years had given her a distaste for being dominated by one whom she regarded as inferior to her, but she had enjoyed lovemaking and realized now that this had been missing from her hard-working life. If she became the wife of King Turlough Donn she would have love, mental stimulus, status in the eyes of the world, she would be one of his Brehons; he had promised that also. And he would listen to her views. What could she throw on to the other side of the scales? Autonomy, freedom, the easy companionship of the independently minded people of the Burren, and the care, the education of intelligent boys, entrusted to her by their parents. Mara smiled. The scales were unevenly weighted.
Pulling her cloak over her shift, she went over to the window. The small panes of glass, set into their strips of lead, were opaque in the dim light. She pulled up the iron latch, pushed open one window and leaned her head against the sun-warmed stone of the mullion between the two windows. It was now quite dark, but the moon was full and its light picked out the veins of silver in the moon-whitened rocks of the Aillwee hill to the north.
Over in the east, she could see the orange glow from the top of Mullaghmore. The bonfire was beginning to die down; there were no more leaping flames or showers of sparks. There were flashes of light from pitch torches all over the Burren. Many people would be on their way home now, although most would stay until dawn. She hoped that her scholars were among those coming home. A yellow gleam came from a small window in the cottage at Caheridoola; Daniel must be home, and his beautiful
daughter, Emer, also. Emer had had her evening of escape with Roderic; soon must come her marriage with Colman. That was probably Rory now, she thought, crossing the clints on his way to Dooneybharden, the fort, or
dún,
of the bard. Bards had always lived there from the time that she was a child, and it seemed as if, when one bard died, another wandering bard came to fill the empty cottage. No law, no settlement deeds, no
tánaiste,
or heir, just a simple filling of an empty space like a badger finding an empty set.
daughter, Emer, also. Emer had had her evening of escape with Roderic; soon must come her marriage with Colman. That was probably Rory now, she thought, crossing the clints on his way to Dooneybharden, the fort, or
dún,
of the bard. Bards had always lived there from the time that she was a child, and it seemed as if, when one bard died, another wandering bard came to fill the empty cottage. No law, no settlement deeds, no
tánaiste,
or heir, just a simple filling of an empty space like a badger finding an empty set.
Where are those boys? she wondered anxiously. Colman should know I would not allow them to stay late. There was a torch now crossing Baur North. It looked too steady, though, for the law scholars and there were none of the usual shouts and laughter. Colman could not have subdued them to that extent. He might have been able to frighten the little ones, but Fachtnan and Enda would be unlikely to let him silence them completely.
The footsteps were audible now, though, and, yes, there were many sets of boots tramping across the stone clints. She leaned a little further out of the window. Still no voices, but certainly many heavy footsteps. Mara went back into the room and struck a light from her tinderbox. The king had given her a present of the new sulphur sticks, but she preferred her tinderbox. She lit the candle by her bed and carried it over to the window. Its light would not help her to see; it could not possibly reach the fields, but Colman would see that she was awake and would come to report. She could see them now, their shadows black against the silver of the stone pavements. She could not count the heads but there seemed to be a large number. She leaned a little further out of the window. They were clambering over the wall – not vaulting, not pushing and shoving, but scaling it like middle-aged men. She could see the heads now, and rapidly she began to count. Only four tall figures, she thought, feeling puzzled, and then, with a
sigh of relief, two small ones. At least Hugh and Shane were safe.
sigh of relief, two small ones. At least Hugh and Shane were safe.
‘Colman,’ she called softly. One head detached itself and came towards the Brehon’s house. The others stayed by the side of the road. Mara frowned. This was not Colman, but Fachtnan; there was no mistaking the rough, dark bushy curls. She waited until he had pushed the gate open and had come up the path towards her window.
‘Colman did not come back with us, Brehon,’ he said quietly before she could question him. ‘He said that you had given him leave to visit his parents.’
‘Yes, but …’ Mara stopped. She had to keep to her own rule never to undermine Colman in front of the scholars. ‘Are you all safe? And did you have a good time?’ she added.
‘Yes, thank you, Brehon,’ he said. ‘We had a good time and we are all here, and all safe.’
She frowned in puzzlement. Fachtnan would normally not have been able to resist the temptation to tease her with stories of how many wolves they had fought off and how Shane had been plucked at the very last moment from the bonfire and Hugh almost carried off by a golden eagle. He was a boy who loved fun, but now his voice was empty of all emotion.
‘Make sure that no one makes a noise going in,’ she said eventually. ‘The king and his bodyguards are in the guest house. If Brigid and Cumhal have a light on in their house, just whisper at the window that you are all safe. Are you sure that all of you are all right?’
‘Yes, thank you, Brehon.’ Again Fachtnan’s voice was toneless and heavy.
‘Tell the lads that they can sleep in tomorrow morning – this morning, I mean,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Brigid to call everyone at about nine or half past nine.’
He murmured goodnight and went back to join the others, who were waiting patiently in a cluster by the gate to the law school. Mara waited by the window until she saw them all go through the gates and heard the sound of the latch of the scholars’ house click closed. How dare Colman do that? How dare he abandon the scholars? Perhaps someone offered him a lift in a cart to Galway the following morning, and he went home with them. This gives me a great excuse to get rid of him, she thought gleefully. I can always say that I could never trust him again since he betrayed my trust that night of
Bealtaine.
She took off her night-robe and slipped into bed, shivering slightly at the coolness of the linen sheets. She did not give another thought to the king’s surprising proposal.
Bealtaine.
She took off her night-robe and slipped into bed, shivering slightly at the coolness of the linen sheets. She did not give another thought to the king’s surprising proposal.
Despite the late night, Mara rose early as usual. She thought about writing up her notes about judgement day, but the morning was too beautiful to waste. She loved May, loved the way the days lengthened and grew warmer. The sun was already high above Mullaghmore and the great mountain seemed to glow in the morning light with a mysterious soft blue, the spiralling terraces making it seem like a fairy castle from one of the beautifully painted books that she had once seen at the abbey. Mara set to work with energy. She had a new plan for her riverbed of gentians. Most of the gentians she had in her garden were of that intense dark blue, but some were as pale as harebells. She went along the bed with a sharply pointed trowel and dug the pale-coloured flowers up, placing them in a willow basket filled with cool damp soil.
‘Cumhal,’ she called, seeing Brigid’s husband come back from milking her cows. ‘Cumhal, could you spare a moment? Could you just get your mallet and pulverize this rock for me, this big flat one at the end of the flowerbed. I just want to make a bit of
a hollow in it so as I can put some of those pale blue gentians in here. That’s if you are not too busy,’ she ended politely. She always tried to keep in mind that probably Cumhal privately believed that a garden used for anything other than vegetables was a strange piece of eccentricity.
a hollow in it so as I can put some of those pale blue gentians in here. That’s if you are not too busy,’ she ended politely. She always tried to keep in mind that probably Cumhal privately believed that a garden used for anything other than vegetables was a strange piece of eccentricity.
‘I’ll get it straight away,’ he said obligingly and was back in a few minutes balancing the heavy iron mallet in one hand. ‘Brigid said to tell you that the lads are up and having their breakfast,’ he said.
‘Really!’ Mara was astonished. After a late night she would have thought they would have been happy to sleep in. ‘Just there, Cumhal, right in the centre, just make it look natural.’
The limestone split easily and a few blows of the mallet made a good deep hollow. Mara looked at it with satisfaction.
‘Perfect. Thanks, Cumhal,’ she said. She cast a quick conscience-stricken glance at the law school, but there were very few sounds coming from it. Brigid could handle them for another five minutes. Quickly she scraped the soil from the basket into the hollow and then carefully planted the pale blue gentians in an irregular circle. Now it looked like a pool of pale blue, almost as if the river of deep blue had splashed some of its water on top of the grey rock. She gazed at it with satisfaction for a moment and then rose to her feet and dusted the earth from her fingers.
‘Tell Brigid I will be over once I have washed my hands,’ she said.
The boys were very quiet, very quiet and very docile, sitting up straight on their benches in the schoolroom, and answering all the questions earnestly. They were all pale, she noticed. Hugh had heavy black shadows under his eyes and Shane was biting his nails nervously. She would give them a couple of hours’ work, she decided, and then release them for the rest of the day. Perhaps it
was just the late night. Perhaps they would all be back to normal after the weekend.
was just the late night. Perhaps they would all be back to normal after the weekend.
‘Shane, what is the crime of
fingal?’
fingal?’
‘The crime of
fingal
is the worst crime of all, Brehon,’ recited Shane, rising to his feet politely. ‘The wisdom texts say that it strikes at the heart of society. The crime of
fingal
is the slaying of a member of your kin-group. The punishment for
fingal
is to be placed in a boat with no oars and to be cast out to sea. If God spares the life of the murderer, he or she can never come back to the kingdom again, but must live out their life as a
cu glas,
a grey dog, or outcast.’
fingal
is the worst crime of all, Brehon,’ recited Shane, rising to his feet politely. ‘The wisdom texts say that it strikes at the heart of society. The crime of
fingal
is the slaying of a member of your kin-group. The punishment for
fingal
is to be placed in a boat with no oars and to be cast out to sea. If God spares the life of the murderer, he or she can never come back to the kingdom again, but must live out their life as a
cu glas,
a grey dog, or outcast.’
‘Well done,’ said Mara heartily. ‘Fachtnan, what are the twelve doors of the soul?’
‘The twelve doors of the soul, Brehon,’ said Fachtnan, rising slowly to his feet and tugging at his black thatch of hair, ‘are twelve spots on the body where it is dangerous to hit a man. One of them is …’ He looked around for inspiration. Aidan was making gulping sounds and Fachtnan’s face brightened in gratitude. ‘One of them is the Adam’s apple,’ he said quickly, ‘and the others are … the navel … and the …’ He looked around, but no further help seemed to be forthcoming. All faces were blank, blank and worried.
Other books
B007RT1UH4 EBOK by Gaddis, William
Shield and Crocus by Michael R. Underwood
Jubilee Hitchhiker by William Hjortsberg
The Capitol Game by Haig, Brian
Solitary Man by Carly Phillips
The Great Escape by Paul Brickhill
Bending Bethany by Aria Cole
Murder, She Wrote: Prescription for Murder by Jessica Fletcher
The Day of the Owl by Leonardo Sciascia
Spooky Hijinks by Madison Johns