Eye of the Law

by Cora Harrison

  The first part of the basket had already been made. It was a circular bottom woven from an interlaced cross-work of rods evenly spaced like wheel spokes.

  ‘You see we weave the other withies in and out of these rods until the base is formed.’ Dalagh’s wife did not slow the rapid movements of her hands as she gave this explanation.

  ‘And then you build up the sides, the same way.’ To her amusement, Mara noticed that the child feeding the fire gave her a look in which incredulity was mixed with a little scorn. No doubt, to a child brought up to this work, her comment had seemed quite stupid. She watched quietly as the extra rods were attached and bent upwards to form the sides. Fine rods were then woven between the uprights working from top to bottom.

  ‘From time to time we close up the weave to the basket with a driving iron.’ Again it was the women who spoke. The children all seemed rather wary of the Brehon, thought Mara. That was strange: normally she got on well with children.

  ‘It’s wonderful. I wish I could do something like that. I think I would enjoy producing something beautiful and being able to think my own thoughts as I do so.’ Mara found it easy to praise.

  ‘Normally we work as a team, I do the bases, my eldest daughter, Orlaith, attaches the uprights and puts in the first few rows of weaving and then the two younger ones carry on until the basket is complete. We’re just all working together this morning for a change and that’s good because it will show you how the basket is done from start to finish. It’s quite simple, really. Anyone could do it.’

  Mara picked up a basket woven from purple and yellow rods and turned it around admiringly in her hand, before saying carelessly: ‘I just wanted to ask you whether you saw anything of that young man from Aran yesterday morning. Or did you see anyone else?’

  A wary look came over their faces. Mother and daughters looked at each other and then resumed work.

  ‘No, we didn’t, Brehon. We didn’t see a soul.’

  ‘I see.’ Mara made her voice sound easy. ‘And what do you all do to pass the time while you are so busy in here?’

  ‘Orlaith tells us stories sometimes while we work.’ One of the youngest girls indicated her eldest sister.

  ‘Does she? What kind of stories?’

  ‘About a prince coming from across the sea, things like that.’

  The child was matter-of-fact, but a tide of red colour swept across the delicate white skin of her eldest sister’s face. Tears began to well up in the blue eyes. Orlaith got to her feet rapidly; her tawny plait of hair swung over her shoulder as she sought to hide the tears that had suddenly sprung into her eyes. She rushed out of the small room, knocking over a small stool as she did so. Her mother, with a quick glance of apology at Mara, followed her rapidly. Glancing through the unshuttered window, Mara saw, first daughter, and then mother pass. They were not going in the direction of the sally gardens, she noticed, but did not know whether there was any significance in that. The interesting thing was that this window gave a perfect view of the laneway. There would have been no possibility of one or two people passing down there in the morning without being seen by at least one of this hard-working family.

  ‘Orlaith’s upset about the fellow that the wicked Balor killed,’ confided one of the young girls.

  ‘She’s scared he’ll get her too.’ The youngest gave a dramatic shiver.

  ‘Are you scared?’ Mara addressed Caitlin, who looked about fourteen. The girl didn’t answer, but gave her a hesitant, sideways glance.

  ‘I heered him howl last night.’ The youngest of the girls was chatty; all seemed less shy now that their mother was out of the room.

  ‘Really?’ Mara threw a slight note of scepticism mixed with awe into her voice. It was a potent inducement for further information and the young voices tumbled over each other to supply it.

  ‘We hear him sometimes . . .’

  ‘When the moon is full . . .’

  ‘And if he looks at you with his one eye, it burns through you and then you drop dead . . .’

  ‘Orlaith is frightened that he might get her now, just like he got the lad from Aran.’

  ‘That’s not what Orlaith is crying about.’ Caitlin’s voice was sharp and knowing. ‘It’s because of—’

  ‘Shh, she’s coming back.’ In a moment they all had heads down and eyes intent on work.

  ‘Sorry, Brehon, you know what girls of that age are like. Giggles one minute and tears the next.’ The mother resumed her seat with a quick glance around.

  Mara got to her feet.

  ‘I must go now and leave you to get on with your work. I’d love six of those purple willow baskets when you have them made. I’d like to use them to plant my summer lilies. Bring them over to Cahermacnaghten and I’ll have some silver ready for you.’

  She cast a quick smile around as the woman murmured her thanks and then went out. There was no sign of Orlaith so she walked back into the sally garden and collected her two youngest scholars.

  ‘They think that it was the god Balor who killed Iarla from Aran,’ said Shane when they were walking back up the laneway towards Kilcorney. There was a note of amused scorn in his voice.

  ‘We tried to ask a few questions, but it didn’t really work,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Mara with a sigh. Her back was aching and she did not seem to be getting very far with this enquiry. It seemed very strange that neither Iarla, nor his murderer, had been seen on Thursday morning. Perhaps both Malachy and Nuala were wrong and he was killed the night before.

  They saw Ardal and Liam, holding their horses, standing outside the church when they reached the top of the laneway. Mara hesitated for a moment. She wanted to get home, but hers was the responsibility. She had to make sure that all the arrangements were in place for the burial of the corpse.

  As soon as he saw her, Ardal walked rapidly towards her.

  ‘Everything is arranged, Brehon,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’ve seen Father O’Byrne and he’ll hold the funeral as soon as the boy’s uncle arrives. We thought we wouldn’t have a wake. Is that all right?’

  ‘There isn’t any point, I’d say,’ agreed Mara. ‘No one really knew him.’

  ‘I’ve asked Father O’Byrne to say a mass for his soul the night before the funeral,’ continued Ardal.

  He had a satisfied look on his face. He was a man who loved to organize and to have everything neat and tidy, in his life as well as his property.

  ‘We were just talking about how we could spare you trouble in this affair, Brehon.’ Liam cast a quick surreptitious glance at Mara’s waistline; no doubt the news of her pregnancy was all over the Burren by this stage. ‘As soon as we get back, we’ll gather everyone who would have been working around the house and on the fields between here and Kilcorney and if any of them have anything of interest to say or have seen anything, then we’ll send them over to you at Cahermacnaghten. Is there anything else that we can do for you, Brehon?’

  ‘Perhaps while you’re here, Ardal, and you, Liam, you could just give me an idea of what you were both doing this morning. Neither of you saw Iarla, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, Brehon. I was in the barn for a while first thing in the morning. I was just checking on the empty barrels there – making sure that they were all sound before the Bealtaine tribute and then I went over to Ballymurphy to join himself.’

  ‘I had gone over there as soon as I had my breakfast,’ explained Ardal. ‘I wanted to see how the young colts were getting on. Myself and a couple of the men were giving them the spring dose.’

  Mara nodded. Both voices were frank and straightforward. It should be easy to check on both statements. Ballymurphy was on the west side of Lissylisheen and Balor’s Cave and Kilcorney on the east side. It would have been difficult for either to go across to Balor’s Cave without one of the workers noticing their absence. In addition, their presence would have been noted on the way to Kilcorney, especially as O’Lochlainn lands bordered both sides of the ro
ad. Ardal had a large amount of workers always busy around his land. It looked, at the moment, as if Ardal was clear of suspicion.

  But what about his brother, Donogh O’Lochlainn? And what about Donogh Óg, the nephew and the probable eventual heir to the rich lands and possessions of the O’Lochlainn?

  Four

  Triad 100

  There are three darknesses into which women should not go:

  The darkness of mist

  The darkness of a wood

  The darkness of night

  If a man seduces a woman who is drunk, this crime is known as sleth (rape) and the fine will be the honour price of the victim’s father or husband.

  ‘It wasn’t Saoirse’s fault.’ Mairéad faced Mara with her characteristic sturdy independence. ‘She had nothing to do with it. She had hardly even spoken to that Iarla from Aran – just gave him a dance out of politeness. She had forgotten all about him and then he just jumped on her when she came out of the privy. She’s not to blame for that.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Mara was emphatic and slightly horrified.

  After supper had finished she had inveigled the girls upstairs on the grounds of seeking advice as to which gown to wear for an investing ceremony at Thomond. Neither had shown much interest in the array of colours on the bed; both had the air of waiting for something to be said and when Mara had delicately turned the conversation to Saoirse’s ordeal on Monday night, Mairéad had immediately rounded on her.

  ‘It’s just that Saoirse’s mother and father are so furious.’ Mairéad allowed a slight note of apology to enter her voice. ‘Her father kept on and on at her all of Tuesday and Wednesday, telling her to keep away from that fellow, Iarla. She didn’t have a moment’s peace. She wasn’t allowed out of the house, not even on to the farm. Isn’t that right, Saoirse? You weren’t even allowed out to groom your horse, were you?’

  Saoirse nodded silently, her full-lipped mouth tightening and her heavy-lidded hazel eyes filling with tears. She looked down, shaking her dark-brown hair over her face. She was a plump girl with a large bosom, dark-haired like her father and curly headed like her mother. Normally she had a lovely pink-cheeked colouring, but now she looked pale and there were dark-blue shadows under her brown eyes.

  ‘I don’t know what got into Father,’ she said in a choked voice, biting her full underlip. ‘He was like a madman. He kept on and on. He thought that I had been fooling around with this Iarla. I kept telling him that I hardly spoke to him. It’s just like Mairéad said. I just danced with him a bit because he was a stranger and I was sorry for him.’

  ‘Saoirse managed to get a message to me yesterday evening,’ said Mairéad. ‘I came down to Lemeanah. I brought a bag with my nightgown and everything with me today and I pretended to Saoirse’s mother that it had been arranged that I would stay.’

  ‘And what did she say?’ Mara smiled. She was beginning to like Mairéad; she thought her a girl of enterprise!

  ‘Oh, she was fine; there was no problem with her.’

  There wouldn’t be, thought Mara. Ciara O’Brien was very easy-going. In fact, she had always thought Teige was the same, but perhaps his fatherly feelings were outraged by the attack on his daughter.

  ‘And I had a word with Saoirse’s father today after he had his dinner,’ continued Mairéad. ‘He was all right, then. I just chatted, but I made it plain that Saoirse and I had been together all the evening and that we had been dancing with my brother, Donogh Óg and your Enda, Brehon. He seemed to be fine then and when Enda and Fachtnan came and invited us to supper, he didn’t mind a bit.’

  ‘Was that the truth – about you and Saoirse being together all the evening?’ asked Mara, suppressing a smile. ‘No dancing with boys, no flirting in dark corners?’

  The two girls exchanged glances. Suddenly Saoirse’s eyes filled with tears. A repressed sob escaped her. She got to her feet and walked over to the bedroom window, opening the wooden shutters and peering out. Mairéad looked at her with exasperation.

  Mara understood her feelings. It was no good Mairéad valiantly lying to protect her friend if Saoirse did not play her part. What was the truth about that evening, she wondered. Saoirse had a heavy, ripe sexuality about her, though she lacked the glamour of Mairéad. As far as Mara knew, there was no involvement with any young man on the Burren, though Donogh Óg would be a good match for her. However, Donogh Óg had been a familiar figure from the days of her childhood, while Iarla from Aran would perhaps have appeared as a romantic figure that night with the story of his relationship to Ardal, the richest man in the kingdom. Looking from one young girl to another, Mara had little doubt that Teige’s suspicions of his daughter had some grounds. There was no need to probe any more now. Most of the kingdom had been present that night at Lemeanah Castle. Sooner or later she would find out the truth.

  ‘Well, I think I’ll get the boys to escort you back now,’ said Mara, getting up from the bed. ‘We must get you home in good time so that he hasn’t time to start being anxious about you.’ She looked at Saoirse’s downcast face and said gently, ‘Don’t worry, Saoirse, there was no justification for what Iarla did, no matter whether you had been friendly with him or not. No one could blame you. But that’s the way with fathers – he was upset, so he became angry. Things will soon be back to normal again.’

  When they got downstairs, Enda and Fachtnan were at the gate of the law school gazing down the road. All four ponies were tied to the rail and ready to go.

  ‘I think Aidan and Moylan are coming now, Brehon,’ said Fachtnan, politely holding Saoirse’s pony while she climbed on to the mounting block. ‘I can hear Aidan’s voice.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mara vaguely. She, too, could hear a loud raucous laugh followed by a joyful bark. Bran would have enjoyed the run to the coast. ‘Goodbye, girls. Come again soon. Get back to Lemeanah as quickly as you can, Fachtnan. Don’t stop to chat with the boys.’

  It was unfortunate that Saoirse should have to meet with Becan, but hopefully Fachtnan would take the hint and quickly pass on. Mara began to walk down the road after them, narrowing her eyes against the setting sun.

  But there were only two ponies coming towards her. She stopped and waited. Yes, it was just Aidan and Moylan on their own.

  ‘Becan didn’t come with you?’ Her voice held a note of query and she waited while they sprang off their ponies with quick lithe movements. She patted Bran who was ecstatic to see her again and looked enquiringly at the two boys. They both looked excited.

  ‘No, Brehon . . .’

  ‘Brehon, we have something very interesting to tell you,’ Aidan interrupted his friend.

  ‘You’ll never guess.’ Moylan’s voice was dramatic.

  ‘Tell me about Becan first,’ said Mara. ‘Is he coming for the funeral?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ said Moylan. ‘He told us that he would look after himself and that he had enough of the people of the Burren. The ferryman said that he told him that the lad was no blood kin of his.’

  ‘No blood kin,’ repeated Mara.

  ‘But that’s not the interesting bit.’

  ‘Let me tell it, I’m the eldest.’

  ‘No, I’m going to tell it. I was the one that the ferryman told. You were chatting to that girl at the time.’

  Mara gazed at them in exasperation. ‘Stop being silly, the two of you! You are both training to be lawyers and perhaps Brehons. You should know by now that the important thing is to establish the truth. Tell me what the ferryman said and try to behave like fifteen-year-olds, not five-year-olds.’

  Moylan and Aidan glanced at each, their colour rising.

  In a tight voice, Moylan said, ‘Go on, then. You tell it.’

  ‘Thank you, Moylan.’ Mara felt a little sorry for her impatience. This pregnancy was making her more tired than she would have expected. It was only just after vespers’ time; there were a good two hours of daylight still left. Nevertheless, she felt a great longing to go to bed and sleep for twelve hours. She didn’t rem
ember this feeling of exhaustion when she was expecting Sorcha. Then she smiled. She had been fifteen then; now she was thirty-six. There was a difference, she told herself with resignation.

  ‘Well, it was like this,’ said Aidan. ‘When the ferryman had finished giving the message from Becan, he turned away. He was fiddling with the sail on his boat and I went over and I was asking him how the sails worked when there was a headwind and we got talking and he invited me to come over one Saturday and he would teach me to sail.’

  Mara nodded and forced a look of encouragement. Aidan would tell the story in his own way.

  ‘And then when he was showing me the mast, he just sort of muttered to me, “Does the Brehon know that, before the two of them left Aran, Becan arranged a marriage between Iarla and his daughter, Emer?” He told me that everyone in the island was talking about it – what with them being cousins and everything. But be that as it may, the match had been made up before witnesses and Iarla had not said no to Emer at the time.’

  ‘What?’ Mara exclaimed.

  Aidan and Moylan both nodded. The suppressed excitement bubbled up in them.

  ‘That’s right, Brehon,’ Moylan said, continuing the story. ‘And you remember how there was a fight on Monday night when Iarla attacked Saoirse? Well, later on, when we were all going home, as we passed the Lissylisheen road, I heard Becan and Iarla. And Becan was saying something to Iarla, he was sort of hissing it and then Iarla shouted out: “Oh, shut up and leave me alone. I’ll choose my own girl.” And then he dug his heels into the pony and galloped on ahead of Becan.’

  ‘And we just thought that he was talking about what happened that night,’ supplemented Aidan.

  ‘But you see it might have been that Becan was saying to him: “Fan bomaite, what about my Emer?” The ferryman said that it just happened on the day before they came across.’

  ‘And,’ said Aidan slowly, deliberately and with great drama, ‘while we were riding back from Doolin this evening, Moylan and I were saying, “How about Becan for a suspect? They could have had a row, the two of them, and Becan could have killed Iarla with his dagger and then put his body outside Balor’s Cave to make it look like it was the god Balor that killed him.