Eye of the Law

by Cora Harrison

  ‘And why did he tell you all to say nothing? To leave the body lying there on the earth! Why did he do that? I wonder.’

  ‘We kept the ravens away.’ This time Danann sounded uncomfortable.

  ‘But why not send someone to me, or to the physician, or to your taoiseach? The O’Lochlainn would have come instantly.’

  ‘Father said that it was Balor who had killed him and we shouldn’t meddle.’ His voice held a slight hint of amusement in it.

  Mara smiled broadly. ‘But you didn’t believe that, did you? Not at your age!’

  Danann put the remains of the honey cake into his mouth and swallowed it down with a large gulp of ale.

  ‘Have another.’ Mara pushed the platter towards him, saying rapidly, almost to herself, ‘I suppose your father didn’t want to get mixed up in the affair. After all, everyone knew that this Iarla from Aran had claimed to be the taoiseach’s son and that the taoiseach wasn’t happy about it.’

  ‘No one believed that he was the son of himself.’ His answer was brief and slightly muffled by a mouthful of cake. ‘It’s like Liam the steward was saying . . . There was no way that the man from Aran was an O’Lochlainn. He hadn’t the look of them, nor the way of them . . .’

  Fineguth, finechruth, finebés, thought Mara. The clansmen of the Burren were not lawyers, but a knowledge of the law lay deep in their bones; it was the rule by which their lives were led in peace with their families and their neighbours.

  ‘So your father thought that his taoiseach might be annoyed if he interfered in this matter?’

  Danann fidgeted slightly, breaking his cake into crumbs, but he did not deny this.

  ‘And, of course,’ continued Mara, ‘Iarla had come to see Orlaith on Wednesday and your father was cross about that. Most people knew by then what had happened to the O’Brien’s daughter on St Patrick’s Night and no father would want a man who behaved as Iarla did to come courting his daughter. He sent him away then, I suppose, and told Orlaith to have nothing to do with him. That was the way with it, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Danann said the words with a cheerful recklessness. No doubt he had decided that he might as well make a full confession. He glanced over to the door as if wondering when he would do the job that he had been asked here to do.

  ‘Just one more thing.’ Mara followed the direction of his gaze and smiled reassuringly at him. ‘I just wondered why no one discovered the body of Becan yesterday. You couldn’t have failed to see the ravens. Did any of you go over to Balor’s Cave?’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ said Danann. ‘My father told us not to, to mind our own business. He got the notion that the body of Iarla had been dug up in the night by Balor and put back outside the cave. I don’t know whether he thought that would frighten us, but none of us argued with him anyway. Sooner or later someone would come, that’s what I said to myself. And of course, it was yourself, Brehon.’

  ‘That was all very helpful to me, Danann,’ said Mara, rising to her feet and rummaging along the shelf of the press. ‘Here, take this bag, put the rest of the cakes in it. There should be enough for one for each of your brothers and sisters.’

  ‘I promise not to eat them on the way home.’

  He had an easy grin on his face and she responded by saying, ‘And I promise that everything you have told me will remain a secret between us both.’

  He looked grateful for that and she took the opportunity, as they walked towards the door together, of saying, ‘I’d say that it’s all nonsense about Balor and that cave being owned by him, wouldn’t you?’

  He shrugged, but, boy-like, could not resist a boast. ‘It’s just a cave like any other cave, Brehon. My brothers and I took candles in one night and explored it. We went back quite a long way and found no Balor!’

  Eleven

  Críth Gablach

  (Ranks in Society)

  The lowest grade of king has an honour price of 42 séts and he has direct control only over his own kingdom. A king who has control over three kingdoms has an honour price of 48 séts and can be called a great king.

  The highest king in the land has an honour price of 84 séts. He rules over a province and can be described as a king of great kings.

  Fachtnan and Hugh arrived soon after Cumhal had taken Danann back to Kilcorney. They clattered into the courtyard as Mara was searching through her law scrolls. There was no doubt that Turlough would be seriously worried about this second death of a man from Aran. Aran had been part of the kingdom of the Burren for a long time, but it had been an uneasy relationship. In the past before new methods of boat building had become the norm, Aran, with its cockleshell-like currach boats made of a wicker frame covered with skins, could be inaccessible for many months of the winter. The small island communities had become accustomed to relying on their own taoiseach for government.

  ‘Well, how did you get on?’ she asked, turning around.

  ‘Not well,’ said Hugh with a disappointed look. ‘Though we tried our best,’ he added.

  ‘’I think it was probably all right, Hugh,’ said Fachtnan quietly. ‘We probably found out what the Brehon had guessed.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  Despite her worries about Aran, Mara smiled. She enjoyed her boys, watching and guiding their growing personalities and their active minds was one of the chief pleasures of her position. Fachtnan never disappointed her when it came to an understanding of people.

  ‘Well, no one had seen any sign of Iarla from Aran, on that Thursday morning,’ Fachtnan told her.

  Mara nodded and a quick smile flickered over Fachtnan’s face.

  ‘We questioned everyone we could find,’ he continued. ‘Even the man who went out to the fields in Ballyganner south to check on the cows. He went out there just after sunset and spent about half an hour going from field to field.’

  ‘And he would definitely have seen Iarla if he had come down from Noughaval,’ said Hugh. ‘So we can be almost certain that Iarla did not come to Lemeanah that morning. We’ve checked as much as possible.’ Hugh sounded more cheerful.

  ‘Well done, boys. A good lawyer always checks facts as painstakingly as possible and that is what you’ve been doing this morning.’

  ‘And that’s not all,’ said Fachtnan generously. ‘You’ll be very pleased with Hugh because he found out something very interesting from one of the serving girls.’

  ‘I had to give her a kiss before she’d tell me.’ Hugh was half laughing, but half embarrassed. Mara was glad that neither Moylan nor Aidan were present.

  ‘She heard us asking questions of the guardsmen in the gatehouse so she called Hugh out to look at the new foal,’ explained Fachtnan.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Hugh, his cheeks turning slightly pink, ‘she told me that Teige O’Brien had given orders to the guardsmen and the porter that Iarla was not to be allowed in the gates of Lemeanah on any account.’

  ‘And what’s interesting,’ broke in Fachtnan, ‘is Teige told them that they were to tell no one that he had given that order.’

  ‘He threatened the guardsmen – this is what they told her – that he would string them up if they disobeyed his instructions in any way.’ Hugh finished his story with a dramatic flourish.

  ‘Did he give the men any reason why they should not say that he gave that order?’ asked Mara. She rather discounted the threat to string up the men, but the very fact that Teige had uttered it showed that he was taking this matter seriously.

  ‘He just said that he didn’t want to offend the O’Lochlainn, but he was not going to have that ambue put even a big toe inside the gate to Lemeanah.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mara thoughtfully. That word, ambue, had been an interesting word to use, she thought. It was not often heard these days, but it meant alien or outsider. Why did Teige use that expression and why was he, despite his wish not to offend Ardal O’Lochlainn in any way, so anxious to ensure that Iarla from Aran did not come near his house again? Saoirse had been kept in close captivit
y – not even allowed out to groom her horse, Mairéad had said that – not until Iarla had been murdered and then relationships between father and daughter were restored to their normal friendliness. Saoirse had been allowed to gallop out with Fachtnan and Enda and to ride unescorted over to the law school, with Teige’s full blessing, last Monday.

  ‘That’s excellent work, boys.’ Mara picked up the notes and made a pretence of scanning through them, though her mind was too active to take in everything. ‘Now go and see Brigid. She’ll give you something to eat, or perhaps you can have your dinner a little early.’

  ‘Enda and Aidan are coming now,’ said Hugh. ‘That was quick. I suppose there are not many houses on their route. May we stay and listen?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mara warmly. She had caught a glimpse of Enda’s and Aidan’s faces as they dismounted from their ponies and she could tell from the subdued looks that they, also, had found no trace of their quarry.

  ‘Did you pick up the trail?’ Hugh asked the question almost as if he had read her mind.

  ‘Not a sign of him anywhere,’ said Aidan in an annoyed way. ‘We stopped at every house and questioned them. We made a list for you, Brehon. No one had seen him on that morning. In fact, no one had seen him since St Patrick’s Night at Lemeanah.’

  ‘We did just get one piece of information for you, Brehon,’ said Enda, delving into his satchel and producing a roll of vellum. ‘I questioned the priest’s housekeeper quite a bit as it seemed to me, with just one man to look after, that she would have a lot of spare time on her hands.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Mara approvingly. ‘I should have thought of that myself. She’s a gossiping sort of woman too. I’ve often noticed her if I go to Mass at Kilcorney. She always seems to be in a huddle with some other women and she’s always whispering very loudly. So there you are, boys,’ she ended lightly. ‘That’s a valuable piece of legal information for you: women in a cluster, whispering, and looking over their shoulders, usually mean that a juicy piece of gossip is being exchanged.’

  Fachtnan, she noticed with amusement, was regarding her with a quiet smile while Aidan and Hugh stared, their mouths slightly open. Enda gave a quick, matter-of-fact, businesslike nod before inscrolling his vellum.

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s not about Iarla, but about Becan,’ he began.

  ‘Go on,’ said Mara, her interest sharpened.

  ‘Well, apparently, as far as she could tell, by continually strolling down the road between the church, the sally gardens and Balor’s Cave, Becan never left that area for the whole of Sunday.’

  ‘The day before he was killed.’ Fachtnan sounded thoughtful.

  Enda nodded. ‘That’s right. And he wasn’t saying his prayers either, those are her words,’ he said, reading from his vellum sheet.

  ‘What did she think that he was doing, Enda?’

  ‘She didn’t know, Brehon. He just seemed to be wandering around. He would be missing for a while and then he would turn up again and then he would disappear again, but never for long enough to go anywhere in particular. In the end, she invited him to come in and have a cup of buttermilk, but he refused.’

  ‘Wanted to get it out of him what he was up to, I suppose,’ Aidan commented with an air of satisfaction at his own sharpness.

  ‘Well, it didn’t work. He just went on appearing and disappearing.’

  ‘That’s very interesting.’ Mara said no more, but the picture of Becan’s boots came to her mind’s eye.

  ‘Here come Moylan and Shane.’ Aidan made a dash for the doorway and then came back in a moment, announcing with satisfaction, ‘I bet that they haven’t found anything either. They don’t look too pleased.’

  Moylan and Shane had done good, thorough work with every house and farm on their route methodically checked off and clear, well-written notes of the names of all who had been questioned. Mara went through the vellum carefully and praised the script and the careful methodical layout of the notes, but Aidan was right. They had found no sign of Iarla on the fields and the back lanes leading from Lissylisheen to Lemeanah.

  It looked as if the young man from Aran had eaten his breakfast on that fateful morning of the Thursday the twentieth of March and had then disappeared into thin air.

  Mara brooded over it for a minute and then lifted her head to find that the six boys were watching her expectantly.

  ‘You’ve all done extremely well,’ she said warmly. ‘I’m lucky to have you. Now I think that you should all go and have your dinner. Brigid will be waiting for you.’

  When they were gone, she stood very still for a moment. Things had not been going well with this investigation, she thought, and the fault had been hers. This pregnancy was hampering her, slowing her movements, making her cautious, filling her with unaccustomed doubts and fears. She straightened herself, feeling the baby kick vigorously and then she smiled, a warm feeling flowing through her body. This baby, this boy – she allowed herself, in private, the certainty that it was a little boy – he would be a son of warriors. There was no need for her to hunch over him, to cosset him. She would be sensible, but she would be herself.

  She knew now what she must do. The last strands had to be woven into place and then she could solve the case of this double murder that had stained the honour of the Burren. The culprit had to be brought to justice and made to declare his sin at Poulnabrone.

  Energetically she strode across the room and pulled open the door, feeling the vigour coursing through her as she closed it behind her.

  ‘Cumhal,’ she called. ‘What do you think that the weather is going to do for the next few days?’

  Cumhal put down his axe and cast a glance at the sky above, then turned his gaze towards the Aran Islands.

  ‘It promises fine, Brehon,’ he said eventually. He licked a calloused finger and held it up, turning it slowly around. ‘Not much of a wind,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘but what wind there is comes from the east. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d have three or four days of fine weather ahead of us.’

  ‘Two days will do me,’ said Mara merrily. ‘I’m relying on you, Cumhal, mind.’

  He smiled in return. He was a noted weather prophet and men came from miles around to consult him at haymaking time. He looked a bit curious; no doubt puzzling over the reason for her question, but Mara did not enlighten him. She would have to talk to Turlough first.

  Turlough did not arrive until the end of afternoon school for the boys. Mara was relieved at that as she liked to make sure that she did not interrupt their teaching hours too often. When he did arrive, she saw the reason for the delay. He was followed by a small troop of men-at-arms.

  ‘You can go now, boys,’ she said quietly. Through the open shutter of the window she studied Turlough’s face. It had a grim look, she decided. No doubt he was worried about his relationship with the Aran Island people after this double murder. She would have to take this burden from him. As soon as the guilty person was named and the fine paid, then the islanders could settle back again into their happy relationship with their king.

  ‘The O’Lochlainn, himself, is here too.’ Shane’s dark head popped back in through the door, with Hugh’s red head peering over his shoulder. They both looked excited as they stood aside to allow her out. The sight of those armed men, with their swords by their sides, their shields on their backs and their jackcoats made from boiled leather, shining in the sunshine, thrilled all of the boys. Despite tempting smells from the kitchen house, none of them had yet gone in for supper.

  Mara stood back for a moment. Ardal had jumped off his horse, thrown the reins to Liam and approached Turlough, standing in front of him with bended head, as one who pays homage to his chieftain. Their conversation was low and she did not move nearer in order to hear what was been said. She glanced again up at the blue March sky with its strengthening sun that was bringing back a glow of green to the browns of winter and then she walked over towards the kitchen house.

  ‘The king will be having su
pper with me tonight, Brigid,’ she said. ‘Have you got something nice for him? He’ll need a good meal. It’s always good for him to eat well when he’s worried.’

  ‘There’s some venison in the north cabin there that is just ready for eating up.’ Brigid had obviously decided on this matter already. ‘I’ll make a wine sauce to go with it. Or would a plain cream sauce be best for you?’

  ‘Tonight,’ said Mara gaily, ‘I’m going to drink wine. I’m going to celebrate being pregnant at thirty-six, and I’m going to celebrate being married to the King of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren, and tomorrow, Brigid –’ she eyed her housekeeper in a way she tried to make seem commanding – ‘tomorrow, Brigid, I am going to the Aran Islands with the king.’

  Well, that went well, she thought with an amused grin as she walked across to the two men. Turlough leaped from his horse when he saw her coming and wrapped her in a warm hug. She smiled, her face against his bulky chest, thinking how, for such a large, rather clumsy man, he was so careful and gentle with his hugs these days. This child in her womb had made their relationship very close and very real.

  ‘I was saying to my lord, Brehon,’ said Ardal as soon as she had disentangled herself. ‘I was saying that there is no need at all for him to go to Aran. I and Liam will accompany the body of Becan back to his home place.’

  ‘I think that both men should be returned home,’ said Mara, casting a quick look at Turlough.

  ‘I agree,’ he said immediately. ‘Both men should go back. Aran was their birthplace and, the Lord have mercy on them, Aran should be their final resting place.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Ardal. Immediately his practical, organizing mind took over. ‘You’ll be able to see to that, Liam, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, my lord, there’ll be no problem. The man has only been in the ground for a few days. Two men with picks and we’ll have him up in a few minutes.’ Liam, like his master, was matter-of-fact and sensible about this. He could have been talking about a clump of turnips, thought Mara.