‘My first witness is Aoife O’Heynes,’ said Rory firmly. Mara tried to conceal a smile. Aoife was the only daughter of Muiris O’Heynes, a self-made prosperous farmer of obscure origins. Muiris and Aine O’Heynes had four hard-working sons and one spoiled daughter. Aoife was quite a beauty with long blond plaits and cornflower-blue eyes. Mara remembered now that she had seen Aoife and Rory together on that night of Samhain, the eve of All Hallows, on the last day of October. She had gone to the feast to keep an eye on her two young scholars, Hugh and Shane. They had both been desperate to go to the fair so she had promised them that they could stay until ten. Then she had taken them home, but before she left, she vividly remembered noticing Rory and Aoife kissing and cuddling in a dark corner of the field where the fair was held.
‘Yes, Aoife?’ she said. ‘Was Rory with you all of that night of Samhain?’
Aoife blushed at the direct question, and the rosy colour enhanced her creamy skin and blue eyes.
‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said demurely. ‘Emer and I were with Roderic and Rory for the whole evening. We all went home together.’
Hmm, thought Mara, my memory is that you split up, each couple going in different directions. But it didn’t matter. Would Rory have left the delicious Aoife for that spotty, pasty-faced child? I don’t think so. The memory of him disappearing into the bushes with Aoife was very clear in her mind. He had looked extraordinarily handsome. He had been wearing a saffron léine, she recalled, and a brat, a cloak, woven from purple and red strands of wool. She had wondered how he had got the silver to pay for them. She remembered thinking at the time that he had looked just like the picture of the hero king, Conor Mac Nessa, in her father’s copy of The Book of Ballymote. The thought of that beautiful illustration gave her an idea.
‘Nessa,’ she said gently. ‘What was Rory wearing that night?’
Nessa stared at her blankly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually.
‘Aoife,’ asked Mara. ‘Can you remember what Rory was wearing that night?
Aoife’s colour deepened even more. Her eyes were fixed on Rory. In the background, Mara noticed Muiris shifting uncomfortably. Muiris had worked very hard to build up his farm. He would not want his daughter to marry a penniless bard. On the other hand, he was an honest, straightforward man. His evidence would be worth listening to. But not yet, thought Mara. Let me be sure in my own mind. She turned to Aoife.
‘Yes?’ she queried.
‘He was wearing a saffron léine and a red and purple striped brat and his hair was bound with a purple fillet and he had brown strapped sandals made from goatskin and he was carrying a satchel made from calf’s skin,’ said Aoife dreamily.
Mara smiled. ‘That was my memory, also,’ she said. Young love, she thought indulgently. The picture of the first beloved never fades. There was now no doubt in her mind, but she would ask a few more questions so as to satisfy her audience.
‘Muiris and Áine,’ she said. ‘Can you confirm that Rory and Roderic brought your daughter home that night?’
Muiris stepped forward. ‘Yes,’ he said, shortly. ‘They brought her home. They stayed until daybreak. They stayed with me after Aoife and her mother had gone to bed.’
All of them fairly merry after the amount of mead they had drunk, surmised Mara. The drink, made from fermented honey, was heavily alcoholic and, from what she had seen, there was plenty of it consumed that night.
‘Brehon,’ said Colman courteously. ‘May I question?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ said Mara. She went back and sat next to King Turlough Donn.
‘You trust your assistant to conduct the investigation?’ asked the king in a low voice.
‘Let him talk for a while,’ she whispered. ‘This will drag the case out and save the faces of poor little Nessa and her parents.’
‘But you don’t think that Rory the bard did it?’
‘No,’ Mara shook her head firmly. ‘If Rory had seduced Nessa that night, he would have had to entice her away from her mother. She would have remembered what he was wearing. She didn’t, but Aoife did. Girls always remember what a person is wearing if he is important to her. I don’t think Rory was anywhere near Nessa that night.’
‘Can you remember what I was wearing the first time that you saw me?’ whispered Turlough Donn in her ear.
‘My lord, I was blinded by your brilliance,’ whispered back Mara. In fact, her only memory of that day, fifteen years ago, had been the thrill of being appointed Brehon of the Burren by Turlough’s uncle, the then king of Thomond.
What was Colman doing? she thought with annoyance. Rory was almost losing his patience. The same questions were being asked over and over again. Now Colman had summoned Roderic and was trying to get him to admit that he had separated from Rory at one stage in the evening. Roderic, however, with an uneasy glance at Daniel, Emer’s father, stood firm. No, he declared. The four young people had spent the evening of Samhain together. They had danced and sung; they had eaten supper, they had drunk some mead – a small amount, to be sure – and then he and Rory had taken the two girls home. First they had taken Emer to her home at Caheridoola, where, Mara gathered, Daniel had shut the door on them, and then they had taken Aoife home to Poulnabrucky where Muiris had proved more hospitable.
Mara rose to her feet again and smiled sweetly at Colman. He had done his best, she thought, trying hard to be fair to him. It was strange how such sharp intelligence could be married to a complete lack of common sense.
‘We have heard all the evidence in this case,’ she said evenly. ‘I find this case as not proven against Rory the bard. Nessa, is there anything else that you would like to say? Is it possible that you made a mistake and that Rory the bard was not responsible, but that perhaps someone else was?’
Nessa shook her head silently.
‘There is just one other witness, Brehon, if you will excuse me,’ said Colman suavely. ‘I call on Father Conglach.’
Mara’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. She had not expected this. What was the priest going to say? She looked around. He had been standing on the far side of the dolmen but now he advanced towards her. The people drew back courteously and made a long clear passageway for him. He advanced without a glance or a nod of acknowledgement. Mara did not sit down, but stood facing the priest, her dark eyes fixed on him.
‘Yes, Father?’ she enquired, her voice as chilly and hard as she could make it. With her left hand she signalled to Colman to sit down. She would conduct this interrogation herself.
‘I saw Nessa with Rory the bard, on the evening of Samhain,’ stated the priest.
‘Indeed,’ said Mara. She let a few long moments of silence fill the air. He had been there; that was correct. She had seen him, like an ill-omened bird of prey, hovering around the merry youngsters. She waited, looking at him carefully. Why was he doing this? she wondered. He himself had not even had the common humanity to allow the poor child to bury her dead infant in the churchyard.
Nessa had had to take the tiny body to a killeen, one of the little lonely ancient burial places where the ancestors of the people of the Burren had laid their dead, and where now, unbaptized infants and suicides were sometimes placed. When Mara had heard from Brigid, her housekeeper, what was going to happen, she had hurried over, taking Fachtnan and a shovel with her. Neither Nessa’s mother nor her father had come with Nessa. The poor child had carried the baby, wrapped in an old piece of sacking, and was digging in the earth with a rusty trowel when they arrived. Fachtnan had dug the grave, his face white and his eyes wet with tears. Mara had said a prayer over the little waxen body and Fachtnan had joined in with a steady voice. Nessa had said nothing.
She continued to say nothing; according to the general rumour she was still resolutely denying that she had done anything wrong. She had even accused her mother of believing the story of the Virgin Mary and not believing her own daughter. Mara had smiled at that. There had been no mention of Rory until Colman had come in with the news that Declan
was going to bring the case to be heard at Poulnabrone.
So why was this priest now creating falsehoods before his king and his parishioners? Perhaps a belated sense of responsibility for the daughter of that religious woman who did so much for his church? Perhaps a hatred of all that Rory and his like represented? Whatever it was, there was no doubt in her mind that he was lying. She stared hard at him, but his eyes did not drop before hers. She allowed the silence to continue. Silence, she had discovered long ago, was as effective as words on many occasions.
In the distance a bull roared in Baur North and was answered by the high treble of the calves and the soft, deep mooing of the cows. The people stirred uneasily. This was a sad, unpleasant case. They wanted it finished and then the merriment would surface and the long climb up the mountain could begin. Mara let her eyes travel over the assembled crowd. She raised her voice slightly, projecting its fully trained power to the back of the assembly.
‘Was there anyone else who saw Rory the bard with Nessa, daughter of Declan O’Lochlainn, on the night of Samhain last?’
There was a complete silence. Mara allowed her breath to escape from her lips. That had been a high-risk strategy, but it had paid off.
‘Does anyone else wish to speak?’ she asked mildly.
‘I saw Nessa go home early with her mother,’ said Murrough. ‘Aoife and Rory were still dancing around the bonfire when they left.’ Murrough was a breeder of wolfhounds, who lived at Cathair Chaisleáin, on the steep cliff behind Poulnabrone. He was a very reliable, kind man. Mara knew that she could trust his word. And the community would trust his word, she knew that also. It was time to put a finish to this.
‘I find this case not proven,’ she said firmly. ‘Rory the bard has no case to answer. Case dismissed. Are there any other matters to be brought before the court?’
‘Yes,’ said a husky voice. Mara frowned and turned her eyes to Daniel O’Connor, father of Emer, popularly considered by many to be the most beautiful girl on the Burren. Everyone in the kingdom had a right to bring a case for consideration on judgement day, but after her long years as Brehon of the Burren, everyone knew that she liked to know all the details of cases beforehand.
‘I bring a marriage contract for my daughter, Emer, to be ratified before the king and the people of the kingdom, Brehon,’ said Daniel as he pushed his way through the crowd. Mara looked at him in puzzlement. It was no surprise that Emer was to be married. She was now sixteen and there was no shortage of suitors for her father to choose from. She was one of the prettiest girls that Mara had ever seen. Her hair had the glossy blue-black of a raven’s wing and her eyes were extraordinary – the dark blue of an ocean on a sunny day. What surprised Mara was that she had not been asked to draw up the contract. And yet, there was a contract in Daniel’s hand. It was even tied with the pink linen ribbon that she always used for her documents.
‘Come forward, Emer,’ she said encouragingly and Emer came forward. Mara smiled at her, but there was no response from Emer. The girl’s face was white, the blue eyes were shadowed and she was clearly trembling. So, the bridegroom was not to be Roderic! Mara scanned the faces in the crowd and found the stocky figure and open, honest face of the young horn player. About ten minutes ago he had been smiling and joking with the young men around him and casting amorous glances in Emer’s direction. Now he looked bewildered and apprehensive. He had not known of this contract, obviously. With a stony face, Mara held out her hand for the scroll. There was little that she could do; the disposal of a daughter in marriage was an affair for the father. If Daniel had come to her in private she could have talked to him, perhaps persuaded him to put his daughter’s happiness into the scale, but now, if a contract had been drawn up and witnessed there would be no way out for Emer. Without a word, she took the contract and unrolled it. It was beautifully written in a flowing hand, the letters all exactly the same size, the lines evenly spaced and mathematically straight. Mara knew this hand; this was Colman’s writing. How dare he draw up a contract without a word to her! She felt her cheeks flush with anger, but she suppressed it. In a clear, cold voice she began reading:
‘A contract between Daniel O’Connor, ócaire, of Caheridoola, of the kingdom of Burren, in the first part and Colman Lynch, aigne, of Cahermacnaghten, also of the kingdom of Burren, in the second part.’
Mara stopped reading and turned around. She gave Colman a long, cool stare. There was no legal reason why he should consult her about his marriage. He was nineteen, a qualified lawyer, independent of his parents and of her. There was no legal reason, but every other reason. He must go, she thought grimly. I’m not having this behaviour, this lack of any common courtesy. She beckoned to him calmly and he came forward and stood beside Emer, his pale face looking as blank as it always did. Emer took three steps away from him, and away from her father, but that was all that she dared do.
Mara scrutinized the contract carefully. One word out of place and she could declare it as null and void, but Colman had been too well taught, was too clever, she admitted to herself, to make any mistakes. The contract was as perfect as it could possibly be.
Daniel had asked for a hefty coibche, or bride price, she noted with interest. Where had Colman managed to get the silver to pay that? She paid him very little. Presumably, he had been doing some legal work around the Burren, and perhaps outside the Burren. He had often asked for a few days’ leave of absence and she granted it each time without searching enquiries – it was often good to get rid of him for a day or two. He may have been doing some work in Galway or in Thomond. Even so, it was a lot for a newly qualified young man to have acquired. He would not have got it from his parents; he had told her once that, in fairness to the rest of his many brothers and sisters, he would get no more from them once they had finished paying his law school fees.
Steadily and clearly she read the contract to the end. Daniel would provide some cows – not as many as he could have been asked to provide, given the difference in status between the parties, but the agreement was a fair one. The lawyer was very young and had no settled position and the girl was extraordinarily beautiful.
‘Does anyone know of any reason why this contract should not be ratified?’ she asked. No one spoke. It was odd, she thought, how silence could sometimes speak louder than words. There were none of the customary cheers, nor calling out of good wishes, nor good-natured jokes, just this cold silence. Was it a sense of sympathy with Roderic, a kind, good-natured young man, who was so popular with everyone, or was it pity for the young girl? And yet, there was nothing unusual about this situation.
Daniel had done well for his daughter. Colman would be a rich man within a few years and he was young and, she supposed, quite good-looking in a narrow, slightly effeminate way. Girls were not normally consulted about marriage plans and Roderic would not be the first landless young man to be disappointed. The silence must result from something else, a dislike for Colman, perhaps, and yet there was nothing to be done now; this contract of marriage would have to go ahead.
Mara glanced at Daniel’s taoiseach, Finn O’Connor, and then at the king. Both nodded, and Turlough Donn got to his feet.
‘This contract has been ratified,’ he called out in his booming voice and he walked over to slap Colman on the back and bestow a warm kiss on the lovely flower-like face of the bride-to-be. This broke the tension, and the crowd stirred and relaxed. A few laughed and most turned their faces towards the east, contemplating the swirling heights of Mullaghmore, impatient for the evening’s fun to begin.
‘Judgement day has ended,’ said Mara formally, and added, as she always did, ‘Go in peace with your family and your neighbours.’
‘And I will come up the mountain with you all,’ announced the king.
There was a huge and genuine cheer at that. Turlough Donn was highly esteemed, not just within his own clan, the O’Briens, but also within the dominant clan, the O’Lochlainns. In the past, O’Lochlainns had been kings of the Burren, O’Connors had
been kings of Corcomroe and the O’Briens kings of Thomond, but that was a long time ago and Turlough Donn, in his ten-year reign, had reconciled all differences so that the three kingdoms of Burren, Corcomroe and their large neighbour, Thomond, were all happily united under his rule.
The people had begun to move. Some would go to nearby houses and collect the stacks of food and flagons of ale deposited there earlier, others would fetch musical instruments; most of the young men, led by Muiris, Aoife’s father, were plunging into the hazel thickets in the square-shaped deep hollows near Poulnabrone. They would need to bring wood for the bonfire up to the top of the mountain. Muiris had a long, wickedly sharp thatching knife that glinted in the late afternoon sun and, despite his fifty years, he was the first to complete a bundle of hazel rods. There was a lot of good-natured laughing and joking as the others strove to be the one to cut the largest number of bundles in the shortest time. The six law scholars, suddenly released from good behaviour, followed the others into the thickets.
‘That’s a very fancy knife your young Hugh is holding,’ said Malachy at her elbow. Mara looked across at her scholars. Twelve-year-old Hugh was brandishing an ornate knife with a gem-studded silver handle. The red and blue stones caught a few eyes and several young men had stopped to admire it.
‘When did he get that?’ asked Mara with a frown. ‘I suppose his father gave it to him when he visited last week.’
Hugh’s father was a prosperous silversmith, inclined, especially since the death of his wife, to spoil his clever youngest son with valuable gifts. It was immensely important to him that Hugh would qualify in the prestigious profession of lawyer and perhaps even become a Brehon in time. For a moment she almost called the boy back in order to confiscate that valuable knife, but then the memory of his tear-stained face earlier in the day softened her. Let him enjoy the admiration and the envy, she thought.
My Lady Judge Page 5