But now she found her mind dwelling on Niall. He was young, but boys of that age had intense feelings, were prone to fits of intense hatred and of falling into intense fits of despair.
But would that be enough to form a motive for murder?
She thought it was possible.
The boy could have gone up to the cliff, seen his master sitting in discomfort, wet, cold, bound and gagged, and it might have crossed his mind to get rid of this man and then he would be able to return to Ossory. It would be a clever murder and Niall, she was sure, was a clever boy. She recalled his tentative guesses about the hunters who had lured Gaibrial Doran out of doors and enticed him to cross over the land towards the cliffs. He had pretended not to know them originally and had then hesitantly put forward the possibility that it might have been Peadar. Yes, looking back at it, she admitted that it had been cleverly done and her suspicions had been diverted from him to the five men who had appeared in court on the day when Gaibrial O’Doran had been killed.
‘No,’ said Fergus suddenly. He had been sitting very still with a brooding expression on his face when suddenly it sharpened and the eyes focussed. ‘No,’ he said again, almost shouted it this time. ‘No, not that boy, that’s a wicked boy. He’s a violent boy. I don’t want him in my school.’ Leaning over he took Ríanne’s hand and patted it in the way that a man would pat a frightened dog. ‘You stay with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after you. There’s murder in the air. It’s not safe. Gobnait thought it was thunder, but I know better. I learned the law long, long ago. It’s murder. There’s been one murder and there will be another. Get out of my house, you boy! Get out of my house immediately.’
‘Go, Niall,’ said Mara. ‘Wait for us outside.’
‘I’ll give him a drink of his mixture. Gobnait showed me what was brewed for him. It’s valerian and it calms him,’ said Ríanne. She was on her feet, cup in hand and had poured something from one of the flasks on the shelf. She offered it to him with a smile and no trace of fear, but Mara wondered whether Fergus was safe. There appeared to be no reason why he should have taken such a dislike to Niall and now he was not sipping from the cup, but glowering at Boetius. Mara was glad when the door opened and Gobnait came in. A tall, strong-looking woman, thought Mara with relief. She should be able to cope with Fergus if he started to do something dangerous. She had a kindly air about her and Fergus’ face lit up at the sight of her. He smiled at Ríanne.
‘The visitors will all be gone in a minute,’ he said reassuringly. ‘We’ll be comfortable together again then.’ He drained the cup and lay back in his chair, his eyelids drooping.
‘I gave him some of the valerian,’ said Ríanne to Gobnait.
‘He’ll sleep now,’ said Gobnait. She looked anxiously at Mara. ‘I was just gone for a few minutes, Brehon. My husband’s niece had a baby and we went down to see the new child. We shouldn’t have left the Brehon, perhaps, but he goes on very well with the little lady here.’
‘No harm done,’ said Mara rising to her feet. So that accounts for the theft of the valerian, she thought. She wondered whether to say something but decided that the matter wasn’t worth her interference. Valerian grew wild amongst sheltered heaps of stone and a new batch could be made with no expense. As for its administration to Fergus, it was probably useful. Fergus in his younger days had himself well under control, but occasionally his temper would flash out when goaded by a badly-behaved scholar. Gobnait had a difficult task and Mara found it hard to blame her for ensuring a few hours of quiet for herself from time to time.
‘We’ll all leave you now,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ll speak to the king about getting someone else in the house so that you and your husband can go out together from time to time. I’m afraid that I must take Ríanne, now, but she will come and visit again. Come, Ríanne, come, Boetius. We will leave him to sleep in peace.’
And she stood by the door and waited until Boetius had gone ahead of her before she went through it.
‘I don’t want you to visit Fergus again except in my presence,’ she said to him bluntly.
He raised one of his narrow eyebrows, his head tilted to one side, the left eye slightly closed and the right squinting at her.
‘He is my uncle, Brehon,’ he said.
‘I am placing Fergus under the protection of the court,’ she snapped. ‘I’m sure that even your long years in the courts of London have not completely wiped your native law from your mind, but just in case it has, then I’ll spell it out for you: “the rights of the insane precede all other rights. A contract with a person of unsound mind is invalid.” Let me not hear of you trying to inveigle him into bestowing any of his lands, his possessions or his property to you. Now, I suggest you untie your horse and follow me up to the Brehon’s house. There are some questions that I need to ask you.’
Nine
Colc Conara Fugill
(The Five Paths of Justice)
A judge must be prepared to give a pledge worth five ounces of silver in support of his judgement. His judgement is not valid unless he swears on the gospel that he will utter only the truth. If he refuses to do so, he is no longer regarded as judge with the tuath and the particular case is referred to the king.
If a judge leaves a case undecided, he must pay a fine of eight ounces of silver.
‘Did it ever occur to you, my dear Mara,’ said Boetius as they moved slowly up the steep hill, riding side by side. ‘You don’t mind me calling you Mara here with just the two of us, do you?’ He said the words with a false air of concern, peeping at her from under his pale ginger-coloured eyelashes.
‘I prefer “Brehon”, that is my title and that is what I am addressed as by all except my family and friends,’ she added. He made her skin crawl with dislike and disgust, but she was pleased to hear that her voice sounded clear and confident.
‘Very well, my dear Brehon,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I was about to remark, in fact to interrogate you, if I may be so bold, to question you in fact on your knowledge of the law.’
He was spinning this out on purpose so she ignored him. Her eyes were on the cliffs. She had seen from the doorway of Fergus’s house a long expanse of golden sand on Bones’ Bay and beyond it the sea just rippled at its fringes. And now there was no sign of the waterspout above the sea from the place of broken rock and caves known to the people of Doolin as ‘Hell’. It doesn’t spout up at low tide, she thought. I must get Niall to work out a timetable of the tides. That will keep him busy. She half turned in her saddle to look back at the boy and was pleased to notice that Ríanne seemed to be talking to him, at least her head was bent down and his turned up towards her.
‘I was thinking about Colc Conara Fugill, those five paths to justice.’ The unctuous voice of Boetius interrupted her thoughts. ‘I’m sure,’ he continued, ‘that you know every one of them very well, have trodden every inch of them during all those years when you have been the king’s judge in the kingdom of the Burren. And I was thinking about that line which says that if the judgement of a Brehon is questioned by the people of the kingdom, then that particular case is referred to the king.’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘That is true. And the king can change the judgement when it appears that the sentence is unjust. As happened last Friday,’ she added wondering what he was getting at.
‘But what I was going to remark, my dear M … my dear Brehon, was that you being the wife of the king, this seems to invalidate this law, to make it, at any event, extremely unlikely that it would be evoked by the king’s subjects. It is well known, of course, that the king thinks very highly of his clever wife. And that, I suppose, is the reason why he has permitted you, though you have no locus standi to act as investigating magistrate in a murder that is outside your own jurisdiction.’
‘No one has expressed dissatisfaction,’ she said shortly, and then despised herself for answering him. He had, however, she thought, brought up a valid point. It had not occurred to her before now. By the time that she had married th
e king she had felt very secure in the estimation and confidence of the people of the Burren.
‘No one ever questioned my judgements during the sixteen years in office before I became the king’s wife,’ she added.
‘I can see that it is a new idea to you and that you are taken aback by my words,’ he said with a pleased smile. ‘I apologize if I have caused you any distress. I just felt that it was an interesting point. Of course, after thirty years in your position I suppose you feel that you are the law, that you can pass judgement, even without the formality of a law court, as you did just now when you classified my uncle as a druth and said that he would be placed under the protection of the court.’
‘I classified him as a mer. I used the word mer. Fergus is not, and never has been a druth. He was a man of keen intelligence for all of his life until the last year or so. He is now suffering from senility due to his age. The brain, like the limbs, slows down and wears out, in some more quickly than in others. You should reread your copy of Berrad Airechta.’
‘Oh, but I have, my dear Brehon. And I know the law. If Fergus is classified as legally incapable due to his mental condition, then his lands should be divided up amongst his heirs. Now that Corcomroe north-west has had a temporary Brehon appointed to it by the king, as he calls himself, though in England, they prefer to call them captains, chieftains, if you like.’ He eyed her keenly but she said nothing and he continued, ‘Then surely this case should be heard as soon as possible. I, as the only living heir to Fergus, demand that it should be. As I said to your husband, Turlough Donn O’Brien, “My lord,” I said, “I come but for my own”. I would be pleased if you would arrange to hear the case as soon as is convenient to you. I’m afraid that I shall want to move from that primitive alehouse into my uncle’s house, which, I understand, you are now occupying.’
He was right, of course, that was the galling and infuriating part of it. Turlough, in his impulsive way, had made a quick assessment of Fergus’ needs, had settled him in that comfortable little house, and had appointed Gobnait, a woman wise in nursing and in the use of herbs, to look after him with her husband to help him in his task.
But, of course, it should all have been done through the courts, at Thomond, for preference. Still, she was not going to make any concessions to Boetius.
‘You realize that with inheritance comes responsibility,’ she said coldly. ‘The court, when the case is heard, will expect the inheritor of Fergus’ lands and property to take full care of him. If you fail in that, then you must pay a fine of five séts and forfeit part of the land. The court, I feel, will want the present arrangement for the happiness and security of your uncle to remain in place while it is appropriate for him. Rest assured that all such legal matters will be arranged. Now let me turn to a matter of more immediate concern. Could you tell me when you came back to the Burren?’ He would have come up the Shannon to the kingdom of Thomond, in the first place, she reckoned. But Turlough had mentioned his application to take over the place of Fergus. Was that what had prompted Turlough to take such hasty action? ‘Don’t think to lie to me,’ she added. ‘Whether you came by land or by sea, I can find people who will let me know. You would not go unnoticed here.’ She glanced down the hill towards the alehouse. Barra would be quick to find out all possible details about his visitor. He had the name of being a gossip.
‘There is no secret about my movements,’ he said loftily. ‘But shall we postpone our conversation until we are indoors. May I help you to dismount?’
To her relief, Art emerged from the doorway and held her bridle after she had guided the horse to the mounting block. She took her scholar’s proffered hand with gratitude. She could not bear the thought of Boetius touching her with his slimy damp hands, which she remembered so well. She was beginning to be seriously worried about him. He was, she supposed, an adversary worthy of her steel, but she could not forget the last time that they had encountered each other, a time when she had been lucky to escape with her life. Nevertheless, he was now within his rights and she would have to deal with him.
‘Thank you, Art,’ she said. ‘And here’s Ríanne come to join us. Will you take her in to Cael and Brigid? Come into the parlour with me, Boetius.’
She decided against asking Art to bring in some refreshments. This was to be no social visit. This was to be an interrogation. She led the way without a backward glance to see whether he followed. She could feel that familiar rush of strength and of confidence and she held her head high as she opened the door.
The parlour, she noticed, had been transformed. The floor shone with cleanliness and smelled of that mixture of lye and rosemary that Brigid concocted every summer. The table, after Cael’s ministrations, was many shades lighter in colour and still slightly damp. The window was open to the sea breezes and its diamond-shaped panes of glass glinted in the autumn sunshine. As Mara went to pull the frames closed, she could still smell the verjuice mixture that Brigid always used on glass.
‘Sit down, Boetius,’ she said, indicating the stool by the table while she herself took the padded chair by the fireside where dear old Fergus used to sit. Its cushioned back and seat gave out a whiff of wormwood when she sat on it, but at least it wasn’t damp.
‘You arrived in Doolin Harbour by boat once you had left Bunratty Castle,’ she asserted. Turlough had not been sure, but he had thought that Boetius had gone off with some fishing men.
He eyed her warily, but said nothing and his silence emboldened her.
‘Was it Peadar who took you?’ she asked and before he could prevaricate, she said quickly, ‘It’s pointless to lie. I can find out these matters so quickly and if I find that you have lied, why then, I will wonder why you needed to do so.’
He smiled at her. It was a forced smile and she did not respond.
‘You have spies in every nook and cranny, do you?’ he suggested.
‘Answer yes or no,’ she said sternly. Peadar, she knew, was not an ocean fisher. According to Setanta, Art’s father, he had never been able to afford an ocean-going boat, and as he didn’t belong to a fishing family, he had not been offered a place on one of the big boats that set out from the harbour. When he was rejected by his father, he had built himself a small, light, skin-covered canoe and used it to fish trout and salmon from the rivers of Corcomroe. When Boetius failed to persuade Turlough to appoint him as Brehon, then he would have taken an available boat back to Corcomroe.
He shrugged. ‘As you please. The answer is “yes”. No crime in that, is there? I made no secret of the matter. You saw me at Knockfin. You heard me trying to teach that man from Ossory a little of the law. I was surprised that you did not intervene, my lady judge, but since you did not, I felt that I should say something.’ He had dropped into English and she replied to him in the same language.
‘And you would have been friendly towards Peadar, you would have commiserated with him when he received that harsh sentence?’
‘Of course.’
‘You were at the alehouse, that night, were you not? In the company of the five young men who were feeling aggrieved and angry after those severe sentences.’
She could see him reading her mind. His small green eyes were weighing up his position.
‘There is no law against a friendly drink, a few words of commiseration.’
‘But there is a law against incitement to a crime. You know the text that is interpolated in Di Chetharslict Athgabaála and what it says about “a culpable onlooker at an offence”. Would you like me to give you the whole text?’
He made no reply but a frown creased his forehead and his pudgy lips were folded together. Secretly, she was surprised how much knowledge he had retained after ten years’ of banishment. Turlough’s contacts in London had related that Boetius was studying law at one of the Temple Inns and was acting as a secretary to Stephen Gardiner and advising Cardinal Wolsey on Irish affairs.
‘Well, then you will just have to take my word for it.’ She kept her voice crisp and assured and
her eyes steadily on him. The stool where he sat was a little lower than the easy chair and she relished the advantage that it gave her. She had half-wondered about sending Art over to the alehouse to bring back one of Turlough’s men, but decided against it. The house was full of noise and bustle, girls’ and boys’ voices, the shrill commands from Brigid. She felt quite secure.
‘So now,’ she went on, ‘let’s get back to that conversation in the alehouse. What did you discuss?’
‘They wanted my opinion on the sentences,’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘And …’
‘And I gave it to them, my poor best,’ he said. The mock humility in his voice annoyed her, but she did not let it show.
‘Was there any discussion about revenge?’
‘My dear Brehon, you don’t surely imagine that I was part of that schoolboy trick of placing the man under the wave spray.’
‘But you were there when it was discussed.’
He said nothing for a moment, but she kept her eyes fixed on him and tapped impatiently with a fingernail on the newly scrubbed arm of the chair. It gave out a low, dense sound and this seemed to startle him. He looked towards the window and then back again.
‘I was,’ he said.
‘And you did nothing to discourage them.’
‘It was not my place.’
‘And you didn’t think of having a word with the alehouse keeper, with Barra.’
‘Why should it? How did I know whether it was just talk?’
‘But you saw them leave?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I had left the table by then. You can ask Barra or anyone else. I was not with them at that stage.’
‘And where were you?’
He thought about it for a moment. She could see him wondering how good her sources were and then he said, ‘I had tired of the company and tired of the smell and the lack of air. I went for a walk.’
An Unjust Judge Page 12