An Unjust Judge

by Cora Harrison

  ‘Towards the cliffs, is that right?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, not towards the cliffs. I went in the opposite direction, down the hill and towards the harbour. I went to watch the sea. I used to come here as a boy when I was at law school in Duniry in Galway. I liked to watch those enormous waves rolling in from Crab Island. They were marvellous on that night, even more impressive than I had remembered them.’

  ‘So it was full tide when you left the alehouse.’

  ‘Thereabouts, I’d say.’

  ‘And did anyone see you on the road downhill, or perhaps at the harbour watching the waves coming in?’

  He did not hesitate, which was, she thought, perhaps his first mistake. Surely a man who was telling the truth about a walk, a walk after he had swallowed some of the local ale, surely he would stop and interrogate his memory, try to visualize the night, but Boetius came straight out with a flat ‘no’.

  ‘There was no one on the road, no one at the harbour,’ Mara confirmed.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’m too much of a lawyer to make an assertion such as that. What I said was that, I saw no one.’

  ‘And if I were to make enquiries, you would guess that I would find that no one saw you, would that be correct?’ asked Mara.

  ‘Very likely,’ he said. ‘On the other hand, it may be that someone was looking from a window, was standing in the shadow of a house, was sitting in a boat tied to the pier, or perhaps looking across from Crab Island. I wouldn’t like to discourage you from making your investigations. Obviously, there is a death that you have to solve. Equally obviously, you would like to get rid of me, like to declare me an outcast from the home of my ancestors, so it would make sense, would it not, to tie the two affairs together. The only problem is that I did not kill Brehon O’Doran.’

  ‘I would possibly believe that if it were not for my prior knowledge of you and of what you can plot, of the evil which you could bring about in order to have your own way. I wonder why you came back. There is little for you here, you know. Most of the land is Tuath Clae land. It was given for the use of the Brehon of this area, they were to take the produce. But it is O’Brien land and it remains O’Brien land. It did not belong to Fergus. Therefore, unless you were to be declared Brehon, then the only part of your inheritance is this house and the seven acres that surround it. And that will only become yours if a court declares that Fergus is incapable of managing his own affairs and has to be cared for. I would imagine,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘that, in that case, the court would make it a condition that Fergus should live here and that you should care for him. Or else that you should use the revenues from this property to finance the present arrangements.’ He was not looking downcast, she noticed. He still had a half smile on his lips and a speculative look in his eye. ‘After all,’ she continued, watching him closely, ‘you must have a much more glittering future ahead of you at the court of King Henry. Why leave that to come back here for such a small return?’

  He said nothing and she began to think hard. He was not stupid and he had demonstrated that he still had an excellent knowledge of the law which he had acquired at Duniry Park in Galway twenty years ago. Why had he come?’

  ‘Stephen Gardiner sent you, I suppose,’ she said after a minute. ‘You were to be the advance party, the thin end of the wedge. You were to get the position of the Brehon here, and then you were to undermine our laws by gradually introducing English law in its place. You will become known as a man skilled in both laws and there will be respect for your learning. And then you will start to change matters according to the instructions that you have received. Small things, first, small people who might not have the confidence to appeal to the king, but who would find themselves paying the penalties like our neighbours across the sea. There will always be a possibility of whipping up anger in families who have lost a son or daughter. They will want a death to pay for the other death and, who knows, the priests will tell them that this is God’s law; that Deuteronomy says: “Then all the men of his town are to stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you”. And then, little by little, the penalties of hanging, drawing, quartering, cutting off the right hand of the petty thief, executing a person for a larger theft, building prisons, all these customs which have been successfully introduced into the east of Ireland, will come to the west and our ancient laws will be lost. That, I think, was the plan and I tell you, Boetius, that while there is breath in my body, you shall not bring these laws here.’

  ‘Goodness, how eloquent you are!’

  ‘There was just one thing in your way. The king, our king, King Turlough Donn O’Brien, did not appoint you but rather chose Brehon O’Doran, the man from Ossory. So you had an obstacle to your master’s commands. There was a man in your way and so you removed that man. I do believe that you are capable of doing this and I shall investigate the evidence and expect no mercy from me, Boetius MacClancy, if you were the one who killed. The last time you were here, you conspired; over ten years ago, you were content with stirring up bad feeling; this time, I suggest to you that you have gone a step further.’

  ‘I suggest to you that you have not a single shred of evidence to connect me to this murder. You have, on the other hand, five angry men, five men who saw their lives turned upside down, five men with bows and arrows in a creel and murder in their hearts, perhaps.’

  ‘So you knew about the bows and arrows,’ said Mara softly. ‘But how did you know that, Boetius, if you merely chatted to them in the alehouse.’

  ‘Strong drink loosens tongues. I’m sure you remember Fithail on that subject.’ He made an effort to recover, but his pudgy lips had tightened and there was a spark of anger in his eyes.

  Mara leaned back against her cushions.

  ‘I think,’ she said softly, ‘that it was you who set up the whole affair. You would be friendly with Peadar, you intervened on his side during judgement day, you devised the punishment, you would remember all about the blowhole from your days here. It was all a slightly silly affair and would have done them no good, but it made them feel better. But when they were safely back in the alehouse, drinking and reminiscing, exulting in the discomfort of the unjust judge, then you, Boetius MacClancy, you slipped out of the alehouse, went through the bushes, stole up the hillside, keeping to the shadow of the hedge. You knew this place here very well, you could calculate the tides, or ask a fisherman, you would have known that the blowhole only operated for around high tide and so you stole up there, found the water to have subsided, slit the man’s throat and then returned to the alehouse.’

  ‘Except that I didn’t,’ said Boetius. ‘Don’t think that you can pin this on me. The burden of proof lies with you, remember.’

  ‘Let’s take this step by step,’ said Mara. ‘You agree that you knew of the plan?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

  ‘You suggested it?’

  ‘No.’

  Mara let that pass. She would talk with the five young men, but it might be difficult to be sure. Boetius was clever enough to drop subtle hints and then to overwhelm someone as naïve as Peadar with admiration of his cleverness at thinking out such a revenge. It was a silly scheme, almost too silly for anyone except a schoolboy, but these young men may have been drinking steadily for most of the day. Days of Judgement normally took place on some day of a festival, but on the few occasions when they were on ordinary working days, the custom of repairing to the alehouse held good. Five angry men, lots to drink and a subtle and clever man at their side. A man, she thought, who might just have seen the possibility of having another chance of seizing the traditional MacClancy post of Brehon.

  ‘Could you show me your knife,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  He took it out with such readiness that she guessed it would not be revealing. It was a very elaborate knife, purchased in London, she thought. There was some gold wire twisted around the pommel between the handle and the blade. Difficult to clean completely,
she thought and took it to the window. The October sun was setting in the south-west and a long, low gleam came through the window. She pushed open the frame and stood examining it as carefully as she could. She could see no traces of blood on it but she would need to ask one of her scholars in order to double-check, she thought. One of the drawbacks to being fifty years old was the deterioration of her sight. However, she would not give Boetius the satisfaction of admitting to any weakness.

  ‘I’ll keep this for the moment,’ she said, and then quickly whirring around to catch him off guard, she said rapidly, ‘You can use your other knife for the meantime.’

  There was no change in his face, however. He said with a trace of amusement in his voice, ‘That is my only knife, Brehon. I am not a soldier.’

  And yet, she thought, this is a very elaborate knife. Does he really cut and spear his meat, his cheese with this knife. Or was food cut to bite-sized portions in the circles where he lived just now?

  ‘Well, I’m sure that you will manage,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Boetius. That is all, you may go.’ She did not accompany him to the door, but nodded curtly at his farewell greeting. She stayed where she was at the window and watched him mount his horse and ride away. It was hard to judge, but she had a feeling that there was something jaunty about his carriage. His back was very straight and his beard stuck out aggressively which seemed to indicate that he held his chin high. She pushed open the window and the sea breeze swept back the sound of a very merry tune, not one that she knew, probably one that he had picked up at the court in London. She felt her own lips tighten. There was no doubt but he felt that he had got the better of that exchange and she was honest enough to admit to herself that he might well have been right. She stayed very still for a moment. This, she thought, was a very clever man. It was nonsense to think that he had come all the way from London just to claim the few acres that Fergus owned and this poorly maintained house. He would, she suspected, have known that any revenue that he got for this would, according to the law, have to be used to maintain his elderly uncle and, although the man was weak in his mind, his body was still active. Fergus, surprisingly, was a strong, fit-looking man. He was able to go for long walks and to scramble around the cliffs. He might live for many years yet.

  No, she thought, Boetius came for the prestigious and lucrative post of Brehon, and what was more, she felt certain of this, he came with instructions from his master, Stephen Gardiner, to replace the ancient laws of Ireland with their English equivalent. She had a momentary vision of the ancient mound at Knockfinn being used as a place for men to be hanged and swore that she would do everything in her power to frustrate him.

  ‘You’re looking very angry,’ said Cael coming quietly into the room with a pot labelled lavender polish in her hand and a piece of threadbare linen over one arm. ‘What do you think of my table? Good, isn’t it? Brigid thinks that it didn’t have a proper scrubbing for ten years. She keeps muttering about giving a piece of her mind to that Orlaith.’ She felt the table carefully and then shrugged her shoulders, getting to work, energetically rubbing in the polish. ‘Might be a bit damp, yet,’ she observed, ‘but at least it will smell nice and I hate leaving a job half done. What have you got there, Brehon?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering whether there are any bloodstains on this knife. Come to the window where the light is good. Have a good look at it. It’s the knife belonging to Boetius MacClancy, the nephew of Fergus.’

  Cael put the pot and the linen rag on the table and came across to the window, holding the knife carefully by the end of the handle and scrutinizing it with care, turning it over in her hand.

  ‘Can’t see anything. I’d have expected there might be something between the blade and the handle, but there is nothing there. It doesn’t look as though it has been cleaned, either, does it? The handle is quite polished. Speaking as an expert in scrubbing, I can say quite categorically that no one scrubbed this. It’s not like the knife that you took from Ciaran, is it? That had definitely been scrubbed.’ She handed the knife back and returned to her polish.

  ‘No, it isn’t, is it,’ said Mara thoughtfully. Boetius, she thought, was too clever to have kept a bloodstained knife on his person. And despite his words, it was quite common for a well-to-do person to have more than one knife. She checked herself, though. It would be easy to be blinded by her dislike of the man and focus too much on him in this early stage of the investigation.

  Cael hadn’t repeated her question and Mara was glad that the polishing of the table was now engaging all of her attention. If Cael had asked her why she was looking so angry, she would have had to tell her that she was furious with herself at allowing that corrupt and evil man to have found her in the wrong. It was true, she acknowledged to herself, she was high-handed in her dealings. She made decisions quickly and no one ever challenged these decisions. Fachtnan, her previous assistant, had always agreed with her and now, her new assistant was her own grandson. Perhaps, she thought, she should ask Turlough to send another Brehon from Thomond to investigate this murder. Boetius had mentioned this and she had not really replied to the insinuation, but he had, she admitted, right on his side.

  ‘I’m wondering whether I should get another judge to work with me on this case,’ she said aloud.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Cael pausing for a minute. ‘After all you have us to help you. You don’t want a stranger coming here and having to explain everything and argue about everything. It would slow everything down and I don’t think it would suit you. Cian is offering Niall two to one that you will have it solved by the end of the week,’ she added. She had turned back to her task and once more was rubbing vigorously. She did not look at Mara, but her tone was decisive and Mara took a certain amount of wry comfort from the fact that her scholars believed in her abilities.

  ‘And what did Niall say to that?’

  ‘He took the bet. Cian is very pleased. He pledged half an ounce of silver and he’s already making plans to spend his winnings on a new bow and set of arrows when we go to Coad fair.’ Cael had a grin on her face.

  ‘Do you like him, Cael? Niall, I mean.’

  ‘I can’t make him out,’ said Cael frankly. ‘There is something odd about him. He’s like someone acting a part. And Ríanne is the same, you know. They’re both pretending that they hardly know each other, but then they look at each other when they think that no one is noticing, and it’s like as if they are sending a message. Cian and I used to do that when we were young.’

  Mara got to her feet, tucking the knife into her satchel. ‘I’ll have a word with them both, and I’ll look to see whether they do that when I am talking to them,’ she said.

  Ten

  Cáin Lánamna

  (Law of Marriage)

  Heptad 3

  1. A wife is free to leave her husband if he repudiates her for another woman, although she may stay in the house if she wishes.

  2. If a blow from the husband leaves a mark, she may leave him and obtain her share of the property.

  3. She may divorce him if he fails to support her.

  4. She may divorce him if he is impotent for any reason.

  5. She may divorce him if he is indiscreet about the details of their sexual life.

  6. She may divorce him if he becomes a priest.

  7. She may divorce him if he lies with boys.

  Ríanne, to give the girl her due, was joining in heartily with the housework, cleaning the pewter with a mixture of sand and lye. Art was sitting beside her, working busily on the kitchen knives. Niall, however, was standing by the window, with a frown on his face, dubiously eyeing a goose wing which had been thrust into his hand by Brigid.

  ‘Climb up on that chair and get those cobwebs from out of the corners, Niall. Come on, boy. That’s not a hard task. We all have to help, you know.’

  Brigid usually managed young people well. Over thirty years of experience of caring for the welfare of the young scholars at the Cahermacnaghten Law School had honed the
mixture of authority, flattery and genuine warmth with which she ensured that they respected and obeyed her. Mara stood back, unwilling to interfere until appealed to by her. Ríanne, she noticed, did not look towards her friend and companion, but ostentatiously worked harder, keeping her head bowed down over her task, even exchanging a surreptitious smile with Art. Cian came across, muttered something into Art’s ear and the pair of them dissolved into giggles. Niall glared at them. He had a very unhappy look on his face and Mara began to feel sorry for him. It was always her policy to give scholars a way out without losing face so now she addressed herself to Ríanne.

  ‘When you and Niall have finished your tasks, could you come into the parlour, Ríanne? I have a few questions to ask you both about Ossory and about Brehon Gaibrial O’Doran.’

  It was true, she thought, noticing a flash of relief on Niall’s face. It would be part of her usual procedure to explore the background of anyone who was not from the kingdom. But there was something very tense about that boy that worried her slightly. There was no doubt in her mind that he had not told all that he knew.

  ‘You’re making a good job of that fireplace, Cian,’ she said approvingly. ‘Goodness, Brigid, look at the shine coming through!’ Cian was scraping the soot from the crane that hung over the fire and using a mixture of his own spit and some verjuice to polish the sections that he’d cleaned.

  ‘Hasn’t been touched for years,’ said Brigid with a sniff. ‘As for that cellar! God only knows when it last saw a scrubbing brush. And the food press! And I could swear that the bread basket hasn’t had its crumbs removed in a month of Sundays.’

  Now that Brigid’s attention was deflected from Niall he had climbed onto the chair and was flicking at the cobwebs with the goose wing. Mara withdrew hastily and went back into the parlour. She was touched to see how Brigid had put all her energy into getting that room fit for her before tackling the kitchen which harrowed her housewifely soul. Cael’s table was still slightly wet with polish so she sat by the fire and sorted through her impressions.