DO BREATHAIB GAIRE (JUDGEMENTS OF MAINTENANCE)
The
fine (
kin group
)
is obliged to care for those who are handicapped in their minds or their bodies.
The guardian of a
druth (
mentally retarded person
)
is responsible for his offences in the alehouse.
M
issiles thrown by a
druth
do not require compensation. Anyone who incites a
druth
to commit a crime must pay the fine himself.
‘
F
ACHTNAN, WILL YOU RIDE ahead of me,’ said Mara as the two of them turned down the quiet deserted lane that led from Caherconnell to Noughaval. ‘I don’t want Balor frightened; he seems nervous of me and you will be able to reassure him. Just chat to him until I arrive.’
If that were Enda, she thought with a smile of amusement,
there would be fifty questions and surmises, but Fachtnan just nodded his head of rough brown curls and galloped off. She slowed down her mare and walked her along the rough surface of the lane. The sun had come out and was pleasantly warm on her face. A light wind from the Atlantic stirred the bleached seed heads of the grasses and rippled through the nodding pale blue harebells. The hedgerows were laden with dark red haws and the blackberries glistened fat and luscious amongst the orange and yellow glow of the bramble leaves. There were still some red and green fruits between the ripe black ones. These might never mature now, thought Mara. All the signs seemed to point to an early, hard, cold winter.
She could hear the rise and fall of Fachtnan’s voice interspersed with the slower, deeper tones of Balor as she neared the bend in the lane just before the forge. They seemed to be having an amiable conversation. Quietly she dismounted, leading the mare slowly towards the forge.
‘Beannacht Dé leat,’
she said pleasantly to Balor. He had a hunted look in his eye and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder as if he were about to escape. Swiftly she bent down and picked up the mare’s forefoot, holding it out towards him.
‘Has she got a stone in her foot?’ she appealed to him.
He couldn’t resist that. He was obviously a man who loved horses. He came to her side, chirruped to the mare, taking his time to gentle her, but she knew him instantly and nuzzled his neck. He produced a small red apple from his pocket and offered it to her and she crunched it delicately. He took the foot from Mara, handling it carefully in his enormous blackened hands, probing with the sureness of a
surgeon around the shoe, and then shook his head with a puzzled expression.
‘No, no,’ he said.
‘She’s all right?’
‘She’s mighty,’ he said, looking at the mare lovingly.
‘Just trod on a stone for a moment, perhaps,’ said Mara. She was not sure whether he understood, but he nodded immediately.
‘Not sore now,’ he added, after a minute’s more probing. Perhaps he was not as slow as Aengus the miller had made out when he brought him to Poulnabrone a few years ago. She wondered whether Aengus had been unkind to him. The work here with Fintan among the horses would have perhaps slowly built his confidence. She stood next to him and joined him in petting and caressing the mare.
‘Balor,’ she said after a minute, looking at him gently and speaking slowly. ‘Did you take the candlesticks from Ragnall?’
He carefully put the mare’s foot back on the ground and then looked at her with panic-stricken eyes. She felt slightly ashamed, but this matter had to be cleared up.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, making her voice as reassuring as she could. ‘They were belonging to Fintan so you took them from Ragnall and you brought them back. That was it, wasn’t it?’
Slowly he nodded. Fachtnan patted him encouragingly on the back.
‘The Brehon isn’t cross,’ he said carefully, as if he were talking to an eight-year-old. ‘Tell her what happened.’
Mara held her breath. The candlesticks were of little
concern to her, but it was possible that Balor might hold some other vital pieces of information.
‘I took ’em from cart,’ he muttered, looking at her shyly.
Mara nodded in a matter-of-fact way. ‘When Ragnall had gone into the churchyard.’
‘They were master’s candles,’ he said beseechingly.
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered soothingly. ‘And they were lovely. Did you help to make them?’
He nodded proudly. ‘Hammered the iron,’ he said.
‘And was Ragnall a long time in the churchyard?’ she asked. ‘Was he talking to anyone?’
She wasn’t sure whether he understood her, but then he turned his back to her and whispered hoarsely in Fachtnan’s ear.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Fachtnan, ‘that’s what he went in to do, but the Brehon just wants to know, did he talk to anyone when he finished.’
‘Just Donie,’ said Balor.
‘Donal O’Brien, from Lemeanah?’
‘Yes, young Donie … not anyone from our clan.’
Mara drew in a deep breath. This was worrying. It certainly needed investigating.
‘Tell your master that the candlesticks are his, Balor,’ she . said. She thought of uttering a few legal rules about not helping yourself from another man’s cart, but decided not to bother. ‘You’re a good worker, Balor,’ she said. ‘Your master is lucky to have you.’
He smiled happily then. He chuckled to himself. ‘Master went back to give him a good wallop,’ he said, his enormous toothless mouth grinning.
‘After you brought the candlesticks home?’
‘Yes, he say:
“good man yourself, Balor”,
and he go down road.’
Mara nodded slowly. This evidence was not evidence that she could use in a court of law, the man was classified as a
druth,
and classified as such by herself. However, it did seem to put Fintan MacNamara, the blacksmith, back into the picture again.
When she looked back, she could see Balor happily carrying huge logs of wood to stoke the fire. He seemed to have forgotten his fright. He was probably quite child-like and was glad that the matter was now discovered and was off his mind. It had been a worthwhile visit for both of them. Though she took little pleasure in the knowledge that Donal O’Brien might well be the last person to have seen Ragnall MacNamara alive, the sooner the truth was found, the sooner the community could settle down again. King Turlough would be upset but that could not be helped.
‘Fachtnan, you go back to Cahermacnaghten and have your dinner,’ she said. Tell Brigid I may be late. I am going down to Lissylisheen to see Ardal’s steward and then I will probably ride on to Lemeanah Castle.’
The O’Lochlainn tower house at Lissylisheen was set in the middle of an open field, three storeys high, plainly made from well-cut limestone blocks. It was a solid, unpretentious tower, kept in good repair. Mara could see where some work had been recently done to the stone roof slates and there was new pointing between the stones on the northern side. The flagstoned yard in front of the house was swept clean and
the stone wall around the enclosure was well built and carefully maintained. What a pity that Ardal didn’t marry again, thought Mara. It seemed a shame that he had no sons to enjoy this fine property.
‘Do you want the
taoiseach,
Brehon?’ A man cleaning out one of the stables came running to hold her mare, while another hovered ready to summon Ardal.
‘No, I won’t trouble him,’ said Mara. ‘I just wanted to have a word with Liam, the steward. Is he anywhere near?’
‘Liam is in the barn, Brehon. Will I get him for you?’
Mara thought for a minute. Her natural politeness made her unwilling to interrupt for too long one of the busiest days of the year, when the O’Lochlainn steward would be storing and recording all the Michaelmas tribute. However, if she went into the barn then she would have to speak to Liam in front of many ears. If she stayed where she was then she could ask a private question or two.
‘Ask him if he could spare me a minute,’ she said, putting her hand out to stroke the tiny fronds of a maidenhair fern in the crevice of the gate pier, but making no move to dismount.
The man went running and in a few moments, large and affable as ever, Liam emerged from the barn, shielding his eyes against the low brilliance of the setting sun.
‘You’re well, Brehon?’ he enquired. ‘You’ll come in and have a cup of ale? Something to eat?’
‘No, I won’t, Liam,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to ask you about Ragnall on Michaelmas Day. You remember? You saw him at Noughaval Fair?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Liam, hastily rearranging his smiling features to an expression of solemnity.
‘Do you remember seeing him leave the fair and go into the churchyard?’
‘He may have done,’ said Liam, his face expressing the hope that he might not have to go into any embarrassing details about Ragnall’s visit to the churchyard.
‘Did you see young Donal O’Brien go after him?’ asked Mara bluntly.
Liam paused. A quick expression of something that she could not quite read flitted across his face. Then he nodded.
‘He may have done,’ he said slowly, and then, more quickly, ‘of course he might have just been going home to Lemeanah Castle by the back route.’
Mara nodded. Unlikely, she thought. She had been over that route herself and it had nothing in its favour. There were better and more straightforward ways of getting to Lemeanah.
‘They’re in a lot of trouble up there in Carron — the MacNamara, I mean,’ commented Liam. ‘I hear the miller is dead, also. Someone was talking about it last night. Maol is supposed to be the man to be the new steward; no one knows who will be the new miller.’ He eyed her with interest. Undoubtedly he would have heard about the dispute between Niall and his
taoiseach,
Garrett. She wasn’t going to talk of this, but it would be no harm to probe Liam a bit about Niall. She waited, saying nothing, just glancing around at the horses on the well-drained fertile fields. Liam, she knew, could not keep silent long. He was an affable man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice.
‘Shame, though,’ he continued after he had waited a courteous minute for a comment from her. ‘Everyone thought that it would be Niall. The whole of the Burren
knew that he was the son of Aengus. Mind you, it’s not a surprise that Maol would get the steward’s job. They say that Ragnall had promised his daughter’s hand to him and the stewardship was probably promised at the same time. Ragnall would have wanted to keep it in the family. He wasn’t getting any younger. The job would have got too much for him sooner or later.’
Well, I mustn’t keep you talking, Liam,’ said Mara courteously. ‘This is a busy time for you, I know. The tribute has been good this year?’
‘No complaints, no complaints at all,’ he said expansively. ‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘the O’Lochlainn would never be one to complain. He’s a great man to look after his people and to be just to all. Whatever the clan can afford to give; that will be welcomed by the O‘Lochlainn.’
And with this compliment to his own
taoiseach,
and perhaps a sly swipe at Garrett, the MacNamara
taoiseach,
Liam strode back to the barn, calling a cheerful blessing over his shoulder. Mara waited until he had gone, pondering her best route to Lemeanah. She wondered whether to return to Noughaval, but that would mean either going past the forge again, alarming Balor, or else going through the dense hazel scrub around Shesmore. In the end she decided to take the road towards Kilfenora and then to turn east. In doing so, she would encroach upon the kingdom of Corcomroe, but Fergus, the Brehon of Corcomroe, would be the last man to worry about a thing like that. She would mention it to him the next time that they met. There was, of course, no law to forbid a professional person like herself from entering another kingdom, though the farming community were supposed to keep to their own kingdom, unless on days of fairs
or festivals, but generally she preferred to keep to her own territory.
Lemeanah Castle, or tower house, looked very peaceful as she cantered up the road towards it. A few boys were playing outside the surrounding cottages and a couple of little girls were picking some of the late blossoms of a tall purple loosestrife from the hedgerow.
However, as soon as she approached the castle, someone in the gatehouse immediately challenged her. In the past, before the kingdoms were united under Thomond, the largest of the three kingdoms ruled over by King Turlough Donn O‘Brien, this would have been the borderline between the kingdoms of Corcomroe and Burren and tensions still showed in the guards on both sides of the border. Lemeanah Castle was just inside the border of the kingdom of the Burren, and the original
cathair
of Lemeanah had been built by the O’Lochlainns to defend the border against the O’Connors.
‘Mara, Brehon of the Burren,’ she announced, and there was instant deference.
‘The
taoiseach
is at Carron Castle at the inauguration of the MacNamara
tánaiste,’
said an earnest young man. ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Brehon?’