Chain of Evidence (6 page)

‘Do you think that I should?’ said Rhona hesitantly. She took a step nearer to Mara with the air of one who wanted to say something in private and Mara moved with her away from the others.

‘Should we go back to the Carron Castle, myself and Peadar; what do you think, Brehon? I hate having such bad feeling between us and Slaney. And between Garrett and Slaney, also. I haven’t been able to talk to her, been able to explain, but now Garrett and Jarlath will be off chasing cows and Stephen will be with you, so perhaps it’s a good time for the two of us to talk.’

‘That’s well thought of,’ said Mara, feeling that she was liking this woman more and more as time went on. ‘But if I know Slaney she will want to be out there directing operations,’ she continued. ‘I think you should leave it for the moment. Today will be full of anger and frustration if Garrett’s cows are stolen. Do come back with us and give everything time to settle down.’ Privately she thought that there was little that Rhona could do about the situation. A woman like Slaney would not forgive easily.

Rhona agreed so readily that Mara suspected she was dreading an interview with Slaney. Allowing the younger ones to go ahead the two of them walked side by side and chatted. Rhona had been the daughter and only child of a cattle dealer who had built up a business in buying and selling the small, hardy cattle from the mountains of Scotland to lowland farms.

‘He was disappointed that I married a sea-going man and then when my husband died and we, myself and Peadar, came back, he was furious that the boy spent all his time at the monastery, gardening for the monks and that he had no interest in cows. My father died last year and he left all his stock and the farm to his brother’s son and Peadar and I were left with nothing.’

Well, that perhaps solved the puzzle of why Rhona had come over to Ireland to seek out Garrett after fifteen years. Under Brehon law the woman had a right to name the father of her son at any stage during her life, even when on her deathbed. But why had Rhona not contested her father’s will, sought the help of this Brehon whom she had mentioned? None of my business, thought Mara. In any case, Rhona soon excused herself and went to walk beside her sulky-looking son, talking to him in hushed tones while Mara fell back to join her other guest.

‘So how did you find the O’Donnell when you were in Donegal?’ she asked casually as Stephen Gardiner gallantly offered her an arm down a steep section of the mountain. She scanned him narrowly as she asked the question. Was he here to cause trouble?

‘The O’Donnell – oh, you mean the earl; you mean Earl O’Donnell,’ he contradicted her with a pleasant smile. ‘The king has ennobled him, you know. The first of many, it is hoped. I met him in Scotland with King James IV. I was on a mission to the Scottish court and when he heard about Cardinal Wolsey’s project to write about Ireland, the noble earl extended an invitation to me.’

She looked at him with amusement. ‘So the plan is to
ennoble
all of the leaders of the poor
wilde
Irish and to turn our country into a place of civilisation.’

‘That’s right,’ he said eagerly, not noticing the irony in her voice. ‘Of course, it will be difficult in the beginning – changing customs. But – well, you’re an intelligent woman. You must see that laws such as you operate – these Brehon laws – these are laws for savages, not for civilised people. No wonder that there is no law and order when no proper penalties are imposed. Look at those cases today! Why, that man who stole some of his neighbour’s land – he would have been hanged in England, and yet he only got a trivial fine. And then that woman wanting to divorce her husband . . . just because she objected to a little bit of rough treatment – what a terrible thing to allow a mere woman power like that! There is no way, in our country, in England, that a woman would be allowed to divorce her husband, no matter what the reason was. I’ve made notes of the cases. They will interest my master, Cardinal Wolsey, because he is preparing a document for the king. It’s called
The State of Ireland and Plan for its Reformation
. I am doing much of the work for him,’ he finished modestly.

‘It seems to me,’ said Mara evenly, ‘and I can only speak of my own part of the country, but I think that law and order is well-maintained here.’

He laughed aloud at that. ‘And in the middle of your festival – rather a pagan festival, you must admit, but let that pass; in the middle of the festivities suddenly there is this cattle raid, and all, from the highest to the lowest in the land, rush off waving knives and swords.’

‘Ah,’ said Mara, ‘but this cattle raid was instigated by one who had the privilege of being ennobled by King Henry himself. And I suspect that you had prior knowledge. Now, admit, you came down just to see a cattle raid in progress! You knew what was going to happen, didn’t you? You knew that O’Donnell planned this.’

He said nothing, but a grin plucked at the corners of his well-cut mouth and his dark-brown eyes glinted with amusement.

‘You couldn’t resist the thought of what a great document you could write about the “wild Irish” could you,’ she teased and he laughed good-humouredly as she went on, ‘I can just imagine it – “Neighbour steals from neighbour” Good title, isn’t it?’

‘As long as no one is hurt; and they are all enjoying
themselves
,’ he said lightly and she looked at him with interest. When he wrote about the cattle raid, he would suppress the information that it was the Earl O’Donnell who had instigated the raid, she guessed. It would not fit with the image of Ireland which would be portrayed in his master’s book about the reformation of Ireland, where there would be a great
distinction
between the Irish who clung to their native ways and those who were loyal to the English crown and adopted English language, ways of dress and laws – like O’Donnell of Donegal and like the citizens of Galway city.

‘Cows are very important to us,’ she said gravely. ‘It’s a serious matter to steal cows – they are the wealth of the kingdom. It’s one of our great laws.’

‘Persons who steal cows must be killed,’ called back Cormac in war-like tones and the scholars all laughed and Aidan clapped applause.

‘There you are now,’ said Mara sweetly. ‘Three-year-old small boys agree with your English laws. Punish wrongdoers with death, says my little Cormac. You will have to tell Cardinal Wolsey that there is hope for Ireland, after all.’

She shivered a little in the icy wind and pulled the fur-lined hood of her cloak well over her head. The sun had been once more covered with clouds and rain threatened again. Despite her light tone she felt apprehensive about the future. She had spoken in jest, but would the new generation, would her grandson, Domhnall, now aged eight and due to start at the law school next September, would he keep faith with Brehon law, or would he bow the knee to the English king just as O’Donnell of Donegal did?

And what about her warlike little Cormac O’Brien? How would he grow up?

There are nine categories of sons who cannot inherit. These are known as ‘sons of darkness’.

‘“T
hat all things may be fair and just in the inheritance of land, the division is the work of the youngest inheritor and then the shares are picked in order of age with the oldest choosing first and the youngest last.” This ensures that the property has been divided into sections of equal worth.’ Hugh recited the words in fluent English and Mara gave him a nod and a smile. He had grown in confidence since their stay in the city of Galway, she thought. She eyed Stephen Gardiner and saw his black eyebrows shoot up before he made a quick note on the page before him. The Scottish woman Rhona and her son Peadar had returned to Carron after spending the night at the law school’s guest house, but Stephen Gardiner had requested to be allowed to remain for a while in the morning and watch a Brehon law school in progress so that he could write about it for his master in London, Cardinal Wolsey.

‘Good,’ she said aloud. ‘Now, Shane, how does Hugh know this law?’

‘Because he’s learned off by heart “
Macslecta
”,’
said Shane with a grin. ‘That means “son sections”,’ he added to Stephen.

‘Who is counted as a son for the purpose of inheritance, Aidan?’ asked Mara.

‘For the purposes of inheritance all sons are equal,’ replied Aidan, rising to his feet politely. ‘A son born of a wife of the second degree is of equal status to the son born of the chief wife and so is the son of a betrothed concubine.’ His eyes slid over to meet Moylan’s and then he hastily added, ‘All sons who are publically recognised by their father are deemed to be entitled to their share in his wealth.’

‘Goodness! Even when born out of wedlock; is that right?’ muttered Stephen scribbling furiously. He had already filled pages, describing the Cahermacnaghten law school and how it was housed within an ancient circle of ten-foot thick walls enclosing a scholars’ house, a girl scholar house, a kitchen house, the farm manager’s house, a schoolhouse and a guesthouse; of how the scholars often began there at the age of five and studied for up to fifteen years, learning languages and poetry as well as the law; of their studies of the Latin and Greek languages, as well as English and some Spanish and French. Mara eyed him maliciously. She was not impressed by his air of piety. Why was it so outrageous to allow a son born out of wedlock, as he put it, to inherit when innocent small
children
could be hanged for stealing a loaf of bread or a pie? A nation that could justify to itself such laws, had, she reckoned, no grounds to turn up their noses at the laws of other countries.

‘But there are nine categories of sons who cannot inherit,’ Fiona informed him kindly. ‘Shall I recite them for you? “The son conceived in the bushes,” – that’s Aidan’s favourite one—’

‘Fiona,’ interrupted Mara and then she stopped. She knew the sound of the heavy step at the doorway. It was Cumhal, her farm manager, and he would not interrupt the morning school unless there was an emergency. He opened the door without knocking and thrust his head inside. Mara’s heart stopped for an instant. Had anything happened to Turlough? She had not expected him back last night. Ardal O’Lochlainn had a secondary castle near to the border and she had guessed that he would have invited Turlough and Teige O’Brien to spend what remained of the night there in comfort. The morning was well-advanced, though, and she had anticipated his arrival at every minute, so she turned a worried face towards Cumhal.

‘Brehon,’ he said. ‘There’s news from Carron Castle. A body has been found. Someone has been found on the road below the castle.’

‘Trampled to death,’ said his wife, Brigid, from behind him. Her voice was shocked, but excited by the news. ‘They do say that whoever it is – the word is that it might be Brennan the cattleman – they do say that he is ground to pulp like as though he had been under a mill stone.’

Mara shuddered. The image was too real. ‘The poor man!’ she exclaimed.

‘There’s a horse coming down the road,’ said Aidan, alive with interest at the dramatic turn taken by the morning schooling. ‘Coming fast, too; by the sound of it.’

Mara moved to the door of the schoolhouse. There was certainly the sound of rapid horse hoofs ringing out on the limestone-paved road and she went to stand by the great iron gates that led into the law school enclosure. A minute later a beautiful strawberry mare came into sight and her heart rose up thankfully. This was Ardal O’Lochlainn,
taoiseach
of the O’Lochlainn clan. If he were safe, then Turlough and Teige were probably safe, also. Nevertheless, she held her breath until she saw his face and saw him nod reassuringly.

‘I’m the first with the tale,’ he said, ‘but most of the cattle have been recovered and the King, thank God, is well. He and Teige will soon follow me.’

‘He hasn’t been injured?’ she asked, but she knew the answer. Ardal did not waste words. He would have told her the truth instantly.

‘No,’ he replied. A smile lit up his blue eyes and spread over his handsome face. ‘A bit disgusted that most of the action was over before he arrived, but otherwise unhurt. Muiris O’Hynes and his men managed very efficiently. They got to the peak of abbey hill well ahead of the herds. First of all they opened a gate to a meadow with a few cows belonging to the monks grazing and then they set up a road block right across the road with carts and such-like from the abbey. So when the herd came up the hill, going slowly now because of the
steepness
of it, the men from the Burren were behind the barrier waving sticks and shouting – O’Donnell’s men were behind the herd, so the cows had no choice but to turn into the field. And glad they were, poor animals, to get in there and to drink from the trough and snatch a few mouthfuls of clean grass. And Muiris had the good sense to let the Donegal men go. All over safely, thank God.’

‘Thank God,’ said Mara, echoing his own words, but then waited. He had more to say, she knew the slight hesitancy with which he was now eyeing her.

‘What is it?’ she asked.