Eye of the Law

EYE OF THE LAW
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First world edition published 2010

in Great Britain and in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2010 by Cora Harrison.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Harrison, Cora.

Eye of the Law.

1. Mara, Brehon of the Burren (Fictitious character) –

Fiction. 2. Women judges – Ireland – Burren – Fiction.

3. Burren (Ireland) – History – 16th century – Fiction.

4. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

823.9‘14-dc22

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-098-2 (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-72786-873-2 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-232-1 (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

Contents

One

S
t Patrick’s Day, on the 17th of March in the year 1510, was fine and dry, but an icy wind from the north-east funnelled through the gaps between the small mountains surrounding the kingdom of the Burren and then swept across the stone pavements.

The few trees in the rock-strewn land bent and cracked under its force. Under the ground their roots had braced themselves, year upon year, against the continual winds from the west and the south-west, but now the trees were exposed and vulnerable to this unaccustomed onslaught from the opposite direction. Here and there, in the valleys, they lay on their sides, their crab-like roots still with pieces of broken limestone attached, now clutching nothing but air. The wind had stripped the last blackened seeds of the stately oak and ash from the branches, casting them down on to the fertile earth below, and small green buds, destined to die before maturity, pointed skywards from the uprooted gnarled willows outside the caves at Kilcorney. The dry, bleached grass was flattened by the force of the gale, but in the sheltered valleys and under hedgerows, emerald-green blades showed that the sun’s strength was enough for new growth.

Within the shelter of the high walls around Lemeanah Castle’s courtyard, where the O’Brien clan and their neighbours were celebrating the marriage of Maeve MacNamara and Donal O’Brien, eldest son and heir to the
taoiseach
, Teige O’Brien, there was enough warmth for the young people to stay outdoors even as sunset approached. Not just the O’Brien clan, but also many of the O’Lochlainns, the O’Connors and the MacNamaras were present. Even King Turlough Donn, ruler of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren, attended the wedding celebrations of his cousin’s eldest son and so did Mara, his new wife.

Mara was not just the king’s wife, but also the Brehon of the Burren, responsible for law and order within its one hundred square miles, so she knew every family in the kingdom; their history and secrets had been part of her life since she had become Brehon of the Burren fifteen years ago when only twenty-one years old.

She stood at the gate and looked around at the frolicking crowd with affection and amusement. It was almost like a fair. In a sheltered corner by the kitchen house, one of the Lemeanah servants was rapidly baking griddlecakes over a fire, and as fast as the cakes were taken off the flat piece of iron and spread with a lump of yellow butter and a spoonful of golden honey, they were swallowed down. In another corner, a juggler performed his tricks, watched by an appreciative audience of small children, and a wandering bard told a story in a sibilant whisper to a wide-eyed crowd outside the gatehouse.

Mara stopped to listen to him for a minute. He had only been in the Burren for a week but already he seemed to know the place well. Mentions of Balor’s Cave at Kilcorney, less than a mile away from Lemeanah, were interwoven with the story of the malevolent one-eyed god who could kill those he looked at. She hoped the bard would stay. They had many good musicians and singers in the Burren, but a man who could tell a story like that would be an asset to any community.

‘You’re very welcome, Brehon!’ Teige O’Brien came bustling up. ‘The king has already arrived. He’s waiting for you upstairs. You’re looking very well.’

‘A new gown for the wedding,’ said Mara gaily. ‘Turlough chose it. I usually wear green so this red wool is something new for me.’ Her well-fitting gown was stitched at the neck and sleeve cuffs with gold thread and her
léine
was of bleached linen embroidered with delicate lace.

I must wear red more often, she thought. She knew that it suited her dark hair and olive complexion, knew too that the bloom of early pregnancy lent her an extra beauty, so in high good humour she followed Teige as he escorted her up the steeply winding spiral staircase and into the Great Hall of Lemeanah Castle.

‘A great feast,’ said the king with satisfaction, greeting her with a kiss when she joined him at the window of the Great Hall.

After the month’s honeymoon at Ballinalacken Castle they were both back to their busy working lives, meeting for a few days before parting again. He was due back in his own kingdom of Thomond tonight, she knew, but they would spend the weekend together. She squeezed his hand and he kissed her again. Then he smiled down at the animated scene below. Three men with fiddles were playing a sparkling tune and the young people were rapidly taking hands and lining up for a set dance.

‘It looks as though the whole of the Burren is here,’ he said with satisfaction. He was a man who loved a festival. ‘There’s the O’Lochlainn and his brother, Donogh. And the MacNamara! And the O’Connor! And there’s Malachy the physician with his daughter Nuala. Who’s that woman with Malachy?’

Mara did not reply. She didn’t quite know what to say about Malachy. Her eyes were anxious as they looked at fourteen-year-old Nuala. The child looked depressed, she thought, noting the slumped shoulders and the hanging head. She turned to beckon to her six law-school scholars, who had just finished proffering small gifts to the wedding couple.

‘You can take the boys down to the courtyard now, Fachtnan,’ she said to her eldest scholar.

This would cheer Nuala up; she idolized Fachtnan, and the other boys were like brothers to her. Mara watched from the window until she saw Fachtnan take Nuala by the hand and lead her into the dance. Sighing with relief, Mara had begun to turn back to Turlough when suddenly she noticed a pair of unfamiliar faces.

‘Who are those two men?’ she murmured, knitting her dark eyebrows.

‘Don’t know,’ said Turlough laconically. ‘Which men?’

‘The ones at the gate.’ Mara pushed the window ajar and leaned out with one hand on the stone mullion that divided the window space into two. The westerly sun shone brightly on the entrance gate and lit up the figures of two strongly made dark-haired men. ‘I’ve never seen those two in my life before.’

‘Teige will know. Teige, who are those two men down there talking to your porter?’

‘Blessed if I know.’ Teige, the king’s cousin, joined them. He was a man of about fifty, the same age as Turlough and a great friend of his. He leaned out of the window and then turned back.

‘Seem to be friends of the O’Lochlainn,’ he said. ‘The porter is bringing them over to him.’

‘Hardly friends, he obviously doesn’t know them.’ Mara watched with sharpened interest as the porter steered the two men through the groups and brought them up to the O’Lochlainn
taoiseach
. Ardal O’Lochlainn was looking puzzled, she noticed. He bent his handsome head of copper-coloured curls down towards the elder of the two men and listened to him courteously. His blue eyes had a startled look after the first few words and he made an abrupt signal to his steward, Liam, and then the four of them moved away from the crowds towards a deserted spot on the outer wall.

‘I wonder what all this is about.’ Her comment was directed at Teige; he should know whether those strangers had been invited to join the wedding party. After all, the king was present and there was at best an uneasy peace between the O’Briens of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren, and the O’Kellys from nearby Galway. Teige took the hint and moved away instantly. Mara heard him calling down the stairs.

‘You’re just a gossip.’ Turlough’s voice was affectionate. ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me who that woman with Malachy is. Look, he’s partnering her in the dance now. Pretty woman. A bit on the plump side.’

‘Her name is Caireen and she is the widow of a physician from Galway.’

‘From Galway. How did he meet her?’

‘Her husband was some sort of distant relation of poor old Toin, the
briuga
from Rathborney. I think he came to see Malachy after Toin died and when it became known that Toin had left Nuala a legacy. The physician from Galway was ill himself then and he died soon afterwards. Malachy went to the funeral and apparently he and Caireen became friends.’ Mara’s tone was reserved, but Turlough immediately pounced.

‘And you don’t like her?’

‘Nuala doesn’t like her.’

‘Well,’ said Turlough tolerantly. ‘It must be nearly two years since Nuala’s mother died. The poor fellow can’t remain single forever. Nuala is well provided for. It seems ideal.’

‘It’s not too ideal,’ said Mara curtly. ‘This widow has a son of eighteen years who has almost finished his training to be a physician and another son, a year or two younger, who is well on his way to qualifying. And there is a third son about Nuala’s age who, also, had been his father’s apprentice.’

‘So she’s going to feel crowded out.’ Turlough sounded sympathetic.

‘The O’Lochlainn is leaving those men now and coming indoors. But Liam is staying with them.’ Mara didn’t want to discuss Nuala with so many listening ears around. Her sympathy was with the girl. She closed the window and turned back into the room to cross over to where the young couple sat. The bride, Maeve, had been under her care after the death of the girl’s father and Mara was touched by the bliss that she could see on the small kitten-like face.

‘I wish you all the happiness in the world,’ she said, kissing the girl and patting the young man on the shoulder. ‘You are having a lovely spring day for your wedding. Have you all the alterations finished to your house at Shessymore?’

‘We have, Brehon,’ said Donal, standing up respectfully. ‘We hope that you will be one of our first visitors.’

‘I certainly will,’ said Mara heartily.

The door to the stairway opened and Ardal O’Lochlainn entered. Ardal was always the soul of courtesy, but it was obvious from the way that he stood there, with his eyes fixed on Mara, that he wanted a word. With a few more expressions of goodwill, Mara left the young couple and made her way across the room.

Ardal didn’t look well, she noticed instantly. In fact, he looked like a man who had received a bad shock.

‘Brehon, I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said quietly, ‘but I wonder whether you could spare me a few minutes.’

‘Of course, Ardal. Shall we go somewhere private?’