Eye of the Law (10 page)

The dolmen of Poulnabrone stood at the eastern edge of the four miles of flat tableland called The High Burren. Four huge upright slabs, each of them the height of a man, supported the soaring capstone of rough lichen-spotted limestone. The field around it was paved with limestone clints, the grykes between them dotted with primroses, and the dolmen stood silhouetted against the sky, towering above the clints.

Standing beside the dolmen, in the place where Mara normally stood, there was a man. He was a dark man, swarthy of face and hair. His hands and arms were huge and he had several burn marks on his face as well as the hands. It was Becan, the blacksmith from Aran.

‘Becan, how did you get here?’ The words blurted out of her – not like her normal self, she thought critically, and suddenly saw herself as an exhausted and pregnant woman dismounting clumsily from her horse, clutching at the arm of Cumhal and betraying a surprise that the normal cool and collected Mara, Brehon of the Burren, would not have revealed.

He said nothing for a moment and then just shrugged. By this stage, she had herself in hand, had pulled a few potent drops of energy from her indomitable will and she turned a beaming smile on him.

‘It’s good to see you here,’ she said with sincerity, and then turned to her scholars, all looking neat and tidy in their snowy-white
léinte
, their warm cloaks and well-polished boots.

Fachtnan stepped forward and solemnly presented her with a scroll. There was a glint of humour in his brown eyes and she bit back a responding grin. The fact was that she had been too busy and tired to write up this case yet. However, she never faced the crowd at Poulnabrone without a scroll in hand so it had been thoughtful of Fachtnan to bring one along. She sat down for a minute on the edge of the rock that lay beside the dolmen. The bell for vespers had only just ceased. She would give a few minutes so that those who were further away might have time to arrive before she started. It seemed to be mainly those of the O’Lochlainn clan who were already there. Donogh and Donogh Óg were there, the younger man chatting brightly to his uncle Ardal. Finn O’Connor,
taoiseach
of the O’Connors was there with a scattering of his clan members around him. A few of the O’Brien clan, though not their
taoiseach.
Of course, this murder of a stranger to the kingdom did not concern many, except perhaps those of the O’Lochlainn who had known the reason for the arrival of the young man from Aran. In theory each household was supposed to send a representative to these solemn gatherings, but in fact, unless it was one of the four big festivals of the year, most people were content to be represented by their
taoiseach
and a few others. However, the sparse number of people gave Mara an excuse to rest for a few minutes and she availed herself of it gratefully.

There were a few figures moving across the clints coming from Baur South on the other side of the Glenslade road and two men were riding up the road from Lemeanah. Two men looking very alike, both heavily built men – about fifty years old, with the brown hair, the low afternoon sun picking out gleams of grey from both heads. It was Teige O’Brien and his cousin King Turlough Donn.

Instantly Mara’s tiredness left her. She was on her feet, smiling a welcome before the two men had dismounted from their horses. A surge of energy flooded through her as she greeted them both, and her voice, as she turned to face the people of the kingdom, was strong and reached easily to the back of the crowd.

‘God and Mary be with you,’ she said in the traditional greeting and back came the answer, ‘God and Mary, and Patrick be with you.’

‘I, Mara, Brehon of the Burren, announce to you that a killing took place of Iarla of Aran on Thursday morning.’ No need to say anything about the putative relationship between the young man and Ardal O’Lochlainn, she thought. In the corner of her eye she saw several people look in his direction, but Ardal stood impassively, tall and handsome, flanked by his nephew, Donal Óg on one side, and his steward, Liam, on the other.

‘I now call on the person who killed Iarla, the man from Aran, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine. Iarla’s honour price as a fisherman is one yearly heifer which is worth a quarter of an ounce of silver. The
éraic
, or body fine, for an unlawful killing is forty-two
sét
s, or twenty-one ounces of silver. As more than forty-eight hours have elapsed since the killing took place then I now declare it to be a case of
duinetháide
, a secret and unlawful killing. The
éraic
will therefore be doubled to eighty-four
sét
s. Add to that the victim’s honour price of half a
sét
and the fine will then amount to eighty-four and a half
sét
s, forty-two and a quarter ounces of silver, or forty-two milch cows. This fine will be paid to Becan from Aran, the uncle of Iarla,’ she ended firmly, looking all around the assembled crowd.

That should relieve Ardal, she thought as she waited for the murmur of conversation to die down. Ardal had plenty of money. He worked hard for the joy of achievement, rather than for the love of acquisitions. His lifestyle was plain and simple: his clothing a simple saffron
léine
topped with an undyed, grey woollen mantle, woven from his own sheep. He certainly would not want the fine and the fact that it would be paid to Becan meant that Iarla’s claim to be his son had been judged to be unproven.

‘I now call on the person who killed Iarla, the man from Aran, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine of forty-two cows,’ said Mara. Then she paused and waited, looking all around the crowd. This procedure had to be gone through, but she doubted if it had ever yielded the name of the killer. In this war-like society, most murders resulted from fights and were acknowledged immediately; those few, classified as
duinetháide
, secret and unlawful killings, took a long and meticulous investigation to solve them.

‘For the second time I call on the person who killed Iarla, the man from Aran, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine of forty-two cows,’ said Mara after she had conscientiously given the people sixty seconds to reply.

‘For the third time, I call on the person who killed Iarla, the man from Aran, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine of forty-two cows,’ said Mara, but she knew by now that no one would reply. There was a buzz of conversation and she allowed it to continue for a few minutes. Then she held up her scroll and silence fell again.

‘I will now take evidence about this case,’ she said.

There was no pause this time. Immediately Becan stepped forward.

‘I name the murderers of Iarla of Aran,’ he said in a deep husky voice.

He looked around. His voice did not carry very well and those not close by seemed to be straining to hear him. He took another step forward and this time climbed on one of the boulders next to the dolmen. Now every eye was on him. He pointed dramatically across the heads of those nearest.

‘I name the murderers of Iarla of Aran.’ This time his voice roared like the beating of iron against iron. ‘They are Ardal O’Lochlainn, the father of the dead boy, and his steward Liam.’

Oddly enough there was no buzz of conversation after this announcement. It seemed as everyone was suddenly frozen. No eye turned towards Ardal, all were staring at Becan.

‘What is your evidence for this accusation?’ Mara kept her voice neutral.

‘I saw the two of them, early on Thursday morning. Just after dawn. Liam the steward was pushing a turf barrow covered with sacks and the
taoiseach
walked beside him. They were going down the road from Lissylisheen towards Kilcorney. I took no notice at the time.’ As he went on, he gained fluency. His voice was now well under his control and everyone looked on him.

‘That’s a lie.’ One of the young O’Lochlainns advanced aggressively. ‘I was with the
taoiseach
from the time that we all finished breakfast. Your nephew hadn’t even got up then.’

‘He was dead by then.’ Becan’s voice was beginning to lose conviction.

‘No he wasn’t.’ Another clan member pushed himself forward, a huge fat man. ‘I’m the cook and I served breakfast to Iarla of Aran, God rest his soul, a full hour after
himself
had gone off about his business. And if he were dead then, well, all I can say is that he ate a great meal.’

‘What about Liam?’ asked Mara mildly. She knew the answer to this, but she resolved to let Becan say what he wanted to say. It would be best for him to get all his suspicions out in the open rather than to mutter them afterwards in an inn.

While several of the O’Lochlainn clan gave evidence that they were in the company of either Ardal or of Liam, all through the morning, Mara kept an attentive face turned towards them and noted with pleasure that both Enda and Fachtnan had taken it upon themselves to start writing busily on some blank pieces of vellum. Once no one had anything else to say, she took control of the meeting quickly.

‘Iarla of Aran will be buried here at Kilcorney, tomorrow morning at noon. He came to us as a stranger and he did not leave us. I, myself, will be present at his burial and I hope that as many people of the Burren as possible will attend to pray for his soul. Now go in peace with your families and your neighbours.’

‘There will be no peace for anyone,’ said Becan loudly and harshly. ‘That poor dead lad will not rest in his grave until his murderer is discovered.’ He looked around. The clan members had turned away as Mara’s words finished, but then they turned back, their eyes startled.

Becan nodded with satisfaction. ‘You can all be sure of one thing.’ His voice now was slow and sonorous, ringing like an anvil across the stone-paved field. ‘You can be sure of one thing,’ he repeated. ‘I know who did it. I don’t know how it was done, but I will find out. I said that Iarla would not rest in his grave until the murderer is uncovered; but he’s not the only one. I won’t rest either until I bring his murderer to justice or kill him with my own hands.’

Six

The
audacht
(testimony) before death is the highest and noblest of all spoken utterances, as at that moment it is not known whether the speaker’s soul will go to heaven or to hell.

‘
I
was talking to Teige today,’ said Mara idly as she sat on the window seat of Ballynalacken Castle and looked out over the Atlantic. ‘He was telling me that he and you used to play in the ruins of that old enclosure near to Lemeanah tower house.’

‘That’s right, we did.’ Turlough’s face bore a happy reminiscent look. Boyhood friends were very important to him; he and Teige had been fostered together and had been friends, as well as cousins, ever since.

‘There’s some sort of ghost story attached to it, isn’t there? About a woman with red hair who used to come out of a cave at full moon riding a blind stallion – I seem to remember something like that.’

Turlough laughed uproariously. ‘Teige and I used to scare his sisters with that. It wasn’t a cave though; it was one of those underground rooms that you find in old enclosures but the passageway off it did lead to a cave. We tried to go along it once, but we scared ourselves. It was quite dangerous with lots of flooded bits and a rockfall while we were in it. We were happy to get out of it with our heads still on our necks, I can tell you.’

‘Funny,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘Teige doesn’t seem to remember that. He didn’t mention it.’ She thought for a moment, frowning to herself, and then looked up to find Turlough’s eyes on her with a worried expression. She forced a smile and went on rapidly. ‘It’s a problem,’ she said. ‘You see no one knows where Iarla went once he had finished his breakfast and there was only one place, Ballymurphy townland, with none of Ardal’s workers in it. Iarla could have gone over the wall of the courtyard, through Ballymurphy and down south towards Noughaval and that would account for the fact that he was not seen after his breakfast.’

‘But not for the fact that he was found dead at Balor’s Cave at Noughaval, that was the puzzle, wasn’t it?’ queried Turlough shrewdly.

‘That’s right.’ Mara nodded.

‘You’re not thinking that Teige had anything to do with it.’

‘I have to consider everyone,’ said Mara honestly.

Turlough considered this in silence for a few minutes and then shook his head vigorously. ‘Not possible,’ he said decisively. ‘You’re trying to say that Teige might be guilty of the murder of the man from Aran just because the fellow stepped over the boundaries with little Saoirse. Not a chance. That’s not Teige at all. You don’t know Teige as well as I do. He would just give the fellow a wallop that would knock him into the next townland and that would be that.’

‘But he didn’t,’ said Mara quickly. ‘He didn’t do anything at all, not even shout at Iarla. It was left to the O’Lochlainn boys and my own boys to teach him some manners. The O’Brien steward broke it up, apparently. And then Liam took them all into the kitchen and fed them with mead, on the pretence of lecturing them.’ Mara’s lips curved in a smile as she thought of the episode, but she quickly sobered. She agreed with Turlough about Teige, but it puzzled her a little that he had said nothing to Iarla at the time and then had apparently lost his temper with his daughter afterwards.

And why didn’t he tell the Brehon about that underground passageway?

Unless, of course, that he feared Saoirse herself had had a hand in the murder. She and Mairéad would have made a formidable couple. They were both strong, well-grown girls. They could have hit him over the head and then got hold of a turf cart or something and wheeled the body down the passageway. The addition of the mutilation of the eye could have been to make the murder fit the story of Balor, the one-eyed god, but it could also have been a final act of revenge. Iarla had spied on Saoirse, had ripped her gown, had tried to view her body; perhaps in their eyes the punishment fitted the crime.