Laws in Conflict (5 page)

Mara nodded. Every school had to have a clown and Aidan was the clown at Cahermacnaghten law school.

‘And then Aidan challenged the warder to a proverbs contest and the winner was to have a pint of ale from the nearest tavern. So Aidan started off with that old one in that Latin book that your father brought back from the time he went on his travels to Rome –
Linacre’s Latin Grammar
– “Where is no fyre, ther is no smoke”. And the warder said, “One good turne asket another”, and Aidan said, “Many hondes maken lite werke”, and they went on like this for ages until Aidan came out with “Better ys late thane never”, and the warder couldn’t think of any more. He said that he would give Aidan the money to go to the tavern for a drink, but then Aidan said that if he would give us a look at his prisoner then we’d pay for a drink for everyone, including him. And that’s how we saw Sheedy.’ Fachtnan finished, giving her a slightly apprehensive look and explaining that he had just got small beer for the boys and confided Fiona to Moylan’s care before going into the alehouse.

‘That was very clever of Aidan,’ said Mara appreciatively. ‘Did Sheedy know you? I suppose it must be well over a year since he disappeared.’

Fachtnan shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he said sadly. ‘He’s completely out of his mind, Brehon. We must do something to rescue him. The warder said that he would definitely hang. There’s been a lot of thieving from the shops recently – people say that it is those Spanish sailors who are in town – but no one has been caught except poor Sheedy, of course.’

Mara thought about the matter, watching the seagulls squawking overhead, flying towards the harbour. What would be the best course of action? Here in Galway she had no status. In fact she was probably doing an imprudent thing in even visiting the city. Not only was she a Brehon – and Brehon Law was proscribed and detested by the English, but in addition she was the wife of a Gaelic king. Could she perhaps be captured and held to ransom, thrown into the squalor of the city gaol, placing an obligation on Turlough to come and rescue her and her scholars?

‘Ah, here are some fellow guests,’ called back Lawyer Bodkin. He dropped Fiona’s arm and hurried back to Mara. ‘Here is Mayor Lynch,’ he said and then hastened forward. Mara watched his hurried gait with interest. The lawyer was fighting his way through the crowds on the pavements while the mayor stood still and awaited his arrival.

Mayor Lynch obviously lived up to the old name of ‘sovereign’ and expected greetings from all of his subjects. The busy evening crowd had already parted to allow him and his family to walk in the centre of the pavement and most bowed and doffed caps as he passed. He showed no signs of acknowledging these salutations, though his wife and son bowed and smiled from time to time.

Mara made a sign to her scholars and waited, her mind alert and interested. What sort of man would he turn out to be? The mayor and his family had hardly paused to greet Lawyer Bodkin, but were coming towards them – a tall, very thin man, fairly elderly, a plump middle-aged woman and a boy of about Fachtnan’s age.

The boy took Mara’s attention. He was so vibrant, so full of life, gleaming like polished copper, a tall boy with curly, chestnut-coloured hair, a bright alert face with a grin stretching from ear to ear as he surveyed the group with frank curiosity. He was wearing a bright red jerkin, a crisp white shirt with Spanish lace work showing and he had a jaunty red cap with a kingfisher’s feather stuck into it.

‘Greetings! Welcome to Galway!’ he called out excitedly and then gave a shamefaced, guilty look at the frowning face of his father.

And yet, what had been wrong with the boy’s impulsive speech, thought Mara as she eyed James Lynch carefully.
A hard, cold man
had said Ardal O’Lochlainn, and Ardal was a man who never spoke without due consideration of his words. She smiled politely and waited for introductions. Mayor Lynch gave her a courteous bow in acknowledgement of Henry Bodkin’s words, but did not return her smile. He had a pale face with pale grey eyes and a thin, pinched mouth. He did not speak and did not offer to shake hands, but his wife, introduced by Lawyer Bodkin as Mistress Lynch, had taken Mara’s arm impulsively and said immediately, ‘Please call me Margaret. What beautiful hair you have!’

Like her son, thought Mara, smiling as she mentioned her own first name, and decided to return the compliment by admiring Walter. As a mother herself she guessed that would be a more valued remark than a mere exchange of flattering remarks about clothes. Margaret was richly dressed with a hood embroidered with pearls and an exaggeratedly wide skirt made from expensive brocade; the clothes, even in the streets of Galway, were worthy of remark, but the praise of her son brought a glow of pleasure to her powdered cheeks.

‘My Benjamin,’ she said half-laughing at herself, but beaming proudly at the youngster. ‘You must know, Mara, that Walter is the youngest of my children. Nine girls, one after the other, all of them married, and I thought I had finished breeding, but then came the son. You can’t imagine what I felt.’

‘My son is only eighteen months old, but I think I can imagine how proud you are of your son,’ returned Mara, touched by the woman’s open affection for her handsome boy. The father, too, despite his cold manner, was keeping a careful eye on his son and appeared to be mentally comparing him to the law school scholars who surrounded him and were chatting with various degrees of proficiency in English.

‘You must come out on The Green and practise some jousting,’ Walter was saying. ‘Did you bring your swords?’

‘He’s such a gentle boy,’ said his mother indulgently as her son was excitedly regaling the law school scholars with his tales of daring while walking backwards down Quay Street in front of the boys. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ she added with a fond smile as he took from his belt a very handsome dagger, its ebony handle embossed with silver, and waved it in the air, miming the action of stabbing someone in the chest. ‘You should have seen him yesterday morning when he discovered some boys stoning a kitten. He climbed after it right up to the roof of St Nicholas’s, ruined his hose and his second-best jerkin, carried the little thing down and brought it home. He found a box and lined it with sheep’s wool and fed the kitten with milk until its sides bulged. It’s beside the fire in the kitchen at our castle at this very moment and it looks as if it will stay there for ever – if it was anyone other than Walter, the cook would give notice and leave, but he can do no wrong in our servants’ eyes. You should have seen him with tears in his eyes, putting ointment on the little thing’s cuts and bruises!’

‘That was kind,’ said Mara appreciatively. She thought that young Walter Blake would get on well with Fachtnan, who was also a gentle and kind boy. From behind her she could hear the heavy, sombre tones of the mayor discussing market rights with Lawyer Bodkin. ‘I suppose your husband is proud of him also,’ she ventured.

Margaret sighed. ‘They are so unalike,’ she confided. ‘Of course, Walter is a “Blake” through and through. Takes after my family. I’m a Blake, you know. And you wouldn’t believe it; every single one of my nine girls was a Lynch from the moment they opened their eyes. Always knew the right thing to do. Never spoke without thinking. All made good marriages, too.’ She sighed heavily and then called out merrily, ‘Mind your steps, fool boy; your uncle is right behind you.’

Valentine Blake looked quite like his sister Margaret. He was a plump man, richly dressed, good-looking, but lacked the amazing burnished beauty of his nephew. He, too, was fond of the boy and was playfully shaking him by the shoulders as he turned a smiling face towards his guests.

‘I shall have to call you Mistress Mara,’ he said with amusement when Lawyer Bodkin introduced her carefully as ‘my lady judge’. ‘I can’t possibly address a young and beautiful woman as “judge” when it brings such an image of fusty old men to my mind.’

‘Well, call me “Brehon” and then there will be no complications,’ invited Mara. She eyed him severely. She was not willing to surrender any part of her status in deference to the views of the anglicized inhabitants of this alien city. It was important, she thought, that James Lynch, the mayor, should recognize her status and appreciate that she was well qualified in law. Valentine Blake was a charmer, of course, and used to ladies falling for his attractions. He was teasing his sister now about sending Walter on a long sea voyage to toughen him up and laughing at her protestations that Walter caught cold easily.

‘You should be like those Roman mothers who exposed their baby sons out on the hillside – the ones that survived were the only ones that were worth rearing,’ he said.

‘Spartan mothers, I think,’ put in Mara. Walter’s mother was looking quite distressed, her eyes filling with tears at the thought.

‘Spartan? Oh well . . .’ Valentine was not really embarrassed by his mistake, but he made a big show of hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head disbelievingly – all to the amusement of the young people.

‘But there was a Roman, Lucius Junius Brutus, who agreed to the execution for conspiracy against the Republic of his own two sons,’ said Hugh consolingly.

‘Yes, there was nothing soft about these ancient Romans,’ agreed Mara. It was brave of Hugh to speak out, she thought. His English was very much poorer than that of the other scholars, but he himself was often teased by Moylan and Aidan for mistakes like that so he probably felt sorry for Valentine. He was a nice boy, not as clever as the others, but blessed with a sensitive nature.

‘Walter and I will take off one night in my ship and fight the Ottomans; these wretched Turks are spoiling the trade,’ declared Valentine with an arm around his nephew’s shoulders. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Walter? And then you’ll have a use for that fancy dagger that I brought you. Now let’s follow James. The Brownes will soon be here.’

He ushered them down the road towards the water.

Blake’s Castle was very splendid. In fact, thought Mara, it was the most splendid and the largest building that she had seen that day. It was newly built, her host had told her, and even in the dim light of evening, the white surface of the limestone walls, towers and battlements shone and glittered – almost as white as quartz. It was in a wonderful position, with the restless blue and white inlet of the Atlantic Ocean as a backdrop and surrounded by neat gardens, well walled and guarded from any marauders. Above its gates was a stone shield, with the figure of a cat standing out in bold relief and painted black. Beneath it were the words “
Virtus sola Nobilitat
” pricked out in gold and black, and Mara wondered cynically whether it was true that virtue alone ennobled the merchant princes of Galway, or whether successful trading played its part.

The interior matched the glamour of the exciting exterior of the building. As Mara walked through the front door, held open by her host, she stopped abruptly and gave a quick gasp of astonishment. The hall was magnificent. An enormous, mullioned window of clear glass was set into the western wall and its diamond-shaped panes framed vignettes of the turbulent, white-capped green waves and of the colourful sails and small black boats that rode them.

‘Got this marble all the way from Connemara – brought it down in my own ship,’ said Valentine as Mara’s eyes went to the spectacular floor which mirrored the colour of the ocean outside the windows. The whole expanse was tiled in grey-green marble, flecked here and there with subtle pinpoints of cream.

‘It’s perfect,’ said Mara admiringly. She bent down and touched the glossily smooth surface. Brigid would like this floor, she thought. Her housekeeper always complained about the work of keeping clean the rough, flagstoned slabs that formed the floors of the school and the Brehon’s house at Cahermacnaghten.

‘Valentine was always a boy who wanted perfection,’ said Margaret fondly. ‘Second best was never good enough for him. Spoilt, he was, with myself and my sisters like little mothers to him.’

‘Some people have to accept second best if they don’t have the means to achieve perfection,’ observed her husband drily, but his words were almost drowned out by Walter who was exuberantly welcoming his new friends to his uncle’s house.

‘How do you like the way that I have placed the mirrors, Mistress Mara?’ asked Valentine eagerly, ignoring the dour expression on his brother-in-law’s face.

‘I like the effect,’ said Mara. ‘They bring so much extra light indoors.’ What an unpleasant, carping individual was this James Lynch, she thought. Or was he perhaps jealous of the display of wealth here in this wonderful castle. She looked around with a smile of admiration.

Here and there mirrors with gilded frames were placed on the walls, tilted at an angle so that they reflected the green of the marble. Heavy oak court cupboards, dark with polish, were placed against the white walls, but the room was dominated by that magnificent floor – almost as though the ocean was brought indoors. Mara gazed into one of the mirrors and was confronted by the thin face of the mayor of Galway, standing just behind her, and bearing an expression of contemptuous disdain. His own house, she reflected, as she met his eyes, was probably not as beautiful as this.

‘Up here,’ said Valentine, smiling happily and indicating a short, wide flight of stairs at the back of the large entrance hall which led up to a tall, mullioned window overlooking the broad river that entered the sea at Galway. A cushion-strewn bench stood in front of the window and the staircase itself then branched off in two different directions. Still keeping her arm tucked into Mara’s, Margaret Lynch led her up the stairs and steered her in through a door on the right-hand side.

‘Come on, boys, and girl, of course.’ Valentine, already inside the room, bestowed a warm smile of admiration on Fiona who responded with an amused grin.

‘Where’s your ship moored, Mr Blake?’ Shane was asking, but Mara didn’t hear the answer. Her eyes widened at the sight of the lovely room ahead of her. Once again the floor was of the cream-flecked grey-green marble, but here it was dotted with colourful woven rugs in rich shades of raspberry-red and sea-blue. The walls of the long room were panelled in golden wood that smelled of lavender polish. Small, precious tapestries hung on the walls, and sconces of sweet-smelling beeswax candles were placed in front of more gilt-framed mirrors.