My Lady Judge (13 page)
‘Now, this is where we accidentally lose Ardal’s men,’ said
Mara, continuing to walk her horse on the grass verge until they were safely past the galloping herd.
Mara, continuing to walk her horse on the grass verge until they were safely past the galloping herd.
‘And this is where we gallop,’ giggled Nuala, clapping her heels against the sides of the Connemara pony. ‘Let’s just go as fast as we can. I don’t really want to talk about Colman.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Mara, enjoying the feeling of speed. She didn’t even want to think about Colman. She would keep her mind clear and then she would be fresh tomorrow when she started the investigation.
‘Look, we’re already at the turn-off for the mountain pass,’ said Nuala after half an hour of hard riding. She slowed down. ‘I think I’d better get off at the hill,’ she said. ‘This pony is blown. Why did Ardal give me such a fat, slow pony?’ she grumbled.
‘I’ll get off, too,’ said Mara. She noticed that Nuala never called Ardal ‘uncle’. A very independent young lady, she thought. She swung herself down from the horse and walked up the hill beside Nuala. ‘We’re back in the kingdom of the Burren now,’ she said with satisfaction, but then said no more; the hill was so steep that it was almost perpendicular so she saved her breath until they reached Clerics’ Pass at the top.
‘Shall we ride now?’ Nuala had just asked when Mara heard the shouts.
‘Ssh!’ she said, listening intently.
It’s a large party of men riding, thought Mara, but that was not what worried her. The loud voices came to her ears very clearly. They were speaking Gaelic, but not the familiar Gaelic of the mid-west. This was Connaught Gaelic; she had learned it at the law school many years ago. It had an unfamiliar sound, but she could still understand it. What were Connaught men doing riding through the kingdom of the Burren? Suddenly she remembered the anxiety of Turlough’s bodyguards when the king was having dinner in her house on
Bealtaine
night. They had been
worried about the O’Kellys from Connaught. These men must be the O’Kellys.
Bealtaine
night. They had been
worried about the O’Kellys from Connaught. These men must be the O’Kellys.
Mara’s first thought was for Turlough’s danger, but her second was for the danger that she and Nuala now faced. If the marauding clansmen captured them, then, as Brehon of the Burren, she could be a valuable bargaining tool in the O’Kelly and O’Brien clan warfare. She had no fear for her own safety; there was a great respect for her office in Gaelic Ireland; her greatest fear at the moment was the prospect of explaining to a respectfully worried Ardal how exactly it had occurred that she had separated herself and his niece from the cart and continued along the lonely roads with no male protection.
‘Quick,’ she whispered in Nuala’s ear. ‘Lead your pony. Follow me. I know where we can hide.’
The Cistercian monks from the abbey of Sancta Maria Petris Fertilis had constructed Clerics’ Pass and it was a magnificent monument to their skill and industry. They had built it several hundreds of years ago, but it still needed constant attention. Mara had often noticed the narrow, well-trampled path that led through the large heaps of broken stone at the side of the road to the abbey in the valley below and now she quickly guided Nuala along this way, praying that they would be out of sight before the men passed. Her heart beat a little faster as they pushed their way through the thorny hedge beyond the rocks; the passageway had been made for men, not for horses, but they were safely on the other side by the time the noise of the horse hoofs drew near. She could hear the men so plainly now that it seemed amazing that she and Nuala could remain unheard.
‘Why didn’t he come?’ came one voice. The speaker’s accent was not as strong as many of the others so the words were quite clear.
‘Lost his courage,’ said another. ‘Afraid of what the O’Briens might do to him.’
Mara wished that she could stop and listen, but her first duty was to get Nuala out of the way as quickly as possible so she continued to move rapidly down the path. The tall hedge would hide them until the men had passed.
The next words were not so clear, but she thought she heard the word ‘reward’ and then their word for ‘lawyer’ among them. She frowned. Were they talking of her? But no, the word they used was not ‘Brehon’ and the pronoun definitely was ‘he’. Who was this ‘he’? Had Colman been involved with these O’Kellys? she wondered. It would certainly fit with what she was rapidly learning about his character. Perhaps they had promised to reward him for information about the king. This was something she would have to puzzle out afterwards, but first she had to get Nuala home safely and then warn the king of this danger.
‘We’ll walk on down to the abbey,’ she whispered. ‘Lead your pony. It should be safe now; they seem to have gone down the hill towards Galway, but we’ll be less easy to see if we walk. They just might look back when they reach the flat road.’
The O’Kellys would skirt the city of Galway and go up past Maam if they were going home, she thought. On the other hand, they might not be going home. They could be camped somewhere on the flat empty salt marsh that formed the boundary between the sea and the north-eastern side of the Burren.
The abbot himself was waiting for them as they came out from the lane. He had obviously seen them as they crossed the field leading downhill from the roadside hedge.
‘Brehon, the blessings of God and of His Holy Mother be upon you,’ he said gravely, and looked with suspicion at Nuala.
‘And on you, too,’ said Mara automatically, her mind busy with her plans.
‘You are well?’ he enquired.
She suppressed a grin. Why didn’t the man ask straight out, ‘What were you doing creeping along that path?’
‘I am very well, Father Abbot,’ she said with dignity, brushing some dead blackthorn twigs from her hair and noticing that her gown had acquired a long rent across the skirt. ‘And you? And all the brothers?’
‘We are all well,’ he said after he had given her question a moment’s solemn consideration. He looked again directly at Nuala, who had hitched her
léine
up to her knees as soon as they were clear of Galway. She stared back at him with interest.
léine
up to her knees as soon as they were clear of Galway. She stared back at him with interest.
‘This is Nuala, daughter of Malachy the physician,’ said Mara. ‘We have a favour to ask of you, Father Abbot. We were alarmed by some men on Clerics’ Pass; I think they were the O’Kellys. I would be grateful if you could send a message to Caisleán Seán-Muicinis to ask for an escort of ten men to accompany us back to Cahermacnaghten where King Turlough Donn awaits us. Ask him could we keep the men for a few days to guard the king.’
‘Certainly,’ said the abbot, looking quite alarmed. He rushed off towards a lay brother working in the field across the lane. King Turlough Donn was a patron of the abbey; one of his ancestors had built it for the Cistercians a few hundred years ago. The mention of his name would be enough to galvanize the whole abbey into action.
‘Will you and your young companion take some refreshment?’ he enquired when he returned. Mara’s eyes followed the lay brother and saw with satisfaction that he had already jumped on a horse and was riding rapidly out of the gate.
‘No, thank you,’ she said gravely, unable to bear the thought of polite conversation for another half-hour. ‘We will sit in the chapel and give thanks for our deliverance. Pull down your
léine,’
she hissed to Nuala, as they followed the abbot through the cloisters. ‘Do you want to distract all the young brothers from their vocations?’
léine,’
she hissed to Nuala, as they followed the abbot through the cloisters. ‘Do you want to distract all the young brothers from their vocations?’
CRITH GABLACH (RANKS IN SOCIETY)
HONOUR PRICES
A person’s place in society is measured by his honour price
(lóg n-enech –
the price of his face
).
(lóg n-enech –
the price of his face
).
A woman takes the honour price of her father and later of her husband, unless she is a member of the
nemed,
professional, class: a poet, a Brehon, a physician or a female wright. In these cases, she has her own honour price.
nemed,
professional, class: a poet, a Brehon, a physician or a female wright. In these cases, she has her own honour price.
The honour price of a Brehon, whether male or female, is fifteen séts.
K
ING TURLOUGH DONN WAS waiting at the gate of the law school when Mara arrived back. She had asked the men to wait at the Kilcorney crossroads so that she could explain their presence to the king and not alarm the bodyguards. As she rode up towards him her mind was busy with arranging the details of her encounter so as to cause the least anxiety. However, at the
sight of him her heartbeat quickened slightly and she felt the muscles of her face relax into a broad smile. It had been a hard day and now she could enjoy a relaxed evening.
ING TURLOUGH DONN WAS waiting at the gate of the law school when Mara arrived back. She had asked the men to wait at the Kilcorney crossroads so that she could explain their presence to the king and not alarm the bodyguards. As she rode up towards him her mind was busy with arranging the details of her encounter so as to cause the least anxiety. However, at the
sight of him her heartbeat quickened slightly and she felt the muscles of her face relax into a broad smile. It had been a hard day and now she could enjoy a relaxed evening.
‘You didn’t bring the girl back with you,’ he said as he held out his arms and swung her down to the ground. Not many kings would be so unconscious of their own dignity, she thought. This was the strength of the man. He needed no outward trappings of royalty; he was royalty itself, bred right back to seed of the High King, Brian Boru, five hundred years ago.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I dropped her off at Caherconnell. Her father would be anxious about her.’ Nuala and she had agreed to make no mention of the near encounter with the O’Kellys on the lonely mountain pass to anyone other than the king. If at all possible, Ardal O’Lochlainn was to hear nothing.
‘We wouldn’t like to cause him any worry,’ Nuala had said, her virtuous tone spoiled by a quick giggle.
‘You should have brought her back. She would have had a better time here with your lively lads,’ said the king, gesturing towards the noisy crowd playing hurling in the field behind the law school. ‘That father of hers is a sullen, dull sort of man. I don’t know why Ardal O’Lochlainn’s sister married him. She can’t have much fun, that child, Nuala. She’s too serious for her age.’
‘We’ve had a bit of an adventure on the way back,’ said Mara. ‘We almost ran into the O’Kellys on Clerics’ Pass.’
King Turlough raised his eyebrows. ‘Really,’ he said with amusement. ‘And what did you do? Take them all prisoner?’ His words were light, but his eyes were anxious.
‘No, we didn’t,’ said Mara. ‘We went down to the abbey and I got the abbot to send for ten men from Mahon O’Lochlainn. I brought them back with me. I think you should keep them with you until you get back to Thomond. Mahon knows you will be keeping them for a few days. Will you send your two bodyguards down to the crossroads to collect them?’
‘My lord, there are a pack of
gallóglaich
down there at the crossroads,’ said Cumhal, coming panting up at that moment.
gallóglaich
down there at the crossroads,’ said Cumhal, coming panting up at that moment.
‘I hate those
gallóglaich,’
grumbled Turlough. ‘Our own clansmen were good enough for us until recently. It was the O’Donnells of the north who brought in this idea of using mercenaries. They brought the Scots over.’
gallóglaich,’
grumbled Turlough. ‘Our own clansmen were good enough for us until recently. It was the O’Donnells of the north who brought in this idea of using mercenaries. They brought the Scots over.’
Mara did not answer. She was busy looking over at the field behind the law school and counting heads like any cattle farmer. Yes, they were all there and all looked to be having a good time. The two bodyguards were playing hurling also. Fergal, the heftier of the two, was standing in goal and Hugh was vainly trying to get past his bulk, shouting vigorously.
‘Fergal, Conall,’ shouted the king and Hugh scored a goal quickly as the bodyguard looked across at his master. Hugh seemed to be himself again, thought Mara, as a yell of triumph split the air. She sighed with relief. It was amazing how children shrugged off unpleasant events that would keep their elders awake at night.
‘Has Brigid fed you yet?’ she asked Turlough Donn after the bodyguards had been sent down the road to fetch the
gallóglaich.
gallóglaich.
‘She fed me a great dinner six hours ago and now I’m ready for a great supper,’ he said happily. ‘The pot is boiling and there is a flagon of good wine on the table. I’ve been down to your cellar and I must say that you have good taste in wine. Some wonderful barrels down there, all beautifully labelled in your lovely handwriting. What are we going to do with those fellows now?’ he asked plaintively as the
gallóglaich
trotted into view.
gallóglaich
trotted into view.
‘They’ve got leather tents,’ said Mara calmly. ‘They can camp around the walls of the enclosure and then we’ll all sleep more soundly.’
‘Your supper will be ready in half an hour,’ said Brigid,
emerging from the kitchen house. ‘I’ll feed the lads first, if that’s all right, and then I’ll come over to your house, Brehon. Glory be to God,’ she said, staring open-mouthed at the
gallóglaich.
‘It’s just as well I made a huge pot of soup and a new batch of loaves today. I’d better feed that lot first as well.’
emerging from the kitchen house. ‘I’ll feed the lads first, if that’s all right, and then I’ll come over to your house, Brehon. Glory be to God,’ she said, staring open-mouthed at the
gallóglaich.
‘It’s just as well I made a huge pot of soup and a new batch of loaves today. I’d better feed that lot first as well.’
‘You do that, Brigid,’ said Mara. ‘I’ll just go and get myself tidy enough to have supper with a king.’
‘I could do with a change myself,’ said Turlough Donn. ‘I must confess, I’ve been enjoying a game of hurling, also.’
‘At your age!’ mocked Mara. ‘I’m only forty-eight,’ he said with dignity and strode off towards the guest house, holding himself very upright and keeping his stomach well tucked in.
Back at her own house, Mara was tempted, as always, to linger a while in the garden; it was looking particularly beautiful with the setting sun slanting its rays across the blue gentians and drawing the scent from the purple lavender by the gate. However, she resisted and went upstairs to take an armful of clothing from the chest at the foot of her bed. Then she ran down the stairs again and into the small room at the back of the house. There was a big pump there and she rapidly filled the wooden bath tub with icy water from the hundred-foot-deep well. It was her father who had the well dug and she blessed his memory every time she used it. It had never gone dry – in some way that she did not quite understand, the streams that flowed down from the mountains seemed to fill a vast underground lake beneath the limestone of the Burren. In the wintertime she would light the charcoal in the iron brazier and add a large pot of boiling water to the cold water, but now she felt warm and stimulated by the thoughts of the evening ahead and the icy shock of the water on her bare skin was a tingling pleasure to her. Slowly she washed all of her body,
using the lavender-scented soap that Brigid made from soap plant and distilled lavender water. She sat for a while and soaked and then climbed out and stood dripping on the flagstones. Slowly and meditatively, she dried herself on the white linen towel and then dressed in a fresh clean
léine,
adding a loose gown of rose-coloured wool over it and fastening the flowing sleeves to the shoulders with two small gold brooches. Her feet she left bare of stockings, but she discarded the heavy boots that she normally wore and slipped on a pair of light leather shoes. Her long hair was still soaking wet so she draped a towel around her shoulders and went out to comb it in the warmth of the sun.
using the lavender-scented soap that Brigid made from soap plant and distilled lavender water. She sat for a while and soaked and then climbed out and stood dripping on the flagstones. Slowly and meditatively, she dried herself on the white linen towel and then dressed in a fresh clean
léine,
adding a loose gown of rose-coloured wool over it and fastening the flowing sleeves to the shoulders with two small gold brooches. Her feet she left bare of stockings, but she discarded the heavy boots that she normally wore and slipped on a pair of light leather shoes. Her long hair was still soaking wet so she draped a towel around her shoulders and went out to comb it in the warmth of the sun.
‘No grey hairs yet,’ she said as she ran the ivory comb through the long strands and then smiled mockingly to herself. Quickly she plaited her hair and coiled the long braids behind her head. Everything was quiet at the law school – presumably Brigid was feeding the hungry scholars and the
gallóglaich
together – but there had been a sudden abrupt slam of the heavy guest-house door. The king was coming. She bent down and selected a perfect pale pink rosebud, held it for a moment, wondered whether to give it to him, then tucked it inside one of her own gold brooches and went to meet him at the gate. He had changed also, she noticed, and she looked admiringly at him. The royal saffron léine suited him, the yellow colour making his tanned skin glow, and over it he wore a fashionable padded doublet of purple velvet. His hair and his long curved moustaches were still damp and showed the grooves of the comb.
gallóglaich
together – but there had been a sudden abrupt slam of the heavy guest-house door. The king was coming. She bent down and selected a perfect pale pink rosebud, held it for a moment, wondered whether to give it to him, then tucked it inside one of her own gold brooches and went to meet him at the gate. He had changed also, she noticed, and she looked admiringly at him. The royal saffron léine suited him, the yellow colour making his tanned skin glow, and over it he wore a fashionable padded doublet of purple velvet. His hair and his long curved moustaches were still damp and showed the grooves of the comb.
‘Very fine!’ she said with affectionate mockery and he grinned. ‘A merchant from Limerick gave me this,’ he said, looking down at himself appreciatively. ‘He gave me this gold-embroidered pouch, also. One of my ships saved him from being robbed by the O’Malley from Clew Bay.’ He stood for a moment surveying her and she smiled at him, enjoying the admiration in his eyes. ‘You’re looking very beautiful,’ he said in a lower voice.
‘Sit here and I’ll bring you a cup of wine,’ said Mara, directing him to her chamomile bench. She walked indoors, deep in thought. At that moment when the king spoke of his pouch she remembered the knife that had been drawn out from Colman’s neck. The king had handed it to one of his bodyguards; she remembered that. The bodyguard had placed it in his own pouch. She had deliberately not taken it with her to Galway to give to the Lynch family, as Malachy had suggested. It was, of course, Hugh’s knife. But should she give it back to the child? Perhaps she would suggest that it be given to the monks at the abbey to sell for charity.
She poured the two cups of wine, tasted one, rolling it appreciatively on her tongue and around the back of her throat. Yes, it was perfect. She had kept it for five years in the dark damp cellar below the Brehon’s house and now it was ready for drinking. She topped up her own cup and carried them both outside, joining him on the bench.
‘I made this bench last summer,’ she said, passing her hand over the fragrant foliage and releasing an intense sweet perfume. ‘The chamomile will be in flower soon, but the perfume is in the leaves. Your weight is just right for it,’ she teased. ‘It applies just the correct pressure to bring out all the sweetness.’
He didn’t reply to that, just smiled with amusement.
‘You’re a popular woman, you know,’ he said quietly after a while. ‘When you were in Galway this afternoon there were all sorts of people came looking for you, hundreds of them.’
She considered this for a moment, sipping her wine and appreciating its full rounded fruity flavour.
‘Hundreds?’ she queried, raising an eyebrow at him.
‘Well, dozens,’ he amended. ‘For one, there was the man with the fierce dog …’
‘Diarmuid?’ she asked.
‘That was him, yes,’ he said, taking a swallow of the wine.
He drinks too fast, she thought absent-mindedly; he should savour it more.
‘What did Diarmuid say?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, nothing – not to me, nor to Brigid, nor to Cumhal. He wondered where you were, and then came to the right conclusion himself, nodded his head a few times, muttered a few words about Galway and ambled away. He looked as though he wanted to say something, though.’
‘And who else came?’
‘Well, that shifty individual, Lorcan, and also the father of the pretty girl.’
‘Which pretty girl, Emer or Aoife?’
‘At my age,’ said King Turlough, draining his cup and rising to his feet, ‘the name doesn’t matter. The face is all that counts. Would you like another cup of wine?’
‘I’ll wait for the food,’ said Mara. ‘Wine always means more to me with food.’ Was it Daniel or Muiris who had come to see her? she wondered. Had Colman been blackmailing Muiris as well as Lorcan? Or was Daniel worried about Emer’s marriage prospects? And what about the other cases on that list she had picked up from Colman’s clothes chest? Were these possible prospects for blackmail? After all, her own divorce case was there. She laughed suddenly. It was just like Colman to think he might blackmail her about this. Respect for her position would have meant that no one on the Burren would have mentioned her past to him, even if they still whispered about it among themselves. Suddenly her mind became very alert. She had a task ahead of her that would demand all of her energies. She would enjoy this evening with Turlough and then, next morning, she would begin work.
‘Let’s eat out here,’ she said. ‘It’s a glorious evening and it may be raining in a few days. I’ll go and get Cumhal to bring out the trestle table.’
There would be no talk of love and marriage tonight; she needed to keep her mind clear, she decided, as she went off to find Cumhal. Time enough to make a decision after she had solved this murder. They would have supper out there in the garden, with the lads in the field next to them playing hurling or throwing sticks for Bran. They would talk about the affairs of the kingdom, the affairs of the country of Ireland, and of its near neighbour, England.
‘I’ll tell the bodyguards,’ said Cumhal when she found him digging in the bed of leeks, but there was a note of hesitancy in his voice and there was a small worried frown between his brows. ‘The bodyguards were probably hoping that he would eat in the guest house,’ he said quickly as he saw her look at him with surprise. ‘They are worried about the threat from the O’Kellys. It would be easy for them to land at Fanore and come through the pass or over Slieve Elva. The
gallóglaich
have been talking about it in the kitchen house. They reckon that the O’Kellys might be over here when darkness comes.’
gallóglaich
have been talking about it in the kitchen house. They reckon that the O’Kellys might be over here when darkness comes.’
‘We won’t be late,’ she said soothingly. She was not deceived, however, by his voiced concern for the king. There had been only about ten or fifteen of the O’Kelly clan there on the mountain pass, and these
gallóglaich
were trained soldiers. They would be more than able to handle any O’Kellys that arrived. No, there were other matters on Cumhal’s mind. He had been her father’s servant and then hers. There was little she did not know about him and she guessed that there was little he did not know about her. Cumhal and Brigid had noticed something about the king’s attentions to her, and had probably even seen the bodyguard slip out with the letter. They would have talked it over in whispers last night. This would be what was worrying Cumhal, not any threat to the king. Cumhal and Brigid did not want any romantic tête-à-tête suppers. They would not want any change. They would not want their mistress to leave her school and go to Thomond, even to be queen.
gallóglaich
were trained soldiers. They would be more than able to handle any O’Kellys that arrived. No, there were other matters on Cumhal’s mind. He had been her father’s servant and then hers. There was little she did not know about him and she guessed that there was little he did not know about her. Cumhal and Brigid had noticed something about the king’s attentions to her, and had probably even seen the bodyguard slip out with the letter. They would have talked it over in whispers last night. This would be what was worrying Cumhal, not any threat to the king. Cumhal and Brigid did not want any romantic tête-à-tête suppers. They would not want any change. They would not want their mistress to leave her school and go to Thomond, even to be queen.
Other books
The Harder They Fall by Ravenna Tate
Power of the Pen by Turner, Xyla
The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda
Miley Cyrus by Ace McCloud
The Goliath Stone by Niven, Larry, Harrington, Matthew Joseph
The Great Detective by Delia Sherman
Twist by Dannika Dark
The Brothers of Baker Street by Michael Robertson
The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) by Edward Crichton