Cross of Vengeance (8 page)

‘Death must be his punishment.’ Father Miguel’s voice was sharp and decisive and now he spoke Latin without that slightly hesitant lisp. He did not look at Mara, but addressed himself to Father MacMahon. ‘I take charge of this man in the name of the Holy Father and I will bring him to Spain where he will be tried by the
Tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Inquisición.
If he is found guilty, then he will burn. You,’ he addressed himself to Nechtan Quinn, ‘will give me men to ensure that this criminal is kept in safe custody until I reach the Dominican Friar in the city of Galway. From there I will take him in chains by ship back to Spain.’

Nechtan O’Quinn cleared his throat hesitantly. ‘Well, the fact is that …’

Hans Kaufmann, Mara noticed, still stood quite erect by the altar, his feet firmly on the crimson carpet and his face turned from one to the other. When Father Miguel, the Dominican, spoke of the Spanish Inquisition he turned back towards the altar, took the altar cloth in a firm grip between his two hands and then turned back to face them. There was a murmur from the other pilgrims and Nechtan O’Quinn took a hesitant step forward and then moved back again. The door opened and the lovely face of his wife Narait appeared. Her large eyes travelled around the church and then saw the German standing at bay on the altar. She gave a sudden gasp and then stood clutching the door as if to support herself.

Ardal O’Lochlainn ignored them all. With a couple of strides of his long legs he followed the German up the church. The throwing knife in his left hand was stretched out and the other hand placed on the man’s shoulder.

‘The law of this country is the law of King Turlough Donn O’Brien and his representative here is the Brehon of the Burren.’ His voice was clear and emphatic. As always, Ardal,
taoiseach
of the powerful O’Lochlainn clan from a young age, effortlessly exuded power and authority, and the German, big though he was, stood very still under that hand. Ardal waited for a minute, confident and wholly in command. Then he looked down at Mara and asked respectfully, ‘What would you want done with this man, Brehon?’

At that moment Nechtan O’Quinn came forward. Gone was the hesitation that he’d showed earlier. Perhaps he was conscious that the eyes of his young wife were upon him, but whatever it was, his voice had cleared and the words came out fluently.

‘Niall O’Quinn, my great ancestor who fell at the battle of Clontarf, fighting side by side with Brian Boru, was the man who caused this church to be built,’ he said, spacing his words and giving even stress to each one of them. ‘He it was who laid out the termon, who fixed its boundaries with the River Fergus to the south and west and the tau cross by the ancient tomb to the north and the spring well to the east. And he laid down that his descendants would be
coarbs
of the monastic grounds and would receive one-fifth of the rents from the eight hundred acres. And he gave to the monks’ church the right of sanctuary for all that would seek it.’ When Nechtan said the last words he looked not at Mara but towards where his wife Narait had been standing. She flushed and looked away, and then after a moment’s hesitation walked out of the door with fast steps that seemed about to break into a run. And then she had gone from the church, allowing the door to crash closed behind her. Mara waited until the echoes subsided before translating Nechtan’s words into Latin.

It was interesting, she thought, that those very religious people – the Dominican friar from Spain, the Benedictine monk from Italy, the three women pilgrims from Wales, and even Father MacMahon of the very church of Kilnaboy – should stare at the man who invoked the sacred right of sanctuary with such undisguised anger and disgust. After all, that ancient privilege of some churches had existed for over 500 years. Even the wife of King Edward IV – King of England when Mara was a child – had, she understood, sought sanctuary in the abbey of Westminster in London during a time of trouble.

‘I have no objection to this man awaiting the verdict of the court in any place that seems fit to him,’ she said, making sure that her voice was divested of emotion. ‘All that I will stipulate is that he must not leave the kingdom until the hearing is complete and the fine is paid. In order not to inconvenience the pilgrims and delay them any longer than necessary on their journey to Aran, I propose to gather evidence this afternoon, if possible, and to hold the trial first thing tomorrow morning at the place of justice, Poulnabrone,’ she continued briskly, nodding to Fachtnan to translate her words into Gaelic. Father MacMahon, Blad, Nechtan and Ardal would all know about the procedure for trying law cases and crimes at the outdoor location at Poulnabrone beside the ancient dolmen in the centre of the Burren, but there would, she guessed, have to be explanations to the others afterwards.

‘But surely this man should be cast into prison,’ said the prioress, interrupting Fachtnan.

‘He is innocent until proved guilty,’ said Mara sweetly, with a glance at Hans Kaufmann. ‘And we have no prisons here in the kingdom of the Burren. The inhabitants are willing to be ruled by Brehon law and to pay the penalties given by the courts.’

Although the prioress spoke in English, Mara replied to her in Latin; she wished that her German was better, but though she had learned a little from her father when he came back from his pilgrimage she had found few opportunities for practice in recent years. Still, the man understood Latin and that was good enough. Latin was the common language for all European countries – as soon as any scholar entered her law school she began to teach them Latin, even at the age of five years. Fluency in that language was essential for their future as lawyers.

Deliberately she moved away from the pilgrims and up towards the altar. By now the German was sitting on the luxurious crimson carpet, lounging in a comfortable way, his back resting against the top step. He did not look alarmed at her progress towards him, but sat up as she approached and gave her a warm smile. Domhnall, despatched by Fachtnan, carried up a chair for his Brehon and placed it politely at the foot of the altar steps.

Mara sat down and with a gesture invited Hans Kaufmann nearer. Fachtnan beckoned to Domhnall and with his usual tact managed to get the other pilgrims to withdraw a little towards the back of the church. Brehon and the accused faced each other in the dim light.

‘It would make things much easier for me,’ Mara said frankly, ‘if you would just admit, now, that you were the one who set fire to the relic. After all,’ she could see by the half-smile that puckered his lips, that she was on the point of winning, ‘you only did it in order to gain publicity for the views of your master, Martin Luther. You want people to understand his message – is that not true? Why not admit it now? Your reasons can be given in public tomorrow to the inhabitants of the Burren, as well as to your fellow travellers. You will have an audience and, who knows, news of your gesture will be all over Europe in a year or so.’ Deliberately she kept her voice very low. These were not words that she wanted to be overheard by the other pilgrims.

He looked at her and a smile puckered his lips. ‘You’re a very original woman,’ he said, his voice also muted. He spoke Latin with great fluency, she noticed.

‘Save me trouble,’ she said, ignoring the compliment, but still finding pleasure in it. ‘Save me the trouble of gathering evidence and agree to plead guilty tomorrow. The sentence will be a fine – a fine to make restitution to the priest.’ Poor Blad, she thought with a moment’s compunction, but she could not really see how she could interpret the law so that he would be considered a candidate for restitution. Perhaps Father MacMahon would be able to buy a new piece of the true cross and then all would be well, she thought cynically. ‘Just tell me now that you plead guilty,’ she said aloud, and when he made no response she added, ‘and then your fellow pilgrims can all go to one of Blad’s suppers and to their beds and ride off for the ferry to Aran tomorrow. You, I think, will have to return to England – I don’t really want you to commit any more outrages on my king’s territory.’ She gave him a friendly smile and he responded with an attractive grin.

‘Back to Wexford?’ he queried.

‘Back to Wexford,’ she said firmly. And then could not resist adding, ‘You could always go to Walsingham and view the vial of the Virgin Mary’s milk. It should be an interesting experience.’

‘What will the fine be?’ There was a cautious note in his voice, but his very blue eyes sparkled.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Mara frankly. ‘I will have to look up my law books. Not more than you can pay, I should imagine.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do it,’ he assured her with a nod. ‘I’ll plead guilty.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, do you wish to ride back with me?’ She turned and beckoned. ‘Perhaps, Ardal,’ she said as he approached, ‘you would be kind enough to give Herr Kaufmann a bed for the night and make sure that he attends the hearing at Poulnabrone tomorrow.’ No need, she thought, to spell it out to Ardal that the man should be kept under close watch so that he did, indeed, attend the hearing on the following day. Justice, in Brehon law, always had to be seen to be done.

‘No,’ said Hans Kaufmann. His reply was swift and his eyes went towards the Spanish priest, a look of apprehension in their very blue depths. The threat of the mighty Inquisition was a potent one. Even here in the remote west of Ireland tales were told about the burning of those who disagreed with the Roman doctrine. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I have claimed sanctuary and let him burn in hell whosoever breaks it.’

‘Very well,’ said Mara. Brehon law did not countenance violence and after all the man was, in theory, innocent until sentence was passed at Poulnabrone. ‘I’ll leave you now and make sure that you have everything that you need for the night. No need to go supperless to bed. Our Brehon law is concerned with compensation, not with revenge. Make full admittance and confession tomorrow and be prepared to pay the fine that is demanded of you, and then you can leave – but go east, not west, or the long arm of my law will pluck you from the remotest hiding place.’

‘I will go east,’ he said with a nod. ‘My work is only beginning.’

Mara got to her feet feeling happy and satisfied with herself. An interesting fellow, this pilgrim! In some ways she would have liked to stay and to debate matters with him, but her consciousness of her position as Brehon of the Burren, and of being the representative of the king forbade her to indulge in a moment’s fancy. Her duty now was to clear up this affair and to make sure that there were no repercussions. She gave him a nod and returned to the group.

‘Hans Kaufmann, the pilgrim from Germany, has made a full and frank confession,’ she said. ‘He has agreed to be taken from here tomorrow morning to the judgement place at Poulnabrone and there to be sentenced according to the law of this country. In the meantime,’ her eyes wandered over the little group of pilgrims and the men from her own kingdom, ‘he prefers to remain here under sanctuary of the holy church. I have promised that he will be well treated and that supper and other necessities will be supplied to him.’

‘What happens if that man escapes in the night?’ Father Miguel, the Dominican priest, seemed to be the only one who seemed to be concerned about this. Grace, the scarred sister, had retired to the darkness at the western end of the church. Mara thought she overheard a sob and the sound of Bess talking in a flow of soft Welsh. The prioress herself, despite her angry words earlier, was looking between her sisters and Hans Kaufmann and there was an air of irresolution about her. Brother Cosimo, also, seemed deeply uneasy. Perhaps Hans Kaufmann knew something about him. A picture of the ornate, bejewelled cross in the Benedictine monk’s satchel flashed into Mara’s mind. What was it that Brother Cosimo had accused the German of? ‘
A maligner of honest men
’,
those had been his words. All except the Dominican priest would probably prefer if the German was set free tonight. It was not something that she could square with her conscience to do, though, she thought. A crime had been committed and retribution had to be exacted.

‘Father MacMahon, will you give the key of the church to Blad?’ She turned to the innkeeper. ‘The kingdom will pay the bill for his meals, but food, drink and all other necessities he must have. When he has all that he needs you may lock the church and keep him there until the morning when he will be taken under escort from Nechtan O’Quinn to the judgement place of Poulnabrone where I shall pass sentence on him.’

‘The church cannot be locked,’ said Nechtan. There was an unusual ring of authority in his voice. ‘The rights of sanctuary allow the man to leave the church in order “
to take the air, to visit the lavabo and for the relieving of his necessities
” – that’s what the monks laid down. But he must not go beyond the boundaries of the churchyard.’

‘I’ll stay here tonight, if Father MacMahon will give me room,’ said Ardal O’Lochlainn. ‘I’ll assist you to patrol the boundaries, Nechtan. My steward will be with me. And the stables. They must be guarded to make sure that he does not take his horse, until he has paid his fine and can depart from the kingdom, of course. We can work it out between us, Brehon. You have no need to concern yourself. All will be well. We’ll patrol the boundaries. He has no right to go further. What do you say, Nechtan? Danann and I will do whatever you order.’

A tactful man, Ardal O’Lochlainn, thought Mara as she gathered up her scholars and once more reassured Blad that the kingdom would pay for the extra night lodging for the remaining pilgrims and for the supper for the guilty one. Why should the innkeeper lose more revenue, she thought, looking at his face, mottled red and white with anger and anxiety? Life would be a worry for him from now on. Without the huge incentive of the relic of the true cross, the flood of pilgrims arriving at Kilnaboy would soon dry up.

Nechtan and Ardal were chatting amiably about guards and boundaries and throwing knives and other weapons. Grace’s tears were being efficiently scrubbed away from her cheeks by her widowed sister. She appeared to make some tentative moves towards the guilty pilgrim, but was instantly intercepted by her sister and borne off in the wake of the prioress, in whom the word ‘supper’ – and at someone else’s expense – seemed to operate a powerful force drawing her towards the inn. Mara quickly stepped in her way. Father Miguel and Brother Cosimo stopped abruptly behind her and looked enquiringly at Mara.