Eye of the Law (15 page)

‘Why not the blacksmith, Brehon?’ asked Fachtnan with interest.

‘If it were the blacksmith,’ said Mara, ‘then Emer and Iarla would have been double first cousins. Becan – in fact, no father – would want a daughter of his to marry a double first cousin. The risk to the children would be too great. You can ask any farmer – none would risk a mating like this for their cattle. And yet Becan had betrothed his daughter to Iarla.’

‘So why was this Étain so sure that the blacksmith was not the father of her son?’ Enda asked the question gravely, seemingly of himself, because, without looking at anyone else, he suddenly said, ‘Of course, I’ve got it! Because the blacksmith was impotent. That must be it!’

‘That won’t work,’ said Mara, ignoring the sniggers from Aidan and Moylan. ‘They had other children, all girls.’ Then she thought of something. ‘But there may be something in what you say, Enda. I remember that Ardal told me that the blacksmith was drunk for the whole three days that they were there.’

‘So if he were drinking very heavily, he might have been impotent during drinking binges.’ Enda seized on her words with enthusiasm. ‘I remember that Donogh Óg told me . . .’ Then he stopped, thinking, no doubt, that Donogh Óg’s words were not fit to be aired in the schoolhouse.

‘If . . .’ Mara was suddenly conscious that Shane, and perhaps Hugh, might be a little young for this discussion, but she was determined to pursue the line of thought. ‘If,’ she continued, ‘this young wife, Étain, was being denied the right to have a baby by her husband’s continual drunkenness, then she might seize upon any opportunity to become pregnant.’

‘And if her husband did not . . . well, you know,’ said Moylan enthusiastically.

‘Have intercourse with her,’ supplemented Enda, with the indifferent air of one who has these sorts of discussions all the time.

‘And if he had not had intercourse for the previous or ensuing four weeks, or whatever time that her monthly flux was due,’ said Mara gravely, determined that, now the subject was aired, she might as well deal with it fully, ‘Étain would be certain that he was not the father of her child.’

‘What if Étain had intercourse with a few men,’ said Enda enthusiastically. He blushed a little and tried to hide his embarrassment under a show of judicial equanimity. ‘What would happen then, Brehon? How could she determine which one of them was the father?’ He smiled then. ‘I know. There has to be an answer in the law!’

‘Any ideas?’ Mara looked around at her scholars, in particular at Fachtnan. He was a nice, amiable boy, but he would have to take his final examination this year and she was worried about his memory problems. She had noticed recently that he was rather inclined to sit back and allow Enda to take over the position of senior scholar in the law school. He shook his head now as she looked at him questioningly.

‘
Fineguth
,
finechruth
,
finebés
,’ said Shane suddenly, his slate-blue eyes blazing with enthusiasm.

‘Well done,’ said Mara warmly. ‘Very well done indeed.’

Moylan threw Shane a jealous glance. ‘Family voice, family appearance, family behaviour. Well, if that is proof of paternity, then Shane is no son of his father. The last time that I saw Brehon Mac Brethany he had a big deep voice, a bald head and a beard, and he wasn’t running around playing hurling in every spare moment so I don’t think that you could say that Shane passes the test of
fineguth
,
finechruth
,
finebés
.’

Mara sighed, but said nothing as Shane just looked amused, his white teeth flashing in the grin which set off his olive skin and very black hair. In any case, she had noticed that her scholars seldom forgot any law which could be turned into a joke. They were all word-perfect in the little-known laws of bee trespass since Enda had drawn up a list of fines against Eoin MacNamara whenever they spotted any of his bees feeding on flowers at Cahermacnaghten.

‘So we now have to ask ourselves whether Iarla of Aran, who was, unlike my junior friend here, a man grown, in any way resembled Ardal O’Lochlainn,’ said Enda grandly.

‘And the answer is no,’ said Moylan.

‘What did the blacksmith look like, Brehon?’ asked Fachtnan.

‘Do you know, Fachtnan, I forgot to ask. That was stupid of me; I could have enquired of Becan when I was talking to him.’

‘Iarla certainly looked as if he might be related to Becan,’ said Fachtnan thoughtfully. ‘That is,’ he corrected himself, ‘he was dark-haired, but otherwise I’m not so sure. You know the way that you meet someone and you can see a family look about them . . .’ He thought for a moment, gave a half-deprecating glance at Moylan who was inclined to tease and then said hastily, ‘I always think that Nuala is more like how I remember her mother even though her hair and eyes are dark like Malachy’s.’

‘You’re quite right, Fachtnan,’ said Mara enthusiastically. ‘That’s a very good example. I’ve often thought that myself. Nuala has the same way of talking, the same way of moving and even the same way of thinking as her mother had.’

What a good Brehon that boy could make eventually if he could only pass his examinations, she thought. He had an understanding and an interest in people and this was something which could not be taught.

‘It’s not going to work for Iarla though,’ said Enda. ‘Both Étain and Ardal were redheaded. I vote that we stop thinking about Ardal as a possible father.’

‘Then it could have been anyone on Aran that Easter,’ said Moylan. ‘You could send us over there, Brehon. We’d like that. We could go around checking for
fineguth
,
finechruth
,
finebés
.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ promised Mara. ‘Now, you’d better get out your Latin exercises.’

Was the father of Iarla to be found on Aran? she wondered as the scholars opened their books. Her mind went to the enchanting picture that Turlough had painted last night of the gorgeous redheaded girl dancing there on the hollow flagstone in front of the fire.

‘Visitors,’ said Aidan. He stretched himself, yawned, his hands behind his head, and then rubbed his tired eyes with ink-spattered knuckles.

‘Just one visitor,’ said Shane, whose seat was nearer to the window. ‘It’s a girl.’

‘Probably Mairéad for Enda,’ said Moylan with a smirk.

‘No, it’s the O’Brien girl, the eldest one,’ said Shane.

‘Saoirse!’ exclaimed Enda. He looked enquiringly at Mara.

‘What time is it?’ asked Aidan fretfully. ‘It must be time for vespers at least.’

‘Not yet,’ said Mara with a quick glance at the candle clock. ‘However, it is nearly three o’clock so I think we can stop now. Fachtnan, would you bring our visitor in, please. Off you go, the rest of you. Don’t pester Brigid for food before she is ready for you.’

‘We can have a game of hurling.’ Aidan sprang to his feet with all signs of fatigue rapidly vanishing.

Saoirse came in timidly. It was a pity that Mairéad was not here, thought Mara; that might have given the girl more confidence. Enda, sent by Brigid, followed on Fachtnan’s footsteps with two cups of mild ale and a plate of honey cakes. They were both well-mannered boys, easy in company, but Saoirse seemed strangely shy of them and sat with downcast eyes until they had left the room.

‘How are things at home with you?’ asked Mara solicitously.

Saoirse was paler than usual and Mara noticed the bluish trace of a mark on her face below the left eye.

‘All right.’ Saoirse, looking up, saw Mara’s eyes on her cheekbone and then blushed heavily. ‘Nothing has happened since that night,’ she said.

‘Your father hit you there?’ Mara laid a light hand on the bruise and Saoirse flinched and then nodded.

‘That wasn’t like him,’ said Mara.

She was astonished. Teige had always seemed such an equable, good-tempered man. Turlough, she remembered, had spoken of his cousin giving young Donal everything that he asked for.

‘No, it wasn’t.’ Tears welled up in Saoirse’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what got into him. He’s never like that. He doesn’t even beat the boys no matter what they do. Mother is always complaining about that.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t like the thought of you kissing and cuddling with a young man. Was that it, do you think? Perhaps he thinks you’re still a little girl and should be playing with your dolls.’ Mara kept her tone light.

‘No, it wasn’t that.’ Saoirse shook her head. She looked a little embarrassed, but then blurted out, ‘At the festival of Imbolc, Donogh Óg and I . . . well, we were hiding in the window embrasure and we were . . . well, Father just pulled the curtain away and laughed and laughed. He just kept on teasing me about Donogh Óg for days after, even though I told him that it wasn’t serious and we had been just playing about. And when we visited the O’Connor once at Ballyganner Castle, Father got up a game of hide-and-seek and he was the one that paired me off with Tomás O’Connor. Well, you know what it’s like with hide-and-seek games . . . we ended up at the top of the hot press in the kitchen. . . .’ She gave a quick giggle at the memory.

‘I see,’ said Mara. This was puzzling. Of course, Donogh Óg, the son of one of the wealthiest farmers on the Burren, would be a better match for Saoirse than an unknown from the Aran Islands, as would young Tomás, but on the other hand, by that hour of the night of St Patrick, everyone present, and certainly Teige, at Lemeanah Castle had known that Iarla came with a very good claim to be Ardal O’Lochlainn’s son. Why had Teige been so furious with his daughter’s dalliance with Iarla and yet so amused and easy-going about the same behaviour with Donogh Óg and the O’Connor boy?

‘What did he actually say?’ Words spoken in the heat of the moment were often very revealing.

Saoirse frowned, compressing her lips. ‘He yelled at me,’ she said, tears beginning to well up into her dark eyes.

‘About your behaviour? He thought you were the one who led Iarla into making the attack.’ It still didn’t make sense if Teige had been happy to see her kissing and cuddling with Donogh Óg and with the young O’Connor on another occasion.

‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it was that at all.’ Saoirse’s frown deepened, her very black brows meeting on the top of her rather fleshy nose. She had quite a look of her father, thought Mara. Only youth lent her a certain beauty; Teige would be well advised to allow her to marry as soon as an offer came forward. She would be a heavy, swarthy-looking girl within a few years. ‘He shouted at me to keep away from that fellow from Aran – almost as if he disliked Iarla for some reason, as if he knew something really terrible about him. And yet . . .’

‘And yet he had never met him,’ finished Mara. There was no doubt that Teige’s behaviour was quite puzzling. ‘But everything is all right between you and your father now, is it?’ Mara was a little worried. She did not approve of this habit of hitting girls that some fathers indulged in. She would have a firm word with Teige if it continued to happen.

‘Oh, yes, Brehon,’ said Saoirse reassuringly. ‘He was very sorry that he did it. He even bought me a present of some lovely thick double-dyed red woollen cloth from Galway. He told me to make a gown for myself out of it.’

‘That’s good.’

Mara waited. Saoirse had not ridden over in order to tell her this. And it probably wasn’t to see any of the boys either. Moylan and Aidan were too young for her; Enda was her friend Mairéad’s property; and the whole of the Burren knew about Nuala’s infatuation for Fachtnan.

‘It’s just that I thought you might like to know something that Iarla told me.’ Saoirse hesitated.

‘Yes, I would.’ Mara looked at her with interest.

‘It was my father that told me to come and tell you about it.’

Saoirse was still hesitant, not worried in any way, noted Mara, but, like all the young, afraid of making a fool of herself or making too much of some words spoken casually. ‘Father was asking me what Iarla was talking to me about when we were together. He told me to tell him everything that Iarla had said.’

She would have been frightened by her father’s unaccustomed severity and willing to spill out everything said – apart from words of love, of course, surmised Mara.

‘And then today when he came back from Galway and gave me the present, he said that he had been thinking about what Iarla said and he felt that I should come and see you.’

‘Your father was quite right,’ Mara assured her. ‘The more I know about Iarla from Aran, the easier it will be for me to solve the problem of his murder.’

‘It’s just that when we were dancing together, Becan, his uncle, came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. Iarla shrugged him off; he didn’t want to go with him. So I said something like: “Go on, he wants you, he’s waiting for you. You’d better go.” And he just shook his head and said: “Let him wait. I’m tired of him bossing me around, telling me what to do. He’s always like that. He was even bossing my mother on her deathbed.”’

‘And that was all?’ asked Mara, looking keenly at the girl.

‘No, that wasn’t all. You see it’s difficult to remember exactly because he was drunk and he’d say something and it wouldn’t make sense and then he would finish saying it later on . . . But, anyway, I got the feeling that he was furious with Becan because he felt that Becan was keeping a secret from him and that he was the one that persuaded Iarla’s mother not to tell him the truth.’

‘Not to tell him the truth about Ardal O’Lochlainn being Iarla’s father?’

‘No, it wasn’t that. I asked about that and he just laughed. I thought,’ said Saoirse, a shrewd expression on her plump face, ‘that he didn’t really believe, himself, that he was the son of the O’Lochlainn. But then he was very drunk.’

All the more reason for him to tell the truth, thought Mara. As Enda was prone to declaring in a superior manner to the younger boys: ‘
in vino veritas
’.

‘Thank you very much for taking the trouble to come to see me and tell me all of this, Saoirse,’ she said aloud. ‘Would you like me to get one of the boys to escort you back to Lemeanah?’