Laws in Conflict (17 page)

Mara thought back to that night. Young Walter had been irritated by the Spaniard and annoyed at Catarina’s indifference to him, but it had resulted in rather childish sulks rather than in hot temper. He had left the two together, gone off and got drunk, where another, more mature man would have ignored Carlos, treated him as a guest, but essentially an outsider.

‘Let’s go and see Walter tomorrow,’ said Moylan suddenly. He got up from his chair and came to sit beside Fiona on the rug by Margaret’s feet. ‘I think someone should see him,’ he said in a determined way. ‘He might remember something useful. Do they allow visitors to gaols?’ he added.

‘I think so,’ said Margaret, ‘but it’s no good; I didn’t see him myself. James would not allow me out of the house, but I managed to get a message to Valentine and he went there. He sent me a note to say that Walter remembered nothing.’

‘Yes, but that was the morning after – I’m not surprised at him remembering nothing after the way that he was drinking last night. I remember myself after the Lughnasa festival last summer . . .’ he stopped abruptly and looked at Mara in an embarrassed fashion.

‘Go on,’ said Fiona impatiently. ‘We’re not stupid. We know what you are going to say. Last Lughnasa you got drunk when the crops were being cut – that’s right, isn’t it? Did you remember anything the next morning?’

‘Not . . . a . . . thing!’ said Moylan with emphasis. ‘But, and this is the important thing, the following day things started to come back to me, one by one – and very embarrassing it was too, I can tell you.’ His lips twitched at the memory and then he grew serious again.

‘And you think that Walter might remember something tomorrow that he didn’t remember today!’ Margaret stared at Moylan with dawning hope in her eyes.

‘Sure to,’ said Moylan encouragingly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he was to say to us that he remembered one of those Barbary pirates – you know, ma’am, the ones that your brother was telling us about; the ones that came from the Ottoman Empire and attacked his ship. Well, Walter might suddenly remember one of them stealing up on him when he was paralytic drunk and pulling the dagger from his belt and knifing Gomez. These Barbary pirates are fighting the Portuguese and probably the Spanish, too – bound not to like them, anyway. He probably wanted to pay Gomez or his father back for something – perhaps there was a sea battle where his best friend got killed by a Spaniard. Don’t you worry, Mistress; I bet it will turn out to be something to do with the Barbary pirates. We’ll have Walter out of that gaol by hook or by crook.’

‘You’re a dear, good boy,’ said Margaret effusively. To his horror she bent down and kissed the top of his head. Fiona smirked at him, carefully keeping her back turned to Margaret, and Aidan choked over a suppressed chuckle. Hugh and Shane exchanged nervous grins.

‘We’ll try anyway,’ said Moylan, a tide of embarrassment reddening his face. He leaned over, seized the poker and began to riddle the fire vigorously. A puff of smoke came out and set everyone coughing.

‘Open the window, young man; you’ll choke us all,’ said Lawyer Bodkin good-humouredly, and Moylan, with great relief, got up quickly and went to thrust his hot face out into the cool night air.

But no sooner had he unlatched the window when all thoughts of embarrassment or amusement were forgotten. For sometime Mara had been conscious of some noise in the background but with the window opened everyone could hear the roar of a thousand voices yelling loudly. The shouts did not come from nearby Market Street or Lombard Street – they had a faraway note about them, but they were loud enough for the words to be distinguished by their ears, before Moylan rapidly closed the window again.

‘Lynch out! Lynch out! Lynch out!’ There was no doubt that these were the words. The city of Galway was in a state of rebellion against their mayor.

Mara’s eyes met Henry’s and he nodded.

‘Mistress Lynch,’ he said gently, ‘I think that you should stay here tonight. Did you leave word with your maid about where you were going?’

‘I said that I was going to my brother’s place.’ Margaret had undoubtedly heard the shouts but she did not appear to be perturbed by them. Her son occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. She had little pity to spare for her husband who might well be in danger at this moment.

‘I’ll send a note across to Blake’s Castle; one of the stable boys can take it.’ Henry left the room and the youngsters went on talking eagerly about Barbary pirates. Margaret’s white face was beginning to get a little tinge of colour into it as she recalled distinctly seeing two dark-skinned men at the fish market early yesterday morning. Alfonso Mercandez, the captain of the Gomez family’s ship, had the reputation of being a hard and ruthless man, according to what she had heard, and between them the scholars managed to concoct an interesting story where the only survivor of a pirate ship had sworn vengeance on the Gomez heir.

‘I’ll just go and see about a room for you,’ said Jane trying to sound hospitable, but her face was strained and white and her hands trembled as she took up a candle from the table.

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Mara. Margaret would be best with the simple and undemanding company of her scholars for the moment and she was curious about the riot. She did not follow Jane towards the kitchen quarters but crossed the hall and entered the library. Henry was just sealing a note when she entered. He gave it into the hands of a waiting stable boy and when he had gone, said with a grunt, ‘Hot-headed fellow, Valentine Blake. Why did he shout that out in the church? I’d say he’s out there on the streets. Dangerous sort of situation. Glad I don’t have a shop. There’ll be looting tonight.’

‘I wondered what we could see from your roof,’ said Mara. The Bodkin tower house, though not big, was tall and thin, one of the highest in the town.

‘I was just thinking about that myself,’ said Henry. ‘Wait here for a moment until I get a covered lantern. It’s getting dark outside now. We don’t want to stumble on the roof.’

When he came back he carried two lanterns, one of which he handed to her. They climbed the flights of stairs side by side without a word, each busy with thoughts, until they came out on to the roof.

The evening had indeed begun to get dark. As they moved towards the crenellated edge of the roof, the bell from St Nicholas’s sounded the hour of four o’clock. Mara peered out from between the upright shape of two merlons. She could see across the tops of the houses and down into the streets which were already lit with flaming torches of pitch. Lombard Street and Market Street were almost empty but Gaol Street and Courthouse Lane were packed solidly with people. They were mainly men, but Mara glimpsed the linen headdresses of a few women amongst them. All were chanting ‘Lynch out! Lynch out! Lynch out! Out! Out! Out! Hang the mayor himself!’ and several had cudgels which they waved in the air.

A flash of silver from Gaol Street caught Mara’s eye and she leaned out a little further. Two solid lines of soldiers were drawn up in front of the prison and each soldier had a sword in his hand. The crowd surged forward towards that deadly line, but then drew back. No one wanted to run the risk of a sword in the guts and so they contented themselves with chanting and warlike cries. Mara wondered where was James Lynch while the crowd called for his blood, and then thought that she saw a tall, thin figure standing behind the soldiers. His back was to the door to the gaol.

Mara’s eyes wandered over the whole city. More soldiers were marching down from the barracks near the Great Gate. For a moment the thought flashed through her mind that if the O’Flahertys or Ulick Burke of Clanrickard, whose ancestors had once owned this place, were to know about the riot, then a raid on this city with its warehouses filled with goods from Spain and from the east would yield rich pickings. To the north, west and south it was protected by water; only on the east was it vulnerable to attack.

The lights were on in the church of St Nicholas – patron saint of travellers on the sea. As Mara looked down at it, she saw a couple of priests with covered lanterns in their hands come out on to the street and look cautiously up and down. Then one turned back towards the door and made a signal. Four men, dressed as sailors, came out from the church carrying the heavy coffin cautiously down the church steps. Once they got to the bottom they quickened their steps until they reached the corner between Market Street and Lombard Street. Four other sailors waited there and the coffin was transferred to their shoulders. On they went down towards Blake’s Castle and then towards the docks, changing the coffin bearers after every hundred yards or so.

There was a ship at anchor in the dock. Just a flaming torch on the corner of the custom house illuminated its drooping white sails, but as the heavy, lead-lined coffin approached, lanterns were lit on board. A gangway was hastily thrown down to connect the deck with the quayside, and up its narrow pathway the coffin was carried inch by inch. No word could be heard, but some signal must have been given because the sails were hoisted and the ship began to slip out of the harbour and down towards the open sea.

Carlos Gomez was returning home to Spain on his last voyage.

Each newly elected chieftain must swear to be the king’s vassal in accordance with the ancient Brehon laws, to maintain his lord’s boundaries, to escort his lord to public assemblies, to bring his own warriors to each
slógad
(uprising), and, in the last hour of his lord, to assist in digging the grave mound and to contribute to the death feast.

M
ara was up and dressed before dawn, and as soon as the sky lightened she went to her window. For a moment she stood there, surveying the seagulls circling around above the waters of the river’s estuary. They were unusually noisy this morning – even through the dense glass of the window she could hear their strident cries. She opened the window and leaned out, enjoying their movement and excitement. They were acting as though a fishing boat were entering the harbour from the sea, but none was in sight as far as she could see. She was about to close the window again when a movement from upriver caught her eye.

A large boat, with white sails, was coming down the river. Despite the lack of wind it was moving fast. Mara could see that it was manned by a crew of young men, stripped to their shirts, and rowing so vigorously that the boat, despite its size, seemed to leap forward in the water. A minute later she was able to see more clearly – to note how the deck, the stern and the stays were all crowded with men. And to see also that a flag bearing the emblem of the Blakes, a black cat, fluttered at the prow.

Mara slipped quietly downstairs, closing the hall door noiselessly behind her and stepped out on to Lombard Street.

When she reached the crossroads she stopped and waited. Valentine Blake was coming from the town. He looked tired, with black circles under his eyes and a fuzz of unshaven stubble on his cheeks; his clothes were crumpled and his hair uncombed. Nevertheless, he had a certain air of buoyancy about him. She smiled and waved a greeting, and he crossed over towards her immediately.

‘You’re looking better this morning,’ she said, feeling sorry for him and aware of his great affection for his sister and for his sister’s son.

‘I’m feeling more hopeful,’ he admitted. ‘Did you hear all that? Did you hear the riot?’ His dark eyes burned with a look of triumph. ‘The shouting went on all night around the gaol,’ he continued. ‘Surely James must take notice of that. He has to have some mercy, even if it’s his own son. Can you understand a man like that?’

‘I suppose he feels that it is a matter of integrity to judge every man alike, whether it is his son or a stranger,’ said Mara keeping her voice dispassionate. Valentine was in a high state of nervous excitement she saw and looked as though he had had little sleep that night.

‘Integrity be damned. He’s thinking about his status as mayor,’ exploded Valentine. ‘Imagine a man putting his status before his son! I’d die first! This wasn’t murder! This was just a drunken quarrel. The boy was out of his mind – knowing nothing of what he had done; no more than if he had been a certified lunatic – and thank God, we no longer hang certified lunatics! I blame myself terribly that I didn’t get hold of him that night and dunk his head in a barrel. I thought he would just go home and sleep it off. He was dead on his feet when I saw him last, swaying around like a man who did not know where he was and then he sat down and put his head on the table in the alehouse and dropped off to sleep. I should have dragged him out and pushed him into his own house, but to be honest, I thought he might be better sobering up before he met his father. He’s very strict with that boy. The beatings he has had – over nothing much. Hope I’m not like that with my son,’ he ended, and began to walk rapidly in the direction of his castle as if he could not wait to see his baby son again.

‘Margaret is with Lawyer Bodkin and his sister,’ remarked Mara, matching her stride to his. ‘Henry sent you a note,’ she added.

‘Why didn’t she come to me? Has James turned on her now?’ He didn’t comment on the note. Had he received it, or did he come home last night long after the servants had gone to bed? Or was he only coming home just now? Mara pushed her own questions to the back of her mind and answered his.

‘He locked her into her bedroom and kept her there all day; she escaped by climbing out of a window,’ she said, watching him with interest.

‘He’s gone too far this time.’ He reddened with anger and then said impetuously, ‘She should leave him; take the boy, too. She’s welcome to a place in my household. She and Cecily get on well. I’ll come and fetch her now. What sort of state is she in?’ Without waiting for an answer he started to abuse his brother-in-law.

‘Mark my words; all James can think of is his status as mayor. He would think that if he freed Walter, or condemned him to just a couple of months in prison, then people would talk about him, would say that he had misused his position and that matters more to him than the life of his only son. He thinks it makes him special – a grand gesture like that – God, it makes me sick to think of it!’ His face paled as he added in a low voice, ‘And all because he could not bear to be called a few names.’