Laws in Conflict (21 page)

If things had been otherwise, Catarina, with her dowry from her mother and with her marriage to Carlos, would have been the rich and successful member of the family. There had been a very apparent tension between brother and sister. Mara’s thoughts went to Fiona and she hoped that her clever scholar was getting plenty of information from the girl who had, apparently, been betrothed to Carlos before his sudden death at the time of the Shrove celebrations.

‘Woollen cloth, well, that’s just what I need. Is it made up into clothes or just sold in lengths?’

‘Come and see for yourself,’ said David, sounding rather bored and as if he wished to be elsewhere. He led her rapidly away from Gaol Street and up Middle Street, pausing in front of a tall, warehouse-type building but with a shop front on the bottom storey.

‘A warm cloak, perhaps,’ she said to him, and he led the way inside.

David was greeted respectfully, but with formality by the man in charge of the shop. Mara guessed that he had not been in the shop for quite some time. He did not appear to know where the cloaks were when she addressed the question directly to him and, after a moment’s hesitation, the man in charge led the way. Mara quickly purchased a cloak, a pair of hose, a shirt and warm doublet. Poor Sheedy would be more at home in Gaelic dress, but these were warm and thick and what he was wearing had been reduced to rags.

The price was high, but Mara paid without question. Lawyer Bodkin had introduced her to the bank owner in Lombard Street, a member of the Blake family, and she had changed her silver there for a large quantity of shillings and sixpences and a small amount of sovereigns, all stamped with the head of Henry VII, the father of the present king. The clothes for Sheedy took a large part of one of her sovereigns, but they would keep the poor old man warm until she was able to do something to rescue him.

David watched her purchases with astonishment.

‘I hope you haven’t wasted your money,’ he said bluntly. ‘The man will hang in five days’ time.’ But then his face grew thoughtful.

‘The word is out that Mayor Lynch may be thinking to release his son,’ he said. ‘If he bends the law for that, then he might bend it for the mad man. If you are thinking of appealing for mercy for him, then you should wait and see what is happening to Walter.’

The thought had already flashed through Mara’s mind that if Mayor James Lynch released his son, then he would be in honour bound to release Sheedy, also. And what would the mayor do then? Could he continue to reign? Would he be forced to resign?

It struck her that if Walter were guilty then he had done David a very good turn, without, it seemed, doing himself one. Even if his father did pardon him, Catarina was unlikely to marry a man who was suspected of killing her future husband.

‘How beautiful your sister is,’ she said aloud. ‘I understand from my host that all the young men in the town are in love with her.’

He laughed harshly. ‘That sounds an unusual exaggeration from a cautious man like Henry Bodkin; of course, Walter fancied himself in love with her, but that was only a boy-girl affair.’

‘And Anthony Skerrett?’ asked Mara.

‘He spends most of the year in England, at Lincoln’s Inn. He is training to be a lawyer like his grandfather.’ David’s tone was dismissive. Perhaps he did not like the idea that his sister had lots of men in love with her. Or perhaps he was jealous of her looks and her popularity.

‘But at home at the moment, is that not right?’ questioned Mara. English law terms, she knew, kept strictly to the exact dates for their terms, as indeed did the Irish law schools. Michaelmas Term began on the twenty-ninth day of September and the Hilary Term would begin on the feast of St Hilary, the fourteenth day of January, and would end just before Easter. The last term was the Trinity Term and that commenced on the Monday after the feast of the Holy Trinity. So what was the young man doing back in Galway eight weeks before the end of the winter term?

‘That’s right,’ he said. And then as she raised her eyebrows slightly, he said unconvincingly, ‘I’ve heard that his grandfather, the bailiff, John Skerrett, is not well.’

‘Really,’ said Mara. She had not seen John Skerrett at the trial of Walter, but he had been present at the trial of poor Sheedy and had looked as well as men aged over seventy normally look. And she said so. No doubt, David did not want to suggest that Anthony Skerrett may have come all the way from London to Galway in order to be with Catarina for the Shrove festivities.

He shrugged again. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember whether I have seen him or not.’

‘I wish I had known that he was a law student,’ said Mara innocently. ‘My scholars would be interested in talking with him. Where does he live?’

‘Near to Shoemaker’s Tower,’ he said briefly, and added with a tone of relief, ‘Here we are at Gaol Street. You just cross the street and then go in through the doorway. You can see the gaoler standing there. You’ll excuse me if I don’t go in with you. I cannot abide the smell of that place.’

With a flourish of his hat and a bow he handed over the parcel and left her at the doorway to the gaol.

Mara was about to cross when she noticed that people on the pavement opposite were drawing back, either flattening themselves against the walls, or else stepping out into the roadway. There was a faint tinkle of a small handbell and then into her sight came first James Lynch, Mayor of Galway, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but staring resolutely ahead, and then a small altar boy, ringing a bell with one hand and shaking a censer of incense with the other. Behind them came a priest in white vestments holding up a monstrance in one hand and a gold chalice in the other.

The little procession passed the silent people and turned into the gaol. Mara waited for a couple of minutes and then crossed over. As she had guessed, there was no sign of them when she entered the gaol. There was a strong smell of incense around and a minute later the gaoler came up the stairs with a large key in his hand.

‘I’d like to see prisoner Sheedy O’Connor; I have some clothing for him,’ she said. She put down her parcel on his table and opened it, taking a shilling from her purse while he was lifting and turning over the clothes with a dubious expression.

‘Not sure if I can allow you to go down yourself,’ he observed. He saw the shilling though, and she could see a hesitation in his face. ‘I’ll take them to him,’ he offered obligingly. ‘People aren’t normally allowed to visit condemned prisoners.’

‘Walter Lynch has just had three visitors,’ pointed out Mara, moving the shilling slightly so that it caught the light from the candle and glinted invitingly.

‘That’s just to pray with him.’ His eyes were on the shilling and she took another one from her purse.

‘Exactly what I have come to do,’ she said briskly, and gathered up her parcel. ‘We should go down quickly so that we do not get in the way of the priest coming back up, shouldn’t we?’ she suggested.

That convinced him. He began to walk very quietly and carefully down the stone steps and she followed him, handing over the two shillings once he had unlocked the door.

‘Look, I won’t lock you in so that you can let yourself out whenever you wish,’ he whispered. ‘Sometimes ladies come over faint when they are down in cells like these. Not used to the smell, they aren’t. Don’t worry that he’ll attack you when I leave; he’s harmless. And he’s in chains. He can’t hurt you. Speak quietly, too – and don’t come out until they’re gone from next door.’

The walls were fairly thick and Mara could only just hear the priest’s voice. He appeared to be reciting an act of contrition, preparing the lad for death, perhaps, thought Mara, appalled afresh at the notion of that young life being cut short. The words were echoed by the high voice of the altar boy. There was no sound from Walter, but James Lynch joined in halfway through with a loud steady voice.

Sheedy was sleeping peacefully. Mara did not disturb him. She had seen fairly clearly at the trial that his wits were completely gone. There was nothing that could help him except a royal pardon by reason of insanity.

And this royal pardon could be given by James Lynch as the king’s representative in the city of Galway.

Mara placed the warm, thick cloak over Sheedy and hung up the hose, shirt and doublet on a nail on the back of the door. She would bribe the gaoler to bring some hot water to wash the old man and to change his clothing.

In the meantime, she would wait until the prayers next door were finished and the visitors had left. She needed to talk to Walter and see what memories might have come back. He had now had two days’ sobriety after that night of drunkenness. She turned over in her mind various reasons which might persuade the gaoler to allow her access.

If Moylan was correct about how his own recollections of a drunken night did not resurface until two days later, then it would be interesting to hear what Walter’s memory might now have dredged up.

The prayers were over more quickly than she had hoped. There was a sound of the door opening and a smell of incense drifted into Sheedy’s cell.

‘I will visit you again on the morrow, my son, and hope to find you more repentant then,’ Mara heard James Lynch say, and then the sound of footsteps going back up the stairs – two men and a boy, she thought, as she listened intently to the sound. But there had been no click of a key turning. So they had not been locked in either!

As quick as a flash, Mara came out of Sheedy’s cell and slipped into Walter’s. She might get a few minutes’ conversation with him. The gaoler would be in no hurry to lock the door. Walter, like Sheedy, would be chained up, both hands and feet, so there would be no chance of escape unless a blacksmith was summoned to strike off his bonds.

Walter, unlike Sheedy, was wide awake. His clothes had been changed and he had been washed and shaved. A heavy sheepskin cloak hung around his shoulders and he wore stout, sheepskin-lined boots. A candle had been left in the corner of the cell and she could see him well. He was still very white-faced but his eyes were clear. He had seen her as she came through the door and she heard him draw in his breath with surprise at her presence.

‘You’re looking better, young man,’ she said in the slightly tart tones that she would address to one of her young scholars who had been in trouble.

He smiled ruefully at her tone. ‘That was Uncle Valentine. He came in at dawn this morning,’ he said. ‘He boxed my ears and made me strip, wash and shave and dress in fresh clothes, and told me what an idiot I was. “Get your head up and get ready to fight”, that’s what he kept saying to me.’ He looked carefully at Mara, and then said wonderingly, ‘And do you know, he didn’t ask me a single question.’

Mara’s heart warmed to Valentine. What the boy had needed now in order to pull himself together was simple, practical love and unconditional acceptance. That was something that he did not get from his father, she thought, but it was something that his mother’s brother had supplied unstintingly.

And then she thought of Valentine as he was when she had met him that morning. So he had been at the gaol at dawn! And when had he sent a message to the Blakes of Menlough so that they had travelled down the river from Lough Corrib to arrive in the city by daybreak? The chances were that Valentine Blake had not been to bed. Had he been on the streets all night? Had the riot been spontaneous? And even if it were, had Valentine fanned the flames? Still, that was his affair; it didn’t alter the help that she wanted to give to Walter.

‘I’m going to ask you a question, though,’ she said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t have asked it yesterday because you were in no state to answer it, but I am asking now. Did you kill Carlos Gomez?’

He opened his mouth quickly, and then shut it again. From upstairs Mara heard the gaoler’s voice talking to the mayor and then begging for a blessing from the priest. Let him ask to receive the Blessed Sacrament, she prayed. Let them say the Rosary together – that prayer was interminable. She needed some information from this boy, something that would shed light on what happened on that fateful night. Rapidly she repeated her question.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said eventually.

‘Not sure?’ she queried.

‘I don’t think I did. I certainly don’t remember doing it,’ he said. ‘I remember nothing until the constable shook me awake.’ He paused and then frowned. ‘At least nothing important,’ he said then.

‘Tell me what you remember; I’ll be the judge of whether it is important.’

‘I just remember waking up and finding my cloak spread over me and then I went back to sleep,’ said Walter.

‘And why did that surprise you?’

‘It’s just that I had a memory of searching for it and not being able to find it.’

‘Ah,’ said Mara. ‘And that is all that you remember?’

‘That’s all,’ said Walter. He began to look a little miserable.

‘Let me give you some advice, Walter,’ said Mara rapidly, with one ear inclined towards the conversation between the priest and the gaoler above. She took the boy’s hand within her own two hands and said emphatically, ‘Under no circumstances confess to a murder that you may not have committed. Make no acts of contrition, either to your father or to the priest, or even to the Lord above, as you never know who may be listening. If you don’t remember killing a man, then deny you have done so. You would remember if you did a thing like that,’ she said bracingly. ‘Keep that in your mind and keep your courage up. Now I must go, but I will try to see you again.’

Quickly, Mara opened the door, pulled it closed noiselessly behind her and then re-entered Sheedy’s cell. The old man still slept, now cosily warm, she judged by the slight flush of colour in his cheeks.

In a way, she thought as she watched him, his plight might be more dangerous than that of Walter. The boy had powerful friends in his mother’s family – the Blakes were roused for action and would not allow this affair to go ahead without protest.

But was James Lynch vulnerable to pressure? Or would he just go ahead with this unnatural execution of his son?

When the gaoler came in, Mara was sitting peacefully in the corner of the room and her eyes were shut as if in prayer. She heaved a big sigh and opened them when he set down the candle.