Scales of Retribution (2 page)

She paused, looking around at the crowd. There was a lot of interest on all of the faces in front of her. Divorce because of a new relationship was reasonably common, though most men seemed to be content with just acquiring a wife of the second, third or even fourth degree – and most wives accepted the situation as long as their own position was unaltered. But divorce where there was no fault on either side was quite uncommon. Still, it was good to have the possibility if a couple wished to part. In England, where no divorce existed, an unhappy couple were locked together for life.

‘In the case of any wool or fleeces, not yet combed nor spun, then Cliona’s share is just one ninth. In addition, Ryan must supply her with a sack of oats for every month that remains until the end of the year to come – that is until the first of May,’ she continued and then hesitated.

She had already pleaded with the young couple to reconsider but her words had not borne any fruit. She would try once more before the final words were spoken.

‘That is the legal position and this is where the law finishes. The last step is for you to take, Cliona, as I understand it is your desire for this marriage to be dissolved. Before you take this step then I would ask you to think that you are depriving your child of his father and that perhaps with a little understanding on both sides this marriage can still be saved.’

A low hum of approval came from the crowd and Mara could see faces, both of men and women, turned eagerly towards the young couple.

Cliona hesitated. Her face flushed a deep red. She looked at her husband and then at the crowd and suddenly she climbed on top of a low, flat clint and held out her child, facing, not Mara, but the relatives, friends and neighbours that thronged around her.

‘Do you see this child?’ she demanded passionately. ‘A lovely, healthy boy! All who know me know that he is the light of my eyes and the joy of my life. Well, if I had done what this man, my husband, wanted me to do, this child would not be here. As soon as he knew that I was expecting a baby, what does he do but go to the physician and come back with some medicine for me to take. As soon as I smelled it, I knew what it was. Anyone who works with lambing sheep has to know about herbs and their effects. I knew what that one was! It was pennyroyal! He wanted me to miscarry his own child so that I would go on working up the mountain and earning more silver for him.’ She stopped and then said, ‘I wanted my child; God only knows how much I wanted him. I threw the mixture in his face and I swore to myself that once I was delivered safely and had recovered from the birth, then I would divorce this man.’ She drew a deep breath, kissed her baby passionately and then climbed down. This time she did not stand near to her husband but deliberately moved to the other side, turning her face away from him.

‘This was very wrong!’ Mara addressed Ryan so sternly that he wilted and looked uncomfortably at the ground beneath his feet. ‘It is one of the great tenets of Brehon law that a woman’s right to have a baby is absolute. She may even leave her husband, if he is unable to give her that baby, go to another man to become pregnant and then return to her husband – and no reproach may be made. You endangered the life of your wife and sought to kill her child. A case may be brought against him if you wish, Cliona. What do you say? The decision is yours.’

The woman shook her head. ‘Give me what is rightfully mine,’ she said still in loud, clear tones. ‘Let me walk away from this marriage with that I have brought to it and with the fruit of my labours, and I ask no more.’

‘Then,’ said Mara gravely, ‘the next step is yours.’

Cliona stood very tall, looking across at her husband and holding her baby high in the air. ‘I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you,’ she said clearly and steadily.

A low murmur came from the crowd. There was a note of approbation in it, thought Mara and waited patiently until it had died down. Justice under the Brehon law system was a communal matter so the courts were always held in the open in order that all could attend. There were no savage punishments, no prisons, no force was used so the judgements and the retribution for any crime committed had to be reinforced by the clan of the guilty person. In this case, the O’Connor clan had heard the reason for Cliona’s desire to part from her husband and had approved.

‘As the three-fold repudiation has been spoken,’ said Mara, ‘I now pronounce you, Cliona O’Connor and Ryan O’Connor, to be no longer man and wife.’

Now the murmur swelled. All heads turned towards the young mother. No one moved; they would wait until Mara dismissed them, but smiles of sympathy lit up the faces. Cliona would find that she would not be alone in her struggle to raise a child without a father. The O’Connor clan – the clan of her father as well as of her husband – would come to her aid whenever it was needed. Ryan O’Connor turned away and began to walk through the people who parted to allow him to pass. His head was down and with his stick he struck viciously at the nodding heads of the yellow-centred moon-daisies in his path.

Mara suddenly felt very weary. This, she hoped, would be the last judgement day before the birth of her own child. Another few weeks now, she said to herself. She could hardly get out the traditional words wishing the presence of God in the people’s lives and that they might live in peace with their families and neighbours.

‘You go back to the law school,’ she said to her young scholars as the crowd started to move away. ‘Brigid will have your supper ready. I’ll walk back slowly.’

She sighed as she turned to go down the road that led to her home. She needed some time to think about what she had heard today, she thought as she watched them running lightly across the stony fields, leaping from clint to clint, soaring over the deep grykes with the agility and energy of wild goats. She would not have made them walk at the slow pace of a heavily pregnant woman, but in any case she was glad of some time to herself. She would have to talk to Malachy the physician. This was a terrible story that had been revealed, she thought as she passed the small ancient church of Kilcorney and automatically made the sign of the cross. She was filled with anger against the young husband, but even more so against a man who would betray his profession and seek to kill instead of to heal. She had a lot of thinking to do and the silent presence of Cumhal, her farm manager, would not stop her doing this.

The problem of Malachy would have to be solved.

Two

T
he first signs of grey dawn on that June night had just arrived when Mara woke. She sat up in bed gasping. A terrible pain gripped her – a pain so bad that it seemed as if some monster had invaded her stomach and was desperately twisting within. Her face was soaked in sweat and her nightshift was saturated. Every fibre of her logical mind tried to tell her that it could not be the baby – that the baby was not due for another month, but her body knew the truth. Inexorably, the body was pushing aside the bones within her; inexorably, the pain pulsated. Keep calm, she told herself. This will pass and then we’ll see. It was twenty-two years since the birth of her daughter Sorcha and her memory of that night was vague. There would have been pain, of course, but nothing like this, she was convinced. Of course, Brigid had been with her; that would have made a difference. Then, as now, she trusted implicitly in Brigid who had been nurse and mother to Mara from the time of the death of her own mother. Breathe in deeply – she seemed to remember Brigid saying those words and she tried to follow the advice, but it was different when she was alone and somehow she had lost her courage, or perhaps trim young muscles had made a difference. She had been fifteen years old when her daughter was born and now she was a woman of thirty-seven.

After what seemed like an hour of agony, the pain seemed to subside. Slowly and carefully, unwilling to rouse the sleeping dragon within her stomach, Mara got out of bed. The sky was brightening towards the east. A blackbird trilled from outside her window and another replied. Then a chaffinch and his mate. And soon the whole medley of singers began. Mara smiled wryly at the jubilant note. Judging by the last pain, she had hours of agony before her; she wished they would keep their joyful dawn chorus until all was over. She selected a clean shift from the wooden press in the corner of the room and added a nightgown over it. Then she went to the door and called out: ‘Áine!’

Áine was one of the two girls who worked in the kitchen at Cahermacnaghten law school. Brigid had insisted that this girl sleep in the Brehon’s house during the last few weeks – almost as though she had foreseen that an emergency might arise. However, Áine seemed to be a sound sleeper and there was no response to the increasingly loud calls.

How long was it since the last pain? wondered Mara. If the baby was really arriving a month early, these would come at regular intervals. And if the next one was as bad as the first, she would not be able to call for assistance while she was in the grip of the pain. ‘Áine,’ she screamed again and again with no result. And then in desperation, she picked up the brass candlestick from the shelf by her door and threw it violently down the stairs, aiming for the door of the small room beside the kitchen.

It hit the door with a crash and Mara screamed the name again. After a minute, Áine peeped out, looking quite scared.

‘Get Brigid, tell her the baby is coming.’ Mara was barely able to gasp the words as the pain was coming back. Now she began to feel quite frightened. Surely she had never suffered anything like that before. She would have remembered agony like this. This pain was beyond the limits of imagination, certainly beyond the limits of memory. Bent over and helpless, she stumbled back into her room and managed to climb on the bed, before the worst of the pain immobilized her again.

After that she lost track of time. Nothing but pain filled her world.

And then Brigid was in the room, snapping orders to Áine and Nessa, her other helper. There was little comfort, though, this time, from her presence and the intervals between the pains were filled with anxiety. Something was badly wrong. Brigid was an experienced midwife – always in demand for difficult births – she was trying to sound cheery and confident, but Mara could read the truth in her eyes. Brigid was frightened.

‘Drink this,
allanah
, this will help,’ the old endearment was a measure of Brigid’s anxiety. Although Brigid had been Mara’s nurse from the time of her mother’s death until she had reached adulthood, she always gave Mara the title of ‘Brehon’ since the day that she had qualified and inherited her father’s post as judge and lawgiver to the people of the kingdom of Burren.

Obediently, Mara drank the potion. It tasted bitter, but anything that held the slightest promise of alleviating the pain would have been welcome. Brigid, always well prepared for everything, must have brewed the medicine well ahead of time, in readiness for the birth.

Once again, the pain racked her. She was barely conscious of Brigid peering between her legs, and she was past caring for the worried expression that her housekeeper wore when next she saw her hanging anxiously over the bed. The potion had not diminished the agony, but had added a nightmarish quality to it. It seemed to paralyse her tongue and confuse her brain, leaving nothing there but the huge swelling consciousness of pain.

Brigid was shouting an order at Nessa now. The words blurred in Mara’s mind – all but one word and that was
Malachy
. They were sending for Malachy, the physician. They must not! Malachy must not come near her baby. The narcotic pressed heavily on her mind and on her tongue. She could not articulate the words; she could not even remember why she did not want Malachy, but she knew that he must be stopped. Someone must stop him coming up the stairs. She lost all control of herself, screaming in agony as the pain racked her body, but never lost that conviction.

But somehow she could not get the words out – just the one word, repeated over and over again. Just the name
, Malachy
.

‘Drink some more! Come on,
allanah
, it will do you good. Just try some.’

Mara tried to resist, but the bitter potion went down her throat. Before it took effect, she tried again to speak, tried to convey her fears of Malachy to Brigid. Somehow she could hear her own voice, as if it belonged to someone else, and it came to her as an echo bounces back from a stony cliff. ‘
Malachy
,’ it said, and then again, just the one word; no other would come.

‘He’ll be here soon,
allanah
, we’ve sent for him, he won’t be long now.’ Brigid’s voice penetrated the wall of pain, but brought no comfort.

But he did not come and the sun moved away from the window of the east-facing bedroom and still he did not come.

And then – it seemed like days later to Mara – the pain subsided. The terrible, racking contractions ceased. She shook her head fretfully when Brigid offered another drink. It was not needed now. There was no more pain. Her body was shutting down.

‘I’m dying,’ she said, and heard her voice quite clearly in the suddenly silent room. Her eyes filled with tears. This meant that the baby would die too, this so-desired child, the son of a king. She had been waiting for his birth and now it would never happen.

She lay there for some time and none of the women in the room spoke. They were busy when the pain was there, tearing her apart, but now it seemed that they did not know what to do. Her body had given up. There was no pain, no urge to push, nothing.