Eye of the Law Read online

  Mara waited until the boys had eaten their dinner and disappeared in the direction of Doolin – sailing and rowing were now huge interests with them all and she guessed that she would not see them for the rest of the afternoon. Once the sound of the ponies’ feet departing down the road had vanished, she quietly ordered Seán to saddle her horse. Brigid was scrubbing out the kitchen house and was now resigned to seeing Mara going out at a walking pace on the back of her mare.

  The blackthorn was beginning to unfurl, she noticed as she ambled down the lane. There was not the profusion that she had seen on her way to Doolin, but the black twigs with their pointed ivory-coloured buds, each emerging from a small, pale-green sheaf, were almost more beautiful than their full-blown cousins in the warmer air near to the Atlantic. As she neared Lemeanah she could see how the grass was beginning to take on that deeper hue of spring green in the well-drained pastures around the castle, and beneath the grey stones walls a few purple and yellow gilly flowers sent out their sweet fragrance.

  ‘Is the taoiseach at home today?’ she said to the porter. She half hoped that Teige would be bustling around the courtyard, or somewhere nearby but the answer came instantly.

  ‘Yes, Brehon, he’s in the hall.’ With his other hand, the man set the bell jangling. Mara dismounted from her horse and allowed the porter to take it away to the stable, and then turned to greet the steward who had hastened down the pathway to the gatehouse.

  ‘The O’Brien is on his way down, Brehon. He saw you from the window. Here he comes now.’

  No hope for a quiet word in the courtyard then, thought Mara. She would have to go through with a social visit now. ‘Ah, Teige,’ she said when he arrived. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘Come in, Brehon, come in.’ He was surprised and slightly worried by her visit, she thought. She would have to be quick-thinking and inventive if he were to be in the relaxed state that she needed before she cross-questioned him.

  ‘You are all well?’ She paused by the first embrasure and made the usual enquiry before they got too far up the steeply winding staircase. Soon she would be completely out of breath and her silence might be taken as ominous.

  ‘Yes, indeed we are, and you, you’re keeping well?’

  ‘Never better!’ The heroic lie was becoming second nature to her now and she rattled it off without hesitation.

  ‘That’s good.’ Teige was definitely uneasy. She could hear it in his voice and see it in the furtive glances that he threw over his shoulder at her. ‘Come in.’ He positively galloped up the last section of the stairway and stood above her with the light flowing out from the hall. He cast a look over his shoulder and said loudly, ‘Ciara, the Brehon is here.’

  Ciara, Mara decided, was her usual cordial self. Whatever was causing Teige’s uneasiness had not affected her. She was full of questions about Mara’s health, exclamations of admiration at her bravery in attempting the journey to Aran and comfortable horror at the two deaths that had happened in the Burren.

  ‘And how is Saoirse these days?’ asked Mara, after answering queries about her own daughter, Sorcha, in Galway. Her question was addressed to Ciara, but she kept a sharp eye on Teige and noticed that he winced at the mention of his daughter. Her suspicions hardened to a near certainty as she studied his florid complexion, his dark hair and eyes, his fleshy nose. It was odd, how, after having known him for all her life, that she was now studying his face for resemblances as if it were that of a stranger.

  ‘So we’re hoping it might be a match,’ finished Ciara. Mara had heard very little of the woman’s flow of words, but gathered that she had been talking of Saoirse and the eldest O’Connor boy. It would be a very suitable match and would unite the clans, according to Ciara.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Mara said warmly, endeavouring to conceal a smile as she remembered Moylan’s, and Aidan’s, whispered words about Saoirse. There was no doubt that it would be a good idea to get Saoirse married off as soon as possible. ‘You would be pleased about that, wouldn’t you?’ She addressed the remark to Teige and saw a broad smile spread over his face. Pleasure? Yes, that, but also a shade of relief, she thought.

  ‘Such a pretty girl.’ Mara allowed a silence to elapse after this remark and saw the gratified smiles on both parents’ faces fade into a slight bewilderment. The Brehon had already declined all offers of refreshment; now should be the moment that she would approach the reason for her visit, but Mara just sat there, smiling gently. After another few moments, Ciara rose to her feet.

  ‘I’ll leave you then, Brehon, if you’ll excuse me. I have some household duties and I’m sure that you have messages from the king to talk over with Teige.’

  For a large woman she got herself out of the room very gracefully and Teige was left alone with Mara, looking as if he wanted to follow his wife.

  ‘So you found the visit to Aran useful, Brehon, did you?’ Eventually Teige broke the silence between them.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Mara thoughtfully.

  Teige had run out of conversation now, so he just sat on his chair staring at her uneasily.

  ‘You see murder is a terrible thing. In order to find the reason for murder, I have to look into the heart of the murderer and find what has provoked the deed.’ Mara’s voice was bland and conversational. She allowed the pause to grow until Teige became uneasy and then she looked at him inquiringly as one who expects an answer.

  ‘So you found a reason for the murder when you were at Aran, is that right?’ He said the words awkwardly and his eyes did not meet hers. Mara allowed another few moments of silence to elapse and then nodded, slowly and sadly.

  ‘Yes, Teige,’ she said. ‘Yes, I did find a possible motive for the murder of Iarla when I was at Aran.’

  He paled then; his florid skin suddenly looking sallow. How alike these two young people, with their fleshy noses and heavy jaws, were to him, thought Mara. The newly married Donal took his better-cut features from his mother’s side of the family and so did the younger members of the family at Lemeanah.

  ‘I spoke with the widow of the man Becan,’ she added. ‘Did you know that she was the sister of Iarla’s mother, the girl that you, Turlough and Ardal danced with in those far-off days in Aran twenty years ago?’

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, I think that I did know that.’

  ‘Of course, you’ve been backwards and forwards quite a few times during the last few years, haven’t you?’

  He didn’t deny that. He just sat like a man who is waiting for a blow to fall and is powerless to avert it.

  ‘Did you see Iarla then when you went over?’ Mara questioned. Suddenly she felt curious about that. Teige, she remembered, had been quite carefree on that evening of the wedding. He had shown no signs of recognizing this young man from Aran.

  Teige shook his head. ‘No, I had never seen him.’

  ‘But his mother, the blacksmith’s wife, told you that he was your son?’

  He didn’t look surprised at her knowledge – the blow had fallen and he almost looked relieved. ‘No, I never saw him, but the mother told me that he was the image of me. It was just bad luck that she was by the shore when I went over there to collect the rents for Turlough a couple of years ago. She came right up to me and said that now she had seen me again she was sure that her son was of my begetting.’

  Fineguth, finechruth, finebés, kin voice, kin appearance, kin behaviour, thought Mara. Aloud she asked, ‘Did she blackmail you?’

  ‘I sent her some silver from time to time. They were very poor.’

  ‘So why didn’t you acknowledge him when he turned up with the story that he was the son of Ardal O’Lochlainn?’

  Teige gave a weary shrug. ‘How was I to know the truth of the matter? We had both lain with her. He could be the seed of either. Or even of the blacksmith.’ His voice lacked conviction.

  Mara paused. So far the conversation had been about issues that were of private concern only. The parenthood of Iarla was a matter be
tween him, his mother and his father. But there were larger issues of concern. The young man had come to the Burren with a letter from his mother swearing to his paternity and he had not left the kingdom, but had been secretly and unlawfully killed. What had triggered that fatal blow?

  Mara turned her mind back to that evening of the wedding. She looked gravely at the man opposite her and tried to imagine his feelings when he heard the news. He had looked very alarmed; she remembered the look on his face then.

  ‘Why do you think that the blacksmith’s wife, Étain, that was her name, wasn’t it? Why do you think that Étain named Ardal as the father rather than you? She had recognized that Iarla was your son as soon as she saw you again a few years ago.’

  Teige shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘She was a woman of sense. She knew that there was no more to be got from me. I told her that plainly. I would not acknowledge him; I refused that. I have enough children of my own.’

  Teige stopped. Mara nodded solemnly, looking at him with a blank face, but her mind was working busily. End up in the ditch with our throats cut, that was what the boy Iarla had said to Orlaith when he had feared that drink would loosen his uncle’s tongue. Had Teige threatened Étain? Hinted, perhaps, that if she persisted he would turn violent?

  ‘She had no proof either,’ continued Teige bitterly. ‘Who knows who was the father of that boy? It could have been anyone, as far as I knew. And then, I suppose, she changed her plans. She had heard that Ardal was rich and that he had no children, so she decided to name him. God have mercy on her,’ he added with a sudden realization of the heroism of this mother who had put her eternal soul in danger by her deathbed perjury.

  Étain knew she was approaching death so she sent Becan over to check on the reputed wealth and childlessness of Ardal O’Lochlainn, thought Mara, feeling a surge of pity for this woman who had made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the welfare of her child.

  ‘Jesus and his Blessed Mother will have mercy on her,’ she said with conviction. No matter what the Church would say about this sin, it was one that any mother could understand and forgive. Mara’s resolve to find the truth about the killing of Iarla and to punish the murderer hardened. Cost what it may, she would do that last service for Étain of Aran, the beautiful girl who had danced by the firelight that night twenty years ago; the woman who had loved many men, and for whom, ultimately, mother love overpowered all else, even the fear of eternal damnation.

  ‘Who was responsible for Iarla’s birth may never be known,’ she said eventually. ‘The question now is –’ she said the words quietly and steadily, looking at him intently – ‘who was responsible for his death here in the kingdom of the Burren.’ Teige didn’t answer so she added bluntly, ‘Were you?’

  He sat up very straight, his mouth open with an expression of astonishment on his face. Mara was sceptical though. Surely it must have occurred to him by now that he was under suspicion.

  ‘Me?’ he said. ‘Why would I do a thing like that?’

  ‘I think,’ said Mara, ‘that if you truly believed that Iarla was your son, you would have had a very good reason. If you even suspected that he was your son, you would still have had good reason.’

  The room was very quiet as Mara and Teige looked at each other across the table. A smouldering log tumbled in the fireplace, then crashed on to the flagstone, a small black-headed bird flew in between the stone mullions and hit its beak with a sharp tap against one of the small diamond-shaped panes of glass and a heavy velvet curtain moved with the draught from the door. Neither spoke nor moved.

  Suddenly a shout of laughter came from below. A door slammed, flying feet clattered against the stone of the staircase. Ciara called out a protest, but the feet continued. The door burst open and a crowd of young people exploded into the room. They were an attractive sight: the dark-haired O’Brien youngsters and two blond-haired O’Connors.

  ‘Excuse me, Brehon.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Brehon.’

  ‘Father we just wanted to ask you . . .’

  ‘Mother says we may, if you say yes . . .’

  ‘It’s the races.’

  ‘The horse races.’

  ‘They’re on today.’

  ‘The races at Coad.’

  The young voices tumbled over each other and Mara smiled. Saoirse had her arm around her father’s neck and Teige’s heavy moustache was lifted by a huge grin. Though he then pretended to frown and to shoo them away, they were not deceived.

  ‘Now then, now then, if your mother says that you may go; then you may go. What are you coming bothering me for when I am busy?’

  One of the younger girls giggled. ‘We want some silver.’ Her hands reached around Saoirse, who was now ensconced on her father’s knee, and fumbled in his pouch.

  ‘I’m being robbed,’ said Teige with relish. ‘Help, I’m being robbed. Save me, Brehon!’

  Mara laughed. ‘I think you’ll just have to pay up, Teige. You’re outnumbered.’

  ‘You’ll have me ruined all of you,’ he grumbled. ‘Stop kissing me now, Saoirse. Come on, let me stand up. Now remember that’s your lot; nothing else this week or I’ll have you all out cleaning the stables from morning to night.’ He winked at the two O’Connor boys and produced a bundle of small pieces of silver from his pouch, handing them out one by one to his daughters and sons with a teasing remark or a quick kiss. Saoirse, Mara noticed, got an extra large piece of silver and a very warm hug. Obviously relationships between father and daughter were back to their usual affectionate terms.

  ‘You have a very loving family,’ she said as the door closed behind the last of the young people. Then, when he didn’t reply, she added, ‘And, of course, you are a very loving father to them all.’

  He faced her then, his eyes hardening.

  ‘Let’s go back to the St Patrick’s Night, the night of the wedding,’ she said softly. ‘You remember it, I’m sure. Iarla danced most of the time with Saoirse. He had been drinking heavily. It had all gone to his head, I suppose, the new place, the new company, the thought of being son and heir to someone of Ardal O’Lochlainn’s standing and wealth.’

  Teige compressed his lips: his grey eyes were angry and she realized that he was not capable of understanding the feelings of a young lad, such as Iarla, fresh from the Aran Islands and facing the glittering prospects of wealth and security. His thoughts were completely centred on his daughter.

  ‘And then Iarla went too far. It had been a case of kissing and cuddling up to then and Saoirse had been as keen as he.’ She didn’t allow him to reply to this, but hurried on. ‘But then he tried to attack her, possibly to rape her. It might have happened too if her friend Mairéad O’Lochlainn had not been brave and resourceful.’

  Mara gave him time to reply to this, but he said nothing. He understood where she was leading.

  ‘And, of course, if Iarla had raped Saoirse and she had conceived as a result of that rape, then the child would have been a child of incest. Saoirse would have lain with her own brother. That was something that you could not afford to allow to happen. You dealt with Saoirse severely, scolded her, even struck her – and I’m sure that was not your normal practice. You knew that she was a passionate young girl and you were afraid that she might forgive and forget and go back to the man who had wooed her so roughly. You told her to have no more to do with the young man from Aran, you warned the guards not to allow Iarla to put foot inside the gates of Lemeanah . . .’

  Mara paused here. Teige said nothing so she continued. ‘But what if that were not enough to set your mind at rest? What if you still feared that they would seek out each other behind your back? Saoirse is attractive, and she is attracted to young men – just as a girl of her age should be. As I said, she is a passionate girl and you must have known that quite well. You could not take any risk of this relationship developing, could you?’

  Still he did not answer so she finished with the words: ‘Was Iarla’s death a small price to pay to keep your daugh
ter safe? Were you the one who killed him, Teige?’

  He denied it, of course. Bitterly, vehemently, swearing every possible oath, Teige denied murdering Iarla. Mara listened, nodding her head and making some notes and then she left him, an angry, fearful man. She had another errand to do before her energy ran out.

  Donogh Óg was working away at the quarry, as she had guessed. He had told her boys that he couldn’t do any hunting that weekend as he had to get some more blocks cut. The gatehouse at Lemeanah had used up a lot of the stock that he kept in order to tempt prospective clients, he had explained to Enda. When Mara arrived he was chipping away and there was a satisfactorily long line of newly cut blocks lined up at the front of the entrance.

  ‘I’ll wait until you take a break,’ said Mara, seeing that the block he was working on was almost finished. He was a good craftsman, she thought and she admired his industry. He could so easily have just accepted his way of life as his father’s eldest son, helped with the farm and hoped to inherit his share of the lands after the death of his father. He was more like Ardal than Donogh, she thought. He had recognized that with the large number of brothers in the family, his share, according to Brehon law which allowed the youngest brother to inherit as much as the eldest, would be a small one so he had gone ahead and built up a new business for himself.

  ‘Have you thought any more about that house you wanted me to build at Cahermacnaghten?’ He had laid down his chisel and hammer, and then placed the finished block, very precisely, in line with the others. He came over and sat beside her.

  She smiled at him, admiring his enterprise and confidence. ‘Not yet,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve had too much on my mind.’

  ‘Ah, the murders, yes.’ He seemed quite cheerful about it. Death didn’t appear to be of much consequence to the young; it was the middle-aged who had begun to value life and to shudder at its untimely loss.

  ‘You did a very good job at Lemeanah,’ said Mara. His businesslike look came back again. The extension to the gatehouse was a building to be proud of. ‘I just wanted to ask you about that day when the body of Iarla was found at Balor’s Cave,’ she went on.