Laws in Conflict Read online

  Mara eyed the implacable face across the table from her and felt a measure of despair for a life depending on any mercy that might be forthcoming from James Lynch.

  Five

  Stat. Hiberniae. 14 Hen. III.

  (From Blackstone’s Commentaries, 1765–1769)

  At the time of this conquest the Irish were governed by what they called the Brehon law, so stiled from the Irish name of judges, who were denominated Brehons. But King John in the twelfth year of his reign went into Ireland, and carried over with him many able sages of the law; and there by his letters patent, in right of the dominion of conquest, is said to have ordained and established that Ireland should be governed by the laws of England:

  But to this ordinance many of the Irish were averse to conform, and still stuck to their Brehon law: so that both Henry the third and Edward the first were obliged to renew the injunction; and at length in a parliament holden at Kilkenny, 40 Edw. III, under Lionel Duke of Clarence, the then lieutenant of Ireland, the Brehon law was formally abolished, it being unanimously declared to be indeed no law, but a lewd custom crept in of later times.

  ‘As far as I can tell, under the English law system, the defendant gets a chance to make a statement before the jury – a matter of twelve men from the town selected to listen to the proceedings – to say whether the culprit is guilty or not.’ Mara was giving her scholars a rapid lesson in English law as they stood huddled against the stone-built customs house beside the port of Galway. The icy wind sweeping in from the inlet from the sea ensured that they had complete privacy at this spot and she had something important to say to them. She had refused the rather reluctant offer of Lawyer Bodkin to accompany them this morning and had told him placidly that they would sit in the spectators’ gallery.

  ‘That’s odd – twelve men who are not lawyers,’ said Fachtnan with surprise.

  ‘The lawyer explains the law to the mayor or sovereign and he explains the position to the jury,’ said Mara. She frowned slightly. ‘In a way,’ she said reluctantly, ‘I suppose it should be good, an ordinary man’s point of view, but—’

  ‘But these ordinary men are probably all too scared to go against someone important like the mayor – he seems to be a sort of king here, doesn’t he? It wouldn’t work on the Burren, anyway. Everyone would want to know what you thought before trusting their own opinion – not that they would be scared or anything . . .’ interrupted Moylan, his sharp eyes sparkling.

  Mara laughed. ‘I think you are probably right,’ she said, but then quickly grew serious again. ‘Poor old Sheedy! I think that there is no chance that I can speak for him. My qualifications as a lawyer will not be accepted by the court. The only possibility for us is to rely on this speech that the defendant is allowed to make before he is finally found guilty or not guilty. I propose to offer you, Hugh, as a translator.’

  ‘Me, why me?’ Hugh turned red with embarrassment and astonishment.

  ‘You are well liked here in Galway,’ said Mara diplomatically. She had chosen Hugh as his English was the least proficient of all her scholars and whenever he stumbled she could interfere and make explanations. She guessed from what Fachtnan said that Sheedy was even more insane than when she had pronounced him to be a dásachtach and outside the reach of the law so far as any wrongdoing was concerned. Brehon law was most clear and explicit on this point, even going so far as to make it an offence for any sane person to incite a dásachtach into committing an offence and saying that ‘the rights of the insane take precedence over other rights’.

  The courthouse in Galway city had a queue in front of it when they arrived. This afternoon and tomorrow would be a holiday and it looked as if the townspeople had already begun their Shrove celebrations. A noisy crowd of young boys whose badges declared them to belong to the guild of tanners were wrestling with each other in the queue. Mara gave a long look at them and regretted declining Lawyer Bodkin’s offer to escort them. She had no desire to seat herself and her scholars among this unruly mob.

  However, at that moment they were approached by a steward who bowed respectfully and said the mayor had observed them from his room and wished to offer them accommodation in the courtroom if they were minded to watch the trial.

  And thus they were ushered into an empty courtroom, and shown a bench where the scholars could sit. The steward carried over a heavy oaken chair ornately upholstered in brocade for Mara. She took her seat, spread her skirts and smiled her thanks to the steward, dispatching a polite message of thanks to the mayor.

  ‘Lawyer Bodkin sent a message to the court this morning,’ he said chattily. ‘He told me that you were a lady lawyer and that you were a guest of his and that your lads –’ his eyes slid over Fiona, blinked, and then he hastily corrected himself – ‘your pupils would benefit from seeing a trial conducted in . . . I mean . . . conducted in our manner.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, it should be most beneficial to them. The judge sits there, does he?’ Mara indicated an elaborate chair sumptuously upholstered in red velvet. ‘You have a lawyer for a judge, I presume,’ she added, as he seemed surprised by her words. She was interested to hear what his reactions would be to that statement.

  ‘No!’ He seemed quite appalled at that. ‘That chair is for his worship, Mayor Lynch; these two chairs are for Bailiff Blake and Bailiff Skerrett – the mayor is the judge and he sits there, and the jury sit over on that bench to the side so that they are near to the judge and he can tell them what to make of the evidence.’

  ‘And the prisoner?’ asked Mara.

  ‘Over there.’ He indicated a tall, box-like enclosure. ‘Of course, when they are really vicious, like some of those wild O’Flahertys, then they are brought into the court in cages.’

  ‘In cages!’ exclaimed Shane.

  ‘That’s right.’ The steward smiled kindly at the boy. ‘You’d have liked to see that, wouldn’t you? But this man that is being tried today is just a poor old fellow. The case will be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  And then he was off, promising to bring back a hot brick for the lady’s feet.

  ‘Brehon, what am I going to do if what Sheedy says doesn’t make sense? What am I going to say?’ Hugh was working himself up into a state. His freckled face alternatively flushed a bright pink and then paled. He ran his fingers through the copper curls which had taken the fancy of Jane Bodkin. The other scholars looked at him with commiseration.

  ‘I’ll do it if you like,’ offered Fiona.

  ‘No,’ said Mara decidedly. ‘You speak English with a Scottish accent and Shane speaks it with a northern accent. I taught Hugh and he speaks in a way that will be understood by all in the court.’ And if this left Fachtnan, Moylan and Aidan, all of whom had been taught English by her, to be quite unaccounted for, well, no one, she hoped, would be brave enough to point out that fact. Hugh had brought up a good point, though, and she was glad of a few minutes’ privacy in the unoccupied courtroom to answer it.

  ‘All I want you to do, Hugh, is faithfully and conscientiously to translate each word that Sheedy says into English – even if it doesn’t make sense. If you are unsure – just repeat the word and look across at me for help.’

  Moylan’s eyes sparkled with intelligence at those last words, and he and Fiona glanced at each other mischievously.

  ‘What the Brehon means, Hugh,’ intervened Fachtnan hastily, ‘is that she can trust you just to give Sheedy’s words. If it was Moylan, well, he’d have to make things sound better. You know the way he is always saying “let me rephrase this” when someone says something at law school, and then if it was Aidan, he couldn’t resist the temptation to make a joke.’ Fachtnan gave a humorous glance at the two older boys and they both grinned.

  Mara found herself, not for the first time, thinking what a very good Brehon Fachtnan, with his talent for diplomacy, would make if he were able to pass his final examination. A law like Brehon law which had no gaols, no hangings, no whippings, had to be administered purely by the consensus
of the people of the kingdom. Tact, diplomacy and an understanding of human nature were essential qualities for any candidate for the post. Every one of the numerous small kingdoms in Gaelic Ireland had to have its Brehon; eventually Fachtnan would find a post, but in the meantime he had a lot of studying, not easy for him, to go through.

  ‘And Fiona would not be able to resist flirting with the judge,’ said Moylan, entering into Fachtnan’s intentions with his usual ready wit.

  ‘Perhaps he likes young boys better,’ said Fiona wickedly with a sidelong glance at Mara, and smiling teasingly at Hugh.

  Luckily at this moment the steward came back carrying two hot bricks. One he tucked under Mara’s feet and the other was placed beneath the silken tasselled cushion that lay on the floor before the mayor’s feet. None were brought for the bailiffs or for the lawyers

  ‘I’m going to open the doors now as soon as the constables come in. There’s a lot of riff-raff around. The apprentices have the day off and the shop boys have been given a few hours off as they will be on their feet until midnight with the Shrove Tuesday celebrations. Don’t you take any notice of them, my lady judge – anything I can get you before I go? Glass of wine? The mayor is just taking one now and it’s very good wine – not Spanish or Portuguese wine, good French stuff – all the way from Burgundy.’

  Mara regretfully declined the wine, though she was pleased to hear that James Lynch was even now sipping his burgundy. It should make him more good-humoured, she thought as she watched the crowd pour into the onlookers’ gallery above her head. She didn’t recognize any of them. Young Walter obviously had no interest in seeing his father at work, or perhaps a boy who pitied and cared for an abused kitten would dislike to see a sentence handed down to a man whose only crimes were hunger and a lack of wits.

  ‘All rise!’ bellowed the steward, and suddenly the noise in the gallery ceased as they all rose to their feet. A small procession came from behind a velvet curtain and took their places on the stage.

  James Lynch looked much the same as he had last night – the wine seemed not to have taken any more effect on him than had his abstemious consumption in his brother-in-law’s house. His grey eyes were cold and his thin mouth was hard as he took his seat and placed his feet on the warmth of the silken cushion.

  His cousin, Thomas Lynch, the senior lawyer in the city, was a much smaller man, small and very thin, also older. A man on the verge of retirement, she thought, and hoped that this might provide Lawyer Bodkin an opportunity for advancement. He sat down on his less prestigious chair and then the two bailiffs took their place. Valentine Blake looked much the same as he looked last night, a pleasant cordial fellow. He bowed and smiled towards Mara and her scholars. He was a man with a smile for everyone, she noticed, even including the crowd in the gallery who responded with a few excited whispers.

  ‘Bring in the prisoner,’ barked Thomas Lynch, and Mara thought how different everything was to her open-air court in the Burren where proceedings always started with a greeting from her to the assembled people.

  Poor Sheedy was dragged in by two of his gaolers. He looked tiny, hunched and bent – almost like a captured spider. Once the door to the prisoner’s dock was bolted from the outside his arms were released. Instantly he covered his eyes with them and cowered away into the corner of the box. The warders forced him forward again and held him facing the lawyer, though they allowed his arms to stay covering his face. Thomas Lynch eyed him with contempt, but his worship the mayor just stared ahead in a bored fashion.

  ‘Who speaks for the sovereignty of Galway?’ roared the steward, and a lawyer in a gown came forward and bowed to his senior.

  ‘I do, My Lord,’ he said.

  The mayor turned his eyes on him, ‘Call your first witness, Lawyer Joyce,’ he said.

  So this was William Joyce, inhabitant of the chambers above Lawyer Bodkin.

  ‘Call Grocer Joyce,’ called the steward loudly.

  ‘Another Joyce!’ whispered Moylan.

  The steward bawled out the name and a large, pleasant-looking man came from behind the curtain, bowed to the mayor first and then the judge and took his place in the witness stand. He kissed the book held out to him by the steward of the court and muttered some words after him.

  ‘What’s that for?’ whispered Fiona in Mara’s ear.

  ‘Kisses the Bible and swears to tell the truth.’ Mara wondered whether it would be a good idea to introduce something like that into Brehon courts but then decided against it. Kissing the Bible and swearing to tell the truth would probably have little significance for a man or woman who had good reason to lie and would be unnecessary for those who wanted to tell the truth in the first place. This was a city where religion and the church were of great importance, she mused. It was interesting that their laws were so savage and inhumane. Rome, she knew, criticized the slackness of the church in Gaelic Ireland, where many of the priests married and had children – had sons that inherited their fathers’ position in the church. The present bishop of Killaloe in the kingdom of Thomond was the son of the previous bishop and he had several children, all of whom had made good marriages due to their father’s position. The bishop of Galway, or warden as he was known, was a much-feared man, appointed by Pope Julius II, nicknamed ‘the fearsome pope’. The clergy of St Nicholas were to be ‘learned, virtuous and well-bred, and were to observe the English rite and custom in the Divine Service’, according to Pope Julius.

  Grocer Joyce gave his evidence clearly – an honest man, if not a compassionate one. He saw Sheedy come into the shop, watched him walk over to the table, seize the pie and go out with it. When he got to the door Sheedy was already running away with the pie in his hand and he shouted to a constable to run after him.

  ‘What was the value of the stolen article?’ asked Lawyer Joyce in the tone of one who knows the answer already.

  ‘One shilling and sixpence, and good value, too,’ replied the grocer with a decided nod. Did the man know that these words were condemning a fellow creature to a terrible death? wondered Mara. The answer had to be yes.

  ‘Do you see the man who stole the pie in this court?’ asked Lawyer Lynch, intervening with the impatient air of one who wants the trial to end as soon as possible.

  ‘I do, My Lord.’ Grocer Joyce, a man of few words, pointed out Sheedy, still cowering away from the light from the large thick candles.

  And then two shop apprentices gave their evidence and also the wife of the shopkeeper across the road. The jury nodded to each other and exchanged smiles with her. Probably they were all shopkeepers, thought Mara.

  Lawyer Lynch then summed up the case from the evidence gathered by his junior. The prisoner had stolen a pie worth more than one shilling as had been attested by witnesses of good character. There was little else to say so he sat down, still looking rather bored.

  And then the moment came. The mayor addressed the prisoner. ‘Your name is Sheedy O’Connor?’ He said the words in tones so loudly that they echoed off the tall ceiling and startled Sheedy into raising his head.

  For a moment something which appeared to be normality seemed to come into the old man’s eyes and then they dulled again. He dropped his head back down on to his arms which were now propped up by the bar of the prisoner’s dock. The mayor carried on without a second glance.

  ‘Sheedy O’Connor, you have been accused of the crime of stealing a pie worth one shilling and sixpence. Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?’

  Sheedy said nothing and did not lift his head. The mayor nodded at the warder in an irritated way.

  ‘Answer his honour!’ Sheedy got a vicious dig in the ribs which made him look up again.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said in Gaelic.

  ‘Nothing to say, your honour,’ said the gaoler promptly, and the mayor fumbled in a box that lay on a small table beside him.

  That was enough for Mara. She got to her feet instantly. ‘My Lord,’ she said in a loud clear voice, ‘allow me to help to
translate. Your prisoner merely said that he was hungry.’ Without giving him time to answer she beckoned to Hugh and swept down to the front of the court with him. Purposefully she had spoken in Latin. If Lawyer Lynch, like Lawyer Bodkin, had qualified in one of the Inns of Chancery, he would have been trained in that language. He appeared to understand, but the mayor stared at her in puzzlement and leaned back to confer with Lawyer Joyce. The two bailiffs leaned over to listen in. Valentine Blake, she noticed, had a broad grin on his face. Mara did not look at them, but turned an earnest glance on Lawyer Lynch.

  ‘Although a lawyer myself,’ she said still speaking in fluent Latin, ‘I do realize that I am not qualified to take part in this trial but if you will accept the services of this young boy then he will do his best to interpret for the prisoner, who, I suggest, has no knowledge of English.’

  She placed the blushing Hugh at a distance from Sheedy so that he could not be accused of conferring with the prisoner and then returned rapidly to her place.

  There was some low-murmured muttering going on between the dignitaries of the court. She thought that Valentine Blake appeared to be trying to persuade the others, making large, open-handed gestures and smiling. She felt a rush of gratitude towards him. It was kind of him to be concerned about a poor old man like Sheedy. The others turned and stared at Hugh who looked, with his small, slim figure, to be even younger than his fourteen years and who was blessed with an amiable, open-faced charm. After a minute the mayor said in English, loudly and clearly, ‘The services of the young translator are accepted.’

  ‘Perhaps the question might be repeated to the prisoner,’ suggested Valentine Blake. The mayor gave his brother-in-law an angry look, but said nothing. Valentine Blake nodded in a kind way to Hugh and Mara nodded as well.

  ‘Sheedy, have you got anything to say about taking that pie from the shop?’ asked Hugh in Gaelic. The boy’s voice shook, but that would do no harm. ‘I asked him if he had anything to say about stealing the pie,’ he said to the mayor timidly.