My Lady Judge (5 page)
CASE NOTES AND JUDGEMENT TEXTS FROM MARA, BREHON OF THE BURREN,
15
MAY 1509
15
MAY 1509
Judgement day: last day of April 1509. On the eve of
Bealtaine I
judged the case between Declan
O’Lochlainn and Rory the bard. Declan O’Lochlainn declared that his daughter Nessa, aged twelve, had been raped by the aforementioned Rory at the festival of Samhain of the previous year …
Bealtaine I
judged the case between Declan
O’Lochlainn and Rory the bard. Declan O’Lochlainn declared that his daughter Nessa, aged twelve, had been raped by the aforementioned Rory at the festival of Samhain of the previous year …
W
HAT’S THIS ABOUT?’ ASKED the king, leaning over and speaking in Mara’s ear as Colman announced the case and called the witnesses.
HAT’S THIS ABOUT?’ ASKED the king, leaning over and speaking in Mara’s ear as Colman announced the case and called the witnesses.
‘Well, the child, Nessa, looked pregnant in January, but she kept denying it,’ whispered back Mara. ‘I sent Malachy, the physician, at the request of the parents, but Nessa became hysterical and he, rightly, in my opinion, refused to force her, so he was unable to examine her. However, it was obvious that she was pregnant. The baby was stillborn last week and Nessa’s father, Declan, sent for Colman to take down the statement. Apparently,
Nessa named Rory, the young bard, as the father of her baby and accused him of raping her.’
Nessa named Rory, the young bard, as the father of her baby and accused him of raping her.’
Mara got to her feet; Nessa, her parents and Rory were all standing in front of the dolmen with Colman and Malachy on either side.
‘The accusation has been made,’ she said, her clear voice carrying to the back of the crowd. ‘How say you, Rory the bard? Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty,’ said Rory firmly. Mara looked at him with interest. Rape of a girl of Nessa’s age was a very serious crime and carried a heavy fine of an
éraic,
or body fine, similar to that given for murder, and also a fine equivalent to the honour price of the victim’s father. Nessa’s father was an
ócaire,
a small farmer, so his honour price was only three
séts,
or one and a half ounces of silver or two milch cows, but when the
éraic
was added, this amounted to forty-five
séts,
or twenty-two and a half ounces of silver, or twenty-three cows. That would be a huge sum for this young bard to find. Mara suspected that Rory earned very little money. He had no patron; what silver he possessed would come from the selling of his poems or ballads at fairs. He had no land, no livestock, no kin here in the Burren. It would be impossible for him to pay a fine like that. Rory, however, did not look worried; only annoyed and slightly embarrassed.
éraic,
or body fine, similar to that given for murder, and also a fine equivalent to the honour price of the victim’s father. Nessa’s father was an
ócaire,
a small farmer, so his honour price was only three
séts,
or one and a half ounces of silver or two milch cows, but when the
éraic
was added, this amounted to forty-five
séts,
or twenty-two and a half ounces of silver, or twenty-three cows. That would be a huge sum for this young bard to find. Mara suspected that Rory earned very little money. He had no patron; what silver he possessed would come from the selling of his poems or ballads at fairs. He had no land, no livestock, no kin here in the Burren. It would be impossible for him to pay a fine like that. Rory, however, did not look worried; only annoyed and slightly embarrassed.
‘What evidence can you give in support of your innocence?’ asked Mara. She had been surprised when Nessa’s parents had accused Rory of this crime. Since he had come to the Burren a year ago all of the marriageable girls and a few of the married ones had sighed after him. He was an extraordinarily beautiful young man, his hair was a pale blond with a shade of red in it, his eyes were intensely blue and he was tall with broad shoulders and slim hips. Mara looked at poor little Nessa – small, fat, with the spotty skin of early adolescence. Would Rory really have raped her? she wondered cynically.
‘My first witness is Aoife O’Heynes,’ said Rory firmly. Mara tried to conceal a smile. Aoife was the only daughter of Muiris O’Heynes, a self-made prosperous farmer of obscure origins. Muiris and Aine O’Heynes had four hard-working sons and one spoiled daughter. Aoife was quite a beauty with long blond plaits and cornflower-blue eyes. Mara remembered now that she had seen Aoife and Rory together on that night of
Samhain,
the eve of All Hallows, on the last day of October. She had gone to the feast to keep an eye on her two young scholars, Hugh and Shane. They had both been desperate to go to the fair so she had promised them that they could stay until ten. Then she had taken them home, but before she left, she vividly remembered noticing Rory and Aoife kissing and cuddling in a dark corner of the field where the fair was held.
Samhain,
the eve of All Hallows, on the last day of October. She had gone to the feast to keep an eye on her two young scholars, Hugh and Shane. They had both been desperate to go to the fair so she had promised them that they could stay until ten. Then she had taken them home, but before she left, she vividly remembered noticing Rory and Aoife kissing and cuddling in a dark corner of the field where the fair was held.
‘Yes, Aoife?’ she said. ‘Was Rory with you all of that night of
Samhain?’
Samhain?’
Aoife blushed at the direct question, and the rosy colour enhanced her creamy skin and blue eyes.
‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said demurely. ‘Emer and I were with Roderic and Rory for the whole evening. We all went home together.’
Hmm, thought Mara, my memory is that you split up, each couple going in different directions. But it didn’t matter. Would Rory have left the delicious Aoife for that spotty, pasty-faced child? I don’t think so. The memory of him disappearing into the bushes with Aoife was very clear in her mind. He had looked extraordinarily handsome. He had been wearing a saffron
léine,
she recalled, and a
brat,
a cloak, woven from purple and red strands of wool. She had wondered how he had got the silver to pay for them. She remembered thinking at the time that he had looked just like the picture of the hero king, Conor Mac Nessa, in her father’s copy of
The Book of Ballymote.
The thought of that beautiful illustration gave her an idea.
léine,
she recalled, and a
brat,
a cloak, woven from purple and red strands of wool. She had wondered how he had got the silver to pay for them. She remembered thinking at the time that he had looked just like the picture of the hero king, Conor Mac Nessa, in her father’s copy of
The Book of Ballymote.
The thought of that beautiful illustration gave her an idea.
‘Nessa,’ she said gently. ‘What was Rory wearing that night?’
Nessa stared at her blankly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually.
‘Aoife,’ asked Mara. ‘Can you remember what Rory was wearing that night?
Aoife’s colour deepened even more. Her eyes were fixed on Rory. In the background, Mara noticed Muiris shifting uncomfortably. Muiris had worked very hard to build up his farm. He would not want his daughter to marry a penniless bard. On the other hand, he was an honest, straightforward man. His evidence would be worth listening to. But not yet, thought Mara. Let me be sure in my own mind. She turned to Aoife.
‘Yes?’ she queried.
‘He was wearing a saffron
léine
and a red and purple striped
brat
and his hair was bound with a purple fillet and he had brown strapped sandals made from goatskin and he was carrying a satchel made from calf’s skin,’ said Aoife dreamily.
léine
and a red and purple striped
brat
and his hair was bound with a purple fillet and he had brown strapped sandals made from goatskin and he was carrying a satchel made from calf’s skin,’ said Aoife dreamily.
Mara smiled. ‘That was my memory, also,’ she said. Young love, she thought indulgently. The picture of the first beloved never fades. There was now no doubt in her mind, but she would ask a few more questions so as to satisfy her audience.
‘Muiris and Áine,’ she said. ‘Can you confirm that Rory and Roderic brought your daughter home that night?’
Muiris stepped forward. ‘Yes,’ he said, shortly. ‘They brought her home. They stayed until daybreak. They stayed with me after Aoife and her mother had gone to bed.’
All of them fairly merry after the amount of mead they had drunk, surmised Mara. The drink, made from fermented honey, was heavily alcoholic and, from what she had seen, there was plenty of it consumed that night.
‘Brehon,’ said Colman courteously. ‘May I question?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ said Mara. She went back and sat next to King Turlough Donn.
‘You trust your assistant to conduct the investigation?’ asked the king in a low voice.
‘Let him talk for a while,’ she whispered. ‘This will drag the case out and save the faces of poor little Nessa and her parents.’
‘But you don’t think that Rory the bard did it?’
‘No,’ Mara shook her head firmly. ‘If Rory had seduced Nessa that night, he would have had to entice her away from her mother. She would have remembered what he was wearing. She didn’t, but Aoife did. Girls always remember what a person is wearing if he is important to her. I don’t think Rory was anywhere near Nessa that night.’
‘Can you remember what I was wearing the first time that you saw me?’ whispered Turlough Donn in her ear.
‘My lord, I was blinded by your brilliance,’ whispered back Mara. In fact, her only memory of that day, fifteen years ago, had been the thrill of being appointed Brehon of the Burren by Turlough’s uncle, the then king of Thomond.
What was Colman doing? she thought with annoyance. Rory was almost losing his patience. The same questions were being asked over and over again. Now Colman had summoned Roderic and was trying to get him to admit that he had separated from Rory at one stage in the evening. Roderic, however, with an uneasy glance at Daniel, Emer’s father, stood firm. No, he declared. The four young people had spent the evening of
Samhain
together. They had danced and sung; they had eaten supper, they had drunk some mead – a small amount, to be sure – and then he and Rory had taken the two girls home. First they had taken Emer to her home at Caheridoola, where, Mara gathered, Daniel had shut the door on them, and then they had taken Aoife home to Poulnabrucky where Muiris had proved more hospitable.
Samhain
together. They had danced and sung; they had eaten supper, they had drunk some mead – a small amount, to be sure – and then he and Rory had taken the two girls home. First they had taken Emer to her home at Caheridoola, where, Mara gathered, Daniel had shut the door on them, and then they had taken Aoife home to Poulnabrucky where Muiris had proved more hospitable.
Mara rose to her feet again and smiled sweetly at Colman. He had done his best, she thought, trying hard to be fair to him. It
was strange how such sharp intelligence could be married to a complete lack of common sense.
was strange how such sharp intelligence could be married to a complete lack of common sense.
‘We have heard all the evidence in this case,’ she said evenly. ‘I find this case as not proven against Rory the bard. Nessa, is there anything else that you would like to say? Is it possible that you made a mistake and that Rory the bard was not responsible, but that perhaps someone else was?’
Nessa shook her head silently.
‘There is just one other witness, Brehon, if you will excuse me,’ said Colman suavely. ‘I call on Father Conglach.’
Mara’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. She had not expected this. What was the priest going to say? She looked around. He had been standing on the far side of the dolmen but now he advanced towards her. The people drew back courteously and made a long clear passageway for him. He advanced without a glance or a nod of acknowledgement. Mara did not sit down, but stood facing the priest, her dark eyes fixed on him.
‘Yes, Father?’ she enquired, her voice as chilly and hard as she could make it. With her left hand she signalled to Colman to sit down. She would conduct this interrogation herself.
‘I saw Nessa with Rory the bard, on the evening of
Samhain,’
stated the priest.
Samhain,’
stated the priest.
‘Indeed,’ said Mara. She let a few long moments of silence fill the air. He had been there; that was correct. She had seen him, like an ill-omened bird of prey, hovering around the merry youngsters. She waited, looking at him carefully. Why was he doing this? she wondered. He himself had not even had the common humanity to allow the poor child to bury her dead infant in the churchyard.
Nessa had had to take the tiny body to a
killeen,
one of the little lonely ancient burial places where the ancestors of the people of the Burren had laid their dead, and where now, unbaptized
infants and suicides were sometimes placed. When Mara had heard from Brigid, her housekeeper, what was going to happen, she had hurried over, taking Fachtnan and a shovel with her. Neither Nessa’s mother nor her father had come with Nessa. The poor child had carried the baby, wrapped in an old piece of sacking, and was digging in the earth with a rusty trowel when they arrived. Fachtnan had dug the grave, his face white and his eyes wet with tears. Mara had said a prayer over the little waxen body and Fachtnan had joined in with a steady voice. Nessa had said nothing.
killeen,
one of the little lonely ancient burial places where the ancestors of the people of the Burren had laid their dead, and where now, unbaptized
infants and suicides were sometimes placed. When Mara had heard from Brigid, her housekeeper, what was going to happen, she had hurried over, taking Fachtnan and a shovel with her. Neither Nessa’s mother nor her father had come with Nessa. The poor child had carried the baby, wrapped in an old piece of sacking, and was digging in the earth with a rusty trowel when they arrived. Fachtnan had dug the grave, his face white and his eyes wet with tears. Mara had said a prayer over the little waxen body and Fachtnan had joined in with a steady voice. Nessa had said nothing.
She continued to say nothing; according to the general rumour she was still resolutely denying that she had done anything wrong. She had even accused her mother of believing the story of the Virgin Mary and not believing her own daughter. Mara had smiled at that. There had been no mention of Rory until Colman had come in with the news that Declan was going to bring the case to be heard at Poulnabrone.
So why was this priest now creating falsehoods before his king and his parishioners? Perhaps a belated sense of responsibility for the daughter of that religious woman who did so much for his church? Perhaps a hatred of all that Rory and his like represented? Whatever it was, there was no doubt in her mind that he was lying. She stared hard at him, but his eyes did not drop before hers. She allowed the silence to continue. Silence, she had discovered long ago, was as effective as words on many occasions.
In the distance a bull roared in Baur North and was answered by the high treble of the calves and the soft, deep mooing of the cows. The people stirred uneasily. This was a sad, unpleasant case. They wanted it finished and then the merriment would surface and the long climb up the mountain could begin. Mara let her eyes travel over the assembled crowd. She raised her voice slightly, projecting its fully trained power to the back of the assembly.
‘Was there anyone else who saw Rory the bard with Nessa, daughter of Declan O’Lochlainn, on the night of
Samhain
last?’
Samhain
last?’
There was a complete silence. Mara allowed her breath to escape from her lips. That had been a high-risk strategy, but it had paid off.
‘Does anyone else wish to speak?’ she asked mildly.
‘I saw Nessa go home early with her mother,’ said Murrough. ‘Aoife and Rory were still dancing around the bonfire when they left.’ Murrough was a breeder of wolfhounds, who lived at Cathair Chaisleáin, on the steep cliff behind Poulnabrone. He was a very reliable, kind man. Mara knew that she could trust his word. And the community would trust his word, she knew that also. It was time to put a finish to this.
‘I find this case not proven,’ she said firmly. ‘Rory the bard has no case to answer. Case dismissed. Are there any other matters to be brought before the court?’
‘Yes,’ said a husky voice. Mara frowned and turned her eyes to Daniel O’Connor, father of Emer, popularly considered by many to be the most beautiful girl on the Burren. Everyone in the kingdom had a right to bring a case for consideration on judgement day, but after her long years as Brehon of the Burren, everyone knew that she liked to know all the details of cases beforehand.
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