breakfast until about ten o’clock,’ were Jane Bodkin’s last words to her guests on returning from the play that night. ‘Henry’s not home yet,’ she had said slightly disapprovingly, noting the candle left on the table near the hall door after the others had taken theirs. ‘I suppose he is talking with friends in one of the inns; the men often don’t bother going to see the play – of course, it’s the same play every year,’ she had added as she took her own candle and made sure that her guests had everything they required.
Mara, however, had her own internal clock that woke her at seven in the morning whether winter or summer. She decided to get up and rekindle her coal fire herself. The ewer of water on the pot stand was still faintly warm and once the flames began to leap up it soon heated enough to make washing pleasant.
Mara’s mind was busy with thoughts of James Lynch. What was the best way to approach him, she wondered? Would it be a good idea to take her scholars, or to go privately by herself? The latter, she decided. From what she had seen of him so far he was a self-contained, private person. He had taken no part in the merriment of the night before, had not even gone to see the play, but had ceaselessly patrolled the streets. Her last glimpse of him had been at the market place where his icy voice had penetrated the drunken laughter of some young men and had caused them to move swiftly away, heading towards the town gate – no doubt planning to carry on drinking in The Green, or somewhere else well outside the city walls.
Logic, precedents; that would be the way to approach this man, she decided. He had his virtues; Mara believed what Margaret had said about her husband’s probity – this was a well-maintained city. When she had walked around with Henry Bodkin she had noticed that there were men at work on the walls, men at work on the pavements, on the roads and also on the ornate gardens outside the city where the trees were neatly pruned and the paths well swept.
A man like James Lynch would not be moved by a plea for mercy, but he might be influenced by a well-reasoned argument which was based on the laws that he upheld and was backed by a judgement given by Richard III, that English king, who had founded the prosperity of the city of Galway. The man, judge though he professed to be, was quite ignorant of the law which he was sanctioned to uphold, but would he be willing to learn from an outsider?
Mara took a quill, ink horn and some vellum from one of her satchels, lit a second candle and sat down at the small table and opened one of Henry’s law books. After half an hour she had a page of notes which she gazed at with satisfaction. By herself, she decided. This was a man who would not like witnesses to his change of mind.
And if she succeeded then she would return to the Burren on the following morning. She was lonely for the fresh air, the open spaces and the swirling limestone mountains. Hopefully they would take Sheedy with them. Her son-in-law, Oisín, kept a string of pack ponies, one of which she could, she was sure, even in his absence, borrow in order to take the poor old fellow back to his own environment where the law would protect rather than accuse him.
By this time there was a cautious stirring on the stairs and when Mara went to the door she saw a maidservant emerge from Fiona’s room with a bucket of fresh coals in her hand. She smiled at the girl and went in to find that Fiona, to her surprise, was not yawning in her bed, but already up with a wrapper around her and was standing at the window.
‘Brehon, come and see. It’s a holiday today; I’m sure of that. Someone was talking about that last night; being pleased about not having to get up for work. Today is Ash Wednesday, so everyone should be either in bed recovering or at church receiving the holy ashes, but the streets are full. The whole city seems to be in some sort of fuss about something,’ she said
Mara, however, had her own internal clock that woke her at seven in the morning whether winter or summer. She decided to get up and rekindle her coal fire herself. The ewer of water on the pot stand was still faintly warm and once the flames began to leap up it soon heated enough to make washing pleasant.
Mara’s mind was busy with thoughts of James Lynch. What was the best way to approach him, she wondered? Would it be a good idea to take her scholars, or to go privately by herself? The latter, she decided. From what she had seen of him so far he was a self-contained, private person. He had taken no part in the merriment of the night before, had not even gone to see the play, but had ceaselessly patrolled the streets. Her last glimpse of him had been at the market place where his icy voice had penetrated the drunken laughter of some young men and had caused them to move swiftly away, heading towards the town gate – no doubt planning to carry on drinking in The Green, or somewhere else well outside the city walls.
Logic, precedents; that would be the way to approach this man, she decided. He had his virtues; Mara believed what Margaret had said about her husband’s probity – this was a well-maintained city. When she had walked around with Henry Bodkin she had noticed that there were men at work on the walls, men at work on the pavements, on the roads and also on the ornate gardens outside the city where the trees were neatly pruned and the paths well swept.
A man like James Lynch would not be moved by a plea for mercy, but he might be influenced by a well-reasoned argument which was based on the laws that he upheld and was backed by a judgement given by Richard III, that English king, who had founded the prosperity of the city of Galway. The man, judge though he professed to be, was quite ignorant of the law which he was sanctioned to uphold, but would he be willing to learn from an outsider?
Mara took a quill, ink horn and some vellum from one of her satchels, lit a second candle and sat down at the small table and opened one of Henry’s law books. After half an hour she had a page of notes which she gazed at with satisfaction. By herself, she decided. This was a man who would not like witnesses to his change of mind.
And if she succeeded then she would return to the Burren on the following morning. She was lonely for the fresh air, the open spaces and the swirling limestone mountains. Hopefully they would take Sheedy with them. Her son-in-law, Oisín, kept a string of pack ponies, one of which she could, she was sure, even in his absence, borrow in order to take the poor old fellow back to his own environment where the law would protect rather than accuse him.
By this time there was a cautious stirring on the stairs and when Mara went to the door she saw a maidservant emerge from Fiona’s room with a bucket of fresh coals in her hand. She smiled at the girl and went in to find that Fiona, to her surprise, was not yawning in her bed, but already up with a wrapper around her and was standing at the window.
‘Brehon, come and see. It’s a holiday today; I’m sure of that. Someone was talking about that last night; being pleased about not having to get up for work. Today is Ash Wednesday, so everyone should be either in bed recovering or at church receiving the holy ashes, but the streets are full. The whole city seems to be in some sort of fuss about something,’ she said
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