Eye of the Law Read Free Page A

sort of pouch sewn to the inside of that. The package, when he finally extracted it, was completely wrapped in oilskin and he took some time to unfold this, putting the skin carefully aside before handing the sheet of vellum to her. A fisherman, obviously, well used to protecting important goods from the damage of the Atlantic salt water.
    And this document was important. Mara read it to herself and then aloud. The letter was well written and referred to the ‘ancient law of the land of Ireland’ and stated that a woman had confessed her sin on her deathbed and had named Iarla as the son, not of her husband, but of Ardal O’Lochlainn, taoiseach of the O’Lochlainn clan of the Burren. The priest, in priest-like fashion, was ‘confident that this young man would be instated as the only son of the taoiseach and given all of the rights and privileges that came from that position.’
    Mara folded the letter and looked up. Ardal’s face was now well under control and showed no emotion. Liam looked openly suspicious.
    ‘How did the priest know that the O’Lochlainn had no son yet?’ he demanded truculently.
    Mara bit back a smile. The whole of the Burren had been trying to marry off Ardal for the last ten years. It was indeed possible that the story of his childlessness had penetrated as far as Aran. Liam, however, had not finished.
    ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he went on, pointing to Becan. ‘You were selling fish at the Imbolc fair, here on the Burren, six weeks ago. I remember your face.’
    ‘No crime in that.’ Becan’s voice was deep and hoarse.
    ‘But you said you were a blacksmith.’
    ‘I do a bit of this and a bit of that.’ Becan shrugged, spreading his hands out in the island fashion.
    He had more of a look of a blacksmith than of a fisherman, thought Mara. His hands and arms were huge and he had several burn marks on his face as well as his hands. She decided to say nothing though, just to watch and listen.
    ‘And if you are a fisherman,’ continued Liam, jutting his chin aggressively, ‘why sell fish here in Burren? Why not in Corcomroe – wouldn’t that be nearer for you with a long journey to go back to the island? Why walk all the way to the Burren? You had no horse, not even a donkey. I remember seeing you on the road near our place.’
    ‘Why not?’ Becan stared back.
    ‘I know why,’ said Liam triumphantly. ‘You had heard about the O’Lochlainn and you decided to come to have a look for yourself. You picked up all the news and you went to have a look at the O’Lochlainn’s tower house. Don’t deny it. It wasn’t on your road back to Doolin. You were having a good look around Lissylisheen when I saw you.’
    I wonder whether this is a fraud, thought Mara. It’s beginning to look like that. Aloud she said gently, ‘What was wrong with your mother, Iarla? Why did she die? She was still a young woman, wasn’t she?’
    ‘She had a lump in her breast,’ said the young man sullenly.
    ‘So she knew for quite a while that she was going to die,’ said Mara quietly.
    She cast a quick glance at Iarla. He had the massive shoulders and well-developed arms of Becan, but he did not look as if he had recently worked at the forge. There were no burn marks on either hands or face. Of course, there would have been very little work for a blacksmith in Aran. As far as she knew there were no deposits of iron in the limestone. Even in the Burren itself there was no iron: Fintan MacNamara, the blacksmith, had to get his from Corcomroe. Mara hadn’t been to Aran for several years, but she remembered it very clearly. Everything there was made from stone; there were no gates anywhere; the field gaps were opened and closed by the simple method of moving some of the large stones from the slanting herringbone pattern of the walls. The blacksmith’s work would consist purely in making cooking pots and perhaps shoes for the few horses that existed on the island.
    ‘So the blacksmith business belonged to