My Lady Judge by Cora Harrison

no voices, but certainly many heavy footsteps. Mara went back into the room and struck a light from her tinderbox. The king had given her a present of the new sulphur sticks, but she preferred her tinderbox. She lit the candle by her bed and carried it over to the window. Its light would not help her to see; it could not possibly reach the fields, but Colman would see that she was awake and would come to report. She could see them now, their shadows black against the silver of the stone pavements. She could not count the heads but there seemed to be a large number. She leaned a little further out of the window. They were clambering over the wall – not vaulting, not pushing and shoving, but scaling it like middle-aged men. She could see the heads now, and rapidly she began to count. Only four tall figures, she thought, feeling puzzled, and then, with a
sigh of relief, two small ones. At least Hugh and Shane were safe.
    ‘Colman,’ she called softly. One head detached itself and came towards the Brehon’s house. The others stayed by the side of the road. Mara frowned. This was not Colman, but Fachtnan; there was no mistaking the rough, dark bushy curls. She waited until he had pushed the gate open and had come up the path towards her window.
    ‘Colman did not come back with us, Brehon,’ he said quietly before she could question him. ‘He said that you had given him leave to visit his parents.’
    ‘Yes, but …’ Mara stopped. She had to keep to her own rule never to undermine Colman in front of the scholars. ‘Are you all safe? And did you have a good time?’ she added.
    ‘Yes, thank you, Brehon,’ he said. ‘We had a good time and we are all here, and all safe.’
    She frowned in puzzlement. Fachtnan would normally not have been able to resist the temptation to tease her with stories of how many wolves they had fought off and how Shane had been plucked at the very last moment from the bonfire and Hugh almost carried off by a golden eagle. He was a boy who loved fun, but now his voice was empty of all emotion.
    ‘Make sure that no one makes a noise going in,’ she said eventually. ‘The king and his bodyguards are in the guest house. If Brigid and Cumhal have a light on in their house, just whisper at the window that you are all safe. Are you sure that all of you are all right?’
    ‘Yes, thank you, Brehon.’ Again Fachtnan’s voice was toneless and heavy.
    ‘Tell the lads that they can sleep in tomorrow morning – this morning, I mean,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Brigid to call everyone at about nine or half past nine.’

    He murmured goodnight and went back to join the others, who were waiting patiently in a cluster by the gate to the law school. Mara waited by the window until she saw them all go through the gates and heard the sound of the latch of the scholars’ house click closed. How dare Colman do that? How dare he abandon the scholars? Perhaps someone offered him a lift in a cart to Galway the following morning, and he went home with them. This gives me a great excuse to get rid of him, she thought gleefully. I can always say that I could never trust him again since he betrayed my trust that night of Bealtaine. She took off her night-robe and slipped into bed, shivering slightly at the coolness of the linen sheets. She did not give another thought to the king’s surprising proposal.
     
     
    Despite the late night, Mara rose early as usual. She thought about writing up her notes about judgement day, but the morning was too beautiful to waste. She loved May, loved the way the days lengthened and grew warmer. The sun was already high above Mullaghmore and the great mountain seemed to glow in the morning light with a mysterious soft blue, the spiralling terraces making it seem like a fairy castle from one of the beautifully painted books that she had once seen at the abbey. Mara set to work with energy. She had a new plan for her riverbed of gentians. Most of the gentians she had in her garden