My Lady Judge by Cora Harrison Page B

might wake them up. She left Hugh until the last – the boy looked ill, she thought. If he weren’t any better by Monday she would ask Malachy to have a look at him. In the meantime she would give him the easiest question that she could think of, something that he would be bound to know.

    ‘Hugh,’ she said gently, ‘what is the word for the fine that is paid for a killing?’
    He stared at her and his face flooded crimson. What was the matter with him? He must know the word éraic; it was one of the first things that they all learned.
    ‘Can you help him, Shane?’
    Shane’s face went white as he got to his feet. He looked at Hugh and then turned away quickly. The other boys stirred uncomfortably. Fachtnan stared out of the window, Enda shook his blond mop over his face and Aidan chewed a fingernail. Shane dropped his long black eyelashes over his blue eyes. His hands, noticed Mara, were clenched tightly behind his back. Nevertheless, he finally managed to answer steadily.
    ‘The word is éraic, Brehon.’
    ‘Very good,’ said Mara encouragingly. There was no point in asking them what was wrong, she thought. Boys were funny creatures and they would all stick together. She would talk to Fachtnan afterwards, and perhaps to Shane. Shane would know what was wrong with Hugh, though he might not want to say. She looked out of the window. There was no sign of anyone stirring from the guest house – the king obviously still slept, but by now the sun was rising high in the sky.
    ‘Why don’t you all have a game of hurling before the weather gets too hot?’ she suggested. ‘Then, after you have had your dinner, you can have a few hours’ rest. You can study your Latin in the cool of the evening.’
    She had expected a cheer and was ready to hush them but they rose to their feet and filed out quietly. After a moment, Fachtnan returned.
    ‘Brehon,’ he said. ‘Brigid said to tell you that Diarmuid from Baur North is here to see you. He said that if you are busy he will come back another day.’
    Outside Diarmuid was striding up and down, looking like a
dog who is deciding whether to make a break for freedom. He was a nice man, a decent, hard-working man, but a silent, self-contained one. He clearly had something on his mind and this was causing him great distress. The atmosphere of the schoolhouse would inhibit him.
    ‘Run and tell him that I am coming, Fachtnan,’ she said. ‘And then go into the kitchen and get two cups of ale and some oatcakes. I’ll take him over to the garden in my house and then we won’t be disturbed by you lads playing hurling.’
    Let them wake up the king if they liked, she thought with a glance at the height of the sun as she hurried under the stone lintel that spanned the entrance to the law school. He has slept long enough. She was probably in bed later than he was and she had been up since seven!
    ‘Diarmuid,’ she greeted him. ‘Have breakfast with me in my garden. I got immersed in my flowers this morning and forgot to feed myself. The lads are tired and not feeling like work so I gave them a little break. Thank you, Brigid, I’ll take the tray.’
    When they reached the garden, Diarmuid accepted the cup of ale and an oatcake thankfully. He seemed glad of a few moments’ pause before he had to divulge what he had come for. She looked at him carefully. This was not just his normal diffidence. He looked like a man who had lain awake all night and then come to a difficult decision. She would not rush him, but she would not let him go until he had emptied his mind of the matters that troubled him so much. She took an extra oatcake herself so as to fill the silence with companionable munching. I shouldn’t do that, she thought idly, I’m beginning to put on weight for the first time in my life. She held out the wooden platter to Diarmuid.
    He hesitated, then shook his head and shrugged the loose sleeves of his léine into place. His face had the look of a man who had just