been asked to provide, given the difference in status between the parties, but the agreement was a fair one. The lawyer was very young and had no settled position and the girl was extraordinarily beautiful.
‘Does anyone know of any reason why this contract should not be ratified?’ she asked. No one spoke. It was odd, she thought, how silence could sometimes speak louder than words. There were none of the customary cheers, nor calling out of good wishes, nor good-natured jokes, just this cold silence. Was it a sense of
sympathy with Roderic, a kind, good-natured young man, who was so popular with everyone, or was it pity for the young girl? And yet, there was nothing unusual about this situation.
Daniel had done well for his daughter. Colman would be a rich man within a few years and he was young and, she supposed, quite good-looking in a narrow, slightly effeminate way. Girls were not normally consulted about marriage plans and Roderic would not be the first landless young man to be disappointed. The silence must result from something else, a dislike for Colman, perhaps, and yet there was nothing to be done now; this contract of marriage would have to go ahead.
Mara glanced at Daniel’s taoiseach, Finn O’Connor, and then at the king. Both nodded, and Turlough Donn got to his feet.
‘This contract has been ratified,’ he called out in his booming voice and he walked over to slap Colman on the back and bestow a warm kiss on the lovely flower-like face of the bride-to-be. This broke the tension, and the crowd stirred and relaxed. A few laughed and most turned their faces towards the east, contemplating the swirling heights of Mullaghmore, impatient for the evening’s fun to begin.
‘Judgement day has ended,’ said Mara formally, and added, as she always did, ‘Go in peace with your family and your neighbours.’
‘And I will come up the mountain with you all,’ announced the king.
There was a huge and genuine cheer at that. Turlough Donn was highly esteemed, not just within his own clan, the O’Briens, but also within the dominant clan, the O’Lochlainns. In the past, O’Lochlainns had been kings of the Burren, O’Connors had been kings of Corcomroe and the O’Briens kings of Thomond, but that was a long time ago and Turlough Donn, in his ten-year reign, had reconciled all differences so that the three kingdoms of
Burren, Corcomroe and their large neighbour, Thomond, were all happily united under his rule.
The people had begun to move. Some would go to nearby houses and collect the stacks of food and flagons of ale deposited there earlier, others would fetch musical instruments; most of the young men, led by Muiris, Aoife’s father, were plunging into the hazel thickets in the square-shaped deep hollows near Poulnabrone. They would need to bring wood for the bonfire up to the top of the mountain. Muiris had a long, wickedly sharp thatching knife that glinted in the late afternoon sun and, despite his fifty years, he was the first to complete a bundle of hazel rods. There was a lot of good-natured laughing and joking as the others strove to be the one to cut the largest number of bundles in the shortest time. The six law scholars, suddenly released from good behaviour, followed the others into the thickets.
‘That’s a very fancy knife your young Hugh is holding,’ said Malachy at her elbow. Mara looked across at her scholars. Twelve-year-old Hugh was brandishing an ornate knife with a gem-studded silver handle. The red and blue stones caught a few eyes and several young men had stopped to admire it.
‘When did he get that?’ asked Mara with a frown. ‘I suppose his father gave it to him when he visited last week.’
Hugh’s father was a prosperous silversmith, inclined, especially since the death of his wife, to spoil his clever youngest son with valuable gifts. It was immensely important to him that Hugh would qualify in the prestigious profession of lawyer and perhaps even become a Brehon
‘Does anyone know of any reason why this contract should not be ratified?’ she asked. No one spoke. It was odd, she thought, how silence could sometimes speak louder than words. There were none of the customary cheers, nor calling out of good wishes, nor good-natured jokes, just this cold silence. Was it a sense of
sympathy with Roderic, a kind, good-natured young man, who was so popular with everyone, or was it pity for the young girl? And yet, there was nothing unusual about this situation.
Daniel had done well for his daughter. Colman would be a rich man within a few years and he was young and, she supposed, quite good-looking in a narrow, slightly effeminate way. Girls were not normally consulted about marriage plans and Roderic would not be the first landless young man to be disappointed. The silence must result from something else, a dislike for Colman, perhaps, and yet there was nothing to be done now; this contract of marriage would have to go ahead.
Mara glanced at Daniel’s taoiseach, Finn O’Connor, and then at the king. Both nodded, and Turlough Donn got to his feet.
‘This contract has been ratified,’ he called out in his booming voice and he walked over to slap Colman on the back and bestow a warm kiss on the lovely flower-like face of the bride-to-be. This broke the tension, and the crowd stirred and relaxed. A few laughed and most turned their faces towards the east, contemplating the swirling heights of Mullaghmore, impatient for the evening’s fun to begin.
‘Judgement day has ended,’ said Mara formally, and added, as she always did, ‘Go in peace with your family and your neighbours.’
‘And I will come up the mountain with you all,’ announced the king.
There was a huge and genuine cheer at that. Turlough Donn was highly esteemed, not just within his own clan, the O’Briens, but also within the dominant clan, the O’Lochlainns. In the past, O’Lochlainns had been kings of the Burren, O’Connors had been kings of Corcomroe and the O’Briens kings of Thomond, but that was a long time ago and Turlough Donn, in his ten-year reign, had reconciled all differences so that the three kingdoms of
Burren, Corcomroe and their large neighbour, Thomond, were all happily united under his rule.
The people had begun to move. Some would go to nearby houses and collect the stacks of food and flagons of ale deposited there earlier, others would fetch musical instruments; most of the young men, led by Muiris, Aoife’s father, were plunging into the hazel thickets in the square-shaped deep hollows near Poulnabrone. They would need to bring wood for the bonfire up to the top of the mountain. Muiris had a long, wickedly sharp thatching knife that glinted in the late afternoon sun and, despite his fifty years, he was the first to complete a bundle of hazel rods. There was a lot of good-natured laughing and joking as the others strove to be the one to cut the largest number of bundles in the shortest time. The six law scholars, suddenly released from good behaviour, followed the others into the thickets.
‘That’s a very fancy knife your young Hugh is holding,’ said Malachy at her elbow. Mara looked across at her scholars. Twelve-year-old Hugh was brandishing an ornate knife with a gem-studded silver handle. The red and blue stones caught a few eyes and several young men had stopped to admire it.
‘When did he get that?’ asked Mara with a frown. ‘I suppose his father gave it to him when he visited last week.’
Hugh’s father was a prosperous silversmith, inclined, especially since the death of his wife, to spoil his clever youngest son with valuable gifts. It was immensely important to him that Hugh would qualify in the prestigious profession of lawyer and perhaps even become a Brehon
Similar Books
