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Mara. ‘She, her father and her mother worship at your church every Sunday. I understand that her mother cleans the church, so I would have thought that Nessa’s welfare would be of great concern to you.’
    ‘Her spiritual welfare is of concern to me,’ he replied gravely. ‘And so is the spiritual welfare of everyone within the parish of Kilcorney. And this devilish work’ – he stabbed a finger dramatically at the stone circle – ‘this endangers the souls that are in my charge.’
    With that, he swung around and stalked rapidly away across the stones towards the church of Kilcorney.
    Well, that got rid of him, thought Mara, but her sense of satisfaction was soured by the thought of poor young Nessa. Her religious mother might have been better taking care of her than spending all her free time cleaning and polishing the church. Nessa was left on her own to get up to mischief and the mischief had resulted in a stillborn baby. Who really was the father of the baby? wondered Mara for the fiftieth time. Why had the girl obstinately refused to give his name for the whole of her pregnancy, and then suddenly changed her mind? And why had Nessa given such an unlikely name for the father of her child?

THREE
    TRIAD 176

    There are three destructive elements to the wisdom of the court:
    1. A harsh pleading
    2. A talkative court
    3. A judge without knowledge
    During the proceedings of the court, the Brehon may be
addressed as ‘Tighernae’, my lord judge, or ‘Ban
Tighernae’, my lady judge.

     
     
    T HE DOLMEN OF POULNABRONE stood at the eastern edge of the four miles of flat tableland called the High Burren. Four huge upright slabs, each of them the height of a man, supported the soaring capstone of rough, lichen-spotted limestone. The field around it was paved with limestone clints, the grykes between them dotted with purple-spotted orchids, and the dolmen stood silhouetted against the sky, towering above the clints.
    By the time King Turlough Donn and his bodyguards arrived
for judgement day Mara was seated at the foot of the dolmen with Colman by her side and her six scholars gathered around her. The field was full of people who had walked or ridden from all corners of the hundred-square-mile kingdom of the Burren. The only empty spot was immediately around Diarmuid who stood unhappily, holding a wildly barking dog by a stout iron chain. People backed away nervously and the space around man and dog grew larger by the minute.
    Turlough Donn had become king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren in the year 1499. He was a heavily built man, about fifty years old, with the brown hair that had given him the nickname of ‘Donn’ just turning grey, light green eyes and a pleasant open face. A pair of huge moustaches curving down from either side of his mouth gave his face a warlike look, which was denied by the gentle amiable expression in his eyes.
    ‘Mara!’ He greeted his Brehon as always with a hearty kiss and Mara responded with a hug. She was fond of the king. His warmth and his generosity appealed to her.
    ‘We’re honoured by your presence, my lord,’ she said formally as the four taoiseachs of the principal clans of the Burren – the O’Lochlainn, the O’Connor, the MacNamara and the O’Brien – came up to greet him.
    ‘Ardal! Finn! Garrett! Teige!’ With his usual lack of formality, the king saluted each of his chieftains with a quick slap on the back and then seated himself beside Mara.
    ‘I’m looking forward to having dinner with you afterwards,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s a favour I want to ask of you.’
    She looked at him in surprise, wondering what it was.
    ‘I have a favour to ask of you, also,’ she said quickly. ‘I want you to come up the mountain, up Mullaghmore, after we finish here. Father Conglach, the parish priest of Kilcorney, is trying to stir up the bishop of Kilfenora against the custom. I know that the bishop is in Corcomroe, not in the Burren, but his