O’Rourke, unable to contain himself, poured forth his grievance. Barely stopping for breath, he paced, shouted and gesticulated angrily at my father, who I could see was surprisingly calm. ‘I want justice. I want his head.’
This took quite some time, and all the while Cormac watched him carefully. I’d swear he could see more with that one eye than an army of men with two. When O’Rourke had finally exhausted himself, Cormac sat, silently observing him. Eventually he spoke.
‘Justice. You want justice.’ He paused nodding. ‘And justice you will have, Tiarnan.’ A longer pause now, and he rose easily from his stool, making me think his show of sitting earlier had been just that, a performance to get the full attention of everyone. ‘But Tiarnan, justice is not a solitary creature. It must live amongst us, long after the punishment is felt.’
He paced slowly around the gathered circle who had come to witness his judgement. Brehon law was a code of conduct for everyday life that developed over the centuries in Ireland, even before the Celts arrived. First collected by a great Brehon, Ollamh Fódha, a thousand years before the birth of the Christian God, it dealt with every aspect of our lives from land disputes, to marriage and divorce, to recompense for theft or violence, even the rights of animals and the care of trees. Men and women were regarded equally in these laws and were equally subject to it. Even a king in Ireland was subject to the law. I look back across the long years and sometimes think that this was perhaps what we really had in common with Strongbow and the Geraldines: they resented the right of the English king to make the law and impose it upon them. Maybe our way, the Irish way, was why they stayed and readily became one with us.
‘Gentlemen,’ Cormac beckoned to the men gathered around him. ‘Come closer. Let those at the back hear what I have to say. I am a Brehon, a keeper of the laws.’ The men shuffled closer as he continued. ‘As you know, as a Brehon, I have an obligation to you all to explain my judgement. So please come close, put your weapons away for today and you might just learn something useful.’ The two armies gathered closely around to hear Cormac now; there would be no more bloodshed today in his presence.
‘So there must be fairness,’ he continued when a quietness settled, ‘but above all else it must bring us back to harmony.’ And raising his voice to reach those at the back, he became more animated, almost pleading. ‘Tell me, what earthly good does it do to kill a criminal who has killed another man?’ He paused. ‘How does that benefit the grieving wife or the children left fatherless and penniless?’ A longer pause. ‘Anyone?’
Almost chastising now, he continued, ‘No one? Exactly, because it won’t. And will the executed man’s kin simply thank you for your kind service in lopping his head off and wander off home?’ Moving slowly around the closed circle now, the men in the front rows avoided his fierce gaze. ‘They won’t! It will be a blood feud. And you will all be seeing a lot more of me, doing just this, deciding the law,’ he shouted, seeming exasperated at the futility of it all. I remember thinking it was a masterly performance with a great purpose: to teach the law.
‘And if we were to apply the barbaric “eye for and eye” principle used in other lands in this case, do you, Tiarnan, want to have your way with MacMurrough’s wife?’ he asked, not expecting O’Rourke to answer, but when he saw that Tiarnan was about to speak, he quickly interrupted him. ‘Be careful now, Tiarnan. You know well that under Brehon law it is an offence to insult a woman. An offence which carries a heavy éineach fine. So now is one of those moments in life when a wise man, which I know you are, does not miss the opportunity to say nothing!’ He finished, and O’Rourke, knowing the truth of this, stayed silent.
Slowly he returned to the stool in the center of the crowd and settled himself with a heavy air of responsibility. ‘So, Tiarnan, there will be no more killing. I know it will satisfy your thirst for revenge, and that, I do understand.’ He shook his head as if in despair at the folly of human nature. ‘But it will not serve you or our people well, and that is precisely why our laws push firmly in the other direction. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is not the way of our laws. That is futile, and these ancient laws have served us well.’
O’Rourke dropped his head, spitting fury but knowing the Brehon’s word was law.
Turning to my father, Cormac regarded him coldly. What he had done was well known to everyone. It was not a question of his guilt. ‘Diarmuit MacMurrough. You were once a great king, and heavy is the fall under that great weight, is it not? What do you say to these charges against you?’
‘I did not abduct his wife, Dearbhail,’ he said, and turning to O’Rourke, he continued, ‘she came willingly.’
O’Rourke rose to the provocation and, cursing, made to rush at my father before he was restrained by the men standing around.
‘Tóg go bog é, Tiarnan. Don’t rise to it. We must hear him,’ Cormac said, settling things. Then he proceeded to question my father as to how bringing an army into O’Rourke’s kingdom of Bréifne and subsequently leaving with his wife and considerable spoils could in any way be considered a form of courting.
‘You have a strange way of wooing a lady, Diarmuit MacMurrough.’ There was a muted laugh from the crowd. ‘Furthermore, the Senchus Mór, the Great Ancient Law, contains clear laws allowing a wife to divorce her husband and leave with her fair portion of their wealth. She can leave him for many reasons.’ He was addressing the crowd now. ‘Including obesity or if he is unarmed . . . and by that I mean, for the slow amongst you, not being able to get your cock up.’ The crowd roared with laughter now. Shaking his head, he asked, ‘Given that, Diarmuit MacMurrough, your account of events seems to me like a strange way for her to go about leaving him, does it not?’
‘That bastard forcefully abducted my good wife and abused her against her will,’ O’Rourke shouted, now almost weeping at the horrors that had been inflicted upon his Dearbhail.
‘Indeed, Tiarnan.’ Cormac raised the eyebrow over his one good eye and slowly approached him. ‘And where is she now? Has she returned to you?’ The question was met with a telling silence from O’Rourke. He stood stony-faced, avoiding Cormac’s eye. There was a lot which was not said. This had all happened before I was born. Had she really been abducted by my father, or had she willingly fled O’Rourke? Considering she had brought all her wealth with her, it must have been planned. What's more, not long after her arrival in Ferns with my father, she had freely returned to her own father in Meath. It did not sound like an abduction.
Cormac let the silence hang, scanning the onlookers, inviting them to draw their own conclusions. Then, grunting contentedly, having made his point without uttering a word, he left it there and didn’t pursue it with O’Rourke, who remained silent now, seemingly happy not to dwell on the circumstances in which his wife, Dearbhail, had left him.
‘Does anyone else have anything to say on these matters?’ Cormac addressed the wide gathering.
‘There is another grave matter for which he must be held to account,’ O’Connor spoke up, stepping forward. Pointing to my father, he went on accusingly, ‘Diarmuit MacMurrough has committed a great wrong by bringing armed foreigners to our land. This can bring no good. It must be stopped, and he must suffer punishment for this to discourage other foreigners from coming here.’
Cormac sighed, a slight exasperation creasing his brow. With a shake of his sunken head, he asked, ‘Foreigners? Indeed, Rory, foreigners.’ Lifting his gaze with a puzzled expression. ‘And who exactly are these foreigners you’re referring to, Rory?’
O’Connor gestured towards the Normans, who, remaining cautious and not fully understanding what was happening, stood apart from the general gathering. ‘These men, the English. They have come armed for war with ill intent into our land.’
‘The English . . . is that what they are?’ Cormac said, looking up the hill to where Rob, FitzGodebert and the rest of the Normans watched the proceedings. ‘Let me see . . .’ He made a show of straining his one eye to survey the group.
‘From what I see from here, that one is Flemish,’ he said, pointing to FitzGodebert. ‘As are those few. That man with the longbow is Welsh, and I’d venture that all his companions are also Welsh. I see several very well-dressed Frenchmen, and . . . I might be wrong here, not being blessed with the second eye, but I don’t actually see one Englishman amongst them.’ He finished and turned to O’Connor with a baffled look.
‘Well, call them what you wish, Cormac,’ O’Connor said, ‘the foreigners should not have been brought here to the land of the Gaels by MacMurrough.’
‘Foreigners . . . the land of the Gaels.’ Cormac slowly paced the circle, hand rubbing his chin as if struggling to grasp the issue raised by O’Connor. He stopped and turned to a very tall warrior standing close to O’Rourke.
‘Well, you’re a fine strappin’ lad. What’s your name?’
‘Conor O’Ronáin,’ he replied, hesitating, a bit uncomfortable with the attention he was getting.
‘A fine Gaelic name. From the kingdom of Bréifne, I’d venture?’ Cormac asked, and the warrior nodded.
‘I thought so. That’s a fine head of golden hair and beard you have, you should be proud of it,’ Cormac observed, and the lad relaxed a bit, pleased with the compliment from the Brehon in front of his companions.
‘But the Gaels were a smaller race, with a darker skin and hair,’ Cormac said. ‘Either that or flaming red, like many amongst us today.’ And he invited the men gathered to look around them.
‘So you, Conor, either have known Norse blood in you or your mother had an unknown Norseman in her . . . unbeknownst to your father!’ The men laughed and goaded the lad, who suddenly deflated, flushed with embarrassment.
‘In fact, there’s a good smattering of very tall Norse-looking lads standing around here today, bearing proud Gaelic names coming from proud Gaelic kingdoms.’ Turning to the wider gathering, he drew their attention to the fact that the Norsemen of Dublin who had joined O’Connor’s army today did not look much different from the rest of the Irish army. It was impossible to tell them apart.
‘My point, Rory, is that I don’t see an army of pure Gaels standing behind you here today. I see a mix of two fine peoples, blending to one.’
O’Connor acknowledged Cormac’s point. However, he suggested that the Norsemen had come to the island of Ireland over four hundred years ago and had now become established and accepted.
‘Exactly. When they came, they brought their ships, tools, weapons . . .’ He pointed to a large twin-bladed battleaxe. And their blood.’ He swivelled dramatically to single out Conor again. ‘And from what I see, we are all the better for it all.’ He opened his arms as if to embrace the entire assemblage.
‘That may well be true, Cormac, but we Gaels have welcomed enough foreigners to our land now.’
‘Foreigners? Rory, before the Norsemen, do you know who the first foreigners were to come to this land?’ Cormac asked.
Receiving no response, he continued. ‘No? Well, you weren’t paying attention to your seanchaí when you were a garsún. So let me tell you now. Pay attention this time.’ Although a Brehon specialising in the law, he had a deep knowledge of our history. Traditionally, each king would have his appointed bard, skilled in poetry, music, history and the law. As these areas became more specialised, there emerged the seanchaí who would learn and recount the history. The Brehons specialised in the law, and poets and musicians developed their own skills. However, the Brehons, in particular, would be well versed in aspects of each discipline and were the most respected of all. Cormac, in teaching mode now, showed his deep knowledge of the happenings lost to many in the mists of time in our land.
He agreed that Rory was indeed correct. The Norsemen first arrived on our shores about four hundred ago. However, before them, in a timeframe not too dissimilar to that, the Gaels themselves had arrived in Ireland from the land known as Iberia. They had not been welcomed by the Tuatha Dé Danann, the tribes whose land they coveted here. Ultimately, they had come to an agreement to divide the kingdom between the two races. The Gaels would take the world above, and the Tuatha Dé Danann would take the world below, the otherworld.
