• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 2571 0

kinsman, but like most of the Irish local rulers, he exacted heavy payments for his rule and protection, just as he, in turn, had to pay heavy taxes to the Earl of Kildare. The system might be English in name, but for all practical purposes, Kildare’s rule over the O’Byrnes was that of a traditional Irish king. It was she, as much as her straying husband, who made sure these obligations could always be fulfilled each year; she who made sure the harvest was brought in when he was wandering, often as not, with the cattle on the ridges above; she who kept an eye on the Brennans and the other dependents of the place. That was why it particularly angered her that he should have started a relationship with the Brennan woman. “How can you be so stupid?” she had stormed. “You have a good tenant, so you go and play the fool with his wife.”

But above all, how could he humiliate her like this, practically in her own house? Nearly two decades of marriage, a loving wife, children—didn’t that mean anything to him? Had he no respect for her? It wasn’t just the woman she objected to so much. It was the lie that hurt. He knew she knew, yet he could lie to her face. Didn’t he even realise the profound contempt for her that he was showing? That was why she had persuaded the priest to make him swear: in the hope that, for once, she could force him to tell the truth. She just wanted to break through to him, to make something change.

She had thought he would hesitate to lie to the priest. Especially when there happened to be a friar there as well. For whatever his behaviour might be, she knew that her husband had a respect for his religion. She had seen him giving extra money to the travelling friars when he thought she wasn’t looking. And she had loved him for that. Like most people, even those who were cynical about the worldly priests, or the sedentary monks, he liked to give alms to the poor friars who preached and tended the sick, and led a simple life.

And he wasn’t without reverance, either. Once, when they had gone into the Cathedral of Christ Church to see the Bachall Iosa and the other sacred relics there, she had seen him gaze at them with awe and fear in his eye. Sean O’Byrne might like to give out that he was a bold fellow, but he was still afraid of the sacred relics, like anybody else.

Yet he’d just lied again. He’d sworn a sacred oath as casually as he had seduced the girl. It had probably been a mistake to choose Father Donal for the task, she decided. The priest was too familiar to him. He somehow thought he could lie to Father Donal, and that it did not matter. As for the friar, he was just a bystander who could hardly be involved. And so after this embarrassing scene, she was no better off than she had been before. She knew very well that he was looking at her, even now, with a smile of triumph on his face. It was too painful. She had failed to get anywhere at all. No wonder she had turned away.

The friar, who had been brought to the house by Father Donal, was on his way to visit a hermit who lived over at Glendalough. Her husband was turning to the friar now, inviting him in. Of course, the good friar should be fed. She took a deep breath and prepared to do her duty. But even in defeat, she secretly vowed that she was not done with Sean O’Byrne yet.

Cecily was just walking through the Dame’s Gate that same morning when they seized her. Two men grabbed at her arms; the third marched in front, looking pleased with himself. For a moment when it happened, she had been so taken by surprise that she could only give a little scream. By the time she had understood what they were doing, they were triumphantly marching her up the slope.

“You can’t arrest me,” she protested, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We’ll see about that,” the man in front replied, “at the Tholsel.”

The ramshackle old town hall with its heavy gables was not a building the Dublin corporation could be very proud of. Every year someone among the aldermen would declare that the place must be refurbished, and everyone would agree; but somehow the funds were