Free Cross of Vengeance by Cora Harrison Page A

sought sanctuary in the abbey of Westminster in London during a time of trouble.
    ‘I have no objection to this man awaiting the verdict of the court in any place that seems fit to him,’ she said, making sure that her voice was divested of emotion. ‘All that I will stipulate is that he must not leave the kingdom until the hearing is complete and the fine is paid. In order not to inconvenience the pilgrims and delay them any longer than necessary on their journey to Aran, I propose to gather evidence this afternoon, if possible, and to hold the trial first thing tomorrow morning at the place of justice, Poulnabrone,’ she continued briskly, nodding to Fachtnan to translate her words into Gaelic. Father MacMahon, Blad, Nechtan and Ardal would all know about the procedure for trying law cases and crimes at the outdoor location at Poulnabrone beside the ancient dolmen in the centre of the Burren, but there would, she guessed, have to be explanations to the others afterwards.
    ‘But surely this man should be cast into prison,’ said the prioress, interrupting Fachtnan.
    ‘He is innocent until proved guilty,’ said Mara sweetly, with a glance at Hans Kaufmann. ‘And we have no prisons here in the kingdom of the Burren. The inhabitants are willing to be ruled by Brehon law and to pay the penalties given by the courts.’
    Although the prioress spoke in English, Mara replied to her in Latin; she wished that her German was better, but though she had learned a little from her father when he came back from his pilgrimage she had found few opportunities for practice in recent years. Still, the man understood Latin and that was good enough. Latin was the common language for all European countries – as soon as any scholar entered her law school she began to teach them Latin, even at the age of five years. Fluency in that language was essential for their future as lawyers.
    Deliberately she moved away from the pilgrims and up towards the altar. By now the German was sitting on the luxurious crimson carpet, lounging in a comfortable way, his back resting against the top step. He did not look alarmed at her progress towards him, but sat up as she approached and gave her a warm smile. Domhnall, despatched by Fachtnan, carried up a chair for his Brehon and placed it politely at the foot of the altar steps.
    Mara sat down and with a gesture invited Hans Kaufmann nearer. Fachtnan beckoned to Domhnall and with his usual tact managed to get the other pilgrims to withdraw a little towards the back of the church. Brehon and the accused faced each other in the dim light.
    ‘It would make things much easier for me,’ Mara said frankly, ‘if you would just admit, now, that you were the one who set fire to the relic. After all,’ she could see by the half-smile that puckered his lips, that she was on the point of winning, ‘you only did it in order to gain publicity for the views of your master, Martin Luther. You want people to understand his message – is that not true? Why not admit it now? Your reasons can be given in public tomorrow to the inhabitants of the Burren, as well as to your fellow travellers. You will have an audience and, who knows, news of your gesture will be all over Europe in a year or so.’ Deliberately she kept her voice very low. These were not words that she wanted to be overheard by the other pilgrims.
    He looked at her and a smile puckered his lips. ‘You’re a very original woman,’ he said, his voice also muted. He spoke Latin with great fluency, she noticed.
    ‘Save me trouble,’ she said, ignoring the compliment, but still finding pleasure in it. ‘Save me the trouble of gathering evidence and agree to plead guilty tomorrow. The sentence will be a fine – a fine to make restitution to the priest.’ Poor Blad, she thought with a moment’s compunction, but she could not really see how she could interpret the law so that he would be considered a candidate for restitution. Perhaps Father MacMahon