Free Scales of Retribution by Cora Harrison

legs and arms to the heat of the sun.
    Oisín was Mara’s second cousin. He had come from an obscure branch of the O’Davorens – there were neither physicians nor Brehons in his immediate family. His father, his grandfather and his uncles had all been coopers and had been content to live out their lives in the useful trade of barrel making. Oisín, though, had been ambitious. In his teens, he had visited Galway to sell some barrels there and had decided that the life of a merchant was the one for him. Though still a young man of just thirty, he had done so well that he now had a fine stone house as well as a shop in the city of Galway.
    Sensitive as always, Sorcha waited until Nuala had got up in a bored way and sauntered back towards the house before questioning him.
    ‘Well, what was Malachy’s woodland like?’
    Instantly he sat up, full of energy. ‘I couldn’t have believed it,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘That place is a goldmine. The trees are magnificent. It’s only twenty acres, but it must be worth more than a farm of two hundred acres.’ He beamed at his wife. ‘I must get my brother over here to pick out some of the best trees for felling. I’ll save a fortune if I have my own oak for storage barrels. I could never, in my wildest dreams, have guessed that I could have inherited so much from Malachy.’
    Was that true? wondered Mara. Had he not estimated the value of that woodland before now? Oisín was shrewd and knowing. And surely oak trees do not change much in five or six years. In fact, as far as she could remember that piece of woodland in Kilcorney looked much the same in her own childhood as it was now. Oisín had spent weeks staying with Malachy when he was courting Sorcha and had never failed to visit him whenever he was in the Burren. He must have seen that woodland hundreds of times. It was a favourite walk for courting couples. There was, perhaps, something slightly artificial in the way he laid so much emphasis on not realizing its value.
    ‘I think this little fellow has had enough,’ said Sorcha. She peered down at the tiny baby and then smiled at her mother. ‘He’s fast asleep; do you want to take him?’
    ‘Could I hold him?’ asked Aislinn wistfully.
    ‘When we are indoors,’ promised Mara. ‘I just want to have a turn holding him myself now. I didn’t see too much of him while I was ill.’ She saw Ciara give her a long look and busied herself with her baby, averting her gaze. Did she sound as jealous as she felt? she wondered.
    ‘You’ll be making wine barrels with it, will you?’ Ciara turned her attention to Oisín.
    ‘I’ve got a brilliant idea,’ he said, his white teeth flashing in a brilliant smile. ‘You’ll be interested in this, Mother!’
    Mara turned her face towards him, wishing that she had stopped this ‘Mother’ business when he first asked Sorcha to marry him. There was less than seven years in the difference between herself and her son-in-law, so it was all rather absurd. However, she guarded her tongue very carefully. Sorcha’s affection was hugely important to her and she would do nothing to imperil relationships.
    ‘Yes?’ she queried.
    ‘Well, you know you have always said that you mostly use the last quarter or so of the cask just for cooking or mulling – and you wouldn’t be the only one. True wine lovers all do the same thing. And of course, no matter how careful you are with the tap, sooner or later air gets in and then the wine starts to spoil.’
    ‘That’s true,’ said Ciara. ‘Teige always complains that we are feeding him the dregs of the barrels and that we should reserve these for the hot wine at night for the men-at-arms.’ Her face clouded suddenly and Mara knew that her thoughts had gone to her easy-going, affectionate husband, now in the company of his men-at-arms, fighting for his lord, face to face with the Earl of Kildare and his English troops. Would it end in tragedy?
    ‘Well, tell us your idea,’ said