Connor smiled at the mention of his foster-mother. Riona would cluck and fuss over him like a hen.
‘Thank you for answering my summons. We have much to discuss.’ Seamus sent him a thoughtful look. ‘In a few days, this season’saenachwill begin. I intend to bring your case before thebrehonsto seek their judgment. The Ó Banníons must answer for your injuries.’
A servant poured a cup of wine into a silver chalice. The Brehon courts were held at every public gathering, and the occasion of theaenachwas no exception. The local fair, although it provided a means of celebrating and feasting, was also a time for more serious matters of justice to be debated.
‘I’ve no wish to bring the case before the courts,’ he argued. ‘Brehon laws will enact a fine, nothing more.’
‘It is the way of our people.’
‘But it is not enough. Not for what happened to me.’
A pretty maid sat down beside him and lifted the cup to his lips. Connor drank the spiced wine, the rich flavour a welcome change from the mead he was accustomed to.
‘What is it you want?’
‘Vengeance. An eye for an eye.’
Seamus shook his head, his displeasure evident. ‘Theaenachis the place to discuss judgements. Do not let your anger sway you from the right path. If the Ó Banníons did this to you, then the case is a simple one.’
‘Not so simple,’ Connor said. His skin tightened with frustration. ‘Flynn Ó Banníon will claim that I lay with his daughter Deirdre. Without her consent.’
‘And did you?’
Connor leaned forward, letting Seamus see the darkness of his resentment. ‘You know the answer to that already.’
Seamus nodded, steepling his hands. ‘If what you say is true, the Ó Banníons will claim that you owe his daughter thecorp-dírefor stealing her virtue.’
‘But he owes me the same for bringing harm to my hands. The fines will nullify each other.’
‘Can her lie be proven?’
‘It is her word against mine.’
‘Hmm.’ Seamus took a deep sip of his wine. ‘Your reputation among the women does not help the matter. Too many could understand how Deirdre was seduced.’
‘I never laid hands upon her.’
‘As you say. But it will be difficult to prove. A full body price will be demanded.’
‘I do not wantcorp-díre,’ Connor said, lowering his voice. ‘I want the Ó Banníon’s death.’
Seamus’s face grew sharp. ‘You speak foolishness.’ He signalled for the maid to leave their presence. When they were alone, he added, ‘This is a matter for the courts to decide.’
‘A throng of arguing lawyers will not bring back my hands.’
‘And murder will?’ Seamus questioned.
‘It will make me feel better.’
His foster-father shook his head. ‘Always a dark temper you had, Connor. But the blood of the Ó Banníons would bring nothing but war.’ He stood and led Connor outside.
‘How are your hands? Will you be able to fight again?’
‘We do not know. But I have seen the wounds—’ His voice broke off. His twisted fingers could never grip a sword. Flynn Ó Banníon had destroyed him, as surely as if he had taken his life.
‘I will ask the monks to say prayers on your behalf.’ Seamus said. ‘And my offer to you stands, should you wish to dwell with us.’
‘I prefer the isolation of Aileen’s hut.’
