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with astonishment. ‘Have you never heard of him? Cardinal Wolsey is the most important man in England – after the king, of course.’
    ‘And he is interested in Brehon law?’ Mara glanced down at the closely written page of notes. ‘Brehon law is now once again widespread throughout Ireland except for an area of only about ten miles around Dublin,’ she read.
    ‘Of course; it’s regarded as a big drawback to the civilisation of Ireland,’ said Stephen Gardiner. He smiled disarmingly and added, ‘In the Latin sense, you understand.’
    Mara laughed. She liked young men with sharp wits. ‘So you think that Ireland would be improved if it were turned into a country full of city states,’ she said her eyes looking with satisfaction across the landscape of green fields and rounded mountains. ‘Come up the mountain with us and you can fill another page of your notebook about the May Day customs of those strange Irish people.’
    ‘He’s been telling me about the court of Henry VIII and how no one can come near him without passing through fifty guards, all armed to the teeth,’ said Shane, sounding impressed.
    ‘Come and meet another king, who walks among his people with no fear,’ said Mara. Her sharp eyes had spotted the tall, burly figure of her husband vaulting the wall from the road and striding forward, carrying a small boy perched on his shoulder. Jarlath MacNamara was with him, she noticed, but he hung back and allowed the king to make his way through the throng of people, greeting them and enquiring about their cows, their elderly relations, their new babies.
    Turlough Donn had become king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren in the year 1499 so had now held the office for almost fourteen years. He was a heavily built man – in his middle-fifties, though he looked younger as his brown hair, which had given him the nickname of ‘Donn’, was only just beginning to turn grey. He had light green eyes, a pleasant open face and a pair of huge moustaches. He and Mara had married at Christmas in the year 1509 and their son, Cormac, had been born in the following June.
    ‘I’m climbing the mountain,’ yelled three-year-old Cormac as they came near. He eyed his mother triumphantly. ‘You said I’d have to wait until next year and you were wrong,’ he remarked.
    ‘And I don’t suppose that you remembered to tell your father that I had already said no,’ remarked Mara.
    ‘He’s as full of tricks as a barrel load of eels,’ said Turlough with simple pride. He looked inquisitively at the stranger and Mara presented Stephen who made him a courtly bow and then shook hands heartily.
    ‘I’ve heard of you, my lord,’ he said eyeing the king with curiosity and Turlough beamed happily at him.
    ‘I suppose it was the Earl of Kildare – I know what he said about me,’ he remarked with a laugh. ‘Do you know what he said about your father, Cormac? He said that I was the most terrible man in Ireland and the greatest enemy to England.’
    ‘I’m much, much, more terribler that you,’ said Cormac emphatically. He plucked a hazel rod from the bundle carried by Hugh and began whacking it against a rock with war-like cries and then neatly sliced the head from an early purple orchid and looked around for applause. Stephen Gardiner laughed and the people of the Burren, all waiting for their king and their Brehon to lead the way towards the mountain, rewarded him with smiles and murmurs of admiration, but Mara said firmly, ‘No warrior cuts the heads off flowers; just silly babies.’
    Cormac, she thought, was getting very spoilt. He was made much of by everyone on the Burren and as he had a lordly disposition he enjoyed the attention that he got. He was still rather too young for school, but the sooner he started with some regular work there, the better for his character. Turlough had adult sons and nephews to inherit his titles – the plan for Cormac was that he, like his mother and her father, Cormac’s