Act of Mercy

Chapter Twelve

It was late afternoon. The skies had cleared and the sun, though not warm, was bathing the sea with dazzling pinpricks of dancing lights. Fidelma was standing, leaning against the rail by the bow reflecting on what she had been told so far about the strange disappearance of Sister Muirgel. A curious picture was emerging. Some of the pilgrims seemed to have strong opinions about Sister Muirgel. Brother Guss claimed to have been in love with her and yet, strangely, he was not overly upset at her death. Guss was undoubtedly lying about something — but what? About his relationship with Muirgel? Or was it something else?

A cry from the masthead interrupted her thoughts. There seemed some unusual activity at the stern of the ship where Murchad was standing in his usual position by the steering oar. Fidelma made her way along the main deck and found the captain and some of his men looking intently towards the north-east. She followed their collective gaze but could discern nothing except sparkling grey seas.

‘What is it? she asked Murchad. ‘Is something wrong?’

The captain appeared preoccupied. ‘The masthead lookout has sighted a ship,’ he replied.

‘I can’t see anything.’ Fidelma peared again in the direction on which they were all intent.

‘It is hull down to the north-east but under full sail.’

Fidelma was unsure what these nautical terms meant and said so.

‘She is hidden from us by the sea,’ explained Murchad. ‘Usually on a day like this, we can see three to four miles to the horizon. Whoever she is, she is just below our range of vision but her sail can be sighted from the masthead because of its higher elevation.’

‘Is it a matter of concern?’ Fidelma wondered.

‘Until I know who she is, a strange ship is always a matter of concern,’ Murchad replied.

Gurvan, who was at the steering oar with another sailor whose name Fidelma now knew as Drogan, called across to Murchad.

‘She’ll have the wind behind her whoever she is, Captain. She should be in full sight within another hour.’

Murchad’s response was thoughtful.

‘We ought to remain to windward of her until we know who she is. Who has the sharpest eyes?’

‘Hoel, Captain.’

Murchad turned and bellowed towards the well of the ship.

‘Hoel!’

A thickset man with long, muscular forearms came forward in the rolling gait Fidelma had long associated with sailors.

‘Up to the masthead, Hoel, and keep us informed on the progress of that ship.’

The man acknowledged the order and then sprang into the rigging with an agility that Fidelma would not have deemed possible. Within a few seconds he had swarmed up the ropes and replaced the man at the masthead who had first sighted the ship.

Fidelma could sense the curious tension on the ship.

‘Surely the ocean is not so large as to find the sight of another ship so alarming?’ she asked.

The captain smiled tautly.

‘As I said, until you know the identity of the other ship, you must be cautious. Remember what I warned of the other day? These northern waters are full of Saxon slave ships; if not Saxons then they are Franks or even Goths. They are all frequent raiders in these waters.’

Fidelma stared towards the horizon which hid the ship that seemed to hold such menace.

‘You think that it is a pirate ship?’

Murchad shrugged.

‘It is better to be cautious than credulous. It will not be for an hour or so that we shall know enough to answer the question.’

Fidelma was disappointed.

It seemed to her that seamanship was nothing but long, boring periods of inactivity, interspersed by frenetic outbursts of action and turmoil. It was a curious way of life. As much as she was fascinated by the sea, she decided that she preferred a life on land. There was nothing to do now about this particular problem but wait, in which case she could best occupy the time continuing her quest for information about Sister Muirgel.

She saw the tall, austere-looking Brother Tola sitting on the deck with his back against one of the water butts by the main mast. He was reading a small satchel book of the kind most pilgrims carried these days and appeared oblivious to the tensions from the sailors.She walked over to him. As her shadow fell across him, Brother Tola looked up and an expression of irritation crossed his long, graven features.

‘Ah, the dalaigh.’ There was a tone of disrespect in his voice. Then he carefully closed his book and replaced it in the book satchel which lay beside him. ‘I know what you want, Sister. I have been warned by Sister Ainder.’

‘Did she need to warn you?’ Fidelma’s riposte came automatically to her lips.

Brother Tola smiled thinly.

‘A matter of expression, that is all. There is nothing to be read in words, I assure you.’

‘Often a great deal can be read in the choice of words we use, Brother Tola.’

‘But not in this case.’ He gestured to the deck planking beside him. ‘Perhaps you would care to take a seat, if you intend to ask me questions?’

Fidelma lowered herself to the deck beside him and assumed a cross-legged position. It was actually pleasant sitting in the sun, with a faint breeze cooling her face and rustling her red hair.

Brother Tola folded his arms across his chest and gazed out across the now calm seas.

‘A pleasant enough day now,’ he sighed. ‘In other circumstances this voyage could be stimulating and rewarding.’

Fidelma looked at him questioningly.

‘Why is it not so?’

Brother Tola leant his head back against the mast and closed his eyes.

‘My fellow pilgrims leave much to be desired in a company supposedly pledged to the religious pursuit. I swear there is not a truly committed servant of God among them.’

‘You think not?’

The monk’s face was severe.

‘I think not. Not even you, Fidelma of Cashel. Would you claim to be first and foremost a servant of the Christ?’ His eyes came open and Fidelma found his bright, dark orbs examining her unblinkingly. She shivered slightly.

‘I would hope that I am a servant of the Faith,’ she countered defensively.

He surprised her by shaking his head negatively.

‘I do not think so. You are a servant of the law, not of religion.’

Fidelma considered his accusation carefully.

‘Are the two things incompatible?’ she asked.

‘They can be,’ replied Brother Tola. ‘In many cases, the old saying is correct, that one’s religion is whatever one is most interested in.’

‘I do not agree.’

Brother Tola smiled cynically.

‘I think that you are more interested in your law than in your religion.’

Fidelma hesitated, for Tola’s words struck home like an arrow. Wasn’t that the very reason she was on this pilgrimage, to sort out her thoughts on this matter? Tola saw the confusion on her face and smiled in satisfaction before resuming his posture, leaning back and closing his eyes.

‘Do not be confused, Fidelma of Cashel. You are merely one of many thousands in the same position. Before the Faith was brought to the Five Kingdoms, you would have been a dalaigh or Brehon without having to wear the garb of a religieuse. Our society confused learning with religion and inexorably the two were bound as though they were one.’

‘There are still bardic colleges,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘I attended that of Brehon Morann at Tara. I only entered the religious life after I obtained my degree.’

‘Morann of Tara? He was a good man; a good judge and professor of law.’ Brother Tola was approving. ‘But when he died, what happened to his college?’

Fidelma realised that she did not know and admitted as much.

‘It was absorbed into the Church on the order of the Comarb of Patrick.’ The Comarb was the successor of Patrick who was Bishop at Armagh, one of the two senior religious figures of the Five Kingdoms. The other was the Comarb of Ailbe who was the Bishop of Emly in Fidelma’s own kingdom. ‘Morann’s college should have remained outside the Church. Secular and ecclesiastic learning are often conflicting paths.’

‘I don’t agree,’ she countered stiffly, rebuking herself that she had not known that her old college had been closed down.

‘I am a religieux,’ Brother Tola went on. ‘There is certainly room for learning within the Church but not to the exclusion of religion itself.’

Fidelma felt annoyed at his implied criticism of her role as a dalaigh.

‘I have not excluded religion from my life. I have studied and-’

‘Studied?’ Brother Tola made a noise which took Fidelma a few moments to realise was meant as a sardonic chuckle. ‘Those whoclaim to achieve things from book learning might do much more by merely listening to God.’

‘The sky and the trees and the rivers tell me little about the world of man,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My instruction comes from the experiences of men and women.’

‘Ah, therein is the difference between the pursuit of a religious life and the pursuit of learning.’

‘Truth is the goal of our lives,’ returned Fidelma. ‘You do not find truth without knowledge and, as Brehon Morann used to say, “love of learning is to come close to knowledge”.’

‘Whose knowledge? Man’s knowledge. Man’s law. You speak eloquently, Fidelma. But remember the words of James: “The kind of religion which is without stain or fault in the sight of God our Father is this: to keep oneself untarnished by the world”.’

‘You have left out an important part of that sentence, the piece about going to the help of orphans and widows in distress,’ she said waspishly. ‘I believe I do help those in distress.’

‘But you tarnish yourself by maintaining man’s law in preference to God’s Commandments.’

‘I see nothing contradictory between the Commandments and man’s law. Since you are fond of quoting the epistle of James, you should remember the lines — “the man who looks closely into the perfect law, the law that makes us free, and who lives in its company, does not forget what he hears, but acts upon it; and that is the man who by acting will find happiness”. I have heard and have not forgotten and act upon the law, and this is why I have come to speak with you, Brother Tola. Not to engage in a discussion on our differences of theology.’

Her voice was sharp now. Yet she felt uncomfortable for she knew that Tola must have spotted her weakness; her pride in being a dalaigh and not simply a religieuse.

‘I hear you, Sister Fidelma,’ he replied. His face was still serious but Fidelma could not help feeling that he was secretly laughing at her discomfiture. Then he intoned softly:

‘ … do not think lightly of the Lord’s discipline,

Nor lose heart when He corrects you;

For the Lord disciplines those whom He loves.

He lays the rod on every son and daughter whom He

acknowledges.’

Fidelma suppressed her annoyance.

‘Hebrews, twelve,’ she stated with a tight smile meant to demonstrate that he was not going to impress her with his knowledge of Scripture. ‘But now, I have some questions that I must ask you on behalf of Murchad, the captain.’

‘I know, as I have already said. Sister Ainder has spoken about your enquiries.’

‘Good. You are older than most of your party, Brother. Why did you come on this pilgrimage?’

‘Need I make an answer?’

‘I have no compulsion to make you do so.’

‘That is not what I meant. I meant that it should be obvious.’

‘I take it that you are saying that your pilgrimage was made because of religious conviction? Surely that is obvious. But why did you choose to join Sister Canair’s group? They are quite young, with the exception of Sister Ainder. And according to your view, your fellow travellers are not truly concerned with religion.’

‘Sister Canair’s group was the only party journeying to the Holy Shrine of St James. Had I not travelled with them, I might not have found group for another year at least. There was a place for me and so I joined them.’

‘Did you know Sister Canair and the others before you joined them?’

‘I knew none of them except those from my own Abbey of Bangor.’

‘Being Brothers Cian, Dathal and Adamrae?’

‘Just so.’

‘You have indicated that you found them an ill-assorted group.’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Does that opinion include Sister Muirgel?’

Brother Tola opened his eyes wide and a spasm contorted his features.

‘A most distasteful young woman! I disliked her most of all!’

Fidelma was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.

‘Why so?’

‘I remember when she first tried to dominate our company of travellers on the basis that her father had been chieftain of the Dal Fiatach. He was nothing to boast about — an evil rascal out for power and self-aggrandisement. Sister Muirgel was the daughter of her father.’

‘With your views, surely that would make you hesitate before joining Sister Canair’s group?’

‘I did not know that Sister Muirgel was part of the group until weset out. I decided that I could avoid her immediate company on the journey.’

‘Did you know her personally, or only by the fact that she was the daughter of a chieftain whom you disliked?’

‘I knew her from the stories that circulated within our abbey.’

‘What stories?’ Fidelma was curious.

‘Of her promiscuity, of her unchaste relations with other Brothers. Of the way she used people for her own ends, and the fact that she was the opposite to a truly religious person.’

‘That is a harsh judgement of a Sister,’ observed Fidelma.

‘One greater than I will be her judge. “Look eagerly for the coming of the Day of Judgement and work to hasten it on; that day will set the heavens ablaze until they fall apart, and will melt the elements in flames. But we have His promise, and look forward to new heavens and a new earth which is the home of justice”.’

Fidelma was not impressed with his quotation from the Holy Book and ignored it.

‘How is it that such stories came to circulate in your Abbey of Bangor when Muirgel was a religieuse at Moville?’

‘There was plenty of intercourse between our two communities. Our Abbot often had cause to send to his Brother the Abbot of Moville. Once he had to inform him that he had heard such tales and that he must not let his community descend into a sink of iniquity.’

‘How did the Abbot of Moville respond?’

‘He did not.’

‘Perhaps he thought that it was not the place of the Abbot of Bangor to tell him how to lead his community?’ Fidelma smiled without humour. ‘Anyway, you formed a harsh judgement of Sister Muirgel.

Brother Tola nodded and intoned:

‘A prostitute is a deep pit,

A loose woman, a narrow well;

She lies in wait like a robber …’

Fidelma interrupted him sharply.

‘Apart from the fact that I seem to recall that Christ said harlots would enter heaven before some religious leaders, are you now saying that Sister Muirgel was a harlot?’

Tola merely continued his quotation from the Book of Proverbs.

‘I glanced out of the window of my house,

I looked down through the lattice, and I saw among simple

youths,

There amongst the boys I noticed

A lad, a foolish lad,

Passing along the street, at the corner,

Creeping out in the direction of her house

At twilight, as the day faded,

At dusk as the night grew dark;

Suddenly a woman came to meet him,

Dressed like a prostitute, full of wiles,

Flighty and inconstant,

A woman never content to stay at home,

Lying in wait at every corner,

Now in the street, now in the public squares.

She caught hold of him and kissed him;

Brazenly she accosted him and said,

“I have had a sacrifice, an offering to make, and I have paid my

vows today” …’

Fidelma held up a hand to quell his sonorous recital and finally had to cut in sharply.

‘I think I can also recall the words of Proverbs, seven. What are you saying by reciting that passage? You disapproved of Sister Muirgel because she had relationships with men, or that she was selling her body to whoever paid? Let us be precise about it. What is your definition of a harlot?’

‘You are the lawyer, you may interpret as you please. All I say is let the simple fools follow her like oxen on their way to the slaughterhouse.’

She had heard the same narrow views preached before by several religieux who argued for the reform of the Irish Church in favour of the concepts of Rome. She decided to clarify his attitude.

‘Tell me, Brother Tola, are you one of those who believe that the religieux should be celibate? I have often heard the argument at Rome.’

‘Does not Matthew say that our Lord Christ ordained celibacy for His followers?’

It was a favourite argument of those who wished all religieux to take an oath of celibacy. Fidelma had heard it many times and had no problem about the answer.

‘When the disciple asked Christ whether it was better not to marry, He replied that celibacy was not something everyone could accept; itwas only meant for those for whom God had appointed celibacy. His words were that while some are incapable of marriage because they were born so, or were made so by men, there were, indeed, others who had themselves renounced marriage for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. He left it as the choice of the individual. Let those accept it who can. So far the churches of Christ have adhered to that free choice …’

Tola’s features expressed irritation. He obviously did not like being out-quoted from the Scriptures.

‘I accept the teachings of Paul on this matter. Celibacy is the ideal of a Christian victory over the evil of the world and must become the main basis of religious life.’

‘There is a lobby in Rome who believe in this celibacy,’ agreed Fidelma, her tone indicating that she did not think much of the argument. ‘But if Rome accepts it as a dogma of the Faith, they say that the Faith stands against that which God created. Had God wanted us to be celibate, he would have made us so. However, instead of theology, I would prefer to return to the matter in hand. You clearly did not like Sister Muirgel.’

‘I make no effort to disguise it.’

‘Very well. Apart from her being, in your eyes, prone to indiscriminate sexual liaisons, I am at a loss to understand the depth of your dislike.’

‘She seduced and perverted young men.’

‘Can you give me an example?’

‘Brother Guss, for example.’

‘So you knew that Brother Guss claims to have been in love with Sister Muirgel?’

‘She ensnared him with her wiles, as I have been trying to tell you.’

‘A harsh thing to say. Had Brother Guss no free will?’

‘I warned the boy,’ went on Brother Tola. He screwed up his eyes as he sought to recite another passage from memory.

‘ … My son, listen to me,

Attend to what I say.

Do not let your heart entice you into her ways,

Do not stray down her paths;

Many has she pierced and laid low,

And her victims are without number.

Her house is the entrance to Sheol,

Which leads down to the halls of death.’

‘You seem attracted by Proverbs, seven,’ remarked Fidelma mockingly. ‘Do you often quote it?’

‘I did my best to warn poor Brother Guss.’ Tola ignored her tone. ‘I praise the Hand of God which swept the harlot overboard.’

Fidelma did not say anything for a moment or two. It had become clear to her that Brother Tola was a man of strong religious conviction, to the point of extreme intolerance. She had known men to kill for religious intolerance before.

‘When did you learn that Sister Muirgel had been swept overboard?’ Fidelma queried.

‘At the same time that everyone else did,’ he replied. ‘This morning.’

‘When did you last see Sister Muirgel?’

‘When we came aboard. I think she was ill almost from the time we rowed out to the ship. No, that is not so. She was all right until after we came aboard. In the absence of Sister Canair, another one who was loose with her sexual favours, Muirgel took charge and allocated the cabins. We all went to these cabins and most of us remained below until after we had set sail. I never saw her afterwards and word came she was suffering from the motion sickness. Perhaps that was a warning of God’s punishment to come.’

‘Did you sleep during the storm?’

‘Last night? How would one sleep? It was not the best of experiences. I did manage to get some sleep after a while, though. A sleep of exhaustion.’

‘I presume Brother Guss was also disturbed?’

‘I suppose he was. But you can ask him.’

‘Were you awake when he left the cabin?’

Brother Tola frowned as he reflected on her question.

‘Did he leave the cabin?’ he countered.

‘So he says.’

‘Then it must be so. Ah, now I recall, he went out. But not for long.’

‘Do you know where he went?’

‘I presume he went to the privy. Where else would one vanish to on board this ship?’

Fidelma stared at him for a moment, knowing full well that Brother Tola must be aware that Guss had gone to see Sister Muirgel before midnight. Was Tola simply trying to protect Guss, or was there some other reason why he should attempt to cover up for the young man?

Inwardly she sighed, for she knew that she was not going to get anything further out of Brother Tola. She rose carefully to her feet.

‘One point I would like clarification on,’ she said. ‘You obviously have strong feelings on female religieuses who fall in love or have affairs. Harlots and prostitutes, I hear you call them. I have heard no condemnation of any male religieux who often seduce these same young women. Do you not consider your judgement flawed?’

Brother Tola was in no way abashed.

‘Was it not a woman who first succumbed to temptation, eating of the forbidden fruit and seducing man, for which we were all driven from the Garden of Eden? Women are responsible for all our suffering. Remember what Paul wrote to the Corinthians — “I am jealous for you, with a divine jealousy; for I betrothed you to Christ, thinking to present you as a chaste virgin to her true and only husband. But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, I am afraid that your thoughts may be corrupted and you may lose your single-hearted devotion to Christ”.’

‘I know the passage,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, it seems that the sex of the serpent was male. I will leave you to your contemplations then, Brother Tola. I thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. You have been most helpful.’

Brother Tola’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as Fidelma deliberately added her last sentence. She had some uncanny feeling that the last thing Brother Tola wanted to be was helpful in the matter of Sister Muirgel’s disappearance.

She was turning away from him when a further cry from the masthead above caused her to look up.

There it was, the mysterious vessel, clearly visible now! She had been so engrossed with Brother Tola that she had not noticed how close it had approached.

In the afternoon sunlight she could make out several details on the approaching ship: the low, square sail with some design on it, like a lightning flash; a bank of oars that rose and fell rhythmically; and the sun sparkling on objects on the side of the vessel that was turned towards her.

She hurried back to Murchad who was observing the vessel with a grim face.

‘I’d get yourself and the pilgrim below decks, lady,’ he greeted her as she came up.

‘What is it?’

‘A Saxon, by the cut of her. See the lightning flash design on her mainsail?’

Fidelma nodded briefly.

‘Pagans, no doubt,’ continued Murchad. ‘That’s the symbol of their god of thunder, Thunor.’

‘Do they mean us harm?’ Fidelma asked.

‘They mean us no good,’ replied Murchad grimly. ‘See the bank of shields above the oars, and the sun glinting on their weapons? I believe that they mean to take us as a prize and those they don’t kill will be sold as slaves.’

Fidelma felt her mouth suddenly go dry.

She knew that some of the Saxon kingdoms were still pagan in spite of the efforts of missionaries both from the Five Kingdoms of Eireann and from Rome. The South Saxons particularly were clinging to their ancient gods and goddesses even against missionaries from their fellow Saxons of the Eastern and Northern kingdoms. She swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel the sandy texture of her mouth.

‘Go below, lady,’ Murchad insisted again. ‘You’ll be safer there if they board us.’

‘I’ll stay and watch,’ she replied firmly. She could think of nothing worse than being in darkness below and not knowing what was taking place.

Murchad was about to protest but he saw the resolution around her mouth, the slightly jutting jaw.

‘Very well, but stay out of harm’s way and if that ship closes on us, get below without me telling you again. When they first attack, the bloodlust obscures their vision. Man or woman, it is all the same.’

He turned to Gurvan, without wasting his time in further pleading, and glanced up at the sail.

‘We’ll hold our course until I say.’

Gurvan acknowledged this with only a slight forward jerk of his head.

Fidelma backed to the far corner of the stern deck and watched the unfolding drama.

‘Deck there!’ came the cry from the masthead. ‘She’s beginning to close.’

The approaching ship was turning bow towards them. The bow was high and cleaving through the waters which seemed to spray out on either side of it. The oars were rising and dipping, the water sparkling like silver as it dripped from them. She could hear the beat of something that sounded like a drum. She knew, from her previous experience of travelling to Rome, that galleys sometimes employed a man to beat time to keep the rowers synchronised.

‘How many do you make it, Gurvan?’ Murchad was squinting forward. ‘Twenty-five oars each side?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Oars. They give the Saxons an advantage over us …’ Murchad seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘However, I think their use of oars might mean that they are not relying on sailing skill at close quarters. Maybe that’s where we have some advantage.’

He glanced up at the mainsail.

‘Tighten the starboard halyards,’ he roared. ‘Too much slack there.’

The tighter the sail, the more speed through the water, but with the wind blowing it might lay the ship over and expose her to any contrary sea. It would also put a strain on the mainmast.

‘Captain, if the wind moderates then we’ll be helpless without oars,’ Gurvan pointed out nervously.

At that moment, Fidelma found Wenbrit beside her.

‘Aren’t you going below, lady?’ he asked anxiously. ‘The others are all below and I’ve told them to stay there. It will be dangerous here.’

Fidelma shook her head swiftly.

‘I would die below not knowing what was happening.’

‘Let’s hope that none of us die,’ muttered the boy, staring at the oncoming ship. ‘Pray God may send a strong wind.’

‘Loose the port sheets! More slack to the port halyards!’ shouted Murchad.

Sailors jumped to do his bidding and the large square mainsail swung round at an angle.

Murchad had judged the wind’s change of direction with such accuracy that almost at once the sail filled and Fidelma could feel the speed of the vessel as it suddenly accelerated over the waves.

Wenbrit pointed excitedly at the Saxon ship as the distance between the two vessels began to increase. The sail on the other ship had fallen slack. Murchad was right: the captain of the other vessel had been relying on his oarsmen and neglected to watch the wind and his sail. For several valuable moments, the Saxon lay becalmed in the water.

Even against the sibilant hiss of the sea and the whispering sound of the wind in the sail and among the rigging, Fidelma caught a faint shouting drifting over the waters.

‘What was that?’ she wondered.

Wenbrit pulled a face.

‘They call on their god of war to help them. Hear the cry? “Woden! Woden!” I have heard such roars from Saxon throats before.’

Fidelma glanced at him with a silent question.

‘The land of my people has an eastern border with the country of the West Saxons,’ he explained. ‘They were always raiding into our territory, and continually cried to Woden for help. They believe that the greatest thing that can happen to them is to die, sword in hand, and with the name of their god Woden on their lips. Then it is said that this god will carry them into some great hall of heroes where they will dwell for ever.’

Wenbrit turned and spat across the railing into the sea to show his disgust.

‘Not all Saxons are like that,’ Fidelma protested as the image of Eadulf suddenly came into her mind. ‘Most of them are Christian now.’

‘Not those in that ship,’ Wenbrit corrected with a cynical expression.

The other vessel had eased into the wind now; its oars had been withdrawn and the sail was filling. Now Fidelma could see the great lightning flash on the sail. Wenbrit saw her narrowing her eyes as she focused on it.

‘They have another god called Thunor who wields a great hammer. When he strikes with it, thunder is caused and the sparks that fly are the lightning,’ he informed her solemnly. ‘They even have one weekday sacred to that god called Thunor’s day. It is the day we Christians called Dies Jovis.’

Fidelma refrained from telling the boy that the Latin name was merely that of another ancient pagan god, but this time of Rome. It was a pointless piece of pedantry now. But she had heard of Thunor from her long talks with Brother Eadulf concerning the ancient beliefs of his people. She found it hard to believe that there were still Saxons who believed in the old gods after two centuries of contact with the Christian Britons and the Irish missionaries who had converted the northern kingdoms from their wild superstitions founded on war and bloodlust. She continued to keep watching the Saxon ship as it began to overhaul them once again.

‘He’s using the wind now, Captain,’ she heard Gurvan call. ‘She seems a fast ship and her captain knows how to sail her with the wind behind him.’

It was an understatement. Even Fidelma could see that the approaching vessel was faster in the water than The Barnacle Goose. After all, the attacking ship was built for war and not, like Murchad’s ship, for peaceful trade.

Murchad kept glancing at the sails and then at the oncoming craft. He swore. It was an oath such as Fidelma had never heard before; a full savoured seaman’s oath.

‘At this rate, she’ll be on us in no time. She’s smaller and faster, and what’s more she’s weathering on us.’

Fidelma wished she understood the terms. Wenbrit saw her frustration.

‘The direction of the wind, Sister,’ he explained. ‘Not only is the wind causing the Saxon to overhaul us but, because of the angle we are at in position to the wind, we are being pushed towards the Saxon’s course. In other words, we are drifting on to the Saxon’s course and cannot maintain any parallel distance from her.’

A feeling of apprehension went through her.

‘Is the Saxon going to overtake us then?’

Wenbrit gave her a reassuring grin.

‘Her captain made a mistake before; perhaps he will make another mistake. It will take a good seaman to outsail Murchad. He lives up to his name.’

And Fidelma recalled that the name Murchad meant ‘sea battler’.

At this moment, the captain was pacing up and down, thumping his balled fist into the palm of his other hand, his brows drawn together as if working out a problem.

‘Bring her into the wind!’ he shouted abruptly.

Gurvan looked startled for a second and then he and his companion leaved on the steering oar.

The Barnacle Goose swung around. Fidelma stumbled and grabbed for the rail. For a few moments the great ship seemed becalmed and then Murchad shouted another order to tack.

Caught up in the sudden change of tactic by Murchad, Fidelma took a few moments to look around for the Saxon ship.

So confident had the opposing captain been of overhauling this prey and coming alongside, that it had taken him several precious moments to realise what Murchad was about. The lightly-built Saxon warship had gone speeding by under full sail with the wind right behind it. It had sped on for almost a mile before the sails were shortened and the craft had come about to follow the new path of The Barnacle Goose.

‘A good manoeuvre,’ Fidelma said to Wenbrit. ‘But aren’t we pushing against the wind now? Won’t the Saxon be able to catch up with us?’

Wenbrit smiled, and pointed up at the sky.

‘We might have to sail against the wind, but so does the Saxon. Look at the sun on the horizon. The Saxon will not catch up before nightfall. I think that Murchad plans to slip past her in the darkness, provided those clouds remain and there is no moon.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘With the wind behind our sails, the Saxon, being lighter and therefore faster, had the advantage of speed. We were heavy and more cumbersome. When we come into the wind, it’s a different matter. The waves that impede our progress also hinder the progress of the Saxon … but even more so. Whereas we can ride the heavy seas, the contrary waves will push their lighter craft farther to the leeward, and they will have more work to do to catch up with us.’

Murchad had overheard the boy’s explanation; he now came over to them with a broad grin. He seemed pleased with his seamanship and more relaxed now that the Saxon ship was struggling behind them.

‘The boy’s right, lady. Also, the keel of our ship reaches down farther under the surface than theirs will. A light vessel is beholden to the choppiness of the slightest wave, whereas we can maintain a better hold because we can reach below superficial turbulence. We can outsail the Saxon against the wind.’

Murchad was back in a jovial mood.

‘The Saxon will be struggling awhile, by which time I hope night will come down, heavy and cloudy. Then we’ll turn south-south-west again and with luck, slip by her under cover of darkness.’

Fidelma stared at the sturdy sailor with some admiration. How well Murchad knew his ship! Something made her start thinking of a horse and its rider. For a moment she did not know why such an image had come into her mind, and then she understood. Murchad felt for his ship and the elements in which it sailed, the sea and the wind, as a good rider felt for his horse. He was at one with it, as if he were but an extension of it.

She peered behind to the distant square-sailed vessel.

‘Are we safe then?’

Murchad did not want to commit himself to absolutes.

‘Depends if her captain shows more forethought than before. He could guess that we will change course under cover of darkness and do the same, hoping to meet us at dawn. My guess, however, is that he will think we are turning tail and running for the safety of a Cornish port. That is the direction in which we are heading now.’

‘Then the excitement is over for the time being?’

Murchad made a humorous grimace.

‘The excitement is over,’ he confirmed. ‘Until daylight!’