Act of Mercy

Chapter Thirteen

That evening, after the meal, Fidelma decided to complete her enquiries. She found Brother Dathal and Brother Adamrae in their cabin. Like the other cabins below deck, it was stuffy and airless there and the lantern which illuminated it also gave off a degree of heat as well as light. She found it stifling after the cool breezes of the deck.

‘What is it you want, Sister?’ demanded Brother Adamrae gruffly as she entered in answer to his sharp invitation when she had knocked upon the door.

‘A brief word — the answers to a few questions,’ she said politely.

‘I suppose this concerns Sister Muirgel,’ Brother Dathal muttered. ‘I heard from Sister Crella that you were following it up.’

Brother Adamrae looked at her with disfavour.

‘What business is it of yours to ask questions?’

Fidelma was not perturbed.

‘I do so at the request of the captain,’ she replied. ‘I am a-’

‘I know. You are an advocate,’ snapped Brother Adamrae. ‘This matter is no concern of ours. We did not come from the same Abbey. Anyway, ask your questions and be gone.’

Brother Dathal looked apologetically at her.

‘What Adamrae means to say is that time is precious to us. We are engaged in scholarship, you see, trying to translate some material.’

‘Time is precious to everyone,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly. ‘It is especially precious for those who have run out of time — like Sister Muirgel.’

She picked up the parchment that lay on the table before Brother Dathal. It was written in the ancient Ogham script, the earliest form of calligraphy of the language of Eireann.

‘Ceathracha is cheithre chead …’ She began to read the ancient lettering.

Brother Dathal looked surprised.

‘Can you read the ancient Ogham letters?’

She grimaced.

‘Did not the pagan god Ogma, god of literacy and learning in primeval times, give the knowledge of such letters to the people of Muman first?’ she countered. ‘Who is able to construe the ancient letters if not a woman of Muman?’

Brother Adamrae scowled.

‘Anyone might be able to pronounce the letters, but what of the meaning of the text? Construe the words, if you are so clever.’

Fidelma pursed her lips and glanced over the ancient words. It was clearly a rhyme.

‘Forty and four hundred

Years, it is not a falsehood

From the going of the people of God,

I assure you,

Over the surface of the sea of Romhar

Till they sped across the sea of Meann,

Thus came the sons of Mile to the land of Eireann.’

Dathal and Adamrae stared at the effortless way she read the ancient poem.

Then Brother Adamrae grunted in disgust as if to belittle her effort.

‘So you know the ancient language of the texts, but do you understand them? Where, for example, is the sea of Romhar? Where is the sea of Meann?’

‘Easy enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Romhar is known today as Rua Mhuir, the Red Sea; and Meann must obviously be a form of the great Middle Earth Sea which the Latins call the Mediterranean.’

Brother Dathal was smiling at the discomfort of his companion.

‘Well done, Sister. Well done, indeed,’ he said approvingly.

Brother Adamrae finally relaxed and even forced a smile.

‘It is not everyone who knows the mysteries of the ancient texts,’ he conceded. ‘We are dedicated to retrieving their secrets, Sister.’

‘As I am dedicated to pursuing the truth in law,’ Fidelma replied. ‘As you are aware, the captain has asked me to make a report because, in law, he may be liable to pay compensation if there is a fault to be found, should it be claimed that he was negligent.’

‘We understand. What is it that you want from us?’ replied Brother Dathal.

‘Firstly, when did you last see Sister Muirgel?’

Brother Dathal frowned and glanced at his companion. He shrugged.

‘I don’t remember.’

Brother Adamrae said: ‘Wasn’t it when we came aboard?’

Brother Dathal thought a moment.

‘I think that you are right. She allotted us the accommodation. After that we did not see her again. We were told she had fallen prey to the motion sickness and remained in her cabin.’

‘And neither of you saw her after that?’

They shook their heads in unison.

‘Can I ask where you were during the storm last night? I just want to be sure that no one saw Sister Muirgel making her way to the deck during the storm.’

‘We were here during the whole time of the storm,’ Brother Dathal confirmed. ‘It was a bad storm and we could scarcely stand, let alone go wandering about the ship.’

Brother Adamrae nodded agreement.

‘We were comparing it to the great storm which came among the Children of the Gael on their voyage to Gothia. That was when Eber, son of Tat, and Lamhghlas, son of Aghnon, died and soon after the mermaids rose from the sea playing such sad music that the Children of the Gael were lulled to sleep, and only Caicher the Druid was immune; he managed to save them all by pouring melted wax into their ears. When they came to the extremity of Sliabh Ribhe, Caicher prophesied that they would not find a resting place until they reached the land called Eireann, but added that they themselves would not reach it; their descendants would.’

Fidelma stared at the enthusiastic young man in his breathless discourse. His whole being had become animated by his subject.

‘You are much concerned with these ancient times,’ she commented. ‘You must enjoy your subject.’

‘It is our purpose to write a volume on the history of the Children of the Gael before they reached the Five Kingdoms,’ Brother Dathal beamed.

‘Then I wish you luck in your endeavours. I would be fascinated to read such a work. However, I must finish my enquiry. You say that you both remained all the time in your cabin and never saw Sister Muirgel after you came aboard?’

Brother Adamrae nodded.

‘That is an accurate summary, Sister.’

Fidelma suppressed a sigh of frustration.

Someone was lying among the pilgrims. Someone must have gone into Sister Muirgel’s cabin and stabbed her, dragged her on deck and thrown her overboard. Fidelma was sure of it. Then her earlier question came back to her. Why throw the body overboardand leave her bloodstained robe, clearly showing the stab wounds? That was odd.

‘I am sorry?’ She became aware that Brother Dathal was speaking.

‘I was saying that it is a sad business if one dismissed the value of human life. But in honesty, there are probably few who will grieve for Sister Muirgel for any length of time.’

‘I realise that some people disliked her.’

‘Some even hated her. Brother Tola, for example. Then there is Sister Gorman. Oh yes, there are several who will not grieve too much.’

‘Including yourselves?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

Brother Dathal glanced at his companion.

‘We did not hate her. But she was not someone we would say that we liked,’ he admitted.

‘Why did you dislike her?’

Brother Adamrae shrugged.

‘She despised us. She was a highly-sexed young woman. I do not think we need tell you why she looked down on Dathal and me. Anyway, one cannot greet everyone in love and charity. Look at Brother Tola. I would not be saddened if we had lost him from our company.’

Remembering Brother Tola’s views on scholarship, Fidelma gave a quick smile.

‘I take your point. But was there anything particular about Sister Muirgel which created dislike?’

‘Particular?’ Brother Dathal actually giggled. ‘I would say everything about her caused us irritation. She liked people to know that she was a chieftain’s daughter and that she should be in charge of things because of her social rank.’

‘Why did you agree to come on this pilgrimage …?’ Fidelma knew the answer as soon as she let the question slip.

‘Because it was Sister Canair who was the leader when we set out. Muirgel was just one of the party. Sister Canair was able to keep her under control, even though Muirgel tried to assert her authority.’

‘She was a different personality to Sister Canair?’

‘Absolutely. Sister Muirgel was mean-minded, riddled with jealousy, haughty and ambitious!’ Brother Dathal snapped out the words with venom. Fidelma examined him in surprise. Brother Adamrae came to his companion’s rescue.

‘I think Dathal may be forgiven for his unchristian thoughts.’ He smiled softly. ‘Telling the truth can also be considered as being unkind and harsh.’

‘What was she ambitious for?’

The two men exchanged a glance. It was Brother Dathal who responded.

‘Power, I suppose. Power over people; power over men.’

‘I understand she bullied little Sister Gorman.’

‘It’s the first that we have heard of it,’ replied Adamrae. ‘But Gorman always kept herself to herself.’

‘And you said that Muirgel was jealous. Of whom was she jealous?’ she asked, turning to Dathal.

‘Of Sister Canair obviously. Ask among her companions from Moville. We never met her until we started our journey although we heard many things on the excursion to Ardmore. You do not journey with a small group for several days without picking up the things that others try to hide. Muirgel was jealous of Sister Canair, with an intensity that alarmed us.’

‘What was the cause of her jealousy?’

‘I think that there was a hate embedded in Sister Muirgel that could have developed into violence.’

‘It was said that Muirgel was jealous of Canair because of … of Brother Cian.’

‘Who told you this?’

‘Brother Bairne,’ replied Dathal.

‘Were you concerned then when Sister Canair did not join you on the morning the ship sailed, and Sister Muirgel took charge?’

Brother Adamrae gave a shake of his head and answered.

‘It might have been a cause for concern but for two things. Firstly, Sister Canair had not accompanied us to Ardmore. She went to visit someone before we reached the Abbey. It was logical to assume she did not even come to Ardmore. Secondly, Sister Muirgel stayed at the Abbey with us until we came to the quay and found there was no Canair and that we had to get aboard or miss the sailing. Dathal and I would have come aboard anyway, Canair or no Canair, because we would not have considered forgoing our chance to travel to Iberia and finish our task of tracing the ancient history of our people.’

Fidelma was thinking carefully.

‘I still have a question.’

Brother Dathal smiled.

‘Questions always provoke more questions.’

‘Are you sure that Muirgel was jealous of Sister Canair and Cian? I have been told that Muirgel wanted to end the affair with Cian.’

‘Well, Bairne has his problems. He was moonstruck on Muirgel.But Muirgel did dislike Canair. She might well have been hungry for power and for the little brief authority that Canair had.’

Brother Adamrae nodded decisively.

‘I think we have helped you all we can, Sister. I don’t believe you will find the answers you want among our gossip. You have doubtless talked about this to Brother Bairne or will do so?’ He rose and opened the cabin door, and Fidelma left, in a greater state of confusion than before.

Cian looked up in surprise as Fidelma knocked on his cabin door and entered.

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked. ‘Have you come to bemoan the past again?’

Fidelma answered him coldly. ‘I was looking for Brother Bairne, who shares your cabin.’

‘As you can see, he is not here.’

‘As I can see,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Where would I find him?’

‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ quipped Cian sarcastically.

Fidelma stared at him with distaste.

‘You should remember in what context that question was asked before making it into a joke,’ she replied, withdrawing before he could respond.

She found Brother Bairne seated at the meal table on the mess deck, looking dolefully at a mug of mead. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was little need to ask about his emotional state.

He looked up as she entered and sat down near him.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘a few questions. I have heard all about your investigation. Yes, I was in love with Muirgel. No, I did not see her after last evening when the storm rose.’

Fidelma took in his statement without apparent surprise.

‘You told me that you were from Moville, didn’t you?’

‘I was training there in order to preach the Word among the heathen,’ he confirmed.

‘Did you know Sister Muirgel well there?’

‘I told you that I was in love …’

‘With respect, that is not the same thing as knowing someone.’

‘I knew her for several months.’

‘And, of course, you knew Sister Crella?’

‘Of course. They were more or less inseparable. Muirgel and Crella seemed to share everything.’

‘Including boyfriends?’

Brother Bairne flushed but said nothing.

‘Did Muirgel return your feelings for her?’

‘You have no doubt asked Sister Crella for her opinion?’

‘I’ll take that as a negative answer. Unrequited love is hard to bear, Bairne. Did you hate Muirgel for rejecting you?’

‘Of course not. I loved her.’

‘It’s just that I wondered why you chose to quote from the Book of Hosea this morning.’

‘I was upset. I did not think. I wished to hit out …’

‘You wished to hurt Muirgel?’

‘I … I don’t think so. Had Muirgel turned to me I would have loved and protected her. But she rejected my love and turned to people who could and did hurt her. Even that one-armed bastard that I am forced to share my cabin with was able to have his way with her …’

‘Brother Cian?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Cian! If only I had trained as a warrior I would have taught him a lesson.’

‘You told Dathal and Adamrae that he had had an affair with Muirgel? That Muirgel still felt for him and that she was jealous of Canair because of the fact that Cian was now having an affair with her.’

‘I knew that he had dropped her for Sister Canair; for the same reason he finishes with all his women. Canair had more to offer him for the time being.’

‘And Muirgel was jealous?’

‘What does anyone feel when they have been rejected?’

Fidelma found herself blushing. She wondered if Bairne knew about her past but the young man was staring at the drink on the table.

‘When was the last time you saw Muirgel?’

‘Saw her? Last evening, I suppose. I spoke to her through her cabin door just before midnight.’

‘Through the door? What do you mean exactly?’

‘She did not open it when I knocked. I asked if she was better and whether I could fetch her anything. She called through the door that all she wanted was to be left alone. Then I went to bed.’

‘Did you get up during the night?’

He shook his head.

‘When did you get up then?’

‘It was just about dawn, I think. I needed to find the defectora.’ He used the Latin term out of politeness rather than the colloquial one.

‘Ah yes. I am told you did not use the defectora by the stern cabins but apparently made your way to the one in the bow of the ship. That was a long way to go. Why was that?’

Brother Bairne looked at her in surprise.

‘I suppose that I had forgotten about the defectora at the stern. I am not sure.’

‘And when you returned, was anyone about?’

‘I saw that bastard Cian at the door of Muirgel’s cabin. He said something about checking that everyone was all right after the storm. I waited, for I wondered if he was trying to get back with Muirgel. But a few seconds later he re-emerged and said he could not find her.’

‘And then you learnt that there was no sign of her on board?’

Brother Bairne leant across the table and stared at her closely.

‘If you want to know the truth, Sister, then I’ll tell you. I don’t believe that Muirgel fell overboard. I believe that she was pushed. And I’ll tell you who did it.’

He paused dramatically so that she finally had to prompt him: ‘Who did it?’

‘Sister Crella.’

Fidelma tried to make her face inscrutable.

‘You have told me who; now tell me why.’

‘Jealousy!’

Fidelma examined Bairne’s intent expression cautiously.

‘What would she be jealous of?’

‘Of Muirgel, of course! Ask her. It’s all to do with that self-opinionated bast-’

Fidelma interrupted: ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘That one-armed bastard, Cian. He is at the root of all this! Mark my words!’

Fidelma awoke early. It was still dark when she swung from the warmth of her bunk and heard the angry hiss of protest from Mouse Lord as he uncurled himself from the bottom of the bed, disturbed by her sudden movement.

She washed swiftly and dressed, wishing that she was able to have a more thorough bath for she felt sweaty and uncomfortable. She put on her heavy cloak and went out on deck.

A faint line of light along the eastern horizon showed that it was close to dawn. There was a strange eerie silence on the ship, and yet she could see the dark figures of men standing here and there, as if waiting for something. Like her, they were waiting for dawn.

Fidelma made her way cautiously aft and, as she had expected, she found Murchad and Gurvan standing together on deck. Two other shadowy figures stood ready by the steering oar. The only sound was the wind in the rigging and the soft movement of the leather sails.

Darkness had fallen the previous evening with the Saxon ship stillclawing into the wind behind them. As soon as it was dark, Murchad ordered that no light was to be shown to give away their position. He tacked north for another hour before turning and running before the wind at an angle which would take them south-west away from the last known position of the Saxon ship.

With the coming of the dawn, it was time to see whether the ruse had worked.

It was cold in the grey dawn and the winds were not strong. The weather was certainly clearing and the thin strip of grey light was even now broadening.

No one had exchanged a greeting. All were standing as still as statues watching the eastern sky.

‘Red,’ muttered Gurvan, breaking the silence.

Nothing else was said. Everyone knew what he meant. A red sky in the morning foretold bad weather ahead. However, there was a more important consideration now that the daylight was spreading across the waters. Everyone was peering into the vanishing half-light as it grew brighter.

‘Masthead there! Hoel! What do you see?’

There was a pause. Then a faint cry came back.

‘The horizon’s clear. Not a sail in sight.’

Murchad was the first to visibly relax.

‘No sign,’ he muttered. ‘No sail nor even a spar.’

‘I think it worked, Captain,’ Gurvan agreed.

Murchad clapped his hands together in glee. His smile was one of sheer pleasure.

‘Give me a sail against oars any day,’ he grinned. ‘Ah, there it is …’ He held his head to one side and nodded in satisfaction.

Fidelma wondered what he meant.

‘The dawn breeze … yes, the wind’s veering. We’ll be at Ushant later today. Maybe by midday, and if the wind increases,’ he turned his head towards the dissipating red sky, ‘we can shelter there if the weather gets really bad. I don’t want to run across the Biscain sea in bad weather, if I can help it.’

Murchad appeared to be back to his jovial mood now that the evasion of the Saxon sea raiders had proved successful.

‘Keep her on course, Gurvan. I shall be at breakfast. Sister Fidelma, will you join me in my cabin for the meal?’

Fidelma acknowledged the unusual invitation and Murchad called for Wenbrit to bring food to his cabin for the two of them.

It was much more comfortable to breakfast with Murchad than with her fellow pilgrims, Fidelma decided, especially after the tensions ofthe last twenty-four hours. It was Murchad who came to the point that had been uppermost in both their minds.

‘Well, what information have you gathered about the death of this woman — Muirgel?’

Fidelma lowered herself into one of the two chairs squeezed each side of a small wooden table in Murchad’s cabin. The captain took a bottle from a cupboard and two clay cups.

‘Corma,’ he announced, as he poured the liquid. ‘It will keep out the morning chill.’

Ordinarily, the idea of drinking such strong spirits just after dawn would have seemed repulsive to Fidelma. But the day was chill and she was cold. She took the cup and sipped at the fiery liquid, letting it trickle over her tongue and then spreading it across her lips with the tip of her tongue. She coughed slightly.

‘I have spoken to all those in her party, Murchad,’ she replied. ‘I have told no one that we suspect that she was not simply swept overboard. It is of interest, however, that at least two of the party suspect that she was murdered.’

‘And?’ prompted Murchad with interest.

‘There are no easy answers to the matter …’

There was a knock on the cabin door and Wenbrit entered carrying a tray of cooked meet, cheeses and fruit, together with hard-baked bread.

Wenbrit grinned at Fidelma.

‘Brother Cian has been asking where you were. I said you were breakfasting with the captain. He looked very resentful.’

Fidelma did not bother to reply. It was of no concern to her that Cian was asking after her.

‘Have you told them that we have eluded the sea raider, boy?’ asked Murchad.

Wenbrit made an affirmative nod.

‘Few of them seemed interested,’ he replied. ‘They would soon have been interested had the Saxons caught up with us, that’s for sure.’

He turned to the door and then hesitated.

‘There is something you wish to say?’ grunted Murchad. He was obviously sensitive to the boy’s actions.

Wenbrit turned back with a frown.

‘It’s nothing. After all, the pilgrims have paid their passage and …’

‘What is it? Come on!’ Murchad was a little impatient at his hesitation.

‘I noticed that someone has been helping themselves to food. Somemeat, bread and fruit was missing. Not much. In fact, I noticed some missing yesterday morning, and now this morning …’

‘Missing food?’

‘And a meat-knife. I thought I was mistaken, but now I am sure. I did not think that I was being frugal with the food. If they want extra, they have only to ask. But knives are valuable.’

‘Wenbrit,’ Fidelma leant forward with sudden interest, ‘what makes you so sure that it is one of the passengers who is helping themselves? The meals that you have provided are surely more than enough. Could a member of the crew be responsible?’

Wenbrit shook his head.

‘The crew’s food is stored separately. This ship is used to taking passengers and so we have to cost and store independently for them. No one in our crew would steal from the passengers’ stores.’

Murchad cleared his throat irritably.

‘I will make an announcement to the pilgrims that they have only to ask if they want extra rations. Just to be even-handed, I will also mention the matter to my crew.’

The boy acknowledged his captain and left.

Fidelma examined Murchad thoughtfully.

‘You are fond of the boy, aren’t you?’

Murchad looked uncomfortable for a moment.

‘He is an orphan. I took him from the sea. My wife and I were never blessed with children. He has become the son that I never had. He is a bright lad.’

‘I think he has just provided me with an idea. I might want Gurvan to accompany me an another search of the ship later,’ Fidelma said.

Murchad frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ll explain when I have given more thought to the problem.’

Murchad reached forward and raised the jug of corma but Fidelma declined a second drink of the fiery liquid.

‘One is more than enough for me, Murchad.’

He poured another liberal cup for himself and sat back. He regarded her with speculation.

‘This Brother Cian seems to take more than a passing interest in you, lady,’ he observed.

Fidelma felt herself blush.

‘As I said, I knew him ten years ago, when I was a student.’

‘I see. The little I had to do with him, I would say he was a bitter man. The useless arm, I suppose?’

‘The useless arm,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Now, we were discussing Sister Muirgel.’ Murchad changed thesubject when he saw that Fidelma was uncomfortable. ‘You said that the answers were not easy; I did not expect that they would be. But is there any indication at all of what happened?’

Fidelma uttered a short sigh of exasperation.

‘I think it is obvious that murder was done aboard this ship. But I cannot say with certainty who is the culprit.’

‘But you have an idea, some suspicion?’

‘Sister Muirgel seems to have been someone who was intensely disliked by several of those aboard and, when she was not disliked, she was the object of a jealousy that might have no bounds. One thing I am certain of is that the person who plunged the knife into her habit is still aboard. But whether I shall have time to find them before this ship reaches Iberia, I am not all that certain.’

‘But you are going to try to discover the murderer?’

‘That is my intention. However, it will take time,’ Fidelma agreed gravely.

‘We still have several days’ sailing before we reach Iberia,’ Murchad reflected sombrely. ‘I don’t like to think that we shall be sailing without knowing the identity of the murderer. We could all be in danger.’

Fidelma shook her head.

‘I don’t think so. I believe that the killer selected Sister Muirgel because she was the object of a particular hatred which overwhelmed them. I doubt if anyone else is in immediate danger.’

Murchad looked at her in apprehension.

‘But you do have a suspicion as to who this killer is, Fidelma?’ She detected the hidden tension in his voice as if he were pleading for reassurance.

‘I never speak until I am sure,’ she replied. ‘But don’t worry; as soon as I am sure I will inform you.’

She had finished nibbling at some selected morsels of the food which Wenbrit had served. Fidelma was never one to eat a large breakfast and some fruit usually sufficed. Now she rose to her feet.

‘What is your next move?’ enquired Murchad.

‘I am going to have a thorough search of Muirgel’s cabin and belongings.’

Murchad accepted her departure reluctantly.

‘Well, do keep me informed. And be careful. A person who has killed once usually has no compunction about killing again, especially if they believe that you are getting close to them. I do not share your belief that there is no further danger here.’

She smiled briefly from the cabin door.

‘Don’t worry on my behalf, Murchad,’ she said. ‘I am sure that this is a crime of some passion and involves only Sister Muirgel.’

Outside, it was fully light now. The morning was clear and blue but the wind had risen fresh and chilly. The reddening sky had vanished but while it usually heralded a period of stillness, it also meant that bad weather would soon follow. Indeed, no changeable weather arrives without warning. Fidelma, from her childhood, had been taught that the signs were usually to be seen in the sky. It was a matter of observation and interpreting the evidence correctly. It might look bright now, with the hope that the pale sun would grow warmer, but she doubted it. There was bad weather coming. She wondered what had happened to the captain’s faith in ‘St Luke’s Little Summer’.

She made her way below decks to the cabin area and paused to hear the sounds of voices from the mess deck. The pilgrim band were still at their breakfast. It was an ideal time to search Sister Muirgel’s cabin and belongings without being disturbed. Later she would have to tell the company of her suspicions, but she wished she could do so at the same time as revealing who might have pushed her overboard.

The problem was that there were several people who could easily have killed Sister Muirgel; several on whom an obvious suspicion fell. In her experience, it was never the obvious that counted. But what happened when you had many obvious suspects? She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she wished Brother Eadulf was with her so that she could discuss her ideas with him. Often his comments put things into a sharp focus for her.

She entered the dark, odorous cabin and paused on the threshold to light a lamp from the lantern that swung on its hook in the passageway. Glancing round to ensure that she had not been observed, she entered and closed the door.

A couple of blankets were heaped carelessly on the bunk which Sister Muirgel had used. Fidelma held the lamp high and peered round. There was hardly anything of interest in the cabin at all. No baggage, papers or books that might furnish her with clues.

She frowned and made a more careful examination, standing still but turning to search the corners of the room for any cupboards or hooks. There was no obvious sign of Sister Muirgel’s baggage nor any other belongings. Someone must have placed the baggage beneath the lumpy heap of blankets on the bunk. She did not remember it being so untidy when she had last been in the cabin with Wenbrit to examine Muirgel’s robe, which she had given to the charge of Murchad, as captain of The Barnacle Goose, in case it was needed as evidence.

Setting the lamp down beside the bed, she bent forward. It was onlythen that a cold feeling of anticipation gripped her. The blankets, she now saw, were concealing the shape of a body. Hesitating barely a fraction of a second, she reached forth a hand and drew back a fold of cloth.

There, on her back, lay the form of a woman, clad in bloodstained undergarments. Her eyes were still open and blood was pumping in little spurts from a jagged knife-wound across her throat, where it had penetrated the jugular vein. Even as Fidelma gazed down, the dark glazing eyes turned to her, silent and pleading. The lips twitched, a gurgling sound came forth and blood began to form on them.

Fidelma bent forward quickly.

There was a gulping breath, but no words came. The dying woman seemed to he pushing a clenched hand towards Fidelma.

Then her head flopped uselessly to one side and blood fountained out of the half-opened mouth. Something fell with a clatter from the dead woman’s fist as her fingers relaxed and unfurled. Automatically, Fidelma bent down and picked it up. It was a small silver crucifix on a broken chain.

Fidelma rose slowly, holding her lamp high, in order to examine the woman’s face. She stood looking down in bewilderment for a few moments, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.

The body of the woman who lay sprawled on the bunk before her, with her throat just recently cut, was Sister Muirgel.