Act of Mercy

Chapter Five

Fidelma started awake, wondering what had disturbed her. It was a bell jangling, high-pitched and querulous. For a moment she wondered where she was. Then, with the movement of the ship below her, she remembered. She had fallen asleep thinking about Cian. No wonder she felt that she had been having some distasteful nightmare! Her mind had been drifting over the unhappy events of her relationship with him; they were still sharp in her memory even though it was nearly a decade ago.

The bell continued its insistent clamour: it must be Wenbrit’s summons to the midday meal. Fidelma rose hastily from the bunk. The cat was nowhere in sight. She hurriedly ran a comb through her hair and straightened her clothes.

She left her cabin and made her way along the main deck. The motion of the ship was not unpleasant; the sea appeared fairly calm. She glanced up. Above her, the sun was at its zenith, casting short shadows. There seemed no wind. The sail was hanging limply, billowing only now and again as a faint gust caught it. Yet the ship was moving, albeit slowly, across a flat blue sea. A few sailors, lounging cross-legged on the deck, nodded pleasantly as Fidelma passed and one called a greeting in her own language.

She clambered down the companionway at the stern of the ship, remembering young Wenbrit’s directions to what he called the main mess deck. She followed the dim light of the lanterns and the smells of the confined space.

There were half-a-dozen people seated at a long table in the broad cabin which stretched from one side of the ship to another. The table was placed behind the main mast for she could see it, like a tree, cutting through the decks. Murchad was standing at the head of the table, balanced with his legs wide apart. Behind him, young Wenbrit was bent over a side table, cutting bread.

Murchad smiled as she entered and waved her forward, indicating a seat on his right. The seating consisted of two long benches on eitherside of the long pinewood table. Those already present glanced up at the newcomer in curiosity.

Fidelma moved to her seat and found that she was placed opposite Cian. She hastily turned to her enquiring companions with a brief smile of greeting. Cian rose with a proprietorial smile to introduce her.

‘As you do not know anyone here, Fidelma,’ he began, ignoring the protocol for it should have been Murchad’s place to perform the introductions. He had reckoned without Murchad’s strong personality however.

‘If you please, Brother Cian,’ the captain interrupted irritably. ‘Sister Fidelma of Cashel, allow me to introduce you to your fellow travellers. These are Sisters Ainder, Crella and Gorman.’ He indicated three religieuses swiftly in turn sitting opposite to her and next to Cian. ‘This is Brother Cian, while next to you are Brothers Adamrae, Dathal and Tola.’

Fidelma inclined her head to them, acknowledging them all in one gesture. Their names and faces would come to mean something later. At the moment, the introduction was just a formality. Cian had reseated himself with an expression of annoyance on his face.

One of the women seated directly next to Cian, a religieuse who looked extremely young to be on a pilgrimage, smiled sweetly at her.

‘It seems that you already know Brother Cian?’

It was Cian who answered her hurriedly.

‘I knew Fidelma many years ago in Tara.’

Fidelma felt their gazes of curiosity on her and she turned towards Murchad to hide her embarrassment.

‘I see that this pilgrims’ party is only eight in all. I thought there were more?’ Then she remembered. ‘Ah, there is a Sister Muirgel, isn’t there? Is she still confined to her cabin?’

Murchad smiled grimly but it was the elderly, sharp-featured religieuse seated at the end of the table who answered her question.

‘I fear Sister Muirgel as well as two others, Brother Guss and Brother Bairne, are still indisposed, being overcome with the fatigues of the voyage, and are unable to join us for the time being. Do you know Sister Muirgel as well?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I met her when I came aboard although it was not in the best circumstances. I noticed that she was unwell,’ she added by way of explanation.

A pale, elderly monk with dirty grey hair sniffed audibly in disapproval.

‘Say that they are seasick and have done with it, Sister Ainder.People should not come on voyages if they have no stomach for it.’

The third religieuse whose name Fidelma had registered as being Sister Crella, a small, young woman with broad features that somehow marred the attractiveness that she would otherwise have possessed, looked disapproving. She appeared to be of a nervous disposition for she kept glancing quickly around as if she expected someone to appear. It was she who made a sound of reproach with her tongue and shook her head.

‘A little charity, please, Brother Tola. It is a terrible thing, this sickness of being at sea.’

‘There is a sailor’s cure for seasickness,’ intervened Murchad with grim humour, ‘but I would not recommend it. The best way to avoid sickness is to stay on deck and focus your eyes on the horizon. Breathe plenty of fresh sea air. The worst thing you can do in the circumstances is to remain below, confined to your cabin. I would advise you to pass that on to your fellow travellers.’

Fidelma felt a satisfaction that her earlier prescription for sickness had been an accurate one.

‘Captain!’ It was the sharp-faced Sister Ainder again. ‘Must we stir up images of the sick and dead when we are about to eat? Perhaps Brother Cian will say the gratias and then we may proceed with our meal.’

Fidelma raised her eyes expectantly. The idea of Cian as a religieux, leading the gratias, was something that she had never imagined.

The former warrior flushed, seemingly aware of her inquisitive gaze, and turned to the elderly, austere Brother.

‘Let Brother Tola proclaim the gratias,’ he muttered stiffly, raising his eyes to challenge Fidelma. ‘I have little to be thankful for,’ he added in a soft whisper meant for her ears only. She did not bother to respond. Murchad, hearing the remark, raised his bushy brows but said nothing.

Brother Tola clasped his hands before him and intoned in a loud baritone: ‘Benedictus sit Deus in Donis Suis.’

They responded automatically: ‘Et sanctus in omnis operibus Suis.’

While the meal was being eaten, Murchad began to explain, as he had previously done to Fidelma, his estimation of the length of their voyage.

‘It is to be hoped that we will be graced with fair weather to the port at which you will disembark. The port is not far from the Holy Shrine to which you are bound. It is a journey of just a few miles inland.’

There was a murmur of excitement among the pilgrims. One of thetwo young Brothers, whom Fidelma had seen up on the main deck earlier, a youth she learnt was called Brother Dathal, leant forward, his face as animated as it had been when he had been speaking to his companion on deck.

‘Is the shrine near to the spot where Bregon built his great tower?’

Clearly Brother Dathal was a student of the ancient legends of the Gael because, according to the old bards, the ancestors of the people of Eireann had once lived in Iberia and many centuries ago had spied the country from a great tower, built by their leader Bregon. It was the nephew of Bregon, Golamh, known also as Mike Easpain, who had led his people in the great invasion which secured for them the Five Kingdoms.

Murchad smiled broadly. He had heard the question many times before from other pilgrims.

‘So legend has it,’ he replied in good humour. ‘However, I must warn you that you will find no sign of such a massive construction, apart from a great Roman lighthouse which is called the Tower of Hercules, not of Bregon. Bregon’s Tower must have been a very, very high tower indeed, for a man to be able to see the coast of Eireann from Iberia.’ He paused but no one seemed to appreciate his humour. His voice became serious. ‘Now, since we have a moment together, I need to say a few things to all of you which you must pass on to your fellows who have not been able to join us in this first meal. There are rules which you must observe while on this ship.’

He hesitated before proceeding.

‘I have told you that our voyage will take the best part of a week. During that time you may use the main deck as much as you like. Try not to get in the way of my crew while they perform their duties, for your lives depend on the efficient running of this ship and sailing these waters is not an easy task.’

‘I have heard stories of great sea monsters.’

It was the youthful Sister Gorman. Fidelma examined her with surreptitious interest, for she felt it would be best to start becoming acquainted with her fellow passengers, to the extent that they would be confined together in the ship for several days. Gorman was, indeed, young; no more than eighteen. She spoke in a nervous, breathless tone, giving the impression of a naive child. In fact, Fidelma had the image of an eager young puppy wishing to please its master. She had one odd feature, in that her eyes seemed never still, but flickering as if in a state of permanent anxiety. Fidelma found herself wondering if she had ever been that young. Eighteen. It suddenly reminded her that shehad been eighteen when she had met Cian. She dismissed the thought immediately.

‘Shall we be seeing sea monsters?’ the girl was asking. ‘Will we be in any danger?’

Murchad laughed, but not unkindly.

‘There is no danger from sea monsters where we voyage,’ he assured her. ‘You may observe sea creatures which you have not encountered before, but they pose no threat. Our main danger lies only in inclement weather. Now, if we do encounter storms, it is best, unless I instruct you otherwise, to remain below and make sure that all lamps and candles are extinguished …’

‘But how can we see down here in the dark without lamps?’ wailed Sister Crella.

‘All lamps and candles must be extinguished,’ insisted Murchad with an emphasis which was his only acknowledgment of her question. ‘We do not want to contend with fire on shipboard as well as a storm. Lamps must be extinguished and everything battened down.’

‘I do not understand.’ The ascetic Brother Tola appeared confused at the term.

‘Anything movable, liable to cause damage in the shifting of the vessel, should be securely tied or fastened,’ explained the captain patiently. ‘In such circumstances, young Wenbrit will be on hand to advise you and ensure that there is nothing you lack.’

‘How likely is it that we will encounter a storm?’ asked the tall, elderly religieuse, Sister Ainder.

‘A fifty-fifty chance,’ admitted Murchad. ‘But don’t worry. I have never lost a pilgrim ship yet, nor even a single pilgrim in a storm.’

There were polite but rather strained smiles among those gathered at the table. Murchad was obviously a good judge of character, for Fidelma noticed that some of her companions were in need of further reassurance and Murchad shared that insight.

‘I will be honest with you,’ he confided. ‘This month is one of frequent storms and rain which can last for many weeks. But why have I chosen to set sail on this particular day? Is it by chance that I insisted we take this morning’s tide? Does anyone know the reason?’

The party gazed at one another and there was some shaking of heads.

‘Being religious people, you all ought to know what this day is,’ the captain chided them good-naturedly. He waited for an anser. They looked bewildered. Fidelma thought she should answer for them.

‘Are you talking about the feast day of the Blessed Luke, Beloved Luke the Physician?’

Murchad glanced approvingly at her knowledge.

‘Exactly so. The feast day of Luke. Have none of you heard of “St Luke’s Little Summer”?’

There was a bewildered shaking of heads.

‘We sailors have noticed that there is usually a fine period in the middle of this month which occurs on the feast day of St Luke — a dry period with lots of sunshine. That’s why, if we are going to sail during this month, we usually choose to sail at that time.’

‘Can you guarantee this fine weather for the voyage?’ demanded Sister Ainder.

‘I am afraid that nothing can be guaranteed once you set sail on the sea, no matter the time nor the place, whether at high summer or midwinter. I am merely saying that out of the several voyages that I have made at this time of year, only one has failed to be pleasant and calm.’

Murchad paused and, as there were no comments, he continued.

‘There is, of course, one other matter that I am sure you have all been told about before you booked passage. The seas are dangerous these days and the waters in which we will be journeying are not excluded from such danger. I no longer refer to risk from the elements — from the tides, winds and storms. I refer to the risk from our fellow men — from pirates and sea-raiders, who attack and rob ships, seize their occupants and sell them into slavery.’

A hush descended on the company.

Fidelma, who had travelled to Rome, knew some of the dangers of which Murchad spoke. She had heard many stories of raiders who sailed against the western ports of Italy from the Balearic Islands, and of the spread of the Corsairs from the Arabian world through the Mediterranean — the great middle sea of the world.

‘If we are attacked, what defence shall we have?’ asked Cian quietly.

Murchad smiled thinly. ‘We are not a warship, Brother Cian. Our defence will lie in our seamanship and the luck of the de-’ He suddenly recalled that he was addressing a group of religieux. ‘And the protection of the hand of God.’

‘What if luck and seamanship are not enough?’ queried Brother Tola. ‘Are your crew armed and ready to fight in our defence?’

Cian’s features broke into a scornful expression.

‘What, Brother Tola? Are you asking others to die in your defence while you stand quietly by?’ It was clear that Cian had no time for his fellow religieux.

‘And are you suggesting that I take up the sword instead of the cross?’ Brother Tola leant forward, turning red around his neck.

‘Why not?’ replied Cian calmly. Fidelma had heard that cold sneering tone before and she shivered slightly. ‘Peter did in the Garden of Gethsemane.’

‘I am a religieux, not a warrior,’ protested Brother Tola.

‘Then perhaps you should be content to be defended by the crucifix,’ taunted Cian. ‘You should not demand that warriors defend you.’

Murchad glanced at Fidelma and she detected a smile of amusement on his features. Then the captain was holding up his hands like a priest bestowing a blessing on the company.

‘My friends,’ Murchad said pacifyingly. ‘There is no need for discord among you. I have no wish to alarm you, but it is my duty to set out the possibilities so that none of you is surprised by any eventuality. If we are so unlucky as to encounter sea raiders, perhaps you will pray so that a power greater than the sword may aid us. After all, that is what you teach, is it not? These raiders tend to keep close to the main ports along the coasts. Our course should take us well away from such dangerous areas …’

‘Except?’ It was Cian who prompted Murchad.

‘We will put ashore at an island called Ushant, which lies off the west coast of the land that used to be called Armorica — that which is now known as “Little Britain”. It is in those waters that raiders could lie in wait. They could also be found in the approaches to the coast of Iberia. Those might well be the areas where we stand in danger of attack. But I doubt it. The odds make it very unlikely.’

‘Have you ever been attacked by pirates, Murchad?’ asked Fidelma quietly, for the captain seemed so sure of himself.

He nodded solemnly.

‘Twice,’ he affirmed. ‘Twice in all the years that I have sailed these waters.’

‘Yet you seem to have survived,’ she pointed out for the benefit of her new companions.

‘Indeed.’ Murchad shot her a look of gratitude for emphasising the point. ‘Two encounters in all the voyages that I have made, and that number is not an inconsiderable one, will show you that such encounters are possible but not probable. We are more likely to encounter storms than pirates. But, if we do have such an encounter, it is my duty as captain to warn you that you must stay clear of my men and allow them to do their work so that we may be able to escape.’

‘Perhaps you will tell us what happened during the two times you were attacked?’ Brother Tola scowled at Cian while he addressed thecaptain. ‘It could not have been so bad, otherwise, as the Sister,’ he inclined his head towards Fidelma, ‘points out, you would not be here now.’

Murchad chuckled appreciatively.

‘Well, once I outsailed the raider.’

‘And the second time?’ prompted Sister Crella nervously.

The corners of the captain’s mouth turned down in a humorous grimace. ‘He caught me.’

There was a bemused silence before Murchad, realising that his passengers did not share his humour, decided to explain.

‘Finding an empty ship, without goods and without passengers, for I was on a journey from one port to another to pick up my cargo, the pirate decided to allow me to continue on my way. It was not worth his time to destroy my ship when I might pick up a rich cargo for him later. He told me that he would see me again when I had something to give him. So far, I have not seen him again.’

There was a contemplative silence in the cabin.

‘What if there had been pilgrims aboard?’ asked Sister Gorman fearfully.

Murchad did not bother to reply. Finally Sister Ainder said: ‘God be praised it was not a question that had to be answered.’

There came the sound of a cry from on deck. It made them all start nervously.

‘Ah.’ Murchad rose abruptly. ‘Have no fear. It is only a warning that the wind is changing. You will forgive me — I must return to my duties. If you have any questions about the running of this ship and the rules which you must obey, ask them of young Wenbrit here. The lad has spent most of his life on shipboard and he is my right hand in the care of passengers.’

He clapped the boy on the shoulder and young Wenbrit ventured a slightly self-conscious smile as the captain left to go on deck.

Fidelma, to avoid the inevitable conversation with Cian until she had time to think about matters, turned to the young religieux seated next to her.

‘And are you all come from the same abbey?’ she opened conversationally.

The one introduced as Brother Dathal, a slim, fair-haired youth, swallowed his cupful of wine before replying.

‘Brother Adamrae,’ he gestured to his equally young companion, ‘and I are from the Abbey of Bangor. But most of our companions are from the Abbey of Moville, which lies not far from Bangor.’

‘They are both in the Kingdom of Ulaidh, I believe,’ Fidelma observed.

‘That is so. In the sub-kingdom of the Dal Fiatach,’ replied Brother Adamrae, who had red hair and was covered in freckles. His cold blue eyes sparkled like water on a hot summer’s day. He was as quiet as his companion was effervescent in spirit.

‘What attracts you to the Holy Shrine of St James?’ she continued, fully aware that Cian was awaiting an opportunity to engage her in conversation.

‘We are scriptores,’ explained Brother Adamrae in his mournful voice.

Brother Dathal, who in contrast spoke in a high-pitched, rather squeaky tone, added, ‘We are compiling a history of our people in ancient times. That is why we go to Iberia.’

Fidelma was listening distractedly. ‘I am not sure that I understand the connection,’ she said politely. At that moment she was concentrating on how she was going to deal with Cian and was not giving the matter of what Dathal was saying much thought.

Brother Dathal leaned towards her and waggled his knife before her in mock admonition.

‘Surely, Sister Fidelma, you must be aware of the origin of our people?’

Fidelma brought her gaze abruptly back to him and thought hard, suddenly realising what he meant.

‘Oh yes — you were talking about Bregon’s Tower to the captain. Are you interested in the old legend about the origin of our people?’

‘Old legend?’ snapped Dathal’s ruddy-faced companion. ‘It is history!’ He raised his mournful voice and intoned:

‘Eight sons had Golamh of the Shouts,

Who was also called Mile of Spain …’

Fidelma interrupted before he could continue.

‘I do know the story, Brother Adamrae. It does not tell me why you go to the Holy Shrine of St James. Surely that has nothing to do with Golamh and the origin of the Children of the Gael?’

Brother Dathal was indulgent yet still enthusiastic.

‘We go because we are seeking knowledge. It might well be that our ancestors left ancient books in this land called Iberia where the children of Bregon, son of Bratha, grew and prospered and resolved to extend their sway beyond the seas. That is why Bregon built his tower from where he spied Ireland, and it was then that Ith, son ofBregon, equipped a ship and manned it with thrice fifty warriors; they then put out to sea, sailing north until they reached the shores of the land which became our beloved Eireann.’

‘These young men,’ interrupted Brother Tola, with disapproval in his dry voice, ‘are not interested in the Faith and the Holy Shrine, but go to learn mundane history.’

There was no mistaking the criticism in the elderly man’s voice.

‘Do you object to your companions’ quest?’ Fidelma asked.

Brother Tola toyed with the food that was still on his plate.

‘I would have thought that much was obvious. Brothers Dathal and Adamrae have no right pretending to go on a religious pilgrimage merely in order to indulge their interest in secular matters.’

Brother Dathal’s face whitened and his voice rose considerably.

‘Nothing is more sacred than the pursuit of knowledge, Brother Tola.’

‘Nothing, except God and His saints,’ snapped Brother Tola, suddenly rising from the table. ‘Ever since we left Bangor, I have heard only of your precious search for historical truth. I am sick of it. We are here on a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrine of a great saint; one who knew and walked with Christ. That is more important than human vanity.’

‘What of Ith, the son of Bregon, who fell in battle in Ireland?’ retorted the mournful Brother Adamrae. ‘What of Golamh and his sons who were our forefathers? Isn’t that of great importance? Without them, you would not even exist to go on your pilgrimage.’

‘For one who bears the name of the first man created by God, you care little for your religion,’ berated Tola.

Brother Adamrae sat back and began to chuckle. Brother Tola looked shocked at what he mistook for profanity. Even Fidelma hid a smile behind a raised hand. She was surprised by Tola’s lack of knowledge.

Brother Dathal was not so diplomatic.

‘Your ignorance proves the need for what you describe as our human vanity,’ he told Brother Tola bluntly. ‘The name Adamrae has nothing to do with the Biblical name of Adam. It is an ancient name of our people, meaning “wonderful”. See how much you lack in knowledge if you concentrate on one subject?’

Brother Tola turned with an expression of disgust and left the table.

Sister Ainder who, Fidelma judged from her severity of countenance, was the female counterpart of Brother Tola, made a disapproving noise with her tongue.

‘One should not be disrespectful to Brother Tola. He is a man of great learning and piety.’

‘Learning?’ sneered Brother Dathal.

‘He is learned in scripture and philosophy,’ replied Sister Ainder.

‘He is not learned in our field and he was disrespectful to us,’ replied Brother Adamrae defensively. ‘We do not disguise our purpose in this voyage. It is our mission to bring back knowledge to our Abbey, already famed for its scholarship. Brother Tola seems to be against scholarship.’

‘He is not against that scholarship which we should all be keen to advance — religious scholarship,’ replied Sister Ainder.

Brother Adamrae was disparaging not only of Brother Tola but his defender, Sister Ainder.

‘The pursuit of religious knowledge does not mean that all other arts and sciences have to be ignored. I swear, since this pilgrimage began, there has been nothing but strife in our party. If not from the intolerance of Brother Tola then from the lust of-’

‘Enough!’

Sister Crella’s voice cut the air like a whip. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Enough, Brother Adamrae.’ Her voice assumed a more gentle tone of rebuke. ‘You would not wish our southern companion to think that we northerners are always quarrelling among ourselves, would you?’ She turned to Fidelma with a smile. ‘I noticed that our captain introduced you as Fidelma of Cashel. Are you from the Abbey there?’

Fidelma thought it better to be noncommittal. In fact, she could make such a claim, and did so.

‘But you knew Brother Cian in Tara?’ This question came from the young girl, Gorman.

‘I was acquainted with him many years ago,’ Fidelma replied distantly. She felt their eyes on her but she bent to her meal. She had no desire to get too close to her companion and certainly did not want to be ensnared into whatever friction existed between the various members of the party. There would be enough problems in dealing with Cian.

Brother Dathal broke the awkward silence by quoting from some epic poet:

‘The leaders of those oversea ships,

In which the sons of Mile of Spain came to Eireann,

I shall remember all my life -

Their names and their individual fates.’

He punctuated the verse with a loud sniff and rose from the table. He was followed a moment later by his dour red-haired companion.

‘I hope you will forgive the sharpness of their tempers this morning, Sister … Sister Fidelma, is it?’ Fidelma realised that Sister Ainder had turned a patronising smile on her. There was no warmth or feeling in it. ‘Scholars are notoriously possessed of short tempers, especially when they speak of their own disciplines, which they do loudly and frequently. We have not really had much peace since we set out from Bangor.’

Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgement.

‘I am afraid that it was my question which sparked off their argument.’

Across the table, the broad-faced young Sister Crella grimaced in disagreement.

‘If it was not your question, Sister Fidelma, then the clash of temperaments would have been made for some other reason. It is true that Brother Tola has been criticising Dathal and Adamrae ever since we set out.’

Sister Ainder sprang at once to Tola’s defence.

‘There is no cause to lay the blame on Brother Tola. He is a spiritual man and concerned that this is a pilgrimage in search of spiritual truth.’

‘Brother Tola should not have joined this party if he wanted to go in search of some esoteric ideal,’ Crella retorted.

If one could flounce on the gently rocking deck of the cabin, Sister Ainder contrived to flounce out. Sister Gorman, the youngest of the party, also rose, mumbled something indistinct and left the table.

Wenbrit, smiling brightly, began clearing up. He seemed to enjoy the conflict between the adult religieux at the table.

Sister Crella picked at her meal in silence for a while, then she raised her eyes to Fidelma.

‘I can hear old Ainder saying that the young have no respect these days,’ she smirked.

Fidelma did not know whether the comment was a general one or addressed to her. She decided that she should make some reply.

‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann, was wont to say that the young always regard their elders as senile. So it is now, but so it was in all our youthful ages.’

‘Respect is something that one has to earn, Sister, and not demand because one has survived a few years.’

Wenbrit, standing behind Sister Crella, contrived to wink at Fidelma as he bent to gather the plate.