Act of Mercy (3 page)

Read Act of Mercy Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Act of Mercy
13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
‘Well, you are right,’ confessed Murchad. ‘I bought her in Kerhostin two years ago. My mate …’ he indicated one of the two men at the steering oar, a man with saturnine features, ‘that’s my mate, Gurvan, the second-in-command on this vessel. He is a Breton and helped build
The Barnacle Goose
. We also have Cornishmen and Galicians in our crew. They know all the waters between here and Iberia.’
‘It is good that you have so knowledgeable a crew,’ Fidelma observed with solemn humour.
‘Well, as I say, if we have a fair wind and the blessing of our patron, St Brendan the Navigator, this will prove an agreeable voyage.’
Mention of St Brendan turned Fidelma’s thoughts to her fellow pilgrims.
‘I was wondering why most of my fellow passengers are missing the best part of the voyage?’ she queried. ‘I always think the most exciting part of a voyage is when one leaves land behind, and heads out on the vast sea.’
‘From a traveller’s viewpoint, I would have thought that it is more exciting coming into a strange port than leaving a familiar one,’ returned Murchad. Then he shrugged. ‘Perhaps your travelling companions are not such good sailors as you and those two young Brothers yonder.’ He nodded to where the two religieux were still engaged in discussion. ‘Though I think those young men are
scarcely noticing that they are on shipboard – unlike some of their fellows.’
It took Fidelma a moment before she realised what he was implying.
‘Some are seasick already?’
‘My cabin boy tells me we have at least a couple suffering. I have had pilgrims actually praying for death to take them even on a calm sea because they were so sick they could not bear it.’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘I knew one pilgrim who became sick the moment he set foot on shipboard and continued his sickness even while he rode at anchor in the sheltered harbour. Some people can take to the sea while others should remain on land.’
‘What are my fellow passengers like?’ asked Fidelma.
Murchad pursed his lips and regarded her with some astonishment.
‘You do not know them?’
‘No. I am not part of their company. I am travelling alone.’
‘I thought you were from the Abbey.’ Murchad waved his hand in the direction of the distant shoreline behind them as if to indicate St Declan’s.
‘I am from Cashel – Fidelma of Cashel. I arrived at the Abbey late last night.’
‘Well.’ Murchad reflected for a moment on her question. ‘Your fellow travellers, I suppose, can be described as the usual crowd of religieux. I am sorry, Sister, but it is hard to see beyond the habit to the individual.’
Fidelma was sympathetic to his viewpoint.
‘Are they a mixed group, both male and female?’
‘Ah, that I
can
tell you. Including yourself, there are four females and six males.’
‘Ten in all?’ Fidelma was surprised. ‘That is a curious total, for surely pilgrims like to travel in bands of twelve or thirteen?’
‘So it is in my experience. There were supposed to be six females and six males on this trip. However, I was told that one female did not complete the trip to Ardmore while another of them simply did not turn up on the quay this morning. We waited until the last minute, but a ship cannot dictate wind and tide. We had to sail. Perhaps the missing religieuse had thought better of undertaking this voyage. It is certainly curious, though, to find a woman undertaking a pilgrimage alone,’ he added inquisitively.
Fidelma made an imperceptible gesture with her shoulder.
‘I arrived at St Declan’s Abbey only last evening with the purpose of seeking a ship for Iberia. The Abbot told me that your ship was
preparing to sail this morning and he believed that you had room for another passenger. So he entertained me while a messenger came to book my passage. I did not meet my fellow travellers at the Abbey and have no knowledge of any of them.’
Murchad was looking at her speculatively, rubbing a forefinger along the side of his large nose.
‘It is true that the Abbot’s messenger found me in Colla’s tavern last night and booked your passage.’ He frowned. ‘It strikes me that you are an odd sort of religieuse, Sister. The Abbot entertains you while he sends a messenger to book your passage? Yet you don’t appear to be a Superior of your Order.’
There was an implied question in his observation.
‘I am not,’ she answered, wishing the subject had not been raised.
He was scrutinising her carefully.
‘It is unusual to warrant such a privilege.’ He paused and his sharp, bright eyes widened in recognition. ‘Fidelma of Cashel? Of course!’
Fidelma sighed in resignation as she realised that he had heard of her. However, her identity would have probably been revealed sooner or later in the close confines of this vessel.
‘I trust you will keep my identity confidential, Murchad,’ she requested. ‘Who I am should surely be of no concern to my fellow travellers.’
Murchad let out a long, soft breath.
‘The King of Cashel’s sister travelling on my ship? It is an honour, lady, and my curiosity is appeased.’
Fidelma shook her head reproachfully.
‘
Sister
,’ she corrected sharply. ‘I am no more than an ordinary religieuse on a pilgrimage.’
‘Very well, I will keep your confidence. Yet a princess and a lawyer rolled into the person of a religieuse is an extraordinary combination to encounter. I have heard stories of how you saved the kingdom …’
Fidelma drew up her chin a fraction. There was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes as she retorted: ‘Wasn’t Brendan himself a prince and wasn’t Colmcille of the royal dynasty of Uí Néill? Surely it is not so unusual to find people of royal rank serving the Faith? Anyway, this matter remains one that is between us and not to be discussed with my fellow pilgrims.’
‘I must surely tell the boy who will serve your needs on the voyage.’
‘I would rather you did not. And now, Captain, you were about to tell me about my fellow travellers,’ she prompted, interrupting further talk on what she felt was an embarrassing subject.
‘I know nothing much about them,’ Murchad confessed. ‘Although they stayed at the Abbey last night, I do not think they are of its community. Judging by their accents, or those which I have heard, most of them are northerners – from the Kingdom of Ulaidh.’
Fidelma felt a sense of wonder.
‘It is surely a long route for pilgrims from Ulaidh to journey to Ardmore to find a ship, rather than sail directly from a northern port?’
‘Maybe.’ Murchad seemed indifferent. ‘As master of this ship, I am pleased to pick up paying passengers whatever their motives. You will have plenty of time to get acquainted with them, lady, and their reasons for coming on this journey.’
He suddenly glanced up at the pennants flying from the central mast, shading his eyes against the sun for a moment.
‘Forgive me, lady. I must go to wear the ship – I mean, to change her heading – for the wind is altering course now.’ She was about to rebuke him for calling her ‘lady’ instead of ‘Sister’ when he continued: ‘If you remain on deck, I suggest that you move to leeward out of the wind.’ Noticing her perplexity, he indicated the side that would be opposite to the wind direction once he had brought the ship’s head around: the wind had changed direction in a surprising fashion as they had cleared the headlands into the open sea.
‘I will go below now to find my cabin, if that is all the same to you, Captain,’ she replied.
He turned and bellowed so unexpectedly that she was startled for the moment.
‘Wenbrit! Pass the word for Wenbrit!’ He glanced back to her. ‘I must leave you for the time being. The boy will take your dunnage below and show you to your cabin, lady …’
He turned away before she could ask him what ‘dunnage’ meant. She watched him hurry across to the men by the steering oar and then begin to roar: ‘Hands to halyards, stand by to wear ship.’
The vessel was bucking and rolling with such a motion that Fidelma was forced to keep changing her balance to remain upright on the deck.
‘Bit rough for you, eh, Sister?’
She found herself gazing into the urchin-like features of a young boy of about thirteen or fourteen. He stood legs wide apart, hands on hips, balancing effortlessly as the vessel skewed and rolled while the crew manoeuvred it into its new heading. He had bright, copper-coloured hair and a mass of freckles on his fair skin, and curious elfin eyes of sea green. His face was split by a broad grin and he carried himself
with a self-conscious attitude of pride. Though he spoke the language of Éireann effortlessly, she could hear the strange accent which belied the country of his birth. He was a Briton.
‘Not so rough,’ she assured him, although having to clutch for the nearby rail to steady herself.
The boy screwed up his face in disbelief at her reply.
‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘at least you are standing up to it better than some of your friends below. Sick as dogs, they are.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘And who is it who has to clean out below decks?’
‘I presume that you are called Wenbrit?’ smiled Fidelma. In spite of the lurching of the vessel, she felt no queasiness. It was a matter of balance only.
‘I am,’ agreed the boy. ‘I suppose you want to go below now?’
‘Yes, I should like to see my cabin.’
‘Follow me, then, Sister, and hang on tight,’ he said as he picked up her bag. ‘It is sometimes more dangerous below deck than above it during turbulent water. If I were Captain I would not allow my passengers below until they had a good taste of what it is to be like, at least. Once they found their sea legs, then they could go and hide in the darkness ’tween decks.’
The boy spoke scornfully as he led the way. He moved with sure-footed pride from the stern deck down the steep wooden steps to the main deck. It was as he turned to glance back at her that Fidelma caught a glimpse of a band of white around the boy’s neck – the scar of something which had chafed against the flesh. She was momentarily intrigued at its cause. However, it was neither the time nor place to ask such a question. At the foot of the steps, he turned to watch her descent with a critical eye. Fidelma swung herself down and paused to meet the lad’s reluctant nod of approval.
‘One of your friends slipped and fell on those steps, and that was while we were riding at anchor,’ he volunteered airily. ‘Landlubbers
!
’
‘Was he or she hurt?’ demanded Fidelma, aghast at the youth’s callousness.
‘Only their dignity was bruised, if you know what I mean,’ he replied lightly. ‘This way, Sister.’
He entered a doorway – Fidelma wished she could remember the correct nautical terms – and started down a narrow, dingy set of stairs into the cabin space below. Fidelma came to know that it was called a companionway. A single storm lantern swung and bounced on a chain in the passageway, giving a dim illumination to the darkness.
‘You’ve been placed in a cabin with one of the other Sisters at
the far end here.’ The boy pointed. ‘The other travellers occupy the cabins along here. When I am not on deck then I sleep in the big cabin through there.’ He waved his hand for’ard. ‘That’s where we prepare food and eat. It’s called the mess deck. I am always around, if anything is needed.’ He threw out his chest in an attitude of pride. ‘The captain … well, he likes the passengers to deal with me and, if there is anything of an urgent nature, I can pass it on to him. He doesn’t like to have much to do with those who take passage on the ship …’ The boy paused as if waiting for some response.
‘Very well, Wenbrit,’ Fidelma acknowledged solemnly. ‘If there are any problems, I will consult you first.’
‘There will be a meal at midday and the captain will attend in order to explain the running of the ship to you all. But he doesn’t usually eat with the passengers. He makes an exception on the first day out to ensure everyone knows what’s what. And, of course, don’t expect hot meals on the voyage. Which reminds me, if you light candles below decks, make sure they are not left unattended. I’ve heard of ships flaring up like a tinder box.’
Fidelma did her best to hide her humour at the boy’s studied self-confident air of a veteran sailor.
‘There is a meal at midday, you say?’
‘I will ring a bell which will summon the passengers to the meal.’
‘Very well.’ Fidelma made to turn to the cabin door indicated by the boy.
‘Oh, one more thing …’
She turned back enquiringly towards him.
‘I am required to tell you that these cabins are aft in the vessel. That’s the stern. On the deck above is the captain’s cabin and other quarters. For’ard lies in that direction. It is also called the bow of the ship. There is a privy at the stern here, through that door there. And there is one up in the bow. Anyone will tell you where it is, should the need arise. If there are any problems, if we need to abandon ship, there are two small boats lashed to the deck athwart ships – that is in the middle of the ship. That is where you should make for if we get in trouble. Don’t worry, one of the crew will inform you of what you should do.’

Other books

Enchanted Spring by Josee Renard
Chocolate Horse by Bonnie Bryant
The Law of Attraction by N. M. Silber
Written in the Stars by Ardente-Silliman, Jayme
Infinite Devotion by Waters, L.E.
One Hundred Names by Cecelia Ahern
When You Were Older by Catherine Ryan Hyde