Act of Mercy (7 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: Act of Mercy
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‘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 the
captain. ‘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 Gormán 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 Dál 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 of
Bregon, 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 Éireann.’
‘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, Gormán.
‘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 Éireann,
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.’

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