Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

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?’