Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘Then the captain has the right to imprison you.’ Fidelma spoke quietly and yet her voice penetrated the muttering which greeted Tola’s s words so that a deathly hush fell as everyone turned towards her.

Brother Tola was frowning at her, clearly disapproving of what he considered to be her impertinence.

‘Oh — and by what right?’ he demanded. ‘And how do you know?’

Fidelma glanced at Murchad as if ignoring his questions.

‘Do you own this vessel, Murchad?’

The captain replied with a curt nod, although he seemed puzzled by her question.

‘And where is your home port?’

‘Ardmore.’

‘The ship, then, is to all intent and purposes, subject to the laws of Eireann.’

‘I suppose so,’ agreed Murchad reluctantly, not understanding what she was getting at.

‘Then that is the answer to Brother Tola’s question,’ she explained, not bothering to turn to him.

Brother Tola was not appeased.

‘It is not.’

Only now did Fidelma look towards him and without humour.

‘Yes, it is. The Muirbretha, the sea-laws, apply in this matter.’

Brother Tola looked astonished, and then his features formed in a patronising smile.

‘And what would you know of such laws?’

Fidelma sighed and started to open her mouth but Cian cut in.

‘Because she is a dalaigh , an advocate of the courts. Becauseshe is holder of the degree of anruth.’ There was a scathing tone to his voice.

Everyone knew that the level of anruth was only one degree below the highest qualification that the ecclesiastic and secular colleges could bestow.

In the moment of silence which followed Cian’s announcement, Sister Ainder returned to the cabin.

‘Crella is resting,’ she announced, unaware of the new tension. ‘We must remember that she was Sister Muirgel’s close friend and relative. Her death has been a great shock to her. It does not need thoughtless remarks to be made in such circumstances, Brother Tola.’

Brother Tola scowled and turned to Cian.

‘What were you saying about this woman?’

‘Fidelma of Cashel is an advocate of the law courts; one with a reputation that has extended to Tara and the court of the High King.’

‘Is that true?’ demanded Tola, not convinced.

‘That is true,’ confirmed Murchad, intervening. ‘She is also the sister of the King of Muman.’

There was a crimson splash on Tola’s cheeks and he lowered his head to hide his confusion by examining the table before him.

Fidelma would have preferred that her rank had been left out of the matter. She glanced uncomfortably at them.

‘All I am saying is that under the Muirbretha, the sea-laws, Murchad as captain of this vessel stands in the same position as a king. In fact, he has more power for, as well as a king, he also has the authority of a Chief Brehon. In other words, he is the ruler of everyone on this vessel. Everyone. I think I have explained the position clearly. Or do you have another question, Brother Tola?’

The tall religieux glanced up in irritation at her.

‘No other question,’ he replied frostily.

Fidelma turned to Murchad.

‘You may be assured that your rules will be strictly obeyed and that everyone here is aware that disobedience invokes punishment.’

Murchad smiled in nervous appreciation.

‘My purpose is only to safeguard your lives. This … accident with Sister Muirgel should never have happened.’

He was about to leave them when the youthful Sister Gorman stayed him.

‘Can we … may we at least hold a small service for the repose of Sister Muirgel’s soul, Captain?’

Murchad looked uncomfortable for a moment.

‘It is our Christian duty to do so,’ pressed Sister Ainder, coming to her support.

‘Of course,’ muttered Murchad. ‘You may hold your service at midday when I hope the mist will have cleared.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

Murchad left them as Wenbrit began to pass round the mead and water. The meal was taken in total silence and Fidelma was thankful to escape back onto the deck. The mist was still thick and swirling and it had not cleared by midday.

The service was, indeed, simple. Everyone gathered on the main deck apart from Gurvan and another sailor who controlled the steering oar, plus a lookout perched out of sight atop the mist-shrouded mainmast, whose duty it was to see when there might be a clearing of the skies. It had been some time ago when Murchad had lowered his sails and thrown out sea anchors in case the ship drifted into danger. But Fidelma could feel that the vessel was drifting despite the anchors and Murchad’s anxious eyes were darting around, attuned for trouble.

It was a strange group that stood there, surrounded by the wispy mist, like wraiths in an Otherworld setting. Surprisingly, Brother Tola led the prayers for the repose of the soul of Sister Muirgel. His voice echoed as if he were speaking in a sepulchre. He ended his prayer and then, without preamble, began to intone lines which Fidelma recognised from the Book of Jeremiah. Lines she found a strange choice:

‘We have left our lands, our houses have been pulled down,

Listen, you women, to the words of the Lord,

That your ears may catch what He says.

Teach your daughters the lament,

Let them teach one another this dirge;

Death has climbed in through our windows,

It has entered our palaces,

It sweeps off the children in the open air …’

Fidelma gazed at the forbidding monk in some bewilderment, for she thought his harsh cadences were not suited to a service for the repose of a soul. She glanced round at her fellow mourners and found, even through the swirling mist, that Sister Gorman’s eyes were bright and that she was nodding in time to the rhythm of the recitation. Next to her, Cian stood looking absolutely bored. The others appeared to be standing impassively, perhaps mesmerised by the tenor of Brother Tola’s religious declamations.

‘The corpses of men shall fall and lie like dung in the fields, Like swathes behind the reaper …’

Brother Bairne suddenly cleared his throat noisily. It was meant to interrupt and it did.

‘I, too, would offer a word from the Holy Book for the soul of our departed sister,’ he announced, as Brother Tola fell silent. ‘I believe I knew her just as well as everyone else who is gathered here.’

No one seemed to contradict him.

He began to recite and Fidelma realised that he was doing so with raised eyes and a grim expression on his face as if he were addressing the words at someone. He was focusing his gaze across the gathered circle. From her position, and with the mist still thick, she could not quite tell who he was looking at. Was it Sister Crella, standing with downcast eyes; or was it Cian, gazing upward in his boredom? And there was the naive young Sister Gorman by Cian’s side. It was difficult to follow the line of his eyes.

‘I will not punish your daughters for playing the wanton

Nor your sons’ brides for their adultery,

Because your men resort to wanton women

And sacrifice with temple prostitutes.

A people without understanding comes to grief …’

Sister Crella raised her head abruptly.

‘What have these words to do with Sister Muirgel?’ she demanded threateningly. ‘You did not know her at all! You were just jealous!’ She turned to Sister Ainder, who was looking shocked at the interruption. ‘Make an end of this farce. Proclaim a blessing and let’s have done.’

Already, in embarrassment, those members of the crew who had attended were drifting quietly away. Fidelma wondered what hidden passions were being enacted in this little memorial.