Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

Sister Ainder, flushing, intoned a quick blessing and the group of religieux broke up. Only Brother Bairne stood with his head bowed at the spot as if in silent prayer.

When Fidelma turned away she encountered Murchad. He was looking perplexed.

‘A strange group of religieux, lady,’ he muttered.

Fidelma felt inclined to agree.

‘What was that last piece about temple prostitutes?’ went on Murchad. ‘Was it truly from the Christian Holy Book?’

‘Hosea,’ affirmed Fidelma. She pulled a doleful face. ‘I think Brother Bairne was quoting from the verses of that fourth chapter.

‘The more priests there are, the more they sin against me;

Their dignity I will turn into dishonour.

They feed on the sin of my people

And batten on their iniquity,

But people and priest shall be treated alike.’

Murchad gazed at her in admiration.

‘I have often felt like saying that about some of the religieux I have met.’

‘It seems that God said it first, Captain,’ she rejoined solemnly.

‘How do you remember such things, lady?’

‘How do you remember how to sail this ship, knowing the winds and tides and the signs that keep The Barnacle Goose from danger? There is no secret to it, Murchad. We all have a memory and can memorise things. The more important thing is how we act on that which we know.’

She turned down the companionway back to the mess deck in search of some water. At the doorway, she found Wenbrit. He had not come up on deck during the service but had excused himself on the grounds of his duties. Now she noticed for the first time how pale his face was, and how strained he looked. He seemed relieved to see her.

‘Lady, I need-’ He stopped abruptly and his eyes focused on something above and beyond Fidelma’s head.

She frowned at the young boy.

‘What is it, Wenbrit?’

‘Er …’ He looked distracted for a moment. ‘I just wanted to remind you that the midday meal will be served soon.’

The boy pushed past her towards the cabins, lowering his voice so that she hardly caught his words.

‘Meet me in the cabin which the dead sister used. As soon as you can.’

There was a cough slightly above her head; she looked up and saw that Cian had followed her down the companionway. He stood, leaning down, a few steps above her.

‘I must talk properly with you, Fidelma.’ He still had that confident smile. ‘We didn’t really finish our discussion yesterday.’

Fidelma swung round to hide her anger. It seemed obvious to her that Wenbrit had wanted to speak urgently with her but not in the presence of Cian.

‘I am busy,’ she replied in a cutting tone.

Cian did not seem perturbed by her attitude.

‘Surely you are not afraid to speak with me?’

She gazed at him with open dislike. There was no escaping his presence. She could make no further excuse. She had known that sooner or later they would have to talk with one another. Perhaps it was better sooner rather than later. There were many days of the voyage yet to come. She hoped that Wenbrit’s news could wait awhile. She was busy remembering.

It had been left to Grian to bring her the news. Grian had arrived at the tavern where she was staying and entered into her room without knocking. Fidelma was lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling. Her brows drew together in annoyance as she saw Grian.

‘I hope you haven’t come to lecture me again,’ she said belligerently, before her friend could speak.

Grian sat down on the bed.

‘We all miss you, Fidelma. We don’t want to see you like this.’

Fidelma grimaced, her annoyance spreading.

‘It is not my fault that I am not at the school,’ she countered. ‘It was Morann who interfered in my life. It was he who expelled me.’

‘He did it for the best.’

‘It was none of his business.’

‘He thinks it is.’

‘I don’t interfere with his private life. Nor should he interfere in mine.’

Grian was clearly unhappy.

‘Fidelma, I feel a responsibility for all that has happened. It was my foolishness …’

‘You need not claim that you have any rights over me because you introduced me to Cian,’ Fidelma retorted sharply.

‘I do not. I said I feel responsibility. My action may have destroyed your life. I cannot bear that.’

‘Morann destroyed my studies, not you.’

‘But Cian-’

‘No more stories about Cian. I know he is immature at times but he has good intentions. He will change.’

Grian was quiet for a moment and then she said slowly, ‘You are fond of quoting from Publilius Syrus. Didn’t he say that an angry lover tells himself many lies? The same may be said in the feminine case. Lovers know what they want, but not what they need. You do not need Cian and he does not want you.’

Fidelma tried to start up angrily from the bed, but Grian reachedforward and pushed her back against the pillow. Fidelma never knew that her friend possessed such strength.

‘You will listen to me, even if this is the last time we ever speak. I am doing this for your good, Fidelma. This morning Cian married Una, the daughter of the High King’s steward, and they have gone to live at Aileach, among the Cenel Eoghain.’

The words came out in a rush so that Fidelma did not have time to silence her.

Fidelma stared at Grian for several long moments. There was a deathly hush as she slowly took in the meaning of Grian’s words. Then her face assumed a graven look as though she had turned to stone.

Grian waited for her friend to speak, to react, and when she did not, she pressed: ‘I did try to warn you before. Surely you must have known, surely you realised …?’

Fidelma felt divorced from reality. It was like being immersed in cold water. She was left stunned; incapable of speech. Grian had warned her and she, if the truth were known, suspected — even feared — that it was true. She had tried to fool herself and deny it. Finally, she managed to articulate one of the many thoughts whirling around in her mind.

‘Go away and leave me alone,’ she cried, emotion cracking her voice.

Grian gazed at her in anxiety. ‘Fidelma, you must understand …’

The next moment, Fidelma had thrown herself at her friend, screaming, beating with her hands, scratching. Had Grian not been a practitioner of the art of the troid-sciathaigid — battle through defence — she might have been badly hurt. As it was, Grian was adept at the technique, which had been developed centuries before when the learned ones of the Five Kingdoms had to defend themselves from attack by thieves and bandits. As they believed that it was wrong to carry weapons of defence, they had been forced to develop another method of defending themselves. Now, many of the missionaries who journeyed abroad had become adepts of the art.

Grian found it easy to constrain Fidelma’s uncontrolled fury, for physical intent without control will recoil on itself. Grian soon had her powerless in one of the holds, face down on the bed.

At this point the innkeeper came bursting into the room, demanding to know the reason for the noise which disturbed his guests, his shocked eyes immediately alighting on the broken pots and chair that had been the casualties before Fidelma had been pinioned by her friend.

Grian merely shouted at him to get out and that any damage would be paid for.

For a long, long time, she held on to her friend until the fight and frenzy left her body, until the tension was evaporated and the muscles had become relaxed.

Finally Fidelma said in a quiet and reasonable tone: ‘I am all right now, Grian. You may let go.’

Reluctantly, Grian pulled away and Fidelma sat up.