Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘I do.’

‘Did she see you leave the cabin?’

‘She was fast asleep. She is a heavy sleeper. She did not see me leave.’

‘The storm was in progress?’

‘It was.’

‘Your cabin is by the stairs or whatever they are called. So, you are telling me that you went down that passage to her cabin and neither met nor saw anyone?’

Sister Gorman shook her head.

‘There was no one about at that hour,’ she confirmed, ‘and the storm was very bad.’

‘And, again, from what you tell me, you stood outside her door, did not go in, but just stood there cursing her. No one heard this?’

‘The storm was rising then. I doubt that anyone would have heard me even if they had been standing next to me.’

Fidelma looked at her and found herself struggling to believe her. It seemed so bizarre but then it was often that the incredible was the truth and the plausible was the lie.

‘How long did you stand by her cabin door with your so-called cursing?’ she demanded.

‘I am not sure. A few moments. A quarter of an hour. I don’t know.’

‘What did you do after pronouncing your curse?’

‘I returned to my cabin. Sister Ainder was still asleep and the storm still raging. I lay on my bed but did not sleep until the storm abated.’

‘You heard nothing from outside your cabin?’

‘I think I heard the cabin door opposite bang shut. I was just dozing off when it woke me momentarily.’

‘How could you have heard that in the noise of the storm? You just said that no one would have heard you. How, then, could you hear such a thing as a cabin door shutting?’

Sister Gorman’s jaw jutted out pugnaciously.

‘I heard it because it was after the storm began to die down.’

‘Very well,’ Fidelma said. ‘I just want to make sure that I have the facts clearly in my mind. And this cabin door, the one you heard banging shut, you say it was the door opposite your cabin.’

‘It is the one shared by Cian and Bairne.’

‘I see. Then you went back to sleep and were not disturbed again?’

Sister Gorman looked troubled. ‘My curse killed her, you know. I suppose I will have to be punished.’

Fidelma rose and stood looking down with pity at the young girl. Sister Gorman was definitely unstable. She badly needed help from her soul-friend, the companion who was responsible for hearing problems and discussing them. Each person in the churches of the Five Kingdoms chose an anam-chara, a soul friend.

‘Perhaps you are unaware of the ancient proverb,’ she tried to reassure the girl. ‘A thousand curses never tore a shirt.’

The girl glanced up at her.

‘I have cursed Sister Muirgel and caused her death. Now I must curse myself.’

She began to rock back and forth, arms wrapped around her shoulders, crooning softly.

‘Perish the day when I was born

And the night which said, “A child is conceived”!

May that day turn to darkness; may God above not look for it,

Nor the light of dawn shine on it.

May blackness sully it, and murk and gloom,

Cloud smother that day, swift darkness eclipse its sun.

Blind darkness swallow up that night:

Count it not among the days of the year,

Reckon it not in the cycle of the months.

That night, may it be barren for ever,

No cry of joy be heard in it.

Cursed be it …’

Fidelma left the irrational young girl chanting to herself and walked away with a slight feeling of disgust. Who, among the unlikely female religieuses, should she turn to, and ask to take Sister Gorman in hand? The young girl needed some counsel, and Fidelma herself could not take on such a responsibility now. And yet there seemed no one else. Sister Ainder was not sympathetic enough and Crella was too young herself. Fidelma would have to deal with the matter later. There was still Dathal, Adamrae, Bairne and Tola left to question.

Fidelma suddenly realised that there was one member of the pilgrim group whom she had not yet seen at all. His name was Brother Guss. He had not stirred from his cabin since he had come on board, norhad he emerged even when Murchad ordered everyone on deck during the dangerous passage through the rocks. He was sharing a cabin with Brother Tola. She had seen Brother Tola sitting by a water-butt at the main mast, reading, and felt that now might be a good opportunity to tackle this elusive religieux.

She knocked at the cabin door and waited.

There was the sound of someone moving behind the door and then a long pause. She knocked again. A voice called faintly from within and she entered, blinking in the darkness of the cabin and waiting until her eyes adjusted sufficiently to see. The shadowy figure of a man was seated on one of the bunks.

‘Brother Guss, I presume?’

She saw the dark head of the religieux turn in her direction as she paused on the threshold.

‘I am Guss,’ a tremulous voice replied.

‘May we have some light in here?’ suggested Fidelma and, without waiting for an answer, she took the lantern which was hanging outside in the passage, and set it in the cabin.

The light revealed the religieux to be young. She noticed several things about him, from his reddish tousled hair to the splash of freckles on his pale skin, to his frightened, large blue eyes, and his tall but wiry frame. He dropped his eyes like a guilty child as she met his gaze.

‘We have not seen you on deck or at mealtimes,’ she opened, seating herself on the bunk beside him. ‘Are you still unwell?’

Brother Guss regarded her with suspicion. ‘I have been sick — the sea motion, you understand. Who are you?’

‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘Brother Tola mentioned you. I have been ill,’ he added, repeating himself.

‘So I understand. But you are feeling better now?’

He did not reply.

‘The sea is much calmer now and it is unwise to confine yourself to a cabin for so long a period. You need to be on deck getting some fresh air. In fact, I did not see you on deck when everyone was ordered there.’

‘I did not realise that the order applied to me.’

‘Did you not know of the dangers?’

The young man did not reply. Instead he continued to regard her with distrust.

‘Guss is an unusual name,’ Fidelma began again. ‘It is a very old name, is it not?’ The best way to get him to drop his defensive attitude towards her was to encourage him to speak.

The young man inclined his head slightly.

‘It means, as I recall, vigour or fierceness. I suppose people call you Gusan?’ she added, using the diminutive. A comment on his youthfulness might provoke him.

Indeed, this caused a scowl to cross the young man’s face.

‘I am called Guss,’ he replied in annoyance.

‘And you are from the Abbey of Moville?’

‘I am a student at the Abbey,’ confirmed the youth. He was scarcely more than twenty years old.

‘What are you studying?’

‘I am studying the star-lore under the Venerable Cummian, and helping keep the records of the phenomena of the skies.’ There was a note of pride in the boy’s voice in spite of his woebegone attitude.

‘Cummian? Is he still alive then?’ Fidelma said with genuine wonder.

The youth frowned.

‘Do you know the Venerable Cummian?’

‘I know of his reputation. He studied under the great Abbot of Bangor, Mo Sinu maccu Min, and has written many works on astronomical computus. But he must be very old. You say that you are his student?’

‘One of them,’ admitted Guss proudly. ‘But I have already obtained to the degree of the fifth order of wisdom.’

‘Excellent. It is good to know that there is someone who can recognise the map of the heavens and chart our way safely home in the middle of these tempestuous seas.’