Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

Fidelma could sense the curious tension on the ship.

‘Surely the ocean is not so large as to find the sight of another ship so alarming?’ she asked.

The captain smiled tautly.

‘As I said, until you know the identity of the other ship, you must be cautious. Remember what I warned of the other day? These northern waters are full of Saxon slave ships; if not Saxons then they are Franks or even Goths. They are all frequent raiders in these waters.’

Fidelma stared towards the horizon which hid the ship that seemed to hold such menace.

‘You think that it is a pirate ship?’

Murchad shrugged.

‘It is better to be cautious than credulous. It will not be for an hour or so that we shall know enough to answer the question.’

Fidelma was disappointed.

It seemed to her that seamanship was nothing but long, boring periods of inactivity, interspersed by frenetic outbursts of action and turmoil. It was a curious way of life. As much as she was fascinated by the sea, she decided that she preferred a life on land. There was nothing to do now about this particular problem but wait, in which case she could best occupy the time continuing her quest for information about Sister Muirgel.

She saw the tall, austere-looking Brother Tola sitting on the deck with his back against one of the water butts by the main mast. He was reading a small satchel book of the kind most pilgrims carried these days and appeared oblivious to the tensions from the sailors.She walked over to him. As her shadow fell across him, Brother Tola looked up and an expression of irritation crossed his long, graven features.

‘Ah, the dalaigh.’ There was a tone of disrespect in his voice. Then he carefully closed his book and replaced it in the book satchel which lay beside him. ‘I know what you want, Sister. I have been warned by Sister Ainder.’

‘Did she need to warn you?’ Fidelma’s riposte came automatically to her lips.

Brother Tola smiled thinly.

‘A matter of expression, that is all. There is nothing to be read in words, I assure you.’

‘Often a great deal can be read in the choice of words we use, Brother Tola.’

‘But not in this case.’ He gestured to the deck planking beside him. ‘Perhaps you would care to take a seat, if you intend to ask me questions?’

Fidelma lowered herself to the deck beside him and assumed a cross-legged position. It was actually pleasant sitting in the sun, with a faint breeze cooling her face and rustling her red hair.

Brother Tola folded his arms across his chest and gazed out across the now calm seas.

‘A pleasant enough day now,’ he sighed. ‘In other circumstances this voyage could be stimulating and rewarding.’

Fidelma looked at him questioningly.

‘Why is it not so?’

Brother Tola leant his head back against the mast and closed his eyes.

‘My fellow pilgrims leave much to be desired in a company supposedly pledged to the religious pursuit. I swear there is not a truly committed servant of God among them.’

‘You think not?’

The monk’s face was severe.

‘I think not. Not even you, Fidelma of Cashel. Would you claim to be first and foremost a servant of the Christ?’ His eyes came open and Fidelma found his bright, dark orbs examining her unblinkingly. She shivered slightly.

‘I would hope that I am a servant of the Faith,’ she countered defensively.

He surprised her by shaking his head negatively.

‘I do not think so. You are a servant of the law, not of religion.’

Fidelma considered his accusation carefully.

‘Are the two things incompatible?’ she asked.

‘They can be,’ replied Brother Tola. ‘In many cases, the old saying is correct, that one’s religion is whatever one is most interested in.’

‘I do not agree.’

Brother Tola smiled cynically.

‘I think that you are more interested in your law than in your religion.’

Fidelma hesitated, for Tola’s words struck home like an arrow. Wasn’t that the very reason she was on this pilgrimage, to sort out her thoughts on this matter? Tola saw the confusion on her face and smiled in satisfaction before resuming his posture, leaning back and closing his eyes.

‘Do not be confused, Fidelma of Cashel. You are merely one of many thousands in the same position. Before the Faith was brought to the Five Kingdoms, you would have been a dalaigh or Brehon without having to wear the garb of a religieuse. Our society confused learning with religion and inexorably the two were bound as though they were one.’

‘There are still bardic colleges,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘I attended that of Brehon Morann at Tara. I only entered the religious life after I obtained my degree.’

‘Morann of Tara? He was a good man; a good judge and professor of law.’ Brother Tola was approving. ‘But when he died, what happened to his college?’

Fidelma realised that she did not know and admitted as much.

‘It was absorbed into the Church on the order of the Comarb of Patrick.’ The Comarb was the successor of Patrick who was Bishop at Armagh, one of the two senior religious figures of the Five Kingdoms. The other was the Comarb of Ailbe who was the Bishop of Emly in Fidelma’s own kingdom. ‘Morann’s college should have remained outside the Church. Secular and ecclesiastic learning are often conflicting paths.’

‘I don’t agree,’ she countered stiffly, rebuking herself that she had not known that her old college had been closed down.

‘I am a religieux,’ Brother Tola went on. ‘There is certainly room for learning within the Church but not to the exclusion of religion itself.’

Fidelma felt annoyed at his implied criticism of her role as a dalaigh .

‘I have not excluded religion from my life. I have studied and-’

‘Studied?’ Brother Tola made a noise which took Fidelma a few moments to realise was meant as a sardonic chuckle. ‘Those whoclaim to achieve things from book learning might do much more by merely listening to God.’

‘The sky and the trees and the rivers tell me little about the world of man,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My instruction comes from the experiences of men and women.’

‘Ah, therein is the difference between the pursuit of a religious life and the pursuit of learning.’

‘Truth is the goal of our lives,’ returned Fidelma. ‘You do not find truth without knowledge and, as Brehon Morann used to say, “love of learning is to come close to knowledge”.’

‘Whose knowledge? Man’s knowledge. Man’s law. You speak eloquently, Fidelma. But remember the words of James: “The kind of religion which is without stain or fault in the sight of God our Father is this: to keep oneself untarnished by the world”.’

‘You have left out an important part of that sentence, the piece about going to the help of orphans and widows in distress,’ she said waspishly. ‘I believe I do help those in distress.’

‘But you tarnish yourself by maintaining man’s law in preference to God’s Commandments.’

‘I see nothing contradictory between the Commandments and man’s law. Since you are fond of quoting the epistle of James, you should remember the lines — “the man who looks closely into the perfect law, the law that makes us free, and who lives in its company, does not forget what he hears, but acts upon it; and that is the man who by acting will find happiness”. I have heard and have not forgotten and act upon the law, and this is why I have come to speak with you, Brother Tola. Not to engage in a discussion on our differences of theology.’

Her voice was sharp now. Yet she felt uncomfortable for she knew that Tola must have spotted her weakness; her pride in being a dalaigh and not simply a religieuse.