Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

There, on her back, lay the form of a woman, clad in bloodstained undergarments. Her eyes were still open and blood was pumping in little spurts from a jagged knife-wound across her throat, where it had penetrated the jugular vein. Even as Fidelma gazed down, the dark glazing eyes turned to her, silent and pleading. The lips twitched, a gurgling sound came forth and blood began to form on them.

Fidelma bent forward quickly.

There was a gulping breath, but no words came. The dying woman seemed to he pushing a clenched hand towards Fidelma.

Then her head flopped uselessly to one side and blood fountained out of the half-opened mouth. Something fell with a clatter from the dead woman’s fist as her fingers relaxed and unfurled. Automatically, Fidelma bent down and picked it up. It was a small silver crucifix on a broken chain.

Fidelma rose slowly, holding her lamp high, in order to examine the woman’s face. She stood looking down in bewilderment for a few moments, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.

The body of the woman who lay sprawled on the bunk before her, with her throat just recently cut, was Sister Muirgel.

‘I don’t understand it,’ Murchad announced, not for the first time, as he scratched the back of his head and stared down at the body. Fidelma had called him down to the cabin without informing anyone else. He looked utterly bewildered. ‘Are you sure that this is Sister Muirgel? I only saw her for a few moments on the day when they all came aboard. Maybe it is another of the Sisters?’

Fidelma shook her head firmly.

‘I saw her only for a few minutes as well when I went into her cabin, but I am certain that this is the same woman. It is certainly none of the other three.’

Murchad heaved a frustrated sigh.

‘It seems, then, that this Sister Muirgel has been murdered twice,’ he observed dryly. ‘Once during the first night out when her bloodstained robe was found but not her body, and once just now when someone stabbed her and cut her throat. What can it mean?’

‘It means that Sister Muirgel initially wanted us to believe that she was dead … whereas in reality she was still aboard, hiding somewhere … or being hidden by someone. Remember what Wenbrit said about the missing food? I suspected immediately. That was why I wanted another search. Muirgel was faking it. Yet there is no sign of the knife.’

‘But why did Muirgel want us to believe that she had been stabbed or swept overboard in the storm?’ asked Murchad. ‘Why was the robe planted so that we would then immediately suspect that she had been murdered?’

Fidelma glanced down at the crucifix she was holding in her hand. It was the one which Muirgel had been holding. Fidelma had almost forgotten it during the last few minutes while she tried to seek an explanation for the mystery.

‘What’s that?’ enquired the captain, noticing Fidelma studying it.

‘Her crucifix. It must have comforted her during the last few minutes of her life. She was holding it in her hand when she died.’

‘A pious woman,’ Murchad observed, indicating a larger and more ostentatious crucifix still around the dead woman’s neck.

Fidelma gazed down at the crucifix in her hand. It was of an entirely different style to that worn by Muirgel. Albeit smaller, it was of a more tasteful workmanship, and she suddenly realised that this crucifix did not belong to Muirgel. She turned it over in her hand thoughtfully. It was only on the second time of turning it over that she suddenly realised that a name was scratched on it.

‘Hold the lamp nearer,’ she instructed Murchad.

He did so.

The lines of the marks were faint but the name was easily discernible. Canair .

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

‘Did you ever meet this Sister Canair?’ she asked Murchad.

‘I never saw her. The passage money, like your own, was negotiated by the Abbey of St Declan before the pilgrims arrived. I knew the names of the pilgrims only and they had to tally with the number booked for the passage. Eleven passage fares were paid, but only ten people came on board plus yourself. I was told that this Sister Canair, who was leading the pilgrims, had not arrived at Ardmore and, as we had to sail with the tide …’ He made a dismissive gesture with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘What can we do now?’

Fidelma hesitated a moment or so before making up her mind.

‘I will continue as before, but now we have a body to prove the crime. Initially it seems that some things might begin to make sense. For example, it explains why Brother Guss, who claimed to be in love with Muirgel, was not distraught with grief when we all thought she had been swept overboard. He obviously knew that she was still alive. However, my suspicions as to who the culprit is have to be altered. I am afraid that I am no nearer solving this mystery than I was before. There are still many more questions to be asked.’

Fidelma looked at the captain.

‘Everyone is still at breakfast, I suppose? Will you fetch Brother Tola and Brother Guss here? Do not allow them to come into the cabin until I ask them. Oh, and can you spare one of your sailors to come down here? I think we shall need to put a guard on this cabin.’

Murchad went off without further comment. After a short while, there was a tap on the door. A ruddy-faced sailor put his head around it. ‘My name is Drogon, lady. The captain says you want someone down here.’

‘I do. Stand outside and make sure no one comes into this cabin unless I say.’

Drogon raised his fist to his brow in salute and withdrew. A moment or two later, she heard Brother Tola’s querulous tones outside demanding to know why he had been summoned. Fidelma went to the door.

‘Come in, Brother Tola,’ she ordered curtly. Then, seeing Brother Guss behind him, she added: ‘Wait there. I will speak with you in a moment.’

Brother Tola came in with a frown.

‘Well, what now?’ he demanded, looking around him in distaste.

Fidelma went to the bunk and raised the lantern over the dead body.

Brother Tola let out a gasp and took a step nearer.

‘Who is this, Brother Tola?’ Fidelma asked, her eyes not leaving his face.

An expression of utter amazement crossed it and he bent forward shaking his head.

‘It is Sister Muirgel,’ he whispered. ‘What does this mean? I thought she had been swept overboard.’

There was no questioning the genuineness of his surprise.

‘Return to the others, Tola,’ Fidelma instructed quietly, ‘and do not say anything about this until I come along, which will be shortly. Tell Brother Guss to come in as you leave.’

Shaking his head a little, the shocked religieux left. Fidelma was disappointed. She had been almost counting on some sign that Tola was not exactly astonished to see the body of Muirgel. She was certain that he was not that good an actor. He was as bewildered at the reappearance of Muirgel as she was. There was a cough and the young monk entered.

Again, Fidelma simply held the lantern high and watched his face.

‘Who is this, Brother Guss?’

The young man’s face went white, drained of blood and he staggered back. Fidelma thought he was going to faint for a moment. His hands went to his face and he emitted a heartrending groan.

‘Muirgel! Oh my God, Muirgel!’ He started to rock back and forth on his heels.

Fidelma hung up the lantern and pushed him gently into a chair.

‘You have some explaining to do, Brother Guss. You knew that Sister Muirgel was still alive when I questioned you yesterday. You did not show this grief when we all presumed her to be washed overboard. Where has she been hiding and why?’