Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

Murchad grimaced and shook his head.

‘Leave it to us for the moment, lady,’ he replied gruffly.

Fidelma did not really want to go below nor return to her cabin, so she moved to a corner where she thought she would be out of the way and could observe what was taking place.

Gurvan had relinquished his position on the steering oar to someone else and had taken a couple of men to lower the longboat — the skiff as Murchad called it — into the choppy seas. Fidelma marvelled at how each man seemed to know his position and what he must do. The Barnacle Goose was now hove-to, sails down and sea anchors dragging to keep the vessel in a fairly steady position. Nevertheless, Fidelma realised that no ship could hold a stationary position for long in these waters; it was just a matter of time before Murchad would have to hoist sail and get out of harm’s way. The rocks looked so dangerously near.

The small craft had hit the waters with a smack and with Gurvan in the bow to direct them and two sailors hauling on the oars, it went slicing across the chopping waters in the direction of the rocks and the bobbing wreckage.

Fidelma bent forwards watching them.

‘I doubt there’ll be any survivors from that lot,’ said a small voice at her side.

She glanced down to find Wenbrit beside her. The lad looked very white and he held his hand to his throat, against the scar which she had noticed when she had first come on board. She had never seen such an expression of fear on his face before. She presumed that he was shocked by what had happened.

‘Do such things often happen at sea?’

The boy blinked, his voice was tight.

‘Ships going on the rocks like that, do you mean?’

Fidelma nodded.

‘Frequently. Too frequently,’ answered the boy, still not relaxed.

‘Only a few go on the rocks due to bad seamanship, due to people who have no knowledge nor respect for the sea and who should never set foot on shipboard, let alone be in charge of a vessel responsible for other people’s lives. Many more go on the rocks due to the weather which cannot be controlled, with the winds, tides and storms. A few other ships founder because the crew or their captain have taken too much liquor.’

Fidelma was intrigued at the suppressed vehemence in the boy’s tone.

‘I can see that it is a matter that you have pondered on at length, Wenbrit.’

The boy gave a bark of laughter which surprised her by its angry note.

‘Have I said something wrong?’ she wondered.

Wenbrit was at once apologetic.

‘Nothing wrong, lady. Sorry, it’s not your fault. I don’t mind telling you now. Murchad saved my life. He pulled me from the seas, from such a wreck as that.’ He gestured with his head towards the floating debris across the water.

She was surprised. After a pause she prompted him, ‘When was that, Wenbrit?’

‘A few years ago now. I was on a ship that ran onto some rocks due to bad seamanship. I can’t remember much about it, except that the captain was drunk and gave the wrong orders. The ship went to pieces. Murchad picked me out of the sea several days later. I was tied to a piece of wooden grating, otherwise I would have slid into the sea and drowned. One of the ropes that lashed me to it had slipped around my throat. I know you have noticed my scar.’

Fidelma began to understand now why the boy almost hero-worshipped Murchad.

‘So you were a cabin boy when you were very young, then?’

Wenbrit smiled without humour.

‘Didn’t your parents mind?’ she asked gently.

Wenbrit gazed up at her. She could see the deep anguish in his dark eyes.

‘My father was the captain.’

Fidelma tried not to register her shock.

‘Your father was a sea captain?’

‘He was a drunk. He was often drunk.’

‘And your mother?’

‘I don’t remember her. He told me that she had died soon after I was born.’

‘Was anyone else saved from the ship?’

‘Not that I know of. I do not recall anything from the time it struck to the time I came to on board The Barnacle . Murchad told me that I must have been in the sea several days and was near dead when he fished me out of the water.’

‘Did you make any attempt to trace any survivors? Your father might have lived.’

Wenbrit shrugged indifferently.

‘Murchad put into the port in Cornwall which was the home port of my father’s vessel. There was no word there. All the crew had been given up for lost.’

‘Apart from Murchad, who else knows your story?’

‘Most of the men on this ship, lady. This is my home now. Thanks be to God that Murchad came along when he did. Now I have a new family and a better one than I ever knew.’

Fidelma smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘Thanks be to God, indeed, Wenbrit.’ Then the thought struck her. ‘And thanks be to whoever it was who lashed your unconscious body to that grating, so that you at least stood a chance of rescue.’

There was a cry across the waters as the skiff reached the patch of floating wreckage. Gurvan was standing up, precariously, examining the waters. Then he pointed and sat down. They could see the oars stroking the water.

‘Have they found a survivor?’ Fidelma asked.

Wenbrit shook his head.

‘I think it’s a dead body. They are letting it back into the water.’

‘Can’t we pick up the bodies?’ Fidelma protested, thinking that some funeral ceremony should be performed.

‘At sea, lady, the concern must always be for the living before the dead,’ Wenbrit told her.

They heard another shout across the water and could see a second figure being hauled into the skiff. Then they saw a splashing nearby. Someone was trying to swim to the rescue vessel.

‘Two souls saved at least,’ muttered Wenbrit.

It was fifteen minutes later when the skiff returned. In all, only three people had been found alive and now Murchad was in a hurry to get his ship underway, for even Fidelma could see that the winds and tides were steadily pushing The Barnacle Goose towards the rocks in spite of the lowering of the sail and the sea anchors. Fidelma had wondered what exactly sea anchors were. She knew what a normal anchor was. She found, thanks to Wenbrit’s explanation, that the ship carried four great leather bags which were dropped into the water and acted as drags to prevent the vessel moving without any resistance.

The three rescued seamen were hoisted onto the main deck and then Murchad was barking a series of orders.

‘Hoist the mainsail! Weigh sea anchors. Stand by to wear the ship. Gurvan to the steering oar.’

Fidelma took it upon herself to move across to the three rescued men. Most of the crew were already busy trying to take the ship out of danger.

One of them was already sitting up and coughing a little. The other two lay senseless.

Fidelma registered several things immediately. The two men wholay senseless were dressed in the usual sailors’ clothing — ordinary seamen, by their appearance. The man sitting up and recovering was well dressed, and even though his clothes were sodden and he wore no weapons, Fidelma saw that he was a man of some rank.

He was well built, which might have accounted for his surviving relatively unscathed in the water, and fair-haired with a long moustache, which dangled on either side of his mouth in Gaulish fashion. Salt crusted his features. His eyes were light blue, and his features were clean-cut. In spite of his sea-soaked appearance, his clothing was of excellent quality. He seemed to be a man used to outdoor life. She noted he wore some rich pieces of jewellery.

‘ Ouomodo vales ?’ she asked him in Latin, judging that if he be of rank he would have some knowledge of Latin no matter his nationality.