Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘Even the High King himself is not above the law, Cian. What do you say happened?’

‘We sailed in four ships, four fifties of warriors of the High King’s Fianna. We were the best warriors of the elite bodyguard itself. We landed at the port of the Ui Enechglais and marched west across the River Sleine until we came on Rath Bile. The brother of Laigin’s King refused to surrender the fort and village.’

‘So you attacked it?’

‘We attacked it,’ confirmed Cian. ‘It was the High King’s orders that we did so.’

‘Do you admit that you and your warriors slaughtered women and children?’

‘When our men went in, we could not stop to enquire who was our enemy and who not. People were fighting us, shooting arrows at us, whether they were warriors or old men, or indeed women or children. Our job was to fulfil our objective and obey our lawful orders.’

Fidelma considered his story for a few moments. The situation on The Barnacle Goose was getting more than complicated. The mystery of Sister Muirgel’s murder had been bad enough, and then Brother Guss’s claim that Sister Canair had also been murdered before the ship even sailed. Now she was faced with the added complication of Toca Nia’s accusation against Cian.

‘This matter, Cian, is serious. It needs to be brought before the Chief Brehon and the High King’s court. I know little of the law on warfare. A more competent judge is needed to see what must be done. I know there are circumstances in which the killing of people is justified and entails no penalties. It is not against the law to kill in battle — or, indeed, to kill a thief caught in the act of stealing … But the decision is up to a court.’

Cian’s face mirrored his resentment.

‘Are you telling me that you believe the word of Toca Nia against mine?’ he demanded.

‘It is not my place to judge who is telling the truth. Toca Nia makes an accusation and you must answer it. It is an accusation of gravity. It is for your own good, Cian, for Toca Nia knows well that a violator of the law can be killed by anyone and with impunity. He could kill you and claim immunity.’

‘The law does not reach outside of the Five Kingdoms,’ protested Cian.

‘It does not matter. You are on an Irish ship and come under the laws of the Fenechus here just as much as if you stood on the soil of Eireann. You must return to Laigin to make your plea.’

Cian stared at her in disbelief.

‘You cannot do this to me, Fidelma.’

She met his gaze; her eyes were hard.

‘I can,’ she said softly. ‘ Dura lex sed lex . The law is hard, but it is the law.’

‘And if I were not on this ship, it would not be the law?’

Fidelma answered him with a shrug and turned to leave. She paused at the cabin door.

‘It is up to Murchad as captain to fulfil his obligations under the law. I am afraid that he must judge what is to be done with both Toca Nia and you, whether to let you go or return you both to Eireann for trial. My recommendation will be that he must return you to a Brehon in Laigin.’

‘I was acting on the High King’s orders,’ Cian protested again.

Fidelma stood at the cabin door.

‘That may not be an exoneration. You have a moral responsibility.’

Later, when she explained matters to Murchad, the sturdy captain pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

‘You mean that I must take Cian and Toca Nia back to Eireann?’

‘Or hand them over to another ship to take them back,’ she pointed out.

‘Then let’s hope there is such a ship at Ushant,’ muttered Murchad.

‘In the meantime, Captain, I would suggest that you confine both Cian and Toca Nia to their cabins. We don’t want any more bloodshed on this ship.’

‘That I will do, lady,’ agreed the captain. ‘Let us pray that Father Pol, at Ushant, will have some means of helping me in this matter.’

The Barnacle Goose rounded the headland of Ponte de Pern, standing well out to sea, for the rocks and islets were dangerous there. Murchad hardly needed to indicate the dangers for the headland showed the black, jagged pieces of granite poking from the sea like bad teeth, surrounded by yellowing foamy waters. Under Murchad’s guidance they drifted slowly into the long U-shaped bay of Porspaul and headed towards the sheltered anchorage at the far end.

‘It will be good to be on terra firma for a while,’ Fidelma commented thankfully to Murchad.

Murchad pointed to the shore.

‘There are no other ships in the harbour,’ he stated the obvious. ‘The main village and church of Lampaul are above the little quay you see there. I was planning to spend only a day here to take on fresh food and water. The next stage of our journey is going to be the longest, depending on the wind. We’ll be sailing almost straight south, out of sight of land.’

‘But we must consider the matter of Toca Nia,’ Fidelma reminded him.

Murchad looked troubled.

‘I am all for putting Toca Nia and Cian ashore here and leaving them to sort it out between them.’

‘An easy solution … for us. But I can foresee complications in that proposal,’ she replied.

The Barnacle Goose tacked its way along the three-kilometre stretch of water to the far end of the inlet, where Fidelma could see a path leading upwards to the settlement of Lampaul. Their approach into the bay had been observed by some local people and several of them had come down to the harbour to greet them.

Murchad shouted for the mainsail to be dropped and then the steering sail. An anchor was heaved from the bow and the ship swung gently at her mooring in calm waters for the first time in the last few days.

‘I shall be going ashore,’ Murchad told Fidelma. ‘Would you like to come with me and meet Father Pol? He is not only the priest here but is more or less the chieftain of the island. It might be best to discuss the matter of Brother Cian and Toca Nia with him.’

Fidelma had indicated her willingness to do so. They were launching the skiff when Brother Tola and the other pilgrims began to emerge on deck. Tola immediately demanded to know if they could go ashore and his companions joined in a chorus of claims.

Murchad silenced them by raising his hands.

‘I must go first and arrange matters. You will be able to go ashorelater and, if you wish, spend a night on shore to get exercise while we gather our stores for the rest of the voyage. But until I have made arrangements, it is best that you all stay aboard.’

It was clear that the arrangement did not make them happy, especially when they saw Fidelma joining the captain to go ashore.

Murchad and Gurvan rowed the small light craft, with Fidelma in the stern, across the short distance from The Barnacle Goose to the rock-built quay.

A tall man, dark and sharp-faced, whose clothes and crucifix, hanging from a chain around his neck, proclaimed his profession, greeted Murchad as the captain climbed out of the craft.

‘It is good to see you again, Murchad!’ The man spoke in an accent that showed that the language of the children of the Gael was not his first tongue.

Gurvan had tied up the skiff and helped Fidelma out.

‘It is good to be on your island again, Father Pol,’ Murchad was replying. He motioned to Fidelma who had joined him. ‘Father, this is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to our King, Colgu …’

‘I am Sister Fidelma,’ interrupted Fidelma firmly with a grave smile. ‘I have no other title.’

Father Pol turned and took her hand with a quick scrutiny of her features.

‘Welcome, then, Sister. Welcome,’ he smiled and then turned towards the mate. ‘And you are welcome, too, Gurvan, you rascal. It is good to see you again.’