Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

Fidelma felt that he was talking merely to prevent her from panicking.

‘Don’t worry about me, Murchad. If we are to be attacked, let’s not go down without a fight of it.’

He regarded her with approval.

‘That’s not a religieuse speaking, lady.’

Fidelma returned his fierce grin.

‘It’s an Eoghanacht princess who speaks. Maybe it’s my fate to end my life as I began it, as a daughter of King Failbe Fland and sister to King Colgu. If we must go down fighting, we’ll make sure that we extract a high price from our foes.’

Gurvan left his position to join them. His face was without humour.

‘I, for one, am not going to go down fighting,’ he said. ‘A good retreat is better than a poor defence.’

Murchad knew Gurvan well and caught something in his mate’s voice.

‘Are you saying that you have something in mind?’

‘It’ll depend on the wind and sail again,’ Gurvan replied with a brief nod. ‘The Saxon is sure he has the better of us. He is hauled to by the Pointe de Pern to the north, ready to close with us should we make a run for it. Like a cat waiting to jump on a mouse, eh?’

‘It doesn’t need a sailor’s eye to see that,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Has your eye taken in the islet which stands in front of us?’ Gurvan pointed along the bay.

‘I see it, about a kilometre distant from us,’ Murchad observed.

‘Now look at the Saxon ship,’ Gurvan said.

They did as he bid them.

The big oblong sail was being hauled down.

‘He plans to rely on his oars again to close with us. That didn’t work last time, as I recall,’ muttered Gurvan.

Murchad smiled approvingly for he had suddenly caught on to what his mate was suggesting.

‘I see what you mean. We’ll make for the islet first and pass along the south side out of his sight. He won’t know which exit we’ll use. It might give us a head start.’

Fidelma was frowning.

‘I am not sure that I am following this plan, Murchad.’

A wind rustled the furled sail and shook the rigging. The crew was waiting expectantly.

‘No time to explain,’ Murchad cried. ‘Let’s get underway!’ He turned and began to shout. ‘All hands! All hands to the sails!’

His crew sprang into action.

Fidelma stood back, watching the sailors hoisting the sail to catch the wind. Gurvan seized the steering oar, once more with Drogon. There was the usual exhilarating crack as the leather sail caught the breeze. The anchor was raised with some alacrity. Then The Barnacle Goose seemed to leap forward.

Across the waters of the bay they could hear a great shout go up from the sea raider. A cry of, ‘Woden!’ The blades of the oars were raised, the water sparkling in the sunlight, and the high prow of the ship seemed to cleave towards them.

As Gurvan had suspected, the Saxon was rowing to intercept them, keeping in the broad northern channel. The wind blew to the south-west and soon an arc of foam was feathering back from the bow of The Barnacle Goose as it strove to make the southern channel behind the shelter of the islet.

‘It’ll be dangerous,’ she heard Murchad cry.

‘True enough,’ replied his mate. ‘But I know these waters.’

‘I’ll get to the bow and signal you through the channel,’ replied Murchad.

Confused, Fidelma watched the captain go forward. Midships he paused and gave his men some orders. Half a dozen of them went below decks to return after a short while with some traditional longbows five feet in length and quivers of arrows. Murchad was taking no chances. If fight he had to, fight he would. By this time The Barnacle Goose had come behind the shelter of the islet. It seemed to speed by them, and as they emerged, she saw that the captain of the Saxon ship had hesitated, suspecting that his prey might attempt to take down its sails and put out the sea anchors to hide behind the island in a game of hide and go seek. Alternatively, The Barnacle Goose could attempt to double back and use the northern channel after all. The Saxon captain’s hesitation allowed The Barnacle Goose a fraction of time to gain a head start on its enemies by sailing straight through the southern channel behind the island. Once they realised what was happening, the Saxon ship clumsily turned around to go after them, its oars splashing frantically with the sailors’ endeavous.

Gurvan grinned at Fidelma and held up his thumb.

‘All we have to pray, lady, is that her captain decides to cram on his sail and come racing after us.’

Fidelma was still confused.

‘I thought the Saxon ship was faster under sail with the wind behind it.’

‘Well remembered — but let’s hope he has not heard the old saying, one glance in front is worth two behind.’

There was an expression of amusement on Gurvan’s face which told Fidelma nothing.

The Barnacle Goose was almost heeled over before the wind, cleaving through the waters within yards of the rocky granite coastline of the southern side of the bay. Fidelma realised that Gurvan was going to steer the Goose around the southern headland. After that, she could not understand what he meant to do, for they would surely be into the open sea and on a fairly calm open sea at that. The Saxon ship would be able to overhaul them with ease.

Did the answer lie with the longbows that the crew had brought to the deck? Did Murchad and Gurvan simply mean to fight it out once on the open sea?

It was then she caught sight of what lay ahead of them: a maze of granite islets and rocks through which strong currents were roaring in a cascade of white water. There were innumerable reefs as far as she could see. It was far more threatening to her gaze than their passage through the rocks off the Sylinancim islands.

Gurvan saw the sudden tautness of her body.

‘Trust me, lady,’ he shouted, his eyes straight ahead. ‘What you are seeing is why ships never sail out around the southern headland of this island. Here, the wind and tide are the masters and will hurl a ship against the broken and rocky shores to be splintered into a thousand pieces. This is why we are taking this passage. I’ve sailed through here once; I hope I may do so again. If not, well … better to die free than to be a slave or die tasting Saxon steel.’

‘What if the Saxon comes after us?’

‘Then he should pray to his god Woden that he is a good sailor. I doubt he is and if he takes the wider channel, away from the rocks, we will have a good many miles’ start on him.’

She looked for’ard to where Murchad was balanced on the prow of the ship. His hands were waving in signals which obviously meant something to Gurvan and his companion on the steering oar, for they seemed to move in response to each signal. Fidelma could feel the currents catching at The Barnacle Goose , sweeping it along at anincreasing speed. Once a rock scraped along the ship’s side with a strange groaning sound.

She closed her eyes and uttered a short prayer.

Then the rock had sped by and they were still in one piece.

‘Can you see behind us, lady?’ called Gurvan. ‘Do you see any sign of the Saxon?’

Fidelma went to grip the stern rail and peer aft.

She shivered as she saw the frothing white water of their wake, the reefs and rocks rushing behind them. Then she raised her eyes to look beyond.

‘I can see the sail of the Saxon,’ she called excitedly. She could just make out that same lightning flash on the sail which Murchad had pointed out to her before.

‘I see them,’ she cried again. ‘They are following us through the channel.’ Her voice rose in excitement.

‘Let their god Woden help them now,’ replied Gurvan with a fierce grin.