Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘It shall be resolved, Murchad,’ Fidelma reassured him confidently. ‘The mention of your good wife’s name has just settled everything in my mind or, rather, it has clarified something for me.’

He stared uncomprehendingly at her.

‘My wife’s name? Aoife’s name has caused you to realise who is responsible for these murders?’

‘I do not think that we need delay further before we identify the culprit,’ she replied optimistically. ‘But we will wait until all the pilgrims are gathered for the midday meal. Then we will discuss the matter with them. I’d like Gurvan and Wenbrit to be there, with yourself. I might need some physical help,’ she added.

She smiled at his bewildered features and laid a friendly hand on his arm.

‘Don’t worry, Murchad. By this afternoon you shall know the identity of the person responsible for all these terrible crimes.’

They had gathered as Fidelma had requested, seated on each side of the long table in the central cabin with Murchad lounging against the mast well. Gurvan was seated uncomfortably to one side while Wenbrit perched on the table at which he usually prepared the food, legs swinging, watching the proceedings with interest. Fidelma leaned back in her chair at the head of the table and met their expectant gazes.

‘I have been told,’ she began quietly, ‘that I am someone who knows all by a kind of instinct. I can assure you that this is not so. As a dalaigh, I ask questions and I listen. Sometimes, it is what people omit in their replies to me that reveals more than what they actually say. But I have to have information laid before me. I have to have facts, or even questions, to consider. I merely examine that information or ponder those questions, and only then can I make a deduction.

‘No, I do not have any secret knowledge, neither am I some prophet who can divine an answer to a mystery without knowledge. The art of detection is like playing fidchell or brandubh. Everything must be there, laid out on the board so that one can choose the solution to the problem. The eye must see, the ear must hear, the brain must function. Instincts can lie or be misleading. So instincts are not infallible as a means of getting to the truth, although sometimes they can be a good guide.’

She paused. There was silence. The others continued to watch her expectantly, like rabbits watching a fox.

‘My mentor, Brehon Morann, used to warn us students to beware of the obvious because the obvious is sometimes deceiving. I was taking this into account until I realised that sometimes the obvious is the obvious because it is the reality.

‘If you meet someone running down the road with their hair wild, dishevelled eyes and contorted features, screaming with white froth on their lips, an upraised knife in their hand which is bloodstained and there is also blood on their clothes, how would you perceive such a person? It could be that they have contorted features and are screaming because they have been hurt; that they have the bloodstainedknife because they have just slaughtered meat for their meal and have been careless enough to get the blood on their clothes. There are many possible explanations, but the obvious one is that here is a homicidal maniac about to do injury to those who do not get out of his or her way. And sometimes the obvious explanation is the correct explanation.’

She paused again but still there was no comment.

‘I am afraid that I was looking at the obvious for a long time and refusing to see it as the truth.

‘When I traced everything back, there seemed one person to whom all the events were linked — one common denominator who was there no matter which way I turned. Cian, here, was that common denominator.’

Cian rose awkwardly to his feet, the rocking motion of the ship causing him to fall towards the table, saving himself from disaster by thrusting out a hand to steady himself.

Gurvan had risen and moved behind him, and now put a hand on his shoulder.

Cian shook it off angrily.

‘Bitch! I am no murderer! It is only your petty jealousy that makes you accuse me of it. Just because you were rejected-’

‘Sit down and be quiet or I will ask Gurvan to restrain you!’

Fidelma’s cold tone cut through his outburst. Cian stood still, defiant, and she had to repeat herself.

‘Sit down and be silent, I said! I have not finished.’

Brother Tola looked disapprovingly towards Fidelma.

‘Cum tacent clamant,’ he muttered. ‘Surely if you do not allow him to speak, his silence will condemn him?’

‘He can speak when I have finished and when he knows what there is to speak about,’ Fidelma assured Tola icily. ‘Better to speak from knowledge than to speak from ignorance.’ She turned back to the others. ‘As I was saying, once I realised that Cian was the common denominator in all these killings, then they began to make sense to me.’ She raised a hand to silence the new outburst from Cian. ‘I am not saying that Cian was the murderer, mark that. I have only said, so far, that he was the common denominator.’

Cian was now clearly as puzzled as everyone else. He relaxed back in his seat.

‘If you do not accuse me of murder, what are you accusing me of?’ he demanded gruffly.

She eyed him sourly.

‘There are many things that you can be accused of, Cian, but in this particular case, murder is not one of them. Whether or not youare the Butcher of Rath Bile is no longer my concern. The accusation died with Toca Nia.’

She looked at the others, who now sat mesmerised, waiting for her to continue. She paused, examining their faces in turn. Cian stared back at her in defiance. Brother Tola and Sister Ainder shared a slightly sneering, cynical expression. Sister Crella and Sister Gorman sat with downcast looks. Brother Bairne’s expression was one of a caged animal, his eyes flickering here and there as if seeking a means of escape. Brother Dathal was leaning slightly forward, returning her gaze with an almost enthusiastic expression as if waiting with anticipatory pleasure for her revelation. His companion, Adamrae, was gazing at the table, impatiently drumming his fingers silently on it as if he were bored by the proceedings.

‘There is no need for me to tell you, of course, that a very dangerous killer sits among us.’

‘That much is logical,’ Brother Dathal agreed, nodding eagerly. ‘But who is it, if not Brother Cian? And why do you call him the common denominator?’

‘This killer has been known to you ever since you started out from the north on this pilgrimage,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘The first victim of the murderer was Sister Canair.’

Sister Ainder exhaled sharply.

‘How can you possibly know that?’ she demanded. ‘Sister Canair simply did not turn up when the tide forced this ship to sail. What makes you think she has been murdered?’

There was a muttering of agreement.

‘Because I spoke to someone who saw the body. Brother Guss saw it, as did Sister Muirgel.’

Cian gave a cynical bark of laughter.

‘Convenient, isn’t it, since both Muirgel and Guss are now dead and cannot support your claim?’

‘Very convenient,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Muirgel was also murdered while Brother Guss …’ She shrugged. ‘Well, we all know what happened. He fell overboard because he was driven by fear.’

All eyes turned to Sister Crella.

‘There was only one person from whom Guss was backing away in fear at the time,’ Brother Dathal commented.

Sister Crella sat hypnotised like a terrified rabbit. She was deathly pale and could only shake her head from side to side as if in denial.

‘Sister Crella?’ Brother Tola pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it makes some sense. There are rumours that she was jealous of Muirgel.’