They reached the village, a typical seaport settlement spreading around the central structure of a grey, stone-built chapel.
‘There is my little chapel.’ Father Pol indicated the building. ‘Come, we will join in a prayer of thanks for your safe arrival.’
Murchad coughed discreetly.
‘There is something we need to talk to you about most urgently,’ he began.
Father Pol smiled and laid a hand on his arm.
‘Nothing is ever so urgent that a prayer of thanks need not take precedence,’ he observed firmly.
Murchad glanced at Fidelma and then shrugged.
They went into the little chapel and knelt before an altar which surprised Fidelma by its opulence. She had thought that the island was poor but there was gold and silver displayed on the silk-covered altar table.
‘You appear to have a rich community here, Father,’ she whispered.
‘Poor in goods but rich in heart,’ replied the priest indulgently.
‘They donate what they have to God’s house to praise His splendour. Dominus optimo maximo …’
He failed to notice the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval. She did not approve of idle opulence when people lived in poverty.
Father Pol bent his head and intoned a prayer of in Latin while they echoed the ‘amens’.
Finally he led them to his small house next to the church and offered them pottery cups of cider while Murchad explained the situation about Toca Nia and Cian.
Father Pol rubbed the side of his nose reflectively. It seemed a habit of his.
‘Quid faciendum?’ he asked when Murchad had finished. ‘What is to be done?’
‘We were hoping that you might have some suggestions,’ Murchad replied. ‘I cannot keep Toca Nia and Cian on board my ship all the way to Iberia and then back again to Laigin. I am advised that these charges must be heard before a competent judge in Eireann but I cannot take these men directly there, nor can I afford to wait until a ship bound there puts into Ushant.’
‘Why should you do either?’
‘Because,’ intervened Fidelma carefully, ‘Toca Nia has to make his accusations before the courts of Eireann. I think Murchad was hoping that you might keep them both securely here until the next ship for Eireann puts in.’
Father Pol considered the matter for a moment and then made a dismissive gesture.
‘Who knows when that might be? Anyway, surely you cannot dictate to a Brother of the Faith that he must leave a pilgrimage to answer these charges? What do you know of law, Sister?’
‘Sister Fidelma is a lawyer of our courts,’ explained Murchad hastily.
Father Pol turned to her with interest.
‘Are you an ecclesiastical lawyer?’
‘I know the Penitentials but I am an advocate of our ancient secular laws.’
Father Pol seemed disappointed.
‘Surely ecclesiastical law has precedence over secular laws? In which case, you do not need even consider these claims.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘That is not how the law works in our country, Father. Toca Nia has made one of the most serious charges possible. Cian must answer them.’
Father Pol pondered for a moment or two before shaking his head negatively.
‘I have to say, as leader of the community here, and as representative of the Church, that your law does not run on this island. I can do nothing. If, out of their free will, this Brother Cian or Toca Nia, or both of them, wish to leave your ship and stay here until a ship bound for Eireann arrives, then they are free to do so. Or if they want to go anywhere else, they are free to do so. But I am not able to dictate or restrain them unless they break the laws that govern this island. You must decide what is best.’
Murchad was clearly unhappy.
‘It seems,’ Fidelma said, turning to him, ‘there is now only one choice. Your ship is your kingdom, Murchad, which you rule as chiefaccording to the laws of the Fenechus. It is your obligation to keep Cian and Toca Nia on your ship and eventually take them back to Eireann.’
Murchad started to raise objections but Fidelma raised a hand and silenced him.
‘I said, it is your obligation. I did not say it was your commitment. You are the arbiter of what must be. I can only advise you as to how the law might view the matter.’
The captain shook his head despondently.
‘It is a hard decision. Where do I get recompense for all this? Cian will certainly refuse to pay me for his return passage, with his journey made under duress, and Toca Nia’s jewellery will provide insufficient compensation. I have to think not only of my own welfare, you understand, but that of my crew, who need to be fed and who also have families to support.’
‘If Toca Nia’s charges are proved, then the King of Laigin should compensate you. If not, then you can issue a distraint claim on Toca Nia.’
Murchad was reluctant to make a decision.
‘I doubt if he has money or property. I must think about this.’ Father Pol clapped his hands as if to dismiss the subject.
‘And while you do, friend Murchad, your passengers may come ashore here to relax from the toils of the sea and to join in the feast of the great martyr of my country, Justus.’
‘You are kind, Father Pol,’ muttered Murchad, although he was still clearly preoccupied with the problem.
‘I would also thank you, Father,’ Fidelma added. ‘It is good of you to take this trouble over our internal matters.’ She paused. ‘The Feast of Justus? I know several great churchmen of that name but I cannot place a Justus from this part of the world.’
‘He was killed when he was a young boy,’ Father Pol explained.
‘It happened during the persecutions of the Emperor Diocletian. It is said that he hid two other Christians from the Roman soldiers and was killed for it.’
Father Pol rose slowly and Murchad and Fidelma followed his example, together with Gurvan who had taken no part in the discussion.
‘I presume that you wish to take on fresh water, bread and other stores?’
The captain agreed that was his intention.
‘Gurvan will see to it, Father, and I will have my passengers land to stretch their legs.’
‘Our service of Justus will begin at sundown and will be followed by the feast.’
They bade a temporary farewell to the priest and walked slowly back towards the quay. Murchad was gloomy at the prospect of keeping Cian and Toca Nia on board his ship until his return to Ardmore, but said in resignation that it seemed the only thing he could do in the circumstances.
‘I think you have made a wise decision, Murchad,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘What worries me more is the matter of Sister Muirgel, for I have never had a problem set before me where I have not even seen one likely path to start down in search of a solution.’
Chapter Eighteen
Fidelma awoke abruptly with her heart beating fast. It was dark and she was not sure what had made her wake with such a start. She was feeling exhausted: it had been a long day. Everyone had gone ashore with the exception of Cian and Toca Nia, who had been confined under guard in their cabins. The shipwrecked sailors had been sent ashore while the pilgrims and members of the crew had attended the service and Feast of Justus. It was midnight before everyone had returned on board; no one stayed overnight in Lampaul, for Murchad had announced that he intended to sail on the morning tide, having already loaded his provisions. The sooner he reached Iberia, he told Fidelma, the sooner he could take his two troublesome passengers back to Ardmore.
As Fidelma lay wondering what had awoken her, she heard a curious scrabbling sound: it seemed to come from the deck planking under her cabin. She raised herself on her bunk, frowning. Then she remembered what Wenbrit had said. Rats and mice inhabited the lower quarters of the ship.
Reaching out to the heavy warm bundle at the foot of her bunk, she stroked the black cat’s fur.
‘Come on, Mouse Lord,’ she whispered. ‘Aren’t you rathe
r neglecting your duty?’
The cat stirred, uncoiled itself and stretched to the full length of its body. It always surprised Fidelma to see the length most cats could stretch their body to. The animal then gave a curious cheeping noise, more like a bird than a cat, and jumped from the bunk. Fidelma saw it stalk across the room, leap for the window and then it was gone.
The scrabbling noise soon ceased and Fidelma shivered slightly, thinking about the rats in the darkness below her, separated from her only by some planking. She listened intently. There was no sound now. Perhaps they were gone. Mouse Lord must be carrying out his nocturnal task very efficiently.
Yawning, she lay back on her pillow and was immediately asleep again. Only a moment later, it seemed, Fidelma found herself being shaken awake by Gurvan. The mate was clearly worried.
‘Please come into the next cabin, lady,’ he urged, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draping her robe around her shoulders, Fidelma swung out of her bunk. The expression on Gurvan’s face was enough for her not to waste time with pointless questions. She recalled that it was in Gurvan’s cabin that Toca Nia was confined.
Gurvan stood in the passage holding the door of his cabin open. A lantern was alight in its small confines, for it was still not quite dawn. Fidelma glanced in.
Toca Nia was lying on his back, eyes wide open, his chest a bloody mess.
‘Stabbed several times around the heart, I would say,’ Gurvan muttered behind her, as if she needed an explanation.
Fidelma stood for a moment, allowing the feeling of shock to ebb away.
‘Has Murchad been told?’ she asked.
‘I have sent word to him,’ replied Gurvan. ‘Careful, lady, there is much blood on the floor.’
She looked down and saw that the severed arteries had pumped blood all over the floor. It had been trodden about, presumably by Gurvan but a thought occurred to her.
‘Stand still,’ she requested. Then she moved to the door, her eyes following the sticky marks on the floor. There were no distinct footprints, and it was obvious that Gurvan had walked over the initial prints which could only have been made by the killer. The prints went to her cabin door and halted. This puzzled Fidelma. She would have expected them to go to the exit to the main deck. She moved across to her cabin door and opened it. Some fainter traces showed where Gurvan had entered her cabin. The only solution to the mystery was if the killer had noticed the trail they were leaving and had managed to wipe the blood from their feet before they departed from the area.
Some instinct made her check her bag where she had put the knife which Crella had given her. It was gone. She turned back to Gurvan.
‘You’d better send someone to Cian’s cabin,’ she suggested. It was the obvious thing to do in the circumstances.
Just then, Murchad came along the passage; anxiety was etched all over his features. He overheard Fidelma’s directive.
‘I have already sent for Cian, lady. As soon as I heard the news, I knew that you would want to see him. However, he is no longer on board.’
‘What?’ Fidelma had never seriously thought that Cian would doanything stupid. Then she realised that she did not really know the depths of Cian’s mind, nor had ever understood the workings of his mind.
‘Drogon went to check his cabin. The man I placed on guard there was asleep. Bairne, who shares the cabin, says he did not hear him leave. I don’t think we can blame my crewman. We are not used to guarding prisoners.’
Fidelma was not interested in excuses.
‘We need to double-check,’ she said decisively. ‘Will you do that immediately, Gurvan?’
The mate moved off.
‘It seems pretty obvious what happened,’ Murchad muttered, glancing at Toca Nia’s body. ‘Cian killed his accuser and has fled ashore.’
It seemed the only logical explanation. Fidelma uttered a sigh of resignation.
‘It does look that way,’ she admitted. ‘Yet he must know that the island is not large enough for him to hide in. It is still an island. We will find him eventually. I’ll get dressed. We must go ashore and find Cian immediately.’
Murchad, Gurvan and Fidelma landed at the quay in the ship’s skiff. There was no one stirring in the grey, early morning light. They walked directly up the pathway towards the church, and were surprised when a figure left the shadows of the doorway and came forward to greet them. It was Father Pol. His expression was grave.
‘I know who you have come for,’ he greeted them.
Fidelma matched his solemnity.
‘Has he told you why he has fled here?’ she asked.
‘I know what he is accused of,’ replied the priest.
‘Do you know where he is? It would be helpful if you could tell us, rather than us spending time in searching the island for him.’
‘You do not have to, Sister. Nor would I permit such a search. Brother Cian is within the church.’
She was puzzled by the priest’s harsh tone, which was unlike that of the day before.
‘Then we shall take him back to The Barnacle Goose so that he may offer his defence.’
The priest frowned and held up his hand to stop them as they started forward.
‘I cannot allow it.’
Fidelma gazed with some surprise at Father Pol.
‘You cannot allow it?’ she echoed in amusement. ‘Yesterday, yousaid the situation with Cian was no business of yours. Now you say that you cannot allow us to take Cian back to the ship. What manner of logic is this?’
‘I have the right to stop you removing Cian.’
‘The crime was committed on board Murchad’s ship, not on your island. The jurisdiction is surely Murchad’s?’
The priest seemed puzzled for a moment and then folded his arms in an attitude of immovability.
‘In the first place, Brother Cian has sought the sanctuary of this place,’ he announced. ‘In the second place, this so-called crime of which he is accused took place five years ago and hundreds of miles away. You have no authority to hear such accusations on board your ship. You said as much yesterday.’
Murchad was scratching the back of his head and gazing at Fidelma as though to seek her guidance.
‘Sanctuary?’ he said, looking baffled. ‘I am not sure I understand …’
Father Pol interrupted.
‘Sister Fidelma will tell you that it is written in the Book of Numbers that the Lord God said, “You shall designate certain cities to be places of refuge, in which the homicide who has killed a man by accident may take sanctuary. These cities shall be places of refuge from the vengeance of the dead man’s next of kin …”.’
‘We know what is written in Numbers, Father Pol,’ Fidelma agreed in a quiet tone. She turned to Murchad in explanation. ‘This ecclesiastical sanctuary is compared with our own law of the Nemed Termann in which a person who is accused of an act of violence, even if he is guilty of it, can seek sanctuary for a time until his case is heard in a proper manner — but our law, Father,’ she turned to Father Pol, ‘also states that the guilty one in seeking sanctuary is not thereby enabled to finally escape from justice.’
Father Pol bowed his head in acknowledgment.
‘I understand this, Sister. However, we are not governed here by your laws of Eireann. The law is God’s law as given in His Holy Writ. Exodus says, “The slayer may flee to a place which I shall appoint for you”. He is allowed asylum in that place until such time as he can prepare a proper defence against those who would seek vengeance on him.’
‘Father Pol, we do not seek vengeance. But Brother Cian must come forward to defend himself against this crime.’
‘He has asked for asylum in the proper manner and been granted it.’
Fidelma thought quickly.
‘In a proper manner?’ she echoed.
She was trying to behave as a dalaigh should, acting without emotion and only with regard to the facts, but this was Cian they were talking about, not some stranger fleeing from the law. Cian
! Whether she hated him now, she had been enamoured of him once. She had to ignore her emotional involvement, for she did not trust her feelings any more. She must think only of the law. The law was all that mattered now.
‘He asked for sanctuary in a proper manner?’ She repeated her question.
Father Pol chose not to reply, sensing she was about to make a point.
‘You quoted the law from Exodus just now, but you did not finish that quotation. The verse ends, “But if a man has the presumption to kill another by treachery, you shall take him even from My altar to be put to death”. Is that not so?’
‘Certainly. But what treachery was there in war? In war, killing may be done. A warrior may have a battle fever and lose his mind. If he did so, Cian will certainly answer for the consequences. But I doubt if you can claim that treachery was part of his act.’
‘We are not speaking of the crimes of which Toca Nia accused Brother Cian when he was a warrior,’ she replied slowly. ‘We are referring to the fact that Toca Nia was murdered in his bunk on board Murchad’s ship this morning at the same time that Brother Cian fled from it to seek sanctuary with you.’
Father Pol looked startled and dropped his hands to his side.
‘He did not say anything about that.’
Fidelma leaned forward like a hunter whose prey is in sight.
‘Then let me remind you of the law as given in Joshua. “When a man takes sanctuary … he shall halt at the entrance and state his case in the hearing of the elders …” Did he halt and state his case relating to the murder of Toca Nia?’
Father Pol was clearly troubled.
‘He did not speak of that. He sought sanctuary only for the crime of which Toca Nia accused him.’
‘Then, under the ecclesiastical code which you quote, he did not properly state his case, and cannot now claim asylum.’
Father Pol was in conflict. Finally he made up his mind and stood back with a gesture for them to precede him.
‘We shall put the matter to Brother Cian,’ he said quietly.
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