Act of Mercy sf-8
Page 32
‘Cian slept with her one night and, in his arrogance, did not evenremember it until the last moment. Like Aoife, the wife of Lir, Gorman was unbalanced. That fact, her undisguised hatred, was so obvious that I had initially discounted her as a suspect.’
‘It was a pity that Sister Gorman escaped justice, then,’ reflected Murchad.
Fidelma considered the comment before replying.
‘Not so. She was demented. Taken by an illness that is just as debilitating as any other fever. I believe I can understand the depths of jealousy that are aroused in a woman if she feels that she has been betrayed by a man she has come to believe loves her.’
Fidelma flushed a little as she said it, remembering her own feelings.
‘Yet she killed. Should she not be punished?’
‘Ah, punishment. I fear that there is a new morality coming into our culture, Murchad. It’s the one thing that worries me about the Faith. The Penitentials of the Church are preaching punishment instead of compensation and rehabilitation as our native law states.’
‘Yet it is the teaching of the Faith.’ Murchad was bewildered. ‘How can you be a Sister of the Faith and not accept that teaching?’
‘Because it is a teaching of vengeance and not an act of justice. Our laws call for justice, not revenge. Juvenal said that vengeance is merely a joy to narrow, sick and petty minds. Blood cannot be washed out by blood. We must seek compensation for the victims and rehabilitation of the wrong-doer. Unless we do so we may enter into a continuing cycle of vengeance for vengeance and blood will continually flow. Those who make their laws a curse shall surely suffer from those same laws.’
‘Would you have preferred, then, to have the girl escape?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘She would never have been able to escape from herself. Her mind was too far twisted by her madness so that I think, in this instance, she suffered an act of mercy.’
Gurvan came up and looked apologetically at them.
‘Tide’s on the turn, Captain,’ he told Murchad.
Murchad acknowledged him.
‘We must sail, lady,’ he said respectfully.
‘I hope your return to Ardmore will not be so adventurous as the journey here has been.’
‘I would not have become a sailor had I been afraid of storms and pirates,’ grinned Murchad. ‘However, it is not often that I have experienced murder on board ship. Will you be long in this land,Sister? Maybe, on your return, you will come back on my ship? I am frequently coming to and fro to this port.’
‘It would be a pleasure. Yet I am not sure what my fate will be. Perhaps our paths will cross again. If not, may Christ sail with you. And look after that boy, Wenbrit. He may yet grow to be a fine captain of his own vessel one day.’
She went down to the main deck and bade farewell to Gurvan, Wenbrit, Drogan and the others members of the crew before climbing down onto the quay. Murchad raised his hand in salute.
She watched as the gangplank was hauled back onto the quay and the ropes were untied to allow The Barnacle Goose to ease away. She waved energetically at them all, and was then overcome with homesickness so that she began to walk slowly back to the tavern where she was staying. In spite of her sadness, she also felt relief. She had set out on this pilgrimage with two major intentions and she realised that she had resolved one of them. There was no longer any conflict between her place as a religieuse and her role as a dalaigh. Her passion for law left her with no other choice: she would always put law before any contemplative life. By the time she had reached the tavern, the sail of The Barnacle Goose had been set and she was drifting out of the harbour.
Fidelma sat down on a wooden bench under the shade of a vine tree and stared out thoughtfully across the blue waters of the bay, watching the disappearing vessel.
The tavern-owner came out to her, bearing a glass filled with a drink made from freshly squeezed lemon and cold water which, in the short time she had been there, Fidelma had learnt was the best way to quench her thirst and stay cool in the heat. Then, to her surprise, he handed her a piece of folded vellum. She could not quite understand what he said but he pointed to a sleek-looking vessel which had only entered the harbour within the last hour.
‘Gratias tibi ego.’ She thanked him in Latin, the only language in which they could share a few words in common.
She held back her curiosity for she wanted to watch Murchad’s s ship leaving harbour. She stayed for some time sipping her drink and watching The Barnacle Goose sailing along the estuary, which was locally called the ria, until it disappeared beyond the headland. It was comfortable sitting in the warmth of the sunshine. But, again, she suddenly felt enveloped by a tremendous sense of loneliness. She paused to consider her feelings. Was loneliness the right word to describe her emotion? It was better to be alone than in bad company — she certainly had no wish to be in Cian’s presence everagain. Yet there was a positive side; she was glad that she had met him again.
For all these years, Cian had been a thorn in her flesh, for she had still recalled all the anguished emotions and passions of her youth. Now she had been granted a meeting with Cian in the maturity of her experiences, and had seen him from the perspective of that maturity; had examined him and realised the folly of the bittersweet intensity of her young love. She had no qualms at all about bidding farewell to Cian and acknowledging that what was past was past. It was to be seen as a growing experience instead of a heavy burden of regret to be carried on her shoulders for ever. No; Cian had no hold on her any longer and she felt no sense of loss in that respect — just an enormous weight falling from her shoulders.
Somehow her mind came back to Eadulf with an abruptness that made her start momentarily, so that her drink shook in her trembling hand.
Eadulf! She realised that he had been a dim shadow during the entire voyage. An ethereal wisp haunting her path.
Why did the words of Publilius Syrus, one of her favourite writers of maxims, come to her mind?
Amare et sepere vix deo conceditur.
Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time.
She suddenly remembered the folded vellum and reached forward to pick it up. Her eyes widened in astonishment. It was a note written by her brother, Colgu, at Cashel, the day after she had set sail. As she absorbed the few words it contained, a cold feeling of shock hit her, to be replaced by a panic that she had never experienced before. The message was terse: Return at once! Eadulf has been charged with murder!
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