‘Just tell me this, Sister Gormán,’ Fidelma said, beginning to feel irritable at the self-centred attitude of the girl and her attachment to a belief that one was responsible for Sister Muirgel’s death. ‘You say that you left your cabin about midnight?’
The girl inclined her head in agreement.
‘You share your cabin with Sister Ainder, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Did she see you leave the cabin?’
‘She was fast asleep. She is a heavy sleeper. She did not see me leave.’
‘The storm was in progress?’
‘It was.’
‘Your cabin is by the stairs or whatever they are called. So, you are telling me that you went down that passage to her cabin and neither met nor saw anyone?’
Sister Gormán shook her head.
‘There was no one about at that hour,’ she confirmed, ‘and the storm was very bad.’
‘And, again, from what you tell me, you stood outside her door, did not go in, but just stood there cursing her. No one heard this?’
‘The storm was rising then. I doubt that anyone would have heard me even if they had been standing next to me.’
Fidelma looked at her and found herself struggling to believe her. It seemed so bizarre but then it was often that the incredible was the truth and the plausible was the lie.
‘How long did you stand by her cabin door with your so-called cursing?’ she demanded.
‘I am not sure. A few moments. A quarter of an hour. I don’t know.’
‘What did you do after pronouncing your curse?’
‘I returned to my cabin. Sister Ainder was still asleep and the storm still raging. I lay on my bed but did not sleep until the storm abated.’
‘You heard nothing from outside your cabin?’
‘I think I heard the cabin door opposite bang shut. I was just dozing off when it woke me momentarily.’
‘How could you have heard that in the noise of the storm? You just said that no one would have heard you. How, then, could you hear such a thing as a cabin door shutting?’
Sister Gormán’s jaw jutted out pugnaciously.
‘I heard it because it was after the storm began to die down.’
‘Very well,’ Fidelma said. ‘I just want to make sure that I have the facts clearly in my mind. And this cabin door, the one you heard banging shut, you say it was the door opposite your cabin.’
‘It is the one shared by Cian and Bairne.’
‘I see. Then you went back to sleep and were not disturbed again?’
Sister Gormán looked troubled. ‘My curse killed her, you know. I suppose I will have to be punished.’
Fidelma rose and stood looking down with pity at the young girl. Sister Gormán was definitely unstable. She badly needed help from her soul-friend, the companion who was responsible for hearing problems and discussing them. Each person in the churches of the Five Kingdoms chose an anam-chara, a soul friend.
‘Perhaps you are unaware of the ancient proverb,’ she tried to reassure the girl. ‘A thousand curses never tore a shirt.’
The girl glanced up at her.
‘I have cursed Sister Muirgel and caused her death. Now I must curse myself.’
She began to rock back and forth, arms wrapped around her shoulders, crooning softly.
‘Perish the day when I was born
And the night which said, “A child is conceived”!
May that day turn to darkness; may God above not look for it,
Nor the light of dawn shine on it.
May blackness sully it, and murk and gloom,
Cloud smother that day, swift darkness eclipse its sun.
Blind darkness swallow up that night:
Count it not among the days of the year,
Reckon it not in the cycle of the months.
That night, may it be barren for ever,
No cry of joy be heard in it.
Cursed be it …’
Fidelma left the irrational young girl chanting to herself and walked away with a slight feeling of disgust. Who, among the unlikely female religieuses, should she turn to, and ask to take Sister Gormán in hand? The young girl needed some counsel, and Fidelma herself could not take on such a responsibility now. And yet there seemed no one else. Sister Ainder was not sympathetic enough and Crella was too young herself. Fidelma would have to deal with the matter later. There was still Dathal, Adamrae, Bairne and Tola left to question.
Fidelma suddenly realised that there was one member of the pilgrim group whom she had not yet seen at all. His name was Brother Guss. He had not stirred from his cabin since he had come on board, nor had he emerged even when Murchad ordered everyone on deck during the dangerous passage through the rocks. He was sharing a cabin with Brother Tola. She had seen Brother Tola sitting by a water-butt at the main mast, reading, and felt that now might be a good opportunity to tackle this elusive religieux.
She knocked at the cabin door and waited.
There was the sound of someone moving behind the door and then a long pause. She knocked again. A voice called faintly from within and she entered, blinking in the darkness of the cabin and waiting until her eyes adjusted sufficiently to see. The shadowy figure of a man was seated on one of the bunks.
‘Brother Guss, I presume?’
She saw the dark head of the religieux turn in her direction as she paused on the threshold.
‘I am Guss,’ a tremulous voice replied.
‘May we have some light in here?’ suggested Fidelma and, without waiting for an answer, she took the lantern which was hanging outside in the passage, and set it in the cabin.
The light revealed the religieux to be young. She noticed several things about him, from his reddish tousled hair to the splash of freckles on his pale skin, to his frightened, large blue eyes, and his tall but wiry frame. He dropped his eyes like a guilty child as she met his gaze.
‘We have not seen you on deck or at mealtimes,’ she opened, seating herself on the bunk beside him. ‘Are you still unwell?’
Brother Guss regarded her with suspicion. ‘I have been sick – the sea motion, you understand. Who are you?’
‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’
‘Brother Tola mentioned you. I have been ill,’ he added, repeating himself.
‘So I understand. But you are feeling better now?’
He did not reply.
‘The sea is much calmer now and it is unwise to confine yourself to a cabin for so long a period. You need to be on deck getting some fresh air. In fact, I did not see you on deck when everyone was ordered there.’
‘I did not realise that the order applied to me.’
‘Did you not know of the dangers?’
The young man did not reply. Instead he continued to regard her with distrust.
‘Guss is an unusual name,’ Fidelma began again. ‘It is a very old name, is it not?’ The best way to get him to drop his defensive attitude towards her was to encourage him to speak.
The young man inclined his head slightly.
‘It means, as I recall, vigour or fierceness. I suppose people call you Gusan?’ she added, using the diminutive. A comment on his youthfulness might provoke him.
Indeed, this caused a scowl to cross the young man’s face.
‘I am called Guss,’ he replied in annoyance.
‘And you are from the Abbey of Moville?’
‘I am a student at the Abbey,’ confirmed the youth. He was scarcely more than twenty years old.
‘What are you studying?’
‘I am studying the star-lore under the Venerable Cummian, and helping keep the records of the phenomena of the skies.’ There was a note of pride in the boy’s voice in spite of his woebegone attitude.
‘Cummian? Is he still alive then?’ Fidelma said with genuine wonder.
The youth frowned.
‘Do you know the Venerable Cummian?’
‘I know of his reputation. He studied under the grea
t Abbot of Bangor, Mo Sinu maccu Min, and has written many works on astronomical computus. But he must be very old. You say that you are his student?’
‘One of them,’ admitted Guss proudly. ‘But I have already obtained to the degree of the fifth order of wisdom.’
‘Excellent. It is good to know that there is someone who can recognise the map of the heavens and chart our way safely home in the middle of these tempestuous seas.’
Thus Fidelma encouraged him, gently leading the youth on and trying to break down his initial hostility to her intrusion. She noticed that his right hand kept going to his left arm to massage it. There was a dark stain on the sleeve.
‘You seem to have hurt your arm,’ she commented sympathetically. ‘Have you cut it? Shall I examine it for you?’
He flushed and a scowl spread over his features again. ‘It is nothing. I scratched it, that is all.’ Then he relapsed into silence.
Fidelma pressed on. ‘What made you decide to come on this pilgrimage, Brother Guss?’
‘Cummian.’
‘I don’t understand. Cummian told you to come on this voyage?’
‘Cummian had been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrine of St James and advised me that I should also take the voyage for my own education.’
‘To see foreign worlds?’ hazarded Fidelma.
The young man shook his head patronisingly.
‘No; to see the stars.’
Fidelma thought for a moment before suddenly understanding what he meant.
‘The Holy Shrine of St James at the Field of Stars?’
‘Cummian says that when you stand at the Holy Shrine you can look up into a clear night sky and trace the Way of the White Cow, curving directly to the kingdoms of Éireann. It is said that our ancestors over a thousand years ago followed the Way of the White Cow and thus they came to the shores of the lands in which they settled.’ For a moment, the youth’s tone rose in enthusiasm.
Fidelma knew that the Way of the White Cow was described by many names; in Latin it was called the Circulus Lacteus, the Milky Way.
‘That is why the spot is called the Field of the Stars because the stars are laid out so clearly,’ added the youth.
‘So Cummian suggested you come on this pilgrimage?’
‘When Sister Canair announced that she was organising the pilgrimage, Cummian arranged for me to accompany her.’
‘You knew Sister Canair, of course?’
He shook his head.
‘Not before the Venerable Cummian introduced me. We students of star lore did not mix with other sections of the community.’
‘So you knew none of the party on this pilgrimage?’
Brother Guss frowned.
‘I did not know Brother Cian, Dathal nor Adamrae, nor even Brother Tola. They were all from Bangor. I knew some of the others by sight.’
‘Sister Crella, for example?’
A spasm of dislike crossed his face.
‘I know Crella.’
Fidelma leaned forward quickly.
‘You do not like her?’
Guss suddenly looked guarded.
‘It is not my position to like or dislike.’
‘But you do not like her,’ repeated Fidelma. ‘Was there any particular reason for that?’
Guss shrugged but said nothing.
Fidelma decided to try another tack.
‘Did you know Sister Muirgel well?’
Brother Guss blinked rapidly, and that guarded look crossed his features once more.
‘I met her several times at the Abbey before the pilgrimage was announced.’ There was a tightness in his voice. Fidelma decided to hazard an interpretation.
‘Did you like Muirgel?’
‘I do not deny it,’ he said quietly.
‘More than like?’ she guessed.
The youth’s jaw clamped shut. His eyes met Fidelma’s and it seemed that he hesitated as if to make up his mind what he should say.
‘I said … I liked her!’ The words came out like a protest.
Fidelma sat back for a moment trying to gauge what was going on in his mind.
‘Well, there is nothing wrong in that,’ she pointed out. ‘How did she feel about you?’
‘She returned my feelings,’ he said quietly.
‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma said, automatically laying a land on his arm. ‘I have been too impertinent. The captain requested me to enquire into the circumstances of her death. So I must ask these questions. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘The circumstances of her death?’ The youth actually laughed – a harsh, unmusical bark. ‘I will tell you the circumstances of her death. She was murdered!’
Fidelma stared into the angry face of the youth, and then she said quietly: ‘You do not accept that she was merely swept overboard then? So what do you believe happened to her, Brother Guss?’
‘I do not know!’ Was his reply a little too hurried?
‘And why would someone have killed her?’
‘Jealousy, perhaps.’
‘Who was jealous? Who would murder her?’ demanded Fidelma. She suddenly remembered Sister Crella’s accusation against Brother Bairne at the memorial ceremony. ‘You were just jealous.’ Those were the words she had used. Fidelma leaned forward. ‘Was it Brother Bairne who was jealous?’
Brother Guss looked bewildered.
‘Bairne? He was jealous, right enough. But it was Crella who killed her.’
Fidelma did not expect the reply and it made her quiet for a moment or so.
‘Do you have evidence for what you say?’ she asked softly.
The youth hesitated and then shook his head firmly.
‘I know that Crella is responsible, that is all.’
‘You’d better tell me the whole story. When did you meet Sister Muirgel? What exactly was your relationship with her?’
‘I fell in love with her when she came to the Abbey. At first, she barely noticed me. She preferred more mature men. You know, men like Brother Cian. He was mature. He had been a warrior. She certainly liked him.’
‘And did he like her?’
‘At first she was in his company a lot.’
‘Did they have an affair?’
Brother Gus flushed and his lower lip trembled for a moment. Then he nodded.
‘Why was Crella jealous?’
‘She was jealous of anyone who took Sister Muirgel away from her. But in this case …’ He paused, as if reflecting.
Fidelma prompted him to continue: ‘In this case … what?’
‘It had been Sister Muirgel who had taken Cian away from Crella.’
Fidelma had to control her features. Brother Guss was full of surprises.
‘Are you saying that Cian was having an affair with Crella and then turned from her to Muirgel?’
‘Sister Muirgel admitted it was all a mistake. It lasted a few days, that is all.’
‘Did you have a relationship with Sister Muirgel?’ Fidelma was abrupt.
The youth nodded.
‘When did this relationship start?’
‘It was just before we began this pilgrimage. When I told Muirgel that I was joining the pilgrimage because my tutor had instructed me to do so, she forced Canair into allowing her to come. Of course, Crella had to come as well.’
‘She must have liked you a lot to have followed you on this journey.’
‘Well, to be honest, I thought that I never stood a chance of being noticed by her in that way, if you know what I mean. However, she sought me out and told me outright that she had become attracted to me. I had never said anything to her before because I thought she would never have looked at me. When she told me … well, we grew together and we were in love.’
‘Did Crella know about this relationship? She thinks Muirgel was still having an affair with Cian.’
Guss’s eyes grew dark.
‘I believe she knew. I think she knew and was jealous of Muirgel’s happiness. Muirgel told me that she was being threatened.’
/> ‘What – Muirgel told you that Crella was threatening her? Did you hear some argument between them?’
‘They argued – yes. It was a few days before we reached Ardmore. We had stopped at a tavern for a meal and Muirgel had gone to a nearby stream to wash. I had fetched ale and was taking it down to where Muirgel was washing when I heard Crella’s voice raised in argument with her.’
‘And can you recall what was being said? The precise words?’
‘I don’t know whether I can recall the precise words, but Crella was accusing Muirgel of …’ he hesitated and coloured, ‘ … of playing with my affections – those were the words she used. Of playing with my affections as she had played with others. Crella believed that Muirgel still loved Cian.’
‘Playing with your affections?’ echoed Fidelma. ‘You are sure that Muirgel had ended her relationship with Cian, then? She was not using you in some way to hit back at Cian for ending the affair?’
Guss looked angry.
‘Of that I am very sure. We expressed our love in the way any normal healthy people would.’
It was clear what the youth meant.
‘You found the time and space on a journey among your co-religionists?’ Fidelma tried to keep the scepticism out of her voice.
‘I do not lie,’ Guss replied indignantly.
‘Of course not.’ Fidelma’s reply was solemn.
‘I do not!’ He seemed irritated at her tone. ‘Don’t listen to Crella’s jealousy.’
‘Very well. Let us come to the morning that the ship sailed. Did you and Muirgel come aboard together?’
‘Everyone came aboard at the same time, with the exception of Sister Canair.’
‘How did you all come aboard together?’
‘We left the Abbey after breakfast and went down to the quay. There was no sign of Sister Canair and so Muirgel took charge. Murchad came up and told us that we must be on board or we would miss the tide, in which case our passage-money would be forfeit. So we all went on board.’
‘Did anyone raise a protest at leaving without Sister Canair?’
‘Everyone agreed that if Sister Canair had been serious in her intention to accompany us, then she would have kept to the arrangement to join us on the quay at dawn. It was Sister Crella who pointed out that Canair had not even sent a message.’
Act of Mercy Page 14