Act of Mercy

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘And this morning?’

  ‘She rose early and felt that it would be safe to go back to her own cabin. No one, she told me, would think of looking there now that she was officially dead. I was going to join her after breakfast.’

  ‘What do you think happened then?’

  ‘She was seen and murdered by the same person who killed Sister Canair.’

  ‘Very well. You implied you knew who killed her, or rather, whom you suspected of killing her. Are you referring to the same person on whom you put the blame during our talk yesterday?’

  ‘Crella? Yes, I believe that it was she who came and muttered outside Muirgel’s door that night. It was Crella who was spying on us. She was jealous of Canair and she was jealous of Muirgel, although she pretended to love Muirgel as her friend.’

  ‘But you did say that Muirgel did not reveal the name of the person whom she suspected? She did not tell you the name of the person she had seen with Canair’s cross? It is only your suspicion that it was Sister Crella?’

  ‘I told you, I think—’

  ‘I want facts,’ Fidelma cut in sharply, ‘not your suspicions. Did Muirgel say who she was afraid of?’

  The youth shook his head.

  ‘She did not,’ he admitted.

  Fidelma rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

  ‘We cannot act on suspicion, Guss. Unless you can give me something more substantial, then …’ She let the sentence hang in the air.

  ‘Then you are going to let Crella escape?’ Brother Guss accused angrily.

  ‘My concern is to discover the truth.’

  The youth stared belligerently at her for a moment and then his features dissolved into a mask of misery.

  ‘I loved her! I would have done anything for her. Now I am afraid for my own life, for Crella must know now that I was her lover and tried to hide Muirgel. How far does her jealousy spread?’

  Fidelma eyed the young man sympathetically.

  ‘We shall be wary, Brother Guss. In the meantime, take comfort from the thought that you loved Muirgel and if, as you say, she loved you in return, then you were twice blessed. Remember the Song of Solomon, for that is the verse which Muirgel was quoting to you. The next verse is:

  ‘Many waters cannot quench love;

  No flood can sweep it away.’

  Brother Guss could not bring himself to rejoin his companions but had returned to his own cabin to grieve alone. Fidelma joined Murchad outside the door where he was standing with the sailor named Drogon.

  ‘Remain on watch here, Drogon, and do not let anyone in without my permission or that of Murchad,’ she instructed him. She turned to the captain. ‘Is everyone still gathered at breakfast?’

  He nodded affirmatively.

  ‘What will you say to them?’ he asked.

  ‘I shall tell them the truth. Our murderer knows the truth, so why not the others? The sooner all is revealed, the sooner the murderer may make a slip.’

  Murchad followed Fidelma into the mess deck where Wenbrit was clearing the breakfast remains. The pilgrims sat in silence. Brother Tola had rejoined them and though he refused to tell them what was amiss, they all realised that something had happened. When Fidelma entered and strode to the head of the table, only Cian attempted to acknowledge her. She did not respond. Everyone fixed their eyes on her, trying to guess what news she was bringing them.

  Even young Wenbrit realised something was afoot and halted, hands still filled with dirty plates.

  ‘We have found the body of Sister Muirgel,’ announced Fidelma.

  There were several reactions as they digested the statement.

  Sister Crella half-rose and then sat down again with a low moan of anguish. Sister Gormán sniggered agitatedly.

  It was Brother Tola, now able to speak having had to contain himself until she arrived, who asked the first question.

  ‘Are you telling us that she was on board all this time? That she had not fallen overboard?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How could she have drowned without falling overboard?’ demanded Sister Ainder.

  Fidelma fixed her with a cold smile.

  ‘That is simple: she did not drown. She had her throat cut within the last half an hour.’

  Sister Crella’s moan rose to a sharp wail.

  Fidelma quickly glanced round the table. Sister Crella seemed to be the one most visibly shaken, although everyone else seemed to register some emotion.

  ‘Are you sure?’ It was Cian who asked the question.

  ‘Sure about what?’ she demanded.

  Cian shifted uneasily under her sharp gaze.

  ‘Sure that it is Sister Muirgel of whom we speak,’ he explained lamely. ‘First we are told she is dead, then alive and now dead. Is it she or not?’

  Fidelma looked across the cabin to Brother Tola.

  ‘It is Sister Muirgel,’ Tola confirmed quietly. ‘I identified the body. So did Brother Guss …’ He glanced round, realising for the first time that Guss had not returned.

  Fidelma guessed the question he was about to form.

  ‘Brother Guss has gone to his cabin to lie down,’ she told them all. ‘He was very shocked as well.’

  There was no sound from those at the table except Sister Crella’s sobbing.

  ‘Sister Muirgel met her killer within the last hour,’ Fidelma resumed. ‘Can you all account for your movements during that time?’

  ‘What?’ Sister Gormán was all a-flutter.

  ‘Are you claiming it is one of us?’

  Fidelma looked at them each in turn.

  ‘It is certainly not one of the crew!’ She smiled thinly. ‘Sister Muirgel knew her killer. In fact, she had engineered her disappearance in order to avoid her killer. She hid during the day and emerged to eat and exercise during the night or early morning.’ As she spoke, Fidelma suddenly remembered something. ‘In fact, the morning after she was supposed to have been swept overboard, when that thick mist enveloped the ship, I encountered her on deck and did not recognise her. We may assume, Wenbrit, that your missing food was consumed by her.’

  The boy was looking at her in amazement.

  ‘You are saying that Sister Muirgel arranged for us to think that she had fallen overboard?’ Sister Ainder was still having problems coming to terms with what she had been told. ‘Why?’

  ‘She wanted to mislead her killer.’

  Brother Tola made a sardonic barking laugh, expressing his disbelief.

  ‘Where, in God’s name, could she have hidden on this ship? There is nowhere.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I disagree with you.’ Fidelma felt tempted to tell him that Muirgel had spent the first night within a yard or so of him while he slept. ‘The more important matter is that Sister Muirgel’s murderer is a member of your company. Where were each of you during this last hour?’

  They looked at each other suspiciously.

  Brother Tola acted as their spokesman.

  ‘We sat down to breakfast all at the same time. That was about an hour ago.’

  It turned out that everyone claimed to be in their cabins before that, with the exception of Sister Ainder, who accounted for her absence by stating she was in the defectora, and Cian, who said he was exercising on deck.

  ‘Were you in your cabin, Brother Bairne?’ enquired Fidelma.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘It is next to Muirgel’s cabin. Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’ stormed the young man, his face reddening. ‘You might have to prove such an accusation.’

  ‘If I made such an accusation I would do so when I am sure of proving it,’ replied Fidelma confidently. ‘I shall want to speak with each of you individually again.’

  ‘By what right?’ snapped Sister Ainder indignantly. ‘This matter is ridiculous. People being washed overboard when they are not. Accidents that turn to murders. Corpses that are not corpses!’

  ‘You already know my right and authority for this inve
stigation,’ Fidelma interrupted her tirade.

  Brother Tola glanced at Murchad.

  ‘I presume that Fidelma still acts with your approval, Captain?’

  ‘I have appointed Fidelma of Cashel in full charge of the matter,’ Murchad said heavily. ‘That is final.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  They had sighted the western coast of Armorica – that land which was now being called ‘Little Britain’.

  Murchad announced, ‘Within a few hours we shall be sighting the island of Ushant, which is at its western extremity.’

  Fidelma had never been to Armorica but knew that within the last two centuries, tens of thousands of Britons had been driven out of their lands by the expansion of the Angles and Saxons, and most had found a new home among the Armoricans. Many others had found refuge in the north-west of Iberia which had come to be named Galicia, the land to which they were sailing; others still had settled in the Five Kingdoms of Éireann, although not in such large numbers as elsewhere. But it was in Armorica, among people who shared a similar language and culture, that the refugees from Britain had begun to change the political map of the country so that the land was renamed ‘Little Britain’.

  ‘We’ll take on water at Ushant and some fresh food,’ continued Murchad. ‘We are under the halfway mark on our journey but, after this, there will be no other opportunity for you to stretch your legs on firm ground and to have a hot meal and a bath.’

  Fidelma had acknowledged the information absently. She was watching her fellow pilgrims taking their ease on the main deck. She felt confused. One of them was a murderer and she had no idea which one she should even start suspecting! She had not revealed Brother Guss’s secret, that Sister Canair was also dead. She hoped, by withholding the information, that someone would eventually reveal knowledge which might indicate that they also knew – and that knowledge would identify them as the murderer. The accusation against Sister Crella certainly could not be substantiated as yet.

  Brother Tola had taken up his usual position on deck, seated with his back against the water butt near the main mast reading his Missal. Brothers Dathal and Adamrae were arm in arm, strolling along the deck incongruously, or so it seemed to Fidelma, laughing together at a shared joke. The tall figure of Sister Ainder was seated on the starboard side lecturing Brother Bairne. Sister Crella was pacing the deck, arms folded around her, still agitated and muttering to herself. Fidelma looked round for Brother Guss but he was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Sister Gormán.

  ‘Well, Fidelma?’ Cian appeared at her side, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was mocking. ‘From the reputation you have gathered to yourself these last few years, I would have thought that the mystery of Sister Muirgel would have been solved by now.’

  She found it hard to believe that she had once been so immature as to be in love with this man. Resisting the impulse to utter a sharp rebuke, she recalled that she still needed information from him – and here was an opportunity to obtain it. Instead of reacting, she asked coolly, ‘How long did your affair with Sister Muirgel last?’

  Cian blinked rapidly. His supercilious smile broadened.

  ‘Are you checking up on my affairs now? Why do you want to know about Muirgel?’

  ‘I am simply pursuing my enquiries into her death.’

  Cian studied her phlegmatic expression, then shrugged slightly.

  ‘If you must know, not very long. Are you sure that you have no personal interest in asking?’

  Fidelma chuckled.

  ‘You flatter yourself, Cian – but then, you always did. Sister Muirgel was murdered by someone she knew. I told you at breakfast.’

  ‘Are you trying to implicate me?’ demanded Cian. ‘Has your hurt pride, after all these years, turned your mind so that you accuse me? That is utterly ridiculous!’

  ‘Why should it be ridiculous? Don’t lovers kill each other?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘My affair with Muirgel was over long before we set out on this journey.’

  ‘Long is an abstract term.’

  ‘Well, a week or so prior to the journey.’

  ‘Did you walk out on her without a word, or this time did you have sufficient courage to tell her face to face?’ she added brutally.

  Cian coloured hotly.

  ‘As a matter of fact, it was she who walked out on me – and, yes, she did tell me. Incredible as it may seem, she told me that she was in love with someone else – that young idiot, Brother Guss.’

  Here was confirmation that some of Guss’s story was truthful, in spite of Crella’s denial that her friend was having an affair with him.

  ‘Knowing you, it was not something you would meekly accept, Cian. You have too much vanity. You would have protested.’

  Cian’s hearty chuckle took Fidelma by surprise.

  ‘If you must know, I was very relieved by her confession, because I was about to end the relationship myself.’

  She did not believe him. ‘I find it hard to credit that you would let a young boy like Guss take over from you without your pride being wounded.’

  ‘If you want the gory details, Canair and I had been lovers for a short while. I was trying to ditch Muirgel. Thankfully, she made it easy for me.’ It was plain by his boastful attitude that Cian was not lying.

  ‘When did you become Canair’s lover?’

  ‘Oh, so you want details of that as well! Really, Fidelma, when did you become a voyeur?’

  She had to restrain herself from slapping his sneering face.

  ‘Let me remind you,’ she said icily, ‘that I am a dálaigh investigating a murder.’

  ‘A dálaigh miles from our homeland, on board a pilgrim ship,’ Cian said mockingly. ‘You have no rights to pry into my life, dálaigh.’

  ‘I have every right. So you had affairs with Muirgel and Canair? I suppose, knowing your character, you dallied with most of the young women at Moville.’

  ‘Jealous, are we?’ Cian sneered. ‘You were always possessive and jealous, Fidelma of Cashel. Don’t disguise your prying as being part of your duty. I had enough of your sulky ways when you were younger.’

  ‘I am not interested in your foolish pride, Cian. I am only interested in knowledge. I need to find Muirgel’s killer.’

  She had become aware that their voices were raised and they had been shouting at each other. Luckily the sound of the wind and sea seemed to have disguised their words, although Murchad, standing nearby at the steering oar, looked studiously out to sea as if embarrassed. He must have heard their exchange.

  Fidelma suddenly noticed that the young, naive Sister Gormán had come unnoticed on deck and was standing nearby, watching them with an expression of intense curiosity. She was picking at a shawl that she had draped over her shoulders to protect her from the chilly winds. When Fidelma caught her eye, she giggled and began to chant.

  ‘My beloved is fair and ruddy

  A paragon among ten thousand.

  His head is gold, finest gold,

  His locks are like palm fronds.

  His eyes are like doves beside brooks of water,

  Splashed by the milky water

  As they sit where it is drawn …’

  Cian uttered a suppressed exclamation of disgust and turned down the companionway, brushing by the girl as he left Fidelma. Sister Gormán uttered a shrill laugh.

  Gormán was a strange little thing, Fidelma thought. She seemed able to quote entire sections of Holy Scripture effortlessly. What was it that she had been quoting just then, something from the Song of Solomon? Sister Gormán glanced up and her eyes met Fidelma’s once more. She smiled again – a curious smile that had no humour to it, only a movement of the facial muscles. Then she turned and moved away.

  ‘Sister Gormán!’ Fidelma had promised herself to spend some time with the young girl for she was clearly highly-strung and no one seemed to be concerned for her. The girl watched suspiciously as Fidelma came up. ‘I hope you are not still blaming yourself for what has happened to Sister Muir
gel?’

  The girl’s apprehensive expression deepened.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you did tell me, when we thought she had fallen overboard, that you felt guilty because you cursed her.’

  ‘That!’ Gormán pouted in a gesture of dismissal. ‘I was just being silly. Of course my curse did not kill her. That’s been proved by her death now. If my curse had killed her, she would not have been alive these past two days.’

  Fidelma raised her eyes a little at the apparent callousness of the girl’s tone. But then Gormán displayed curious swings of temperament.

  ‘As you know,’ Fidelma passed on hurriedly, ‘I was asking where everyone was immediately before sitting down to breakfast. I think you said you were in your cabin?’

  ‘I was.’ The reply came curtly.

  ‘And you were there with Sister Ainder who shares that cabin?’

  ‘She went out for a while.’

  ‘Ah yes; so she said.’

  ‘Muirgel is dead. You are wasting your time asking these questions,’ snapped Gormán.

  Fidelma blinked at her rude tone.

  ‘It is my duty to do so,’ she ventured, and then tried to change the conversation to put the young girl at her ease. ‘I notice you like chanting songs from the Scriptures.’

  ‘Everything is contained in the holy words,’ replied Gormán, almost arrogantly. ‘Everything.’ She suddenly stared unblinkingly into Fidelma’s eyes and her features formed once more into that eerie smile.

  ‘There can be no remedy for your sore,

  The new skin cannot grow.

  All your lovers have forgotten you;

  They look for you no longer.

  I have struck you down.’

  Fidelma shivered in spite of herself.

  ‘I don’t understand …’

  Gormán actually stamped a foot.

  ‘Jeremiah. Surely you know the Scriptures? It is a suitable epitaph for Muirgel.’

  At that, she turned away and hurried past the tall figure of Sister Ainder. The latter moved towards her as if to speak with her, but the girl pushed by her, causing the sharp-faced woman to give an exclamation of annoyance as the girl almost made her lose her balance.