‘How did the Abbot of Moville respond?’
‘He did not.’
‘Perhaps he thought that it was not the place of the Abbot of Bangor to tell him how to lead his community?’ Fidelma smiled without humour. ‘Anyway, you formed a harsh judgement of Sister Muirgel.
Brother Tola nodded and intoned:
‘A prostitute is a deep pit,
A loose woman, a narrow well;
She lies in wait like a robber …’
Fidelma interrupted him sharply.
‘Apart from the fact that I seem to recall that Christ said harlots would enter heaven before some religious leaders, are you now saying that Sister Muirgel was a harlot?’
Tola merely continued his quotation from the Book of Proverbs.
‘I glanced out of the window of my house,
I looked down through the lattice, and I saw among simple
youths,
There amongst the boys I noticed
A lad, a foolish lad,
Passing along the street, at the corner,
Creeping out in the direction of her house
At twilight, as the day faded,
At dusk as the night grew dark;
Suddenly a woman came to meet him,
Dressed like a prostitute, full of wiles,
Flighty and inconstant,
A woman never content to stay at home,
Lying in wait at every corner,
Now in the street, now in the public squares.
She caught hold of him and kissed him;
Brazenly she accosted him and said,
“I have had a sacrifice, an offering to make, and I have paid my
vows today” …’
Fidelma held up a hand to quell his sonorous recital and finally had to cut in sharply.
‘I think I can also recall the words of Proverbs, seven. What are you saying by reciting that passage? You disapproved of Sister Muirgel because she had relationships with men, or that she was selling her body to whoever paid? Let us be precise about it. What is your definition of a harlot?’
‘You are the lawyer, you may interpret as you please. All I say is let the simple fools follow her like oxen on their way to the slaughterhouse.’
She had heard the same narrow views preached before by several religieux who argued for the reform of the Irish Church in favour of the concepts of Rome. She decided to clarify his attitude.
‘Tell me, Brother Tola, are you one of those who believe that the religieux should be celibate? I have often heard the argument at Rome.’
‘Does not Matthew say that our Lord Christ ordained celibacy for His followers?’
It was a favourite argument of those who wished all religieux to take an oath of celibacy. Fidelma had heard it many times and had no problem about the answer.
‘When the disciple asked Christ whether it was better not to marry, He replied that celibacy was not something everyone could accept; it was only meant for those for whom God had appointed celibacy. His words were that while some are incapable of marriage because they were born so, or were made so by men, there were, indeed, others who had themselves renounced marriage for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. He left it as the choice of the individual. Let those accept it who can. So far the churches of Christ have adhered to that free choice …’
Tola’s features expressed irritation. He obviously did not like being out-quoted from the Scriptures.
‘I accept the teachings of Paul on this matter. Celibacy is the ideal of a Christian victory over the evil of the world and must become the main basis of religious life.’
‘There is a lobby in Rome who believe in this celibacy,’ agreed Fidelma, her tone indicating that she did not think much of the argument. ‘But if Rome accepts it as a dogma of the Faith, they say that the Faith stands against that which God created. Had God wanted us to be celibate, he would have made us so. However, instead of theology, I would prefer to return to the matter in hand. You clearly did not like Sister Muirgel.’
‘I make no effort to disguise it.’
‘Very well. Apart from her being, in your eyes, prone to indiscriminate sexual liaisons, I am at a loss to understand the depth of your dislike.’
‘She seduced and perverted young men.’
‘Can you give me an example?’
‘Brother Guss, for example.’
‘So you knew that Brother Guss claims to have been in love with Sister Muirgel?’
‘She ensnared him with her wiles, as I have been trying to tell you.’
‘A harsh thing to say. Had Brother Guss no free will?’
‘I warned the boy,’ went on Brother Tola. He screwed up his eyes as he sought to recite another passage from memory.
‘ … My son, listen to me,
Attend to what I say.
Do not let your heart entice you into her ways,
Do not stray down her paths;
Many has she pierced and laid low,
And her victims are without number.
Her house is the entrance to Sheol,
Which leads down to the halls of death.’
‘You seem attracted by Proverbs, seven,’ remarked Fidelma mockingly. ‘Do you often quote it?’
‘I did my best to warn poor Brother Guss.’ Tola ignored her tone. ‘I praise the Hand of God which swept the harlot overboard.’
Fidelma did not say anything for a moment or two. It had become clear to her that Brother Tola was a man of strong religious conviction, to the point of extreme intolerance. She had known men to kill for religious intolerance before.
‘When did you learn that Sister Muirgel had been swept overboard?’ Fidelma queried.
‘At the same time that everyone else did,’ he replied. ‘This morning.’
‘When did you last see Sister Muirgel?’
‘When we came aboard. I think she was ill almost from the time we rowed out to the ship. No, that is not so. She was all right until after we came aboard. In the absence of Sister Canair, another one who was loose with her sexual favours, Muirgel took charge and allocated the cabins. We all went to these cabins and most of us remained below until after we had set sail. I never saw her afterwards and word came she was suffering from the motion sickness. Perhaps that was a warning of God’s punishment to come.’
‘Did you sleep during the storm?’
‘Last night? How would one sleep? It was not the best of experiences. I did manage to get some sleep after a while, though. A sleep of exhaustion.’
‘I presume Brother Guss was also disturbed?’
‘I suppose he was. But you can ask him.’
‘Were you awake when he left the cabin?’
Brother Tola frowned as he reflected on her question.
‘Did he leave the cabin?’ he countered.
‘So he says.’
‘Then it must be so. Ah, now I recall, he went out. But not for long.’
‘Do you know where he went?’
‘I presume he went to the privy. Where else would one vanish to on board this ship?’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment, knowing full well that Brother Tola must be aware that Guss had gone to see Sister Muirgel before midnight. Was Tola simply trying to protect Guss, or was there some other reason why he should attempt to cover up for the young man?
Inwardly she sighed, for she knew that she was not going to get anything further out of Brother Tola. She rose carefully to her feet.
‘One point I would like clarification on,’ she said. ‘You obviously have strong feelings on female religieuses who fall in love or have affairs. Harlots and prostitutes, I hear you call them. I have heard no condemnation of any male religieux who often seduce these same young women. Do you not consider your judgement flawed?’
Brother Tola was in no way abashed.
‘Was it not a woman who first succumbed to temptation, eating of the forbidden fruit and seducing man, for which we were all driven from the Garden of Eden? Women are responsible for all our suff
ering. Remember what Paul wrote to the Corinthians – “I am jealous for you, with a divine jealousy; for I betrothed you to Christ, thinking to present you as a chaste virgin to her true and only husband. But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, I am afraid that your thoughts may be corrupted and you may lose your single-hearted devotion to Christ”.’
‘I know the passage,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, it seems that the sex of the serpent was male. I will leave you to your contemplations then, Brother Tola. I thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. You have been most helpful.’
Brother Tola’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as Fidelma deliberately added her last sentence. She had some uncanny feeling that the last thing Brother Tola wanted to be was helpful in the matter of Sister Muirgel’s disappearance.
She was turning away from him when a further cry from the masthead above caused her to look up.
There it was, the mysterious vessel, clearly visible now! She had been so engrossed with Brother Tola that she had not noticed how close it had approached.
In the afternoon sunlight she could make out several details on the approaching ship: the low, square sail with some design on it, like a lightning flash; a bank of oars that rose and fell rhythmically; and the sun sparkling on objects on the side of the vessel that was turned towards her.
She hurried back to Murchad who was observing the vessel with a grim face.
‘I’d get yourself and the pilgrim below decks, lady,’ he greeted her as she came up.
‘What is it?’
‘A Saxon, by the cut of her. See the lightning flash design on her mainsail?’
Fidelma nodded briefly.
‘Pagans, no doubt,’ continued Murchad. ‘That’s the symbol of their god of thunder, Thunor.’
‘Do they mean us harm?’ Fidelma asked.
‘They mean us no good,’ replied Murchad grimly. ‘See the bank of shields above the oars, and the sun glinting on their weapons? I believe that they mean to take us as a prize and those they don’t kill will be sold as slaves.’
Fidelma felt her mouth suddenly go dry.
She knew that some of the Saxon kingdoms were still pagan in spite of the efforts of missionaries both from the Five Kingdoms of Éireann and from Rome. The South Saxons particularly were clinging to their ancient gods and goddesses even against missionaries from their fellow Saxons of the Eastern and Northern kingdoms. She swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel the sandy texture of her mouth.
‘Go below, lady,’ Murchad insisted again. ‘You’ll be safer there if they board us.’
‘I’ll stay and watch,’ she replied firmly. She could think of nothing worse than being in darkness below and not knowing what was taking place.
Murchad was about to protest but he saw the resolution around her mouth, the slightly jutting jaw.
‘Very well, but stay out of harm’s way and if that ship closes on us, get below without me telling you again. When they first attack, the bloodlust obscures their vision. Man or woman, it is all the same.’
He turned to Gurvan, without wasting his time in further pleading, and glanced up at the sail.
‘We’ll hold our course until I say.’
Gurvan acknowledged this with only a slight forward jerk of his head.
Fidelma backed to the far corner of the stern deck and watched the unfolding drama.
‘Deck there!’ came the cry from the masthead. ‘She’s beginning to close.’
The approaching ship was turning bow towards them. The bow was high and cleaving through the waters which seemed to spray out on either side of it. The oars were rising and dipping, the water sparkling like silver as it dripped from them. She could hear the beat of something that sounded like a drum. She knew, from her previous experience of travelling to Rome, that galleys sometimes employed a man to beat time to keep the rowers synchronised.
‘How many do you make it, Gurvan?’ Murchad was squinting forward. ‘Twenty-five oars each side?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Oars. They give the Saxons an advantage over us …’ Murchad seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘However, I think their use of oars might mean that they are not relying on sailing skill at close quarters. Maybe that’s where we have some advantage.’
He glanced up at the mainsail.
‘Tighten the starboard halyards,’ he roared. ‘Too much slack there.’
The tighter the sail, the more speed through the water, but with the wind blowing it might lay the ship over and expose her to any contrary sea. It would also put a strain on the mainmast.
‘Captain, if the wind moderates then we’ll be helpless without oars,’ Gurvan pointed out nervously.
At that moment, Fidelma found Wenbrit beside her.
‘Aren’t you going below, lady?’ he asked anxiously. ‘The others are all below and I’ve told them to stay there. It will be dangerous here.’
Fidelma shook her head swiftly.
‘I would die below not knowing what was happening.’
‘Let’s hope that none of us die,’ muttered the boy, staring at the oncoming ship. ‘Pray God may send a strong wind.’
‘Loose the port sheets! More slack to the port halyards!’ shouted Murchad.
Sailors jumped to do his bidding and the large square mainsail swung round at an angle.
Murchad had judged the wind’s change of direction with such accuracy that almost at once the sail filled and Fidelma could feel the speed of the vessel as it suddenly accelerated over the waves.
Wenbrit pointed excitedly at the Saxon ship as the distance between the two vessels began to increase. The sail on the other ship had fallen slack. Murchad was right: the captain of the other vessel had been relying on his oarsmen and neglected to watch the wind and his sail. For several valuable moments, the Saxon lay becalmed in the water.
Even against the sibilant hiss of the sea and the whispering sound of the wind in the sail and among the rigging, Fidelma caught a faint shouting drifting over the waters.
‘What was that?’ she wondered.
Wenbrit pulled a face.
‘They call on their god of war to help them. Hear the cry? “Woden! Woden!” I have heard such roars from Saxon throats before.’
Fidelma glanced at him with a silent question.
‘The land of my people has an eastern border with the country of the West Saxons,’ he explained. ‘They were always raiding into our territory, and continually cried to Woden for help. They believe that the greatest thing that can happen to them is to die, sword in hand, and with the name of their god Woden on their lips. Then it is said that this god will carry them into some great hall of heroes where they will dwell for ever.’
Wenbrit turned and spat across the railing into the sea to show his disgust.
‘Not all Saxons are like that,’ Fidelma protested as the image of Eadulf suddenly came into her mind. ‘Most of them are Christian now.’
‘Not those in that ship,’ Wenbrit corrected with a cynical expression.
The other vessel had eased into the wind now; its oars had been withdrawn and the sail was filling. Now Fidelma could see the great lightning flash on the sail. Wenbrit saw her narrowing her eyes as she focused on it.
‘They have another god called Thunor who wields a great hammer. When he strikes with it, thunder is caused and the sparks that fly are the lightning,’ he informed her solemnly. ‘They even have one weekday sacred to that god called Thunor’s day. It is the day we Christians called Dies Jovis.’
Fidelma refrained from telling the boy that the Latin name was merely that of another ancient pagan god, but this time of Rome. It was a pointless piece of pedantry now. But she had heard of Thunor from her long talks with Brother Eadulf concerning the ancient beliefs of his people. She found it hard to believe that there were still Saxons who believed in the old gods after two centuries of contact with the Christian Britons and the Irish missionaries who had converted the northern kingdoms from the
ir wild superstitions founded on war and bloodlust. She continued to keep watching the Saxon ship as it began to overhaul them once again.
‘He’s using the wind now, Captain,’ she heard Gurvan call. ‘She seems a fast ship and her captain knows how to sail her with the wind behind him.’
It was an understatement. Even Fidelma could see that the approaching vessel was faster in the water than The Barnacle Goose. After all, the attacking ship was built for war and not, like Murchad’s ship, for peaceful trade.
Murchad kept glancing at the sails and then at the oncoming craft. He swore. It was an oath such as Fidelma had never heard before; a full savoured seaman’s oath.
‘At this rate, she’ll be on us in no time. She’s smaller and faster, and what’s more she’s weathering on us.’
Fidelma wished she understood the terms. Wenbrit saw her frustration.
‘The direction of the wind, Sister,’ he explained. ‘Not only is the wind causing the Saxon to overhaul us but, because of the angle we are at in position to the wind, we are being pushed towards the Saxon’s course. In other words, we are drifting on to the Saxon’s course and cannot maintain any parallel distance from her.’
A feeling of apprehension went through her.
‘Is the Saxon going to overtake us then?’
Wenbrit gave her a reassuring grin.
‘Her captain made a mistake before; perhaps he will make another mistake. It will take a good seaman to outsail Murchad. He lives up to his name.’
And Fidelma recalled that the name Murchad meant ‘sea battler’.
At this moment, the captain was pacing up and down, thumping his balled fist into the palm of his other hand, his brows drawn together as if working out a problem.
‘Bring her into the wind!’ he shouted abruptly.
Gurvan looked startled for a second and then he and his companion leaved on the steering oar.
The Barnacle Goose swung around. Fidelma stumbled and grabbed for the rail. For a few moments the great ship seemed becalmed and then Murchad shouted another order to tack.
Act of Mercy Page 16
