The former warrior flushed, seemingly aware of her inquisitive gaze, and turned to the elderly, austere Brother.
‘Let Brother Tola proclaim the gratias,’ he muttered stiffly, raising his eyes to challenge Fidelma. ‘I have little to be thankful for,’ he added in a soft whisper meant for her ears only. She did not bother to respond. Murchad, hearing the remark, raised his bushy brows but said nothing.
Brother Tola clasped his hands before him and intoned in a loud baritone: ‘Benedictus sit Deus in Donis Suis.’
They responded automatically: ‘Et sanctus in omnis operibus Suis.’
While the meal was being eaten, Murchad began to explain, as he had previously done to Fidelma, his estimation of the length of their voyage.
‘It is to be hoped that we will be graced with fair weather to the port at which you will disembark. The port is not far from the Holy Shrine to which you are bound. It is a journey of just a few miles inland.’
There was a murmur of excitement among the pilgrims. One of thetwo young Brothers, whom Fidelma had seen up on the main deck earlier, a youth she learnt was called Brother Dathal, leant forward, his face as animated as it had been when he had been speaking to his companion on deck.
‘Is the shrine near to the spot where Bregon built his great tower?’
Clearly Brother Dathal was a student of the ancient legends of the Gael because, according to the old bards, the ancestors of the people of Eireann had once lived in Iberia and many centuries ago had spied the country from a great tower, built by their leader Bregon. It was the nephew of Bregon, Golamh, known also as Mike Easpain, who had led his people in the great invasion which secured for them the Five Kingdoms.
Murchad smiled broadly. He had heard the question many times before from other pilgrims.
‘So legend has it,’ he replied in good humour. ‘However, I must warn you that you will find no sign of such a massive construction, apart from a great Roman lighthouse which is called the Tower of Hercules, not of Bregon. Bregon’s Tower must have been a very, very high tower indeed, for a man to be able to see the coast of Eireann from Iberia.’ He paused but no one seemed to appreciate his humour. His voice became serious. ‘Now, since we have a moment together, I need to say a few things to all of you which you must pass on to your fellows who have not been able to join us in this first meal. There are rules which you must observe while on this ship.’
He hesitated before proceeding.
‘I have told you that our voyage will take the best part of a week. During that time you may use the main deck as much as you like. Try not to get in the way of my crew while they perform their duties, for your lives depend on the efficient running of this ship and sailing these waters is not an easy task.’
‘I have heard stories of great sea monsters.’
It was the youthful Sister Gorman. Fidelma examined her with surreptitious interest, for she felt it would be best to start becoming acquainted with her fellow passengers, to the extent that they would be confined together in the ship for several days. Gorman was, indeed, young; no more than eighteen. She spoke in a nervous, breathless tone, giving the impression of a naive child. In fact, Fidelma had the image of an eager young puppy wishing to please its master. She had one odd feature, in that her eyes seemed never still, but flickering as if in a state of permanent anxiety. Fidelma found herself wondering if she had ever been that young. Eighteen. It suddenly reminded her that shehad been eighteen when she had met Cian. She dismissed the thought immediately.
‘Shall we be seeing sea monsters?’ the girl was asking. ‘Will we be in any danger?’
Murchad laughed, but not unkindly.
‘There is no danger from sea monsters where we voyage,’ he assured her. ‘You may observe sea creatures which you have not encountered before, but they pose no threat. Our main danger lies only in inclement weather. Now, if we do encounter storms, it is best, unless I instruct you otherwise, to remain below and make sure that all lamps and candles are extinguished …’
‘But how can we see down here in the dark without lamps?’ wailed Sister Crella.
‘All lamps and candles must be extinguished,’ insisted Murchad with an emphasis which was his only acknowledgment of her question. ‘We do not want to contend with fire on shipboard as well as a storm. Lamps must be extinguished and everything battened down.’
‘I do not understand.’ The ascetic Brother Tola appeared confused at the term.
‘Anything movable, liable to cause damage in the shifting of the vessel, should be securely tied or fastened,’ explained the captain patiently. ‘In such circumstances, young Wenbrit will be on hand to advise you and ensure that there is nothing you lack.’
‘How likely is it that we will encounter a storm?’ asked the tall, elderly religieuse, Sister Ainder.
‘A fifty-fifty chance,’ admitted Murchad. ‘But don’t worry. I have never lost a pilgrim ship yet, nor even a single pilgrim in a storm.’
There were polite but rather strained smiles among those gathered at the table. Murchad was obviously a good judge of character, for Fidelma noticed that some of her companions were in need of further reassurance and Murchad shared that insight.
‘I will be honest with you,’ he confided. ‘This month is one of frequent storms and rain which can last for many weeks. But why have I chosen to set sail on this particular day? Is it by chance that I insisted we take this morning’s tide? Does anyone know the reason?’
The party gazed at one another and there was some shaking of heads.
‘Being religious people, you all ought to know what this day is,’ the captain chided them good-naturedly. He waited for an anser. They looked bewildered. Fidelma thought she should answer for them.
‘Are you talking about the feast day of the Blessed Luke, Beloved Luke the Physician?’
Murchad glanced approvingly at her knowledge.
‘Exactly so. The feast day of Luke. Have none of you heard of “St Luke’s Little Summer”?’
There was a bewildered shaking of heads.
‘We sailors have noticed that there is usually a fine period in the middle of this month which occurs on the feast day of St Luke — a dry period with lots of sunshine. That’s why, if we are going to sail during this month, we usually choose to sail at that time.’
‘Can you guarantee this fine weather for the voyage?’ demanded Sister Ainder.
‘I am afraid that nothing can be guaranteed once you set sail on the sea, no matter the time nor the place, whether at high summer or midwinter. I am merely saying that out of the several voyages that I have made at this time of year, only one has failed to be pleasant and calm.’
Murchad paused and, as there were no comments, he continued.
‘There is, of course, one other matter that I am sure you have all been told about before you booked passage. The seas are dangerous these days and the waters in which we will be journeying are not excluded from such danger. I no longer refer to risk from the elements — from the tides, winds and storms. I refer to the risk from our fellow men — from pirates and sea-raiders, who attack and rob ships, seize their occupants and sell them into slavery.’
A hush descended on the company.
Fidelma, who had travelled to Rome, knew some of the dangers of which Murchad spoke. She had heard many stories of raiders who sailed against the western ports of Italy from the Balearic Islands, and of the spread of the Corsairs from the Arabian world through the Mediterranean — the great middle sea of the world.
‘If we are attacked, what defence shall we have?’ asked Cian quietly.
Murchad smiled thinly. ‘We are not a warship, Brother Cian. Our defence will lie in our seamanship and the luck of the de-’ He suddenly recalled that he was addressing a group of religieux. ‘And the protection of the hand of God.’