Brother Tola scowled and turned to Cian.
‘What were you saying about this woman?’
‘Fidelma of Cashel is an advocate of the law courts; one with a reputation that has extended to Tara and the court of the High King.’
‘Is that true?’ demanded Tola, not convinced.
‘That is true,’ confirmed Murchad, intervening. ‘She is also the sister of the King of Muman.’
There was a crimson splash on Tola’s cheeks and he lowered his head to hide his confusion by examining the table before him.
Fidelma would have preferred that her rank had been left out of the matter. She glanced uncomfortably at them.
‘All I am saying is that under the Muirbretha, the sea-laws, Murchad as captain of this vessel stands in the same position as a king. In fact, he has more power for, as well as a king, he also has the authority of a Chief Brehon. In other words, he is the ruler of everyone on this vessel. Everyone. I think I have explained the position clearly. Or do you have another question, Brother Tola?’
The tall religieux glanced up in irritation at her.
‘No other question,’ he replied frostily.
Fidelma turned to Murchad.
‘You may be assured that your rules will be strictly obeyed and that everyone here is aware that disobedience invokes punishment.’
Murchad smiled in nervous appreciation.
‘My purpose is only to safeguard your lives. This … accident with Sister Muirgel should never have happened.’
He was about to leave them when the youthful Sister Gorman stayed him.
‘Can we … may we at least hold a small service for the repose of Sister Muirgel’s soul, Captain?’
Murchad looked uncomfortable for a moment.
‘It is our Christian duty to do so,’ pressed Sister Ainder, coming to her support.
‘Of course,’ muttered Murchad. ‘You may hold your service at midday when I hope the mist will have cleared.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
Murchad left them as Wenbrit began to pass round the mead and water. The meal was taken in total silence and Fidelma was thankful to escape back onto the deck. The mist was still thick and swirling and it had not cleared by midday.
The service was, indeed, simple. Everyone gathered on the main deck apart from Gurvan and another sailor who controlled the steering oar, plus a lookout perched out of sight atop the mist-shrouded mainmast, whose duty it was to see when there might be a clearing of the skies. It had been some time ago when Murchad had lowered his sails and thrown out sea anchors in case the ship drifted into danger. But Fidelma could feel that the vessel was drifting despite the anchors and Murchad’s anxious eyes were darting around, attuned for trouble.
It was a strange group that stood there, surrounded by the wispy mist, like wraiths in an Otherworld setting. Surprisingly, Brother Tola led the prayers for the repose of the soul of Sister Muirgel. His voice echoed as if he were speaking in a sepulchre. He ended his prayer and then, without preamble, began to intone lines which Fidelma recognised from the Book of Jeremiah. Lines she found a strange choice:
‘We have left our lands, our houses have been pulled down,
Listen, you women, to the words of the Lord,
That your ears may catch what He says.
Teach your daughters the lament,
Let them teach one another this dirge;
Death has climbed in through our windows,
It has entered our palaces,
It sweeps off the children in the open air …’
Fidelma gazed at the forbidding monk in some bewilderment, for she thought his harsh cadences were not suited to a service for the repose of a soul. She glanced round at her fellow mourners and found, even through the swirling mist, that Sister Gorman’s eyes were bright and that she was nodding in time to the rhythm of the recitation. Next to her, Cian stood looking absolutely bored. The others appeared to be standing impassively, perhaps mesmerised by the tenor of Brother Tola’s religious declamations.
‘The corpses of men shall fall and lie like dung in the fields, Like swathes behind the reaper …’
Brother Bairne suddenly cleared his throat noisily. It was meant to interrupt and it did.
‘I, too, would offer a word from the Holy Book for the soul of our departed sister,’ he announced, as Brother Tola fell silent. ‘I believe I knew her just as well as everyone else who is gathered here.’
No one seemed to contradict him.
He began to recite and Fidelma realised that he was doing so with raised eyes and a grim expression on his face as if he were addressing the words at someone. He was focusing his gaze across the gathered circle. From her position, and with the mist still thick, she could not quite tell who he was looking at. Was it Sister Crella, standing with downcast eyes; or was it Cian, gazing upward in his boredom? And there was the naive young Sister Gorman by Cian’s side. It was difficult to follow the line of his eyes.
‘I will not punish your daughters for playing the wanton
Nor your sons’ brides for their adultery,
Because your men resort to wanton women
And sacrifice with temple prostitutes.
A people without understanding comes to grief …’
Sister Crella raised her head abruptly.
‘What have these words to do with Sister Muirgel?’ she demanded threateningly. ‘You did not know her at all! You were just jealous!’ She turned to Sister Ainder, who was looking shocked at the interruption. ‘Make an end of this farce. Proclaim a blessing and let’s have done.’
Already, in embarrassment, those members of the crew who had attended were drifting quietly away. Fidelma wondered what hidden passions were being enacted in this little memorial.
Sister Ainder, flushing, intoned a quick blessing and the group of religieux broke up. Only Brother Bairne stood with his head bowed at the spot as if in silent prayer.
When Fidelma turned away she encountered Murchad. He was looking perplexed.
‘A strange group of religieux, lady,’ he muttered.
Fidelma felt inclined to agree.
‘What was that last piece about temple prostitutes?’ went on Murchad. ‘Was it truly from the Christian Holy Book?’
‘Hosea,’ affirmed Fidelma. She pulled a doleful face. ‘I think Brother Bairne was quoting from the verses of that fourth chapter.
‘The more priests there are, the more they sin against me;
Their dignity I will turn into dishonour.
They feed on the sin of my people
And batten on their iniquity,
But people and priest shall be treated alike.’
Murchad gazed at her in admiration.
‘I have often felt like saying that about some of the religieux I have met.’
‘It seems that God said it first, Captain,’ she rejoined solemnly.
‘How do you remember such things, lady?’
‘How do you remember how to sail this ship, knowing the winds and tides and the signs that keep The Barnacle Goose from danger? There is no secret to it, Murchad. We all have a memory and can memorise things. The more important thing is how we act on that which we know.’
She turned down the companionway back to the mess deck in search of some water. At the doorway, she found Wenbrit. He had not come up on deck during the service but had excused himself on the grounds of his duties. Now she noticed for the first time how pale his face was, and how strained he looked. He seemed relieved to see her.