‘I would say worse about her, if it were worth my while.’
‘Did you have any children?’
‘No!’ The word cracked out. ‘She claimed it was my fault and laid that as the grounds for the divorce, rather than admitting the truth of it, that she did not want to live with a man who could no longer provide luxury for her.’
‘She accused you of sterility?’
Fidelma knew well that sexual failings on the part of a husband provided grounds for divorce. A man who was claimed to be sterile was given as one of the grounds for divorce under the law. Fidelma hardly believed that Cian, so much the archetypical virile and lusty male, always intent to prove his masculinity, could be accused of that. Nevertheless, it seemed ironic to her that he, of all people, had been divorced for that reason.
‘I was not sterile. It was she who refused to have children,’ Cian protested with resentment in his voice.
‘But the court surely demanded and examined evidence in proof of what she accused you of?’
Fidelma knew that the law adopted a very severe line towards women who left their husbands without just cause, as it did towards men who left their wives without a legal reason. A woman who could not show evidence of just cause was proclaimed ‘an absconder from the law of marriage’ and lost her rights in society until she had made amends.
Cian made a noise, blowing air through his clenched teeth. His eyes dropped momentarily and in that gesture Fidelma knew that the courts would not have made their decision without that evidence. It sounded as if natural justice had caught up with Cian at long last. What was it her mentor, Brehon Morann, used to say? ‘Of injustice and justice, the guilty find justice the harder to bear.’
‘Anyway,’ Cian went on, shaking himself as if to rid himself of past ghosts, ‘I am glad the Fates have thrown us together again, Fidelma.’
She pursed her lips cynically.
‘Why would that be, Cian? Do you want to attempt to make amends for the anguish you put a naive young girl through?’
He broke into that old smile of charm that she had come to resent so deeply.
‘Anguish? You know that I was always attracted to you and I admired you, Fidelma. Let’s forget the past. I believed that I was doing the best for you. We have a long voyage ahead and …’
Fidelma felt a sudden icy tingle at his attempt to disarm her. She took a step backwards.
‘Enough has been said between us, Cian,’ she responded coldly.
She made to push by him but he caught her arm with his left hand. She was surprised at the strength of his grip.
‘Come, Fidelma,’ he said urgently. ‘I know that you still care for me, otherwise you would not respond with such passion. I can see your feeling in your eyes …’
He made an attempt to draw her towards him with his one good arm. Balancing on one foot, she kicked him sharply in the shins. He winced and let go with a curse.
Her features were filled with loathing.
‘You are pathetic, Cian. I could report your action to the captain of this vessel, but instead I will give you the chance to remain out of my way for the rest of the time we are forced to spend on this ship. Take your miserable little existence from my sight.’
Without waiting for him to do as she instructed, she pushed roughly by him in search of Wenbrit. There was no one in the short corridor between the stern cabins. She paused outside the one that had been used by Sister Muirgel, for she had noticed that the door was slightly ajar. There was a sound of movement from beyond. She pushed the door open a fraction and called softly into the darkness.
‘Wenbrit? Are you in here?’
There was another movement in the shadows.
‘Is that you?’ hissed Fidelma.
There was a scraping noise and a flickering light illuminated the cabin. Wenbrit had adjusted the wick of a lantern to light the scene. Fidelma heaved a sigh of relief and entered the cabin, closing the door behind her.
‘What are you doing in the dark?’ she demanded.
‘Waiting for you.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘At breakfast, I heard them speaking of you as one who has a reputation for solving mysteries. Is it really true that you are a dalaigh of the law courts of your country?’
‘It is true.’
‘There is a mystery here that needs a solution, lady.’ The boy’s voice was full of suppressed excitement and something else — a curious tension, almost fear.
‘You’d better explain to me what this is all about, Wenbrit.’
‘Well, it is about the Sister who used this cabin — Sister Muirgel.’
‘Go on.’
‘She was sick, as you know.’
Fidelma waited patiently.
‘They say that she went up on deck in the storm and fell overboard.’
‘It sounds as though you do not believe that, Wenbrit,’ Fidelma observed, judging the tone of his voice.
Wenbrit suddenly reached forward and, from under the nearby bunk, he pulled out a dark robe.
‘I was sent down to tidy the cabin after breakfast and to gather her things. This was her robe.’
Fidelma glanced at it.
‘I don’t understand.’
Wenbrit grasped her hand and pressed it against the robe. It was moist.
‘Look closely at your hand, Sister. You will find that there is blood on it.’
Fidelma held out her fingers to the flickering light; she could just see a dark stain on her fingertips.
She stared at Wenbrit for a moment. Then she took the robe and held it up; there was a jagged tear in the front of it.
‘Where did you find this robe?’
‘Hidden under the bunk here.’
‘If this is blood …’ Fidelma paused thoughtfully, looking at the boy. Now she could understand the combination of fear and excitement on his face.
‘I am saying that Sister Muirgel was ill. Before I turned in last night, I came to see her, to find out if there was anything she wanted. She was still poorly and told me to leave her alone.’
‘And you did so?’
‘Of course. I went to my bunk. But something worried me.’
‘Such as?’
‘I think that Sister Muirgel was frightened.’
‘What, you mean frightened of the storm?’
‘No not the storm. You see, when I went to find out if she needed anything, she had her cabin door locked. I had to call out and reassure her who I was before she would open it for me.’
Fidelma turned to the door-latch.
‘I did not think these doors could be secured,’ she said.
The boy took the lantern and raised it so that she could see.
‘Look at the scratchmarks. All it needs is a piece of wood, even the end of one of those crucifixes that you religieux wear, lodged here so that the latch cannot be raised, and there you have a lock.’
Fidelma stood back.
‘And Sister Muirgel had secured her door in this manner?’
‘She had. She was ill and she was frightened. It is impossible that she would have gone wandering out on deck in such a terrible storm in that state.’
‘Did you see her afterwards?’
‘No. I went to my bunk and fell asleep. I never stirred again until dawn.’
‘You were not on deck during the storm?’
‘It was not my duty to be, unless the captain specifically sent for me.’
‘So you did not see any more of Sister Muirgel after you left her?’
‘No. I was awakened by one of the religieux searching the ship just after dawn. I heard him talking to the others, saying that Sister Muirgel was missing. It was the man with whom you were speaking just now. Then I heard Murchad saying that if she was not on the ship she must have gone over the side during the night. The captain thought it was the only possible explanation.’
‘So, Wenbrit,’ Fidelma asked reflectively, ‘what do you make of it? Do you have another explanation?’
‘I say that Sister Muirgel was in no condition to go up on deck, especially not with the sea running as it was during the night.’
‘Desperation makes people do desperate things,’ observed Fidelma.