‘I was too scared.’
‘Imagine how she felt, sick as she was.’
‘I was feeling ill myself,’ Crella protested. ‘Are you saying that I should have risen from my bunk and tried to go to her cabin? That I might have been able to have prevented her going on deck, stopped her from being washed overboard?’ Her voice rose querulously.
‘I would not suggest that. And I think what you are saying to me is that you suspected that Muirgel was not so ill as she claimed and, indeed, was expecting someone.’
Crella’s chin rose as if she were about to utter a denial. Then she let her head drop. She did not say anything.
‘Do you know who Muirgel’s boyfriends were? Are you sure it was not Brother Bairne?’
‘Bairne?’ Crella replied with an awkward laugh. ‘I told you that he would be the last person that Muirgel would be interested in. There was …’ She hesitated.
‘Yes?’ Fidelma encouraged.
‘Well, Brother Cian is a friend of yours …’
It was Fidelma’s turn to flush.
‘He is not! I knew him ten years ago at Tara and have not seen him since, until I set foot on this ship. Anyway, what about Cian?’
‘Cian had a reputation at Moville. There is hardly a young female there who has not been persuaded to share his bed, from silly young things like Gorman to more mature women such as my cousin. But I had an impression that Muirgel wanted to end her relationship with Cian even before we left the Abbey. She started to become secretive, which was unusual.’
The revelation of Cian’s shortcomings did not surprise Fidelma.
‘Was there anyone Muirgel was afraid of?’ she asked.
Sister Crella shook her head and then glanced curiously at Fidelma.
‘What have such questions to do with enquiring as to how Muirgel came to be washed overboard? I don’t understand.’
Fidelma knew that she had overstepped the mark and begun to create suspicion in the young woman’s mind. She hurriedly changed the direction of her questions.
‘I was just seeking some background, that is all. So far as you are concerned, you remained in your cabin until the next morning.’
‘I was going to see her the next morning but just after dawn Brother Cian came into our cabin saying that he was making a check on everyone. That arrogant-’ Crella caught herself. ‘He hasnow taken upon himself the leadership of our party and thinks it is up to him to shepherd us like his own lost sheep.’
Fidelma leaned forward slightly.
‘So Cian came in, making a check? And this was just about dawn. What then?’
‘He had not been gone long when he came back and told me that Muirgel was not in her cabin and that he was going to raise the alarm with the captain.’
‘What sort of character was Muirgel?’
‘Is that relevant?’
‘I just want to get an idea of what made her leave her cabin, being so ill, and go up on deck.’
‘Panic, I suppose.’ Crella replied. ‘I certainly thought the ship was going to founder at times, the way it was tossed hither and thither. Not even in our journeys to Iona have the seas been so rough.’
‘How many times did you cross the strait to Iona?’
‘Muirgel and I took messages from the Abbot of Moville to Iona several times.’
‘And she was never seasick then? It is a storm-tossed strait, isn’t it? I have made the journey only once but I could understand if people found it fearful, for the seas can be frightening.’
‘I can’t recall her ever being sick.’
‘Yet last night you think she panicked and ran up on deck in the middle of a storm?’
‘It is the only conclusion one can come to. Maybe she simply wanted to get some air for the cabin was stifling and odorous.’
Fidelma paused for a moment and then added softly: ‘You did not say what sort of character Muirgel was.’
Crella’s reply was immediate and enthusiastic.
‘Decisive. Possessed of a quick wit. She knew what she wanted. Maybe that is why I followed her lead. She was the one who had all the ideas.’
‘I see.’ Fidelma rose abruptly. ‘You have been very helpful, Crella. Oh, one thing more — when did Cian decide to join your party?’
Crella made a gesture of annoyance. ‘Him? Oh, he joined as soon as Sister Canair announced her plan to lead a party to the Holy Shrine.’
‘Ah! So it was Canair’s idea to go to the Shrine of St James?’
‘She was to be our leader. Cian was from Bangor, although he often came to Moville. We knew him well. He served the Abbot of Bangor as his messenger to Moville. When Canair announced the pilgrimage, he attached himself to our party from the first.’
There was a sudden shouting from the deck above and Wenbrit came scampering through.
‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma, as he rushed past.
‘The mist is clearing,’ cried the boy, ‘but I think there is trouble.’
Chapter Ten
Fidelma found that several of her fellow travellers were gathered on deck to discover what all the excitement was about, generated by the crew of The Barnacle Goose. It was close to midday and the sun had dispelled most of the sea mist, sending it whirling away like smoke from a fire.
As Fidelma had come onto the main deck, there had been another cry from the masthead — a shout filled with alarm. She turned to the stern deck where Murchad, standing by his helmsmen, was looking to port and followed his gaze. Through the rapidly disappearing mist she saw the swell breaking white over a group of rocks on which cormorants stood like glowering sentinels. It was then that Fidelma realised that the sea all around was speckled with such reefs and protruding islets.
Gurvan, the mate, came hurrying along the deck to join the captain.
‘What is this place?’ Fidelma called.
‘Sylinancim,’ grunted the Breton. He did not look happy. ‘The storm has pushed us too far east and south.’
So Murchad had been right, she thought, when he had told her that the storm had driven them eastward off their course.
Neither Gurvan nor Murchad objected when she followed the Breton onto the stern deck to stand near the grim-faced captain.
‘I did not think that the Sylinancim Islands were as gaunt and harsh as this,’ she said, gazing a little in awe on the jagged rocks which surrounded them.
‘The main islands are inhabited and have gentle landing places,’ replied Gurvan. ‘We would usually avoid this area by standing out to westward. I think we’ve missed the Broad Sound, which would be a safe channel, and now the winds and tide are driving us through Crebawethan Neck.’
These latter sentences were addressed to Murchad, who nodded in agreement of his mate’s assessment. Fidelma knew nothing of these places. However, she picked up the anxious note in the Breton’s usually phlegmatic voice.
‘Is that a bad place?’ she asked.
‘It is certainly not a good place to be,’ Gurvan replied. ‘If we can get through the Neck we might be able to slip south of the Retarrier Ledges — more rocks. Once clear of them we could make a straight run to the Island of Ushant. We’ll be a full day off our course, providing …’ He suddenly realised that he was speaking to a passenger and glanced guiltily at his companion. Murchad was too preoccupied to notice.
‘Providing we manage to get through this Crebawethan Neck?’ Fidelma finished for him.
‘Exactly so, lady.’
The captain had been watching the wind-filled sail with a careful eye and now signalled one of the men on the steering oar to exchange his position with Murchad himself. Some of the sailors had crowded in the bows ready to cry out warnings in case the ship came too close to the rocks.
‘Secure the bowline!’ Murchad cried.
Two of the hands rushed to the weather side of the ship and hauled on a rope which was attached to the square sail. They pulled on it, swinging the sail more to the starboard side so that the wind strained against the great leather expanse.