‘Perhaps you are unaware of the ancient proverb,’ she tried to reassure the girl. ‘A thousand curses never tore a shirt.’
The girl glanced up at her.
‘I have cursed Sister Muirgel and caused her death. Now I must curse myself.’
She began to rock back and forth, arms wrapped around her shoulders, crooning softly.
‘Perish the day when I was born
And the night which said, “A child is conceived”!
May that day turn to darkness; may God above not look for it,
Nor the light of dawn shine on it.
May blackness sully it, and murk and gloom,
Cloud smother that day, swift darkness eclipse its sun.
Blind darkness swallow up that night:
Count it not among the days of the year,
Reckon it not in the cycle of the months.
That night, may it be barren for ever,
No cry of joy be heard in it.
Cursed be it …’
Fidelma left the irrational young girl chanting to herself and walked away with a slight feeling of disgust. Who, among the unlikely female religieuses, should she turn to, and ask to take Sister Gorman in hand? The young girl needed some counsel, and Fidelma herself could not take on such a responsibility now. And yet there seemed no one else. Sister Ainder was not sympathetic enough and Crella was too young herself. Fidelma would have to deal with the matter later. There was still Dathal, Adamrae, Bairne and Tola left to question.
Fidelma suddenly realised that there was one member of the pilgrim group whom she had not yet seen at all. His name was Brother Guss. He had not stirred from his cabin since he had come on board, norhad he emerged even when Murchad ordered everyone on deck during the dangerous passage through the rocks. He was sharing a cabin with Brother Tola. She had seen Brother Tola sitting by a water-butt at the main mast, reading, and felt that now might be a good opportunity to tackle this elusive religieux.
She knocked at the cabin door and waited.
There was the sound of someone moving behind the door and then a long pause. She knocked again. A voice called faintly from within and she entered, blinking in the darkness of the cabin and waiting until her eyes adjusted sufficiently to see. The shadowy figure of a man was seated on one of the bunks.
‘Brother Guss, I presume?’
She saw the dark head of the religieux turn in her direction as she paused on the threshold.
‘I am Guss,’ a tremulous voice replied.
‘May we have some light in here?’ suggested Fidelma and, without waiting for an answer, she took the lantern which was hanging outside in the passage, and set it in the cabin.
The light revealed the religieux to be young. She noticed several things about him, from his reddish tousled hair to the splash of freckles on his pale skin, to his frightened, large blue eyes, and his tall but wiry frame. He dropped his eyes like a guilty child as she met his gaze.
‘We have not seen you on deck or at mealtimes,’ she opened, seating herself on the bunk beside him. ‘Are you still unwell?’
Brother Guss regarded her with suspicion. ‘I have been sick — the sea motion, you understand. Who are you?’
‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’
‘Brother Tola mentioned you. I have been ill,’ he added, repeating himself.
‘So I understand. But you are feeling better now?’
He did not reply.
‘The sea is much calmer now and it is unwise to confine yourself to a cabin for so long a period. You need to be on deck getting some fresh air. In fact, I did not see you on deck when everyone was ordered there.’
‘I did not realise that the order applied to me.’
‘Did you not know of the dangers?’
The young man did not reply. Instead he continued to regard her with distrust.
‘Guss is an unusual name,’ Fidelma began again. ‘It is a very old name, is it not?’ The best way to get him to drop his defensive attitude towards her was to encourage him to speak.
The young man inclined his head slightly.
‘It means, as I recall, vigour or fierceness. I suppose people call you Gusan?’ she added, using the diminutive. A comment on his youthfulness might provoke him.
Indeed, this caused a scowl to cross the young man’s face.
‘I am called Guss,’ he replied in annoyance.
‘And you are from the Abbey of Moville?’
‘I am a student at the Abbey,’ confirmed the youth. He was scarcely more than twenty years old.
‘What are you studying?’
‘I am studying the star-lore under the Venerable Cummian, and helping keep the records of the phenomena of the skies.’ There was a note of pride in the boy’s voice in spite of his woebegone attitude.
‘Cummian? Is he still alive then?’ Fidelma said with genuine wonder.
The youth frowned.
‘Do you know the Venerable Cummian?’
‘I know of his reputation. He studied under the great Abbot of Bangor, Mo Sinu maccu Min, and has written many works on astronomical computus. But he must be very old. You say that you are his student?’
‘One of them,’ admitted Guss proudly. ‘But I have already obtained to the degree of the fifth order of wisdom.’
‘Excellent. It is good to know that there is someone who can recognise the map of the heavens and chart our way safely home in the middle of these tempestuous seas.’
Thus Fidelma encouraged him, gently leading the youth on and trying to break down his initial hostility to her intrusion. She noticed that his right hand kept going to his left arm to massage it. There was a dark stain on the sleeve.
‘You seem to have hurt your arm,’ she commented sympathetically. ‘Have you cut it? Shall I examine it for you?’
He flushed and a scowl spread over his features again. ‘It is nothing. I scratched it, that is all.’ Then he relapsed into silence.
Fidelma pressed on. ‘What made you decide to come on this pilgrimage, Brother Guss?’
‘Cummian.’
‘I don’t understand. Cummian told you to come on this voyage?’
‘Cummian had been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrine of St James and advised me that I should also take the voyage for my own education.’
‘To see foreign worlds?’ hazarded Fidelma.
The young man shook his head patronisingly.
‘No; to see the stars.’
Fidelma thought for a moment before suddenly understanding what he meant.
‘The Holy Shrine of St James at the Field of Stars?’
‘Cummian says that when you stand at the Holy Shrine you can look up into a clear night sky and trace the Way of the White Cow, curving directly to the kingdoms of Eireann. It is said that our ancestors over a thousand years ago followed the Way of the White Cow and thus they came to the shores of the lands in which they settled.’ For a moment, the youth’s tone rose in enthusiasm.
Fidelma knew that the Way of the White Cow was described by many names; in Latin it was called the Circulus Lacteus, the Milky Way.
‘That is why the spot is called the Field of the Stars because the stars are laid out so clearly,’ added the youth.
‘So Cummian suggested you come on this pilgrimage?’
‘When Sister Canair announced that she was organising the pilgrimage, Cummian arranged for me to accompany her.’
‘You knew Sister Canair, of course?’
He shook his head.
‘Not before the Venerable Cummian introduced me. We students of star lore did not mix with other sections of the community.’
‘So you knew none of the party on this pilgrimage?’
Brother Guss frowned.
‘I did not know Brother Cian, Dathal nor Adamrae, nor even Brother Tola. They were all from Bangor. I knew some of the others by sight.’