‘Muirgel did not want to, for the reason I have told you. Muirgel and Crella argued about me.’
‘Crella told me that she had promised to share her cabin with Canair.’
‘It is the first I’ve heard of that.’ Brother Guss was dismissive of the idea. ‘Besides, Sister Canair was not there.’
‘So Sister Muirgel was not immediately so sick as to neglect that duty as the new leader of your party then?’
‘She was aware of her responsibilities,’ replied Guss. ‘But she did not realise that you were coming on board. She arranged it so that she could have a cabin on her own. We planned later …’ He shuddered and raised his hands to his face.
‘It must have been an irritation when I came into her cabin, an unannounced passenger,’ Fidelma suggested.
‘It was,’ agreed Guss.
‘How do you know that?’ Fidelma asked quickly.
Guss was unabashed.
‘I went to see her,’ he said.
‘Yet she had become so unwell that she said she didn’t want to see anyone.’
‘She wanted to see me.’
‘Very well. When was the last time that you saw her?’
‘I suppose it was sometime after midnight. The storm was really bad by then.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I took her some food and drink and we talked a while. That is all. Oh, at one stage we heard someone outside the cabin. We heard their voice in spite of the terrible storm, but I don’t think they were speaking to anyone. It sounded more like someone reciting loudly against the wind and the roar of the sea.’
‘Who was it?’
‘I do not know. It was a woman’s voice. Whoever it was, they did not come in nor did they knock. They just stood outside muttering. When the muttering stopped, I went to the door and looked out. They had vanished, though I think I heard a cabin door close.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘Muirgel said that she wanted to rest that night and told me to go back to my cabin. We would find more opportunities later. I did so. Then, in the morning, Cian came with the news that she had been lost overboard. I did not believe it.’
‘So the shock of it is why you have remained in your cabin ever since?’
Brother Guss shrugged.
‘I could not face the others, especially Crella.’
Fidelma rose and went to the cabin door.
‘Thank you, Brother Guss. You have been most helpful.’
The youth looked up at her.
‘Sister Muirgel was not swept overboard,’ he said fiercely.
Fidelma did not reply. Silently, however, she agreed completely. But there was one thing troubling her. For someone who had just lost the woman they claimed to have loved, Brother Guss did not seem to be displaying any of the signs of grief one would normally expect at such a time.
Chapter Twelve
It was late afternoon. The skies had cleared and the sun, though not warm, was bathing the sea with dazzling pinpricks of dancing lights. Fidelma was standing, leaning against the rail by the bow reflecting on what she had been told so far about the strange disappearance of Sister Muirgel. A curious picture was emerging. Some of the pilgrims seemed to have strong opinions about Sister Muirgel. Brother Guss claimed to have been in love with her and yet, strangely, he was not overly upset at her death. Guss was undoubtedly lying about something — but what? About his relationship with Muirgel? Or was it something else?
A cry from the masthead interrupted her thoughts. There seemed some unusual activity at the stern of the ship where Murchad was standing in his usual position by the steering oar. Fidelma made her way along the main deck and found the captain and some of his men looking intently towards the north-east. She followed their collective gaze but could discern nothing except sparkling grey seas.
‘What is it? she asked Murchad. ‘Is something wrong?’
The captain appeared preoccupied. ‘The masthead lookout has sighted a ship,’ he replied.
‘I can’t see anything.’ Fidelma peared again in the direction on which they were all intent.
‘It is hull down to the north-east but under full sail.’
Fidelma was unsure what these nautical terms meant and said so.
‘She is hidden from us by the sea,’ explained Murchad. ‘Usually on a day like this, we can see three to four miles to the horizon. Whoever she is, she is just below our range of vision but her sail can be sighted from the masthead because of its higher elevation.’
‘Is it a matter of concern?’ Fidelma wondered.
‘Until I know who she is, a strange ship is always a matter of concern,’ Murchad replied.
Gurvan, who was at the steering oar with another sailor whose name Fidelma now knew as Drogan, called across to Murchad.
‘She’ll have the wind behind her whoever she is, Captain. She should be in full sight within another hour.’
Murchad’s response was thoughtful.
‘We ought to remain to windward of her until we know who she is. Who has the sharpest eyes?’
‘Hoel, Captain.’
Murchad turned and bellowed towards the well of the ship.
‘Hoel!’
A thickset man with long, muscular forearms came forward in the rolling gait Fidelma had long associated with sailors.
‘Up to the masthead, Hoel, and keep us informed on the progress of that ship.’
The man acknowledged the order and then sprang into the rigging with an agility that Fidelma would not have deemed possible. Within a few seconds he had swarmed up the ropes and replaced the man at the masthead who had first sighted the ship.
Fidelma could sense the curious tension on the ship.
‘Surely the ocean is not so large as to find the sight of another ship so alarming?’ she asked.
The captain smiled tautly.
‘As I said, until you know the identity of the other ship, you must be cautious. Remember what I warned of the other day? These northern waters are full of Saxon slave ships; if not Saxons then they are Franks or even Goths. They are all frequent raiders in these waters.’
Fidelma stared towards the horizon which hid the ship that seemed to hold such menace.
‘You think that it is a pirate ship?’
Murchad shrugged.
‘It is better to be cautious than credulous. It will not be for an hour or so that we shall know enough to answer the question.’
Fidelma was disappointed.
It seemed to her that seamanship was nothing but long, boring periods of inactivity, interspersed by frenetic outbursts of action and turmoil. It was a curious way of life. As much as she was fascinated by the sea, she decided that she preferred a life on land. There was nothing to do now about this particular problem but wait, in which case she could best occupy the time continuing her quest for information about Sister Muirgel.
She saw the tall, austere-looking Brother Tola sitting on the deck with his back against one of the water butts by the main mast. He was reading a small satchel book of the kind most pilgrims carried these days and appeared oblivious to the tensions from the sailors.She walked over to him. As her shadow fell across him, Brother Tola looked up and an expression of irritation crossed his long, graven features.
‘Ah, the dalaigh.’ There was a tone of disrespect in his voice. Then he carefully closed his book and replaced it in the book satchel which lay beside him. ‘I know what you want, Sister. I have been warned by Sister Ainder.’
‘Did she need to warn you?’ Fidelma’s riposte came automatically to her lips.
Brother Tola smiled thinly.
‘A matter of expression, that is all. There is nothing to be read in words, I assure you.’
‘Often a great deal can be read in the choice of words we use, Brother Tola.’
‘But not in this case.’ He gestured to the deck planking beside him. ‘Perhaps you would care to take a seat, if you intend to ask me questions?’
Fidelma lowered herself to the deck beside him and assumed a cross-legged position. It was actually pleasant sitting in the sun, with a faint breeze cooling her face and rustling her red hair.