‘Did you sleep during the storm?’
‘Last night? How would one sleep? It was not the best of experiences. I did manage to get some sleep after a while, though. A sleep of exhaustion.’
‘I presume Brother Guss was also disturbed?’
‘I suppose he was. But you can ask him.’
‘Were you awake when he left the cabin?’
Brother Tola frowned as he reflected on her question.
‘Did he leave the cabin?’ he countered.
‘So he says.’
‘Then it must be so. Ah, now I recall, he went out. But not for long.’
‘Do you know where he went?’
‘I presume he went to the privy. Where else would one vanish to on board this ship?’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment, knowing full well that Brother Tola must be aware that Guss had gone to see Sister Muirgel before midnight. Was Tola simply trying to protect Guss, or was there some other reason why he should attempt to cover up for the young man?
Inwardly she sighed, for she knew that she was not going to get anything further out of Brother Tola. She rose carefully to her feet.
‘One point I would like clarification on,’ she said. ‘You obviously have strong feelings on female religieuses who fall in love or have affairs. Harlots and prostitutes, I hear you call them. I have heard no condemnation of any male religieux who often seduce these same young women. Do you not consider your judgement flawed?’
Brother Tola was in no way abashed.
‘Was it not a woman who first succumbed to temptation, eating of the forbidden fruit and seducing man, for which we were all driven from the Garden of Eden? Women are responsible for all our suffering. Remember what Paul wrote to the Corinthians — “I am jealous for you, with a divine jealousy; for I betrothed you to Christ, thinking to present you as a chaste virgin to her true and only husband. But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, I am afraid that your thoughts may be corrupted and you may lose your single-hearted devotion to Christ”.’
‘I know the passage,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But as the serpent in his cunning seduced Eve, it seems that the sex of the serpent was male. I will leave you to your contemplations then, Brother Tola. I thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. You have been most helpful.’
Brother Tola’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as Fidelma deliberately added her last sentence. She had some uncanny feeling that the last thing Brother Tola wanted to be was helpful in the matter of Sister Muirgel’s disappearance.
She was turning away from him when a further cry from the masthead above caused her to look up.
There it was, the mysterious vessel, clearly visible now! She had been so engrossed with Brother Tola that she had not noticed how close it had approached.
In the afternoon sunlight she could make out several details on the approaching ship: the low, square sail with some design on it, like a lightning flash; a bank of oars that rose and fell rhythmically; and the sun sparkling on objects on the side of the vessel that was turned towards her.
She hurried back to Murchad who was observing the vessel with a grim face.
‘I’d get yourself and the pilgrim below decks, lady,’ he greeted her as she came up.
‘What is it?’
‘A Saxon, by the cut of her. See the lightning flash design on her mainsail?’
Fidelma nodded briefly.
‘Pagans, no doubt,’ continued Murchad. ‘That’s the symbol of their god of thunder, Thunor.’
‘Do they mean us harm?’ Fidelma asked.
‘They mean us no good,’ replied Murchad grimly. ‘See the bank of shields above the oars, and the sun glinting on their weapons? I believe that they mean to take us as a prize and those they don’t kill will be sold as slaves.’
Fidelma felt her mouth suddenly go dry.
She knew that some of the Saxon kingdoms were still pagan in spite of the efforts of missionaries both from the Five Kingdoms of Eireann and from Rome. The South Saxons particularly were clinging to their ancient gods and goddesses even against missionaries from their fellow Saxons of the Eastern and Northern kingdoms. She swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel the sandy texture of her mouth.
‘Go below, lady,’ Murchad insisted again. ‘You’ll be safer there if they board us.’
‘I’ll stay and watch,’ she replied firmly. She could think of nothing worse than being in darkness below and not knowing what was taking place.
Murchad was about to protest but he saw the resolution around her mouth, the slightly jutting jaw.
‘Very well, but stay out of harm’s way and if that ship closes on us, get below without me telling you again. When they first attack, the bloodlust obscures their vision. Man or woman, it is all the same.’
He turned to Gurvan, without wasting his time in further pleading, and glanced up at the sail.
‘We’ll hold our course until I say.’
Gurvan acknowledged this with only a slight forward jerk of his head.
Fidelma backed to the far corner of the stern deck and watched the unfolding drama.
‘Deck there!’ came the cry from the masthead. ‘She’s beginning to close.’
The approaching ship was turning bow towards them. The bow was high and cleaving through the waters which seemed to spray out on either side of it. The oars were rising and dipping, the water sparkling like silver as it dripped from them. She could hear the beat of something that sounded like a drum. She knew, from her previous experience of travelling to Rome, that galleys sometimes employed a man to beat time to keep the rowers synchronised.
‘How many do you make it, Gurvan?’ Murchad was squinting forward. ‘Twenty-five oars each side?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Oars. They give the Saxons an advantage over us …’ Murchad seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘However, I think their use of oars might mean that they are not relying on sailing skill at close quarters. Maybe that’s where we have some advantage.’
He glanced up at the mainsail.
‘Tighten the starboard halyards,’ he roared. ‘Too much slack there.’
The tighter the sail, the more speed through the water, but with the wind blowing it might lay the ship over and expose her to any contrary sea. It would also put a strain on the mainmast.
‘Captain, if the wind moderates then we’ll be helpless without oars,’ Gurvan pointed out nervously.
At that moment, Fidelma found Wenbrit beside her.
‘Aren’t you going below, lady?’ he asked anxiously. ‘The others are all below and I’ve told them to stay there. It will be dangerous here.’
Fidelma shook her head swiftly.
‘I would die below not knowing what was happening.’
‘Let’s hope that none of us die,’ muttered the boy, staring at the oncoming ship. ‘Pray God may send a strong wind.’
‘Loose the port sheets! More slack to the port halyards!’ shouted Murchad.
Sailors jumped to do his bidding and the large square mainsail swung round at an angle.
Murchad had judged the wind’s change of direction with such accuracy that almost at once the sail filled and Fidelma could feel the speed of the vessel as it suddenly accelerated over the waves.
Wenbrit pointed excitedly at the Saxon ship as the distance between the two vessels began to increase. The sail on the other ship had fallen slack. Murchad was right: the captain of the other vessel had been relying on his oarsmen and neglected to watch the wind and his sail. For several valuable moments, the Saxon lay becalmed in the water.
Even against the sibilant hiss of the sea and the whispering sound of the wind in the sail and among the rigging, Fidelma caught a faint shouting drifting over the waters.
‘What was that?’ she wondered.
Wenbrit pulled a face.
‘They call on their god of war to help them. Hear the cry? “Woden! Woden!” I have heard such roars from Saxon throats before.’