She had entered the life simply because the majority of the intellectual class of her people, all those who wished to pursue the professions, did so, just as their forebears had been members of the Druidic class. Her one abiding interest and passion had been law, not religion in the sense of sublimating herself to a life of devotion within some abbey away from the rest of her fellow beings. She now fell to thinking about the times when the Superior of her abbey had chided her for spending too much time with her law books and not enough time in religious contemplation. Maybe the religious life was no longer for her.
Perhaps this was the real reason for her pilgrimage — to sort out her commitment to God rather than ponder her relationship with Brother Eadulf? Fidelma suddenly felt angry with herself and turned abruptly away from the rail of the ship.
The great leather sail was towering high above her, against the azure sky. The crew were still bent to various tasks, but their movements were less frenetic than they had been when the vessel had initially left the protection of the bay. There was still no sign of the rest of Fidelma’s fellow pilgrims. The two young monks were still having their animated dialogue. She wondered who they were and why they were making this voyage. Did they harbour the same conflict of thoughts that she did? She smiled ruefully.
‘A fine day, Sister,’ called the captain of the ship, moving from his position by the steersmen and coming forward to greet her. He had barely acknowledged her presence when she came aboard, too busy concentrating on the task of getting the ship underway.
She leant with her back against the rail and nodded pleasantly.
‘A fine day, indeed.’
‘My name is Murchad, Sister,’ the man introduced himself. ‘I am sorry I did not have time for a proper greeting when you came aboard.’
The captain of The Barnacle Goose could not be mistaken foranything other than the sailor he was. A sturdy, thickset man, Murchad had greying hair and weatherbeaten features. Fidelma estimated he was in his late forties; she noted that he had a prominent nose which accentuated the close set of his sea-grey eyes. Their forbidding aspect was offset by a twinkling hidden humour. His mouth was a firm line. When he walked towards her, he moved with the rolling gait she associated with seafarers.
‘Have you acquired your sea legs yet?’ he asked in his dry, rasping voice; the voice of someone used to shouting commands rather than indulging in social conversation.
Fidelma smiled confidently.
‘I think you will find me a pretty good sailor, Captain.’
Murchad chuckled sceptically.
‘I’ll let you have an opinion when we are out of sight of land in a deep, restless ocean,’ he replied.
‘I’ve been on shipboard before,’ Fidelma assured him.
‘Is that a fact?’ His tone was jovial.
‘That it is,’ she answered gravely. ‘I’ve crossed to the coast of Alba and from the coast of Northumbria to Gaul.’
‘Pah!’ Murchad screwed up his face in distaste although his eyes did not lose their good humour. ‘That is a mere paddle across a pond. We are going on a real sea voyage.’
‘Is it longer than from Northumbria to Gaul?’ Fidelma knew many things but the distances by sea was a knowledge that she had never had to acquire.
‘If we are lucky … if,’ emphasised Murchad, ‘then we will be ashore within the week. It depends on the weather and the tides.’
Fidelma was surprised.
‘Isn’t that a long time to be out of sight of land?’ she ventured.
Murchad shook his head with a grin.
‘Bless you, no. We will sight land a few times on this voyage. We have to keep close to the coast in order to maintain our bearings. Our first landfall should be tomorrow morning; that is, if we find a favourable wind all the way to the south-east.’
‘Where does that take us? To the kingdom of the Britons of Cornwall?’
Murchad regarded her with a new appreciation.
‘You know your geography, Sister. However, we don’t touch the coast of Cornwall. We sail to the west of a group of islands which lie several miles from it — the islands called Sylinancim. We do not stop there but sail on with, I hope, a fair wind and calm seas. If so, we make landfall on another island, called Ushant, that lies off thecoast of Gaul. We should be there on the following morning or soon afterwards. That will be our last look at land for several days. Then we sail due south and should touch the coast of Iberia before the week’s out, God willing.’
‘Iberia, and within the week?’
Murchad verified her question with a nod.
‘God willing,’ he repeated. ‘And we have a good ship to take us.’ He slapped at the timber of the rail as he spoke.
Fidelma glanced round. She had taken a special interest in examining the ship when she came aboard.
‘She’s a Gaulish ship, isn’t she?’
Murchad was a little surprised at her knowledge.
‘You have a keen eye, Sister.’
‘I have seen a ship like her before. I know that the heavy timbers and rigging are peculiar to the ports of Morbihan.’
Murchad looked even more surprised.
‘You’ll be telling me next that you know who built her,’ he said dryly.
‘No, that I can’t,’ she replied seriously. ‘But, as I say, I have seen her like before.’
‘Well, you are right,’ confessed Murchad. ‘I bought her in Kerhostin two years ago. My mate …’ he indicated one of the two men at the steering oar, a man with saturnine features, ‘that’s my mate, Gurvan, the second-in-command on this vessel. He is a Breton and helped build The Barnacle Goose. We also have Cornishmen and Galicians in our crew. They know all the waters between here and Iberia.’
‘It is good that you have so knowledgeable a crew,’ Fidelma observed with solemn humour.
‘Well, as I say, if we have a fair wind and the blessing of our patron, St Brendan the Navigator, this will prove an agreeable voyage.’
Mention of St Brendan turned Fidelma’s thoughts to her fellow pilgrims.
‘I was wondering why most of my fellow passengers are missing the best part of the voyage?’ she queried. ‘I always think the most exciting part of a voyage is when one leaves land behind, and heads out on the vast sea.’
‘From a traveller’s viewpoint, I would have thought that it is more exciting coming into a strange port than leaving a familiar one,’ returned Murchad. Then he shrugged. ‘Perhaps your travelling companions are not such good sailors as you and those two young Brothers yonder.’ He nodded to where the two religieux were still engaged in discussion. ‘Though I think those young men arescarcely noticing that they are on shipboard — unlike some of their fellows.’
It took Fidelma a moment before she realised what he was implying.
‘Some are seasick already?’
‘My cabin boy tells me we have at least a couple suffering. I have had pilgrims actually praying for death to take them even on a calm sea because they were so sick they could not bear it.’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘I knew one pilgrim who became sick the moment he set foot on shipboard and continued his sickness even while he rode at anchor in the sheltered harbour. Some people can take to the sea while others should remain on land.’
‘What are my fellow passengers like?’ asked Fidelma.
Murchad pursed his lips and regarded her with some astonishment.
‘You do not know them?’
‘No. I am not part of their company. I am travelling alone.’
‘I thought you were from the Abbey.’ Murchad waved his hand in the direction of the distant shoreline behind them as if to indicate St Declan’s.
‘I am from Cashel — Fidelma of Cashel. I arrived at the Abbey late last night.’