‘It will be good to be on terra firma for a while,’ Fidelma commented thankfully to Murchad.
Murchad pointed to the shore.
‘There are no other ships in the harbour,’ he stated the obvious. ‘The main village and church of Lampaul are above the little quay you see there. I was planning to spend only a day here to take on fresh food and water. The next stage of our journey is going to be the longest, depending on the wind. We’ll be sailing almost straight south, out of sight of land.’
‘But we must consider the matter of Toca Nia,’ Fidelma reminded him.
Murchad looked troubled.
‘I am all for putting Toca Nia and Cian ashore here and leaving them to sort it out between them.’
‘An easy solution … for us. But I can foresee complications in that proposal,’ she replied.
The Barnacle Goose tacked its way along the three-kilometre stretch of water to the far end of the inlet, where Fidelma could see a path leading upwards to the settlement of Lampaul. Their approach into the bay had been observed by some local people and several of them had come down to the harbour to greet them.
Murchad shouted for the mainsail to be dropped and then the steering sail. An anchor was heaved from the bow and the ship swung gently at her mooring in calm waters for the first time in the last few days.
‘I shall be going ashore,’ Murchad told Fidelma. ‘Would you like to come with me and meet Father Pol? He is not only the priest here but is more or less the chieftain of the island. It might be best to discuss the matter of Brother Cian and Toca Nia with him.’
Fidelma had indicated her willingness to do so. They were launching the skiff when Brother Tola and the other pilgrims began to emerge on deck. Tola immediately demanded to know if they could go ashore and his companions joined in a chorus of claims.
Murchad silenced them by raising his hands.
‘I must go first and arrange matters. You will be able to go ashorelater and, if you wish, spend a night on shore to get exercise while we gather our stores for the rest of the voyage. But until I have made arrangements, it is best that you all stay aboard.’
It was clear that the arrangement did not make them happy, especially when they saw Fidelma joining the captain to go ashore.
Murchad and Gurvan rowed the small light craft, with Fidelma in the stern, across the short distance from The Barnacle Goose to the rock-built quay.
A tall man, dark and sharp-faced, whose clothes and crucifix, hanging from a chain around his neck, proclaimed his profession, greeted Murchad as the captain climbed out of the craft.
‘It is good to see you again, Murchad!’ The man spoke in an accent that showed that the language of the children of the Gael was not his first tongue.
Gurvan had tied up the skiff and helped Fidelma out.
‘It is good to be on your island again, Father Pol,’ Murchad was replying. He motioned to Fidelma who had joined him. ‘Father, this is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to our King, Colgu …’
‘I am Sister Fidelma,’ interrupted Fidelma firmly with a grave smile. ‘I have no other title.’
Father Pol turned and took her hand with a quick scrutiny of her features.
‘Welcome, then, Sister. Welcome,’ he smiled and then turned towards the mate. ‘And you are welcome, too, Gurvan, you rascal. It is good to see you again.’
Gurvan grinned, looking sheepish. It appeared that the entire crew of The Barnacle Goose were known on the island for it was a frequent port of call.
‘Come, join me in refreshment at Lampaul,’ the priest continued, waving his hand towards the pathway. ‘Do you bring me any interesting news?’
They began to follow him up the path.
‘Bad news, I am afraid, Father. News of the Morvaout.’
Father Pol halted and turned sharply.
‘The Morvaout? She set sail from here only this morning. What news do you bring?’
‘She went to pieces on the rocks north of the island.’
The priest crossed himself.
‘Were there any survivors?’ he asked.
‘Only three men. Two sailors and a passenger who was bound for Laigin. I’ll land the sailors shortly.’
Father Pol appeared sorrowful for a moment.
‘Ah well, this is often the fate of those who sail these seas. The crew were all from the mainland. We will light some candles for the homecoming of their souls.’ He caught sight of Fidelma’s puzzled expression. ‘We are an island people here, Sister,’ he explained. ‘When our people are lost at sea, we set up a little cross and light a candle, and sit up in a vigil all night, praying for the repose of the souls of those lost. The next day, the cross is deposited in a reliquary in the church and then in a mausoleum among the crosses of all who have disappeared at sea. There they will await the homecoming of the souls from the sea.’
They reached the village, a typical seaport settlement spreading around the central structure of a grey, stone-built chapel.
‘There is my little chapel.’ Father Pol indicated the building. ‘Come, we will join in a prayer of thanks for your safe arrival.’
Murchad coughed discreetly.
‘There is something we need to talk to you about most urgently,’ he began.
Father Pol smiled and laid a hand on his arm.
‘Nothing is ever so urgent that a prayer of thanks need not take precedence,’ he observed firmly.
Murchad glanced at Fidelma and then shrugged.
They went into the little chapel and knelt before an altar which surprised Fidelma by its opulence. She had thought that the island was poor but there was gold and silver displayed on the silk-covered altar table.
‘You appear to have a rich community here, Father,’ she whispered.
‘Poor in goods but rich in heart,’ replied the priest indulgently.
‘They donate what they have to God’s house to praise His splendour. Dominus optimo maximo …’
He failed to notice the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval. She did not approve of idle opulence when people lived in poverty.
Father Pol bent his head and intoned a prayer of in Latin while they echoed the ‘amens’.
Finally he led them to his small house next to the church and offered them pottery cups of cider while Murchad explained the situation about Toca Nia and Cian.
Father Pol rubbed the side of his nose reflectively. It seemed a habit of his.
‘Quid faciendum?’ he asked when Murchad had finished. ‘What is to be done?’
‘We were hoping that you might have some suggestions,’ Murchad replied. ‘I cannot keep Toca Nia and Cian on board my ship all the way to Iberia and then back again to Laigin. I am advised that these charges must be heard before a competent judge in Eireann but I cannot take these men directly there, nor can I afford to wait until a ship bound there puts into Ushant.’
‘Why should you do either?’
‘Because,’ intervened Fidelma carefully, ‘Toca Nia has to make his accusations before the courts of Eireann. I think Murchad was hoping that you might keep them both securely here until the next ship for Eireann puts in.’
Father Pol considered the matter for a moment and then made a dismissive gesture.
‘Who knows when that might be? Anyway, surely you cannot dictate to a Brother of the Faith that he must leave a pilgrimage to answer these charges? What do you know of law, Sister?’
‘Sister Fidelma is a lawyer of our courts,’ explained Murchad hastily.
Father Pol turned to her with interest.