‘Are you an ecclesiastical lawyer?’
‘I know the Penitentials but I am an advocate of our ancient secular laws.’
Father Pol seemed disappointed.
‘Surely ecclesiastical law has precedence over secular laws? In which case, you do not need even consider these claims.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘That is not how the law works in our country, Father. Toca Nia has made one of the most serious charges possible. Cian must answer them.’
Father Pol pondered for a moment or two before shaking his head negatively.
‘I have to say, as leader of the community here, and as representative of the Church, that your law does not run on this island. I can do nothing. If, out of their free will, this Brother Cian or Toca Nia, or both of them, wish to leave your ship and stay here until a ship bound for Eireann arrives, then they are free to do so. Or if they want to go anywhere else, they are free to do so. But I am not able to dictate or restrain them unless they break the laws that govern this island. You must decide what is best.’
Murchad was clearly unhappy.
‘It seems,’ Fidelma said, turning to him, ‘there is now only one choice. Your ship is your kingdom, Murchad, which you rule as chiefaccording to the laws of the Fenechus. It is your obligation to keep Cian and Toca Nia on your ship and eventually take them back to Eireann.’
Murchad started to raise objections but Fidelma raised a hand and silenced him.
‘I said, it is your obligation. I did not say it was your commitment. You are the arbiter of what must be. I can only advise you as to how the law might view the matter.’
The captain shook his head despondently.
‘It is a hard decision. Where do I get recompense for all this? Cian will certainly refuse to pay me for his return passage, with his journey made under duress, and Toca Nia’s jewellery will provide insufficient compensation. I have to think not only of my own welfare, you understand, but that of my crew, who need to be fed and who also have families to support.’
‘If Toca Nia’s charges are proved, then the King of Laigin should compensate you. If not, then you can issue a distraint claim on Toca Nia.’
Murchad was reluctant to make a decision.
‘I doubt if he has money or property. I must think about this.’ Father Pol clapped his hands as if to dismiss the subject.
‘And while you do, friend Murchad, your passengers may come ashore here to relax from the toils of the sea and to join in the feast of the great martyr of my country, Justus.’
‘You are kind, Father Pol,’ muttered Murchad, although he was still clearly preoccupied with the problem.
‘I would also thank you, Father,’ Fidelma added. ‘It is good of you to take this trouble over our internal matters.’ She paused. ‘The Feast of Justus? I know several great churchmen of that name but I cannot place a Justus from this part of the world.’
‘He was killed when he was a young boy,’ Father Pol explained.
‘It happened during the persecutions of the Emperor Diocletian. It is said that he hid two other Christians from the Roman soldiers and was killed for it.’
Father Pol rose slowly and Murchad and Fidelma followed his example, together with Gurvan who had taken no part in the discussion.
‘I presume that you wish to take on fresh water, bread and other stores?’
The captain agreed that was his intention.
‘Gurvan will see to it, Father, and I will have my passengers land to stretch their legs.’
‘Our service of Justus will begin at sundown and will be followed by the feast.’
They bade a temporary farewell to the priest and walked slowly back towards the quay. Murchad was gloomy at the prospect of keeping Cian and Toca Nia on board his ship until his return to Ardmore, but said in resignation that it seemed the only thing he could do in the circumstances.
‘I think you have made a wise decision, Murchad,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘What worries me more is the matter of Sister Muirgel, for I have never had a problem set before me where I have not even seen one likely path to start down in search of a solution.’
Chapter Eighteen
Fidelma awoke abruptly with her heart beating fast. It was dark and she was not sure what had made her wake with such a start. She was feeling exhausted: it had been a long day. Everyone had gone ashore with the exception of Cian and Toca Nia, who had been confined under guard in their cabins. The shipwrecked sailors had been sent ashore while the pilgrims and members of the crew had attended the service and Feast of Justus. It was midnight before everyone had returned on board; no one stayed overnight in Lampaul, for Murchad had announced that he intended to sail on the morning tide, having already loaded his provisions. The sooner he reached Iberia, he told Fidelma, the sooner he could take his two troublesome passengers back to Ardmore.
As Fidelma lay wondering what had awoken her, she heard a curious scrabbling sound: it seemed to come from the deck planking under her cabin. She raised herself on her bunk, frowning. Then she remembered what Wenbrit had said. Rats and mice inhabited the lower quarters of the ship.
Reaching out to the heavy warm bundle at the foot of her bunk, she stroked the black cat’s fur.
‘Come on, Mouse Lord,’ she whispered. ‘Aren’t you rather neglecting your duty?’
The cat stirred, uncoiled itself and stretched to the full length of its body. It always surprised Fidelma to see the length most cats could stretch their body to. The animal then gave a curious cheeping noise, more like a bird than a cat, and jumped from the bunk. Fidelma saw it stalk across the room, leap for the window and then it was gone.
The scrabbling noise soon ceased and Fidelma shivered slightly, thinking about the rats in the darkness below her, separated from her only by some planking. She listened intently. There was no sound now. Perhaps they were gone. Mouse Lord must be carrying out his nocturnal task very efficiently.
Yawning, she lay back on her pillow and was immediately asleep again. Only a moment later, it seemed, Fidelma found herself being shaken awake by Gurvan. The mate was clearly worried.
‘Please come into the next cabin, lady,’ he urged, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draping her robe around her shoulders, Fidelma swung out of her bunk. The expression on Gurvan’s face was enough for her not to waste time with pointless questions. She recalled that it was in Gurvan’s cabin that Toca Nia was confined.
Gurvan stood in the passage holding the door of his cabin open. A lantern was alight in its small confines, for it was still not quite dawn. Fidelma glanced in.
Toca Nia was lying on his back, eyes wide open, his chest a bloody mess.
‘Stabbed several times around the heart, I would say,’ Gurvan muttered behind her, as if she needed an explanation.
Fidelma stood for a moment, allowing the feeling of shock to ebb away.
‘Has Murchad been told?’ she asked.
‘I have sent word to him,’ replied Gurvan. ‘Careful, lady, there is much blood on the floor.’
She looked down and saw that the severed arteries had pumped blood all over the floor. It had been trodden about, presumably by Gurvan but a thought occurred to her.
‘Stand still,’ she requested. Then she moved to the door, her eyes following the sticky marks on the floor. There were no distinct footprints, and it was obvious that Gurvan had walked over the initial prints which could only have been made by the killer. The prints went to her cabin door and halted. This puzzled Fidelma. She would have expected them to go to the exit to the main deck. She moved across to her cabin door and opened it. Some fainter traces showed where Gurvan had entered her cabin. The only solution to the mystery was if the killer had noticed the trail they were leaving and had managed to wipe the blood from their feet before they departed from the area.
Some instinct made her check her bag where she had put the knife which Crella had given her. It was gone. She turned back to Gurvan.