The Barnacle Goose was almost heeled over before the wind, cleaving through the waters within yards of the rocky granite coastline of the southern side of the bay. Fidelma realised that Gurvan was going to steer the Goose around the southern headland. After that, she could not understand what he meant to do, for they would surely be into the open sea and on a fairly calm open sea at that. The Saxon ship would be able to overhaul them with ease.
Did the answer lie with the longbows that the crew had brought to the deck? Did Murchad and Gurvan simply mean to fight it out once on the open sea?
It was then she caught sight of what lay ahead of them: a maze of granite islets and rocks through which strong currents were roaring in a cascade of white water. There were innumerable reefs as far as she could see. It was far more threatening to her gaze than their passage through the rocks off the Sylinancim islands.
Gurvan saw the sudden tautness of her body.
‘Trust me, lady,’ he shouted, his eyes straight ahead. ‘What you are seeing is why ships never sail out around the southern headland of this island. Here, the wind and tide are the masters and will hurl a ship against the broken and rocky shores to be splintered into a thousand pieces. This is why we are taking this passage. I’ve sailed through here once; I hope I may do so again. If not, well … better to die free than to be a slave or die tasting Saxon steel.’
‘What if the Saxon comes after us?’
‘Then he should pray to his god Woden that he is a good sailor. I doubt he is and if he takes the wider channel, away from the rocks, we will have a good many miles’ start on him.’
She looked for’ard to where Murchad was balanced on the prow of the ship. His hands were waving in signals which obviously meant something to Gurvan and his companion on the steering oar, for they seemed to move in response to each signal. Fidelma could feel the currents catching at The Barnacle Goose, sweeping it along at anincreasing speed. Once a rock scraped along the ship’s side with a strange groaning sound.
She closed her eyes and uttered a short prayer.
Then the rock had sped by and they were still in one piece.
‘Can you see behind us, lady?’ called Gurvan. ‘Do you see any sign of the Saxon?’
Fidelma went to grip the stern rail and peer aft.
She shivered as she saw the frothing white water of their wake, the reefs and rocks rushing behind them. Then she raised her eyes to look beyond.
‘I can see the sail of the Saxon,’ she called excitedly. She could just make out that same lightning flash on the sail which Murchad had pointed out to her before.
‘I see them,’ she cried again. ‘They are following us through the channel.’ Her voice rose in excitement.
‘Let their god Woden help them now,’ replied Gurvan with a fierce grin.
‘Let God help us,’ whispered Fidelma to herself.
The Barnacle Goose was bouncing down so that the horizon moved violently and she kept losing sight of the sail of the pursuing vessel.
The ship plunged and bucked at an alarming speed. Gurvan and Drogan had thrown their full weight on the steering oar and now called for assistance from another of the crew as the pressure grew too much for them to handle by themselves.
With Murchad frantically signalling from the bow, The Barnacle Goose made a dizzy ride through the foam-swept rocks and islets until it seemed to be tossed out into calmer waters. Almost before they had settled, Murchad was running back towards the stern deck, his face filled with anxiety.
‘Where are they?’ he grunted.
‘I lost sight of them,’ Fidelma called. ‘They were following us through the rocky passage.’
Murchad squinted back in the direction in which they had come, back towards the rocky coastline which, at this distance, seemed covered in a faint mist.
‘Sea spray from the rocks,’ he explained without being asked. ‘It makes it difficult to see.’
He looked towards the black jagged teeth which protruded through the white foam.
Fidelma shivered a little, not for the first time. It did not seem possible that they had come out safely from that dangerous maw.
‘There!’ Murchad cried suddenly. ‘I see them!’
Fidelma strained forward but could see nothing.
There was a pause for a moment or two and then Murchad sighed.
‘I thought I saw their top mast for a moment, but it is gone.’
‘We have a good head start on them, Captain,’ Gurvan cried.
‘They’ll have to do some fast sailing to keep up with us.’
Murchad turned and slowly shook his head.
‘I don’t think we will need to worry about them, my friend,’ he said quietly.
Fidelma glanced back to the fast-vanishing coastline of the island. There was no sign of any pursuing ship.
‘Do you think that they’ve struck the rocks?’ she ventured to ask.
‘Had they come through the passage, we would see them by now,’ replied Murchad heavily. ‘It was us or them, lady. Thank God it was them. They’ve gone to their pagan hall of heroes.’
‘It is a terrible death,’ Fidelma said soberly.
‘Dead men don’t bite,’ was Murchad’s only comment.
Fidelma muttered a quick prayer for the dead. She was thinking that it was a Saxon ship, whether pagan or not, and she was remembering Brother Eadulf.
Chapter Nineteen
‘It is a very calm morning, Murchad.’
The captain nodded but he was not pleased. They were two days out from Ushant. He indicated the limp sail.
‘Too calm,’ he complained. ‘There is hardly any wind. We are making no headway at all.’
Fidelma gazed out across the flat surface of the sea. She, too, was making no headway. Having escaped from their pursuers, they had paused to commit Toca Nia’s body to a watery burial. It was Brother Dathal who said that the voyage was turning into a voyage of death, as if the ship was that of Donn, the ancient Irish god of the dead, who gathered the lost souls on his ship of the dead and transported them to the Otherworld. Dathal’s comparison brought swift criticism from Brother Tola and Sister Ainder, but nevertheless produced a feeling of gloom among the remaining pilgrims.
Time and again, Fidelma turned the facts over in her mind, trying to find one tiny thread which might lead her to solving the problem. As for the murder of Toca Nia, Cian swore that he had left the ship just after midnight when the last of the passengers and crew had returned from the island. Gurvan clinched the matter by maintaining that he had looked in on Toca Nia well after that and found him peacefully asleep. If Cian was telling the truth about the time he had left the ship, then he was innocent.
Fidelma looked up at the limp sails and made a decision.
‘Perhaps we can put this weather to good use,’ she said briskly.
‘How so?’ enquired Murchad.
‘It has been a couple of days since I bathed. I had no time on Ushant and I feel dirty. In this calm sea I can take a swim and at least get the grime from my body.’
Murchad looked uncomfortable.
‘We sailors are used to roughing it, lady. But we have no facilities for a woman to go bathing.’
Fidelma threw back her head and laughed.
‘Fear not, Murchad, I shall not offend your male sensibilities. I shall wear a shift.’
‘It is too dangerous,’ he protested with a shake of his head.
‘How so? If you sailors swim to keep clean in such calm weather, why not I?’
‘My sailors know the vagaries of the sea. They are strong swimmers. What if a wind springs up? The ship can move a fair distance before you could swim back to it. You saw how quickly poor Brother Guss was left behind.’
‘That danger must be so, whether one is a sailor or a passenger,’ countered Fidelma. ‘What do your men do?’