What was the Biblical verse that Muirgel had mentioned to Guss when she told him that she knew why she might be the next victim?
… jealousy cruel as the grave;
It blazes up like blazing fire
Fiercer than any flame.
She looked across to the sea. It was still white-capped but not quite so turbulent now, and the great waves were becoming smaller and fewer. At last it all made sense! She smiled in satisfaction and turned back to the weary Murchad.
‘I’m sorry, Captain,’ she said. ‘I was not concentrating.’
It was then that Fidelma focused on the mess that the storm had created on the ship. The deck was strewn with splintered spars, the water-butt appeared to have shattered into pieces, ropes and rigging hung in profusion. Sailors seemed to have collapsed where they stood, in sheer exhaustion.
‘Was anyone hurt?’ Fidelma asked in wonder at the debris.
‘Some of my crew have a scratch or two,’ Murchad admitted.
‘And the rest of the passengers?’
Murchad shook his head.
‘Not a hair of them was harmed, lady — this time.’
To Fidelma it was a sheer miracle that in the two days the little ship had been tossed hither and thither on the rough seas, no one had been injured.
‘Tomorrow, or the day after, I expect to sight the Iberian coast, lady,’ he said quietly. ‘And if my navigation has been good, we shallbe in harbour soon after. From that harbour it is but a short journey inland to the Holy Shrine.’
‘I shan’t be sorry to escape from the confines of your ship, Murchad,’ Fidelma confessed.
The captain gave her a bleak look.
‘What I was trying to say, lady, is that once we reach the harbour, there will no longer be an opportunity to bring the murderer of Muirgel nor Toca Nia to justice. That will be bad. The story will follow this vessel like a ghost, haunting it wherever it goes. My sailors have already called this a voyage of the damned.’
‘It shall be resolved, Murchad,’ Fidelma reassured him confidently. ‘The mention of your good wife’s name has just settled everything in my mind or, rather, it has clarified something for me.’
He stared uncomprehendingly at her.
‘My wife’s name? Aoife’s name has caused you to realise who is responsible for these murders?’
‘I do not think that we need delay further before we identify the culprit,’ she replied optimistically. ‘But we will wait until all the pilgrims are gathered for the midday meal. Then we will discuss the matter with them. I’d like Gurvan and Wenbrit to be there, with yourself. I might need some physical help,’ she added.
She smiled at his bewildered features and laid a friendly hand on his arm.
‘Don’t worry, Murchad. By this afternoon you shall know the identity of the person responsible for all these terrible crimes.’
Chapter Twenty-one
They had gathered as Fidelma had requested, seated on each side of the long table in the central cabin with Murchad lounging against the mast well. Gurvan was seated uncomfortably to one side while Wenbrit perched on the table at which he usually prepared the food, legs swinging, watching the proceedings with interest. Fidelma leaned back in her chair at the head of the table and met their expectant gazes.
‘I have been told,’ she began quietly, ‘that I am someone who knows all by a kind of instinct. I can assure you that this is not so. As a dalaigh, I ask questions and I listen. Sometimes, it is what people omit in their replies to me that reveals more than what they actually say. But I have to have information laid before me. I have to have facts, or even questions, to consider. I merely examine that information or ponder those questions, and only then can I make a deduction.
‘No, I do not have any secret knowledge, neither am I some prophet who can divine an answer to a mystery without knowledge. The art of detection is like playing fidchell or brandubh. Everything must be there, laid out on the board so that one can choose the solution to the problem. The eye must see, the ear must hear, the brain must function. Instincts can lie or be misleading. So instincts are not infallible as a means of getting to the truth, although sometimes they can be a good guide.’
She paused. There was silence. The others continued to watch her expectantly, like rabbits watching a fox.
‘My mentor, Brehon Morann, used to warn us students to beware of the obvious because the obvious is sometimes deceiving. I was taking this into account until I realised that sometimes the obvious is the obvious because it is the reality.
‘If you meet someone running down the road with their hair wild, dishevelled eyes and contorted features, screaming with white froth on their lips, an upraised knife in their hand which is bloodstained and there is also blood on their clothes, how would you perceive such a person? It could be that they have contorted features and are screaming because they have been hurt; that they have the bloodstainedknife because they have just slaughtered meat for their meal and have been careless enough to get the blood on their clothes. There are many possible explanations, but the obvious one is that here is a homicidal maniac about to do injury to those who do not get out of his or her way. And sometimes the obvious explanation is the correct explanation.’
She paused again but still there was no comment.
‘I am afraid that I was looking at the obvious for a long time and refusing to see it as the truth.
‘When I traced everything back, there seemed one person to whom all the events were linked — one common denominator who was there no matter which way I turned. Cian, here, was that common denominator.’
Cian rose awkwardly to his feet, the rocking motion of the ship causing him to fall towards the table, saving himself from disaster by thrusting out a hand to steady himself.
Gurvan had risen and moved behind him, and now put a hand on his shoulder.
Cian shook it off angrily.
‘Bitch! I am no murderer! It is only your petty jealousy that makes you accuse me of it. Just because you were rejected-’
‘Sit down and be quiet or I will ask Gurvan to restrain you!’
Fidelma’s cold tone cut through his outburst. Cian stood still, defiant, and she had to repeat herself.
‘Sit down and be silent, I said! I have not finished.’
Brother Tola looked disapprovingly towards Fidelma.
‘Cum tacent clamant,’ he muttered. ‘Surely if you do not allow him to speak, his silence will condemn him?’
‘He can speak when I have finished and when he knows what there is to speak about,’ Fidelma assured Tola icily. ‘Better to speak from knowledge than to speak from ignorance.’ She turned back to the others. ‘As I was saying, once I realised that Cian was the common denominator in all these killings, then they began to make sense to me.’ She raised a hand to silence the new outburst from Cian. ‘I am not saying that Cian was the murderer, mark that. I have only said, so far, that he was the common denominator.’
Cian was now clearly as puzzled as everyone else. He relaxed back in his seat.
‘If you do not accuse me of murder, what are you accusing me of?’ he demanded gruffly.
She eyed him sourly.
‘There are many things that you can be accused of, Cian, but in this particular case, murder is not one of them. Whether or not youare the Butcher of Rath Bile is no longer my concern. The accusation died with Toca Nia.’
She looked at the others, who now sat mesmerised, waiting for her to continue. She paused, examining their faces in turn. Cian stared back at her in defiance. Brother Tola and Sister Ainder shared a slightly sneering, cynical expression. Sister Crella and Sister Gorman sat with downcast looks. Brother Bairne’s expression was one of a caged animal, his eyes flickering here and there as if seeking a means of escape. Brother Dathal was leaning slightly forward, returning her gaze with an almost enthusiastic expression as if waiting with anticipatory pleasure for her revelation. His companion, Adamrae, was gazing at the table, impatiently drumming his fingers silently on it as if he were bored by the proceedings.