made in such circumstances, Brother Tola.’
Brother Tola scowled and turned to Cian.
‘What were you saying about this woman?’
‘Fidelma of Cashel is an advocate of the law courts; one with a reputation that has extended to Tara and the court of the High King.’
‘Is that true?’ demanded Tola, not convinced.
‘That is true,’ confirmed Murchad, intervening. ‘She is also the sister of the King of Muman.’
There was a crimson splash on Tola’s cheeks and he lowered his head to hide his confusion by examining the table before him.
Fidelma would have preferred that her rank had been left out of the matter. She glanced uncomfortably at them.
‘All I am saying is that under the Muirbretha, the sea-laws, Murchad as captain of this vessel stands in the same position as a king. In fact, he has more power for, as well as a king, he also has the authority of a Chief Brehon. In other words, he is the ruler of everyone on this vessel. Everyone. I think I have explained the position clearly. Or do you have another question, Brother Tola?’
The tall religieux glanced up in irritation at her.
‘No other question,’ he replied frostily.
Fidelma turned to Murchad.
‘You may be assured that your rules will be strictly obeyed and that everyone here is aware that disobedience invokes punishment.’
Murchad smiled in nervous appreciation.
‘My purpose is only to safeguard your lives. This … accident with Sister Muirgel should never have happened.’
He was about to leave them when the youthful Sister Gormán stayed him.
‘Can we … may we at least hold a small service for the repose of Sister Muirgel’s soul, Captain?’
Murchad looked uncomfortable for a moment.
‘It is our Christian duty to do so,’ pressed Sister Ainder, coming to her support.
‘Of course,’ muttered Murchad. ‘You may hold your service at midday when I hope the mist will have cleared.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
Murchad left them as Wenbrit began to pass round the mead and water. The meal was taken in total silence and Fidelma was thankful to escape back onto the deck. The mist was still thick and swirling and it had not cleared by midday.
The service was, indeed, simple. Everyone gathered on the main deck apart from Gurvan and another sailor who controlled the steering oar, plus a lookout perched out of sight atop the mist-shrouded mainmast, whose duty it was to see when there might be a clearing of the skies. It had been some time ago when Murchad had lowered his sails and thrown out sea anchors in case the ship drifted into danger. But Fidelma could feel that the vessel was drifting despite the anchors and Murchad’s anxious eyes were darting around, attuned for trouble.
It was a strange group that stood there, surrounded by the wispy mist, like wraiths in an Otherworld setting. Surprisingly, Brother Tola led the prayers for the repose of the soul of Sister Muirgel. His voice echoed as if he were speaking in a sepulchre. He ended his prayer and then, without preamble, began to intone lines which Fidelma recognised from the Book of Jeremiah. Lines she found a strange choice:
‘We have left our lands, our houses have been pulled down,
Listen, you women, to the words of the Lord,
That your ears may catch what He says.
Teach your daughters the lament,
Let them teach one another this dirge;
Death has climbed in through our windows,
It has entered our palaces,
It sweeps off the children in the open air …’
Fidelma gazed at the forbidding monk in some bewilderment, for she thought his harsh cadences were not suited to a service for the repose of a soul. She glanced round at her fellow mourners and found, even through the swirling mist, that Sister Gormán’s eyes were bright and that she was nodding in time to the rhythm of the recitation. Next to her, Cian stood looking absolutely bored. The others appeared to be standing impassively, perhaps mesmerised by the tenor of Brother Tola’s religious
Brother Tola scowled and turned to Cian.
‘What were you saying about this woman?’
‘Fidelma of Cashel is an advocate of the law courts; one with a reputation that has extended to Tara and the court of the High King.’
‘Is that true?’ demanded Tola, not convinced.
‘That is true,’ confirmed Murchad, intervening. ‘She is also the sister of the King of Muman.’
There was a crimson splash on Tola’s cheeks and he lowered his head to hide his confusion by examining the table before him.
Fidelma would have preferred that her rank had been left out of the matter. She glanced uncomfortably at them.
‘All I am saying is that under the Muirbretha, the sea-laws, Murchad as captain of this vessel stands in the same position as a king. In fact, he has more power for, as well as a king, he also has the authority of a Chief Brehon. In other words, he is the ruler of everyone on this vessel. Everyone. I think I have explained the position clearly. Or do you have another question, Brother Tola?’
The tall religieux glanced up in irritation at her.
‘No other question,’ he replied frostily.
Fidelma turned to Murchad.
‘You may be assured that your rules will be strictly obeyed and that everyone here is aware that disobedience invokes punishment.’
Murchad smiled in nervous appreciation.
‘My purpose is only to safeguard your lives. This … accident with Sister Muirgel should never have happened.’
He was about to leave them when the youthful Sister Gormán stayed him.
‘Can we … may we at least hold a small service for the repose of Sister Muirgel’s soul, Captain?’
Murchad looked uncomfortable for a moment.
‘It is our Christian duty to do so,’ pressed Sister Ainder, coming to her support.
‘Of course,’ muttered Murchad. ‘You may hold your service at midday when I hope the mist will have cleared.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
Murchad left them as Wenbrit began to pass round the mead and water. The meal was taken in total silence and Fidelma was thankful to escape back onto the deck. The mist was still thick and swirling and it had not cleared by midday.
The service was, indeed, simple. Everyone gathered on the main deck apart from Gurvan and another sailor who controlled the steering oar, plus a lookout perched out of sight atop the mist-shrouded mainmast, whose duty it was to see when there might be a clearing of the skies. It had been some time ago when Murchad had lowered his sails and thrown out sea anchors in case the ship drifted into danger. But Fidelma could feel that the vessel was drifting despite the anchors and Murchad’s anxious eyes were darting around, attuned for trouble.
It was a strange group that stood there, surrounded by the wispy mist, like wraiths in an Otherworld setting. Surprisingly, Brother Tola led the prayers for the repose of the soul of Sister Muirgel. His voice echoed as if he were speaking in a sepulchre. He ended his prayer and then, without preamble, began to intone lines which Fidelma recognised from the Book of Jeremiah. Lines she found a strange choice:
‘We have left our lands, our houses have been pulled down,
Listen, you women, to the words of the Lord,
That your ears may catch what He says.
Teach your daughters the lament,
Let them teach one another this dirge;
Death has climbed in through our windows,
It has entered our palaces,
It sweeps off the children in the open air …’
Fidelma gazed at the forbidding monk in some bewilderment, for she thought his harsh cadences were not suited to a service for the repose of a soul. She glanced round at her fellow mourners and found, even through the swirling mist, that Sister Gormán’s eyes were bright and that she was nodding in time to the rhythm of the recitation. Next to her, Cian stood looking absolutely bored. The others appeared to be standing impassively, perhaps mesmerised by the tenor of Brother Tola’s religious
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