Act of Mercy (33 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Act of Mercy
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To her surprise, she saw Murchad coming along the main deck towards her. He looked utterly exhausted after the two days of severe storm in which he had been mainly at the steering oar.
‘Are you all right, lady?’ he asked. ‘Wenbrit told me what happened and I asked Gurvan to keep a watch on you just in case you were attacked again.’
‘I have felt better,’ confessed Fidelma. She saw Wenbrit occupied further along the deck. ‘How is Mouse Lord?’
Murchad smiled.
‘He might limp a little but he will continue to hunt mice for a while yet. Young Wenbrit managed to stitch the wound together and he seems none the worse for the cut. I don’t suppose you saw who threw the knife at you?’
‘It was too dark.’ Then she changed the subject. ‘Are we through the storm?’
‘Through the worst of it, I think,’ he replied. ‘The wind has moved southerly and it will be easier for us to hoist the mainsail once again and keep to our original course. I think this is one voyage that I shall not be sorry to end. I’ll be glad to find myself in the arms of Aoife again.’
‘Aoife?’
‘My wife is called Aoife,’ Murchad smiled. ‘Even sailors have wives.’
A thought nagged at Fidelma’s memory. Suddenly the words of an old song came into her mind.
‘You who loved us in the days now fled
Down the whirlpool of hate, spite fed,
You cast aside the love you bore,
To make vengeance your only law!’
Murchad frowned.
‘I was thinking of the jealous lust of Aoife, the wife of Lir, the god of the oceans, and how she destroyed those who loved him.’
The captain sniffed disparagingly.
‘My wife Aoife is a wonderful woman,’ he said in a tone of protest.
Fidelma smiled quickly.
‘I am sorry. It was merely the name which prompted the thought. I did not mean anything against your wife – but it has brought a useful memory back to me.’
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 shall
be 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.’
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
dálaigh,
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 bloodstained
knife 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 you
are the Butcher of Rath Bíle 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 Gormán 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.
‘There is no need for me to tell you, of course, that a very dangerous killer sits among us.’
‘That much is logical,’ Brother Dathal agreed, nodding eagerly. ‘But who is it, if not Brother Cian? And why do you call him the common denominator?’
‘This killer has been known to you ever since you started out from the north on this pilgrimage,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘The first victim of the murderer was Sister Canair.’
Sister Ainder exhaled sharply.
‘How can you possibly know that?’ she demanded. ‘Sister Canair simply did not turn up when the tide forced this ship to sail. What makes you think she has been murdered?’
There was a muttering of agreement.
‘Because I spoke to someone who saw the body. Brother Guss saw it, as did Sister Muirgel.’
Cian gave a cynical bark of laughter.
‘Convenient, isn’t it, since both Muirgel and Guss are now dead and cannot support your claim?’
‘Very convenient,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Muirgel was also murdered while Brother Guss …’ She shrugged. ‘Well, we all know what happened. He fell overboard because he was driven by fear.’
All eyes turned to Sister Crella.
‘There was only one person from whom Guss was backing away in fear at the time,’ Brother Dathal commented.
Sister Crella sat hypnotised like a terrified rabbit. She was deathly pale and could only shake her head from side to side as if in denial.
‘Sister Crella?’ Brother Tola pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it makes some sense. There are rumours that she was jealous of Muirgel.’
‘Brother Guss told me that he firmly believed that Sister Crella was the person who had killed Muirgel,’ Cian offered, glad that the responsibility had apparently shifted from his shoulders.
‘Jealousy? Lust!’ sneered Sister Ainder disapprovingly. ‘The greatest sin.’
Sister Crella started to cry softly. Fidelma thought she should intervene again.
‘Sister Crella was only the
unwitting
cause of the death of Brother Guss,’ she revealed. ‘Unfortunately, Brother Guss did have that unshakable belief that Crella was the guilty person. He was young and fearful – and don’t forget that he had seen what the killer had done to both Canair and Muirgel. He was afraid for his life; frantic with a fear that caused him to lose his reason. When Crella came towards him, he thought she was going to strike him down and he backed away in fear, only to fall overboard. His death was caused
not by Crella –
but by the person who had engendered such a fear of death in him.’
There was another, long silence. Sister Crella was staring at Fidelma through her tears, not really understanding what she had said, simply registering that Fidelma was not accusing her.
‘Are you playing games with us, Sister?’ Sister Ainder turned angrily towards her. ‘You accuse in one breath and then you acquit in another. What do you mean by it? Can you not simply tell us what the motive for these killings was, and who is responsible?’
Fidelma kept her tone reasonable, as if discussing the weather.
‘You, yourself, have told me the motive.’
Sister Ainder blinked.
‘What?’
‘You told me – it was one of the seven deadly sins, the sin of lust.’ Fidelma paused to let her words sink in before continuing. ‘In any investigation the first question that needs to be asked is the one which Cicero once asked of a Roman judge.
Cui bono
? Who stands to gain? What is the motive?’
‘Are you saying lust was the motive?’ Brother Tola interrupted, his voice full of derision. ‘How was the death of that Laigin warrior, Toca Nia, attributable to lust? Or are you treating his murder separately? To me it seems obvious that he was killed because of his accusations against Cian there. Only Cian stood to gain by his death.’
There was clearly no love lost between him and Cian.
‘You are right,’ agreed Fidelma calmly. ‘Toca Nia was killed to protect Cian.’
Cian tried to rise again but Gurvan pressed him back in his seat.
‘So you are accusing me, after all?’ he said bitterly. ‘I did not—’
‘Did not kill him?’ interrupted Fidelma mildly. ‘No, you did not. I said he was killed to protect you: I did not say he was killed by you. But the motive for Toca Nia’s death was the same as the motive for the deaths of Canair and Muirgel and the two attempts on my life.’
‘Two?’ frowned Brother Dathal. ‘Someone has tried to kill you twice?’
‘Oh yes,’ nodded Fidelma. ‘A second attempt was made in my cabin last night during the storm. I owe my life to a cat.’ She did not bother to explain further. There would be plenty of time later on.
‘So there is one killer and one motive? Is that what you are saying?’ Murchad asked, trying to follow her reasoning.
‘The motive being lust,’ she confirmed. ‘Or rather, I should say, a belief that they were in love with Cian, to the extent that all sanity was driven from their minds, leaving an obsession that they must protect him and drive out any who tried to win his love.’
Cian sat back, white-faced and shaky.
‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’
‘Had Toca Nia harmed you, then you would have been denied to this person, who wanted you for themselves.’
‘I still do not understand.’
‘Easy enough. I said that you were the common denominator. Weren’t you the lover of both Canair and Muirgel at various times?’
Cian’s face was defiant.
‘I do not deny it,’ he said shortly.
‘There were several others also whose affections you won in your insatiable appetite for young women. Were you trying to compensate for what Una had done to you?’ She could not help the malicious twist
‘Una has nothing to do with it,’ Cian swore.
Sister Gorman leant forward anxiously.
‘Who is Una? We had no Sister Una at Moville.’
‘Una was Cian’s wife. She divorced him on the grounds that he was sterile,’ Fidelma said with an unforgiving smile. ‘Perhaps Cian was compensating for that degrading position by finding as many young lovers as he could.’
Cian’s face was working in anger.
‘You …’ he began.
‘One of those lovers could not abide the idea that you had loved others,’ went on Fidelma. ‘Unlike most of your loves, this person was unbalanced. Insane, we might say, with jealousy. You did not realise what a cauldron of jealousy and hate you were stirring. How
fortunate, Cian, that the hate was not directed at you but at the other lovers you took.’
As if she had poured ice water on his anger, Cian had become suddenly still. He was sitting with his mouth partially open; his mind appeared to be working rapidly as he thought over what she was saying.
Brother Tola bent towards her.
‘If I have understood you correctly, Toca Nia was killed because he was threatening Cian; and this person, insanely determined to protect Cian, simply saw him as a threat, to be removed in the same manner that his lovers were.’
‘The person wanted Cian for themselves,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Apart from Crella, there was no one else I had an affair with,’ Cian stated, ‘other than …’ He stared with wide-eyed suspicion at Fidelma; a flicker of fear came into his eyes.
Fidelma chuckled sardonically as she realised what was going through his mind. That he could accuse her was ironic in the extreme, but it followed his natural arrogance that he actually believed that she would have retained an intensity of feeling for him after all these years.

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