‘But you have an idea, some suspicion?’
‘Sister Muirgel seems to have been someone who was intensely disliked by several of those aboard and, when she was not disliked, she was the object of a jealousy that might have no bounds. One thing I
am
certain of is that the person who plunged the knife into her habit is still aboard. But whether I shall have time to find them before this ship reaches Iberia, I am not all that certain.’
‘But you are going to try to discover the murderer?’
‘That is my intention. However, it will take time,’ Fidelma agreed gravely.
‘We still have several days’ sailing before we reach Iberia,’ Murchad reflected sombrely. ‘I don’t like to think that we shall be sailing without knowing the identity of the murderer. We could all be in danger.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘I don’t think so. I believe that the killer selected Sister Muirgel because she was the object of a particular hatred which overwhelmed them. I doubt if anyone else is in immediate danger.’
Murchad looked at her in apprehension.
‘But you do have a suspicion as to who this killer is, Fidelma?’ She detected the hidden tension in his voice as if he were pleading for reassurance.
‘I never speak until I am sure,’ she replied. ‘But don’t worry; as soon as I am sure I will inform you.’
She had finished nibbling at some selected morsels of the food which Wenbrit had served. Fidelma was never one to eat a large breakfast and some fruit usually sufficed. Now she rose to her feet.
‘What is your next move?’ enquired Murchad.
‘I am going to have a thorough search of Muirgel’s cabin and belongings.’
Murchad accepted her departure reluctantly.
‘Well, do keep me informed. And be careful. A person who has killed once usually has no compunction about killing again, especially if they believe that you are getting close to them. I do not share your belief that there is no further danger here.’
She smiled briefly from the cabin door.
‘Don’t worry on my behalf, Murchad,’ she said. ‘I am sure that this is a crime of some passion and involves only Sister Muirgel.’
Outside, it was fully light now. The morning was clear and blue but the wind had risen fresh and chilly. The reddening sky had vanished but while it usually heralded a period of stillness, it also meant that bad weather would soon follow. Indeed, no changeable weather arrives without warning. Fidelma, from her childhood, had been taught that the signs were usually to be seen in the sky. It was a matter of observation and interpreting the evidence correctly. It might look bright now, with the hope that the pale sun would grow warmer, but she doubted it. There was bad weather coming. She wondered what had happened to the captain’s faith in ‘St Luke’s Little Summer’.
She made her way below decks to the cabin area and paused to hear the sounds of voices from the mess deck. The pilgrim band were still at their breakfast. It was an ideal time to search Sister Muirgel’s cabin and belongings without being disturbed. Later she would have to tell the company of her suspicions, but she wished she could do so at the same time as revealing who might have pushed her overboard.
The problem was that there were several people who could easily have killed Sister Muirgel; several on whom an obvious suspicion fell. In her experience, it was never the obvious that counted. But what happened when you had many obvious suspects? She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she wished Brother Eadulf was with her so that she could discuss her ideas with him. Often his comments put things into a sharp focus for her.
She entered the dark, odorous cabin and paused on the threshold to light a lamp from the lantern that swung on its hook in the passageway. Glancing round to ensure that she had not been observed, she entered and closed the door.
A couple of blankets were heaped carelessly on the bunk which Sister Muirgel had used. Fidelma held the lamp high and peered round. There was hardly anything of interest in the cabin at all. No baggage, papers or books that might furnish her with clues.
She frowned and made a more careful examination, standing still but turning to search the corners of the room for any cupboards or hooks. There was no obvious sign of Sister Muirgel’s baggage nor any other belongings. Someone must have placed the baggage beneath the lumpy heap of blankets on the bunk. She did not remember it being so untidy when she had last been in the cabin with Wenbrit to examine Muirgel’s robe, which she had given to the charge of Murchad, as captain of The
Barnacle Goose
, in case it was needed as evidence.
Setting the lamp down beside the bed, she bent forward. It was only
then that a cold feeling of anticipation gripped her. The blankets, she now saw, were concealing the shape of a body. Hesitating barely a fraction of a second, she reached forth a hand and drew back a fold of cloth.
There, on her back, lay the form of a woman, clad in bloodstained undergarments. Her eyes were still open and blood was pumping in little spurts from a jagged knife-wound across her throat, where it had penetrated the jugular vein. Even as Fidelma gazed down, the dark glazing eyes turned to her, silent and pleading. The lips twitched, a gurgling sound came forth and blood began to form on them.
Fidelma bent forward quickly.
There was a gulping breath, but no words came. The dying woman seemed to he pushing a clenched hand towards Fidelma.
Then her head flopped uselessly to one side and blood fountained out of the half-opened mouth. Something fell with a clatter from the dead woman’s fist as her fingers relaxed and unfurled. Automatically, Fidelma bent down and picked it up. It was a small silver crucifix on a broken chain.
Fidelma rose slowly, holding her lamp high, in order to examine the woman’s face. She stood looking down in bewilderment for a few moments, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.
The body of the woman who lay sprawled on the bunk before her, with her throat just recently cut, was Sister Muirgel.
‘I don’t understand it,’ Murchad announced, not for the first time, as he scratched the back of his head and stared down at the body. Fidelma had called him down to the cabin without informing anyone else. He looked utterly bewildered. ‘Are you sure that this is Sister Muirgel? I only saw her for a few moments on the day when they all came aboard. Maybe it is another of the Sisters?’
Fidelma shook her head firmly.
‘I saw her only for a few minutes as well when I went into her cabin, but I am certain that this is the same woman. It is certainly none of the other three.’
Murchad heaved a frustrated sigh.
‘It seems, then, that this Sister Muirgel has been murdered twice,’ he observed dryly. ‘Once during the first night out when her bloodstained robe was found but not her body, and once just now when someone stabbed her and cut her throat. What can it mean?’
‘It means that Sister Muirgel initially wanted us to
believe
that she was dead … whereas in reality she was still aboard, hiding somewhere … or being hidden by someone. Remember what Wenbrit said about the missing food? I suspected immediately. That was why I wanted another search. Muirgel was faking it. Yet there is no sign of the knife.’
‘But why did Muirgel want us to believe that she had been stabbed or swept overboard in the storm?’ asked Murchad. ‘Why was the robe planted so that we would then immediately suspect that she had been murdered?’
Fidelma glanced down at the crucifix she was holding in her hand. It was the one which Muirgel had been holding. Fidelma had almost forgotten it during the last few minutes while she tried to seek an explanation for the mystery.
‘What’s that?’ enquired the captain, noticing Fidelma studying it.
‘Her crucifix. It must have comforted her during the last few minutes of her life. She was holding it in her hand when she died.’
‘A pious woman,’ Murchad observed, indicating a larger and more ostentatious crucifix still around the dead woman’s neck.
Fidelma gazed down at the crucifix in her hand. It was of an entirely different style to that worn by Muirgel. Albeit smaller, it was of a more tasteful workmanship, and she suddenly realised that this crucifix did not belong to Muirgel. She turned it over in her hand thoughtfully. It was only on the second time of turning it over that she suddenly realised that a name was scratched on it.
‘Hold the lamp nearer,’ she instructed Murchad.
He did so.
The lines of the marks were faint but the name was easily discernible.
Canair
.
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‘Did you ever meet this Sister Canair?’ she asked Murchad.
‘I never saw her. The passage money, like your own, was negotiated by the Abbey of St Declan before the pilgrims arrived. I knew the names of the pilgrims only and they had to tally with the number booked for the passage. Eleven passage fares were paid, but only ten people came on board plus yourself. I was told that this Sister Canair, who was leading the pilgrims, had not arrived at Ardmore and, as we had to sail with the tide …’ He made a dismissive gesture with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘What can we do now?’
Fidelma hesitated a moment or so before making up her mind.
‘I will continue as before, but now we have a body to prove the crime. Initially it seems that some things might begin to make sense. For example, it explains why Brother Guss, who claimed to be in love with Muirgel, was not distraught with grief when we all thought she had been swept overboard. He obviously knew that she was still alive. However, my suspicions as to who the culprit is have to be altered. I am afraid that I am no nearer solving this mystery than I was before. There are still many more questions to be asked.’
Fidelma looked at the captain.
‘Everyone is still at breakfast, I suppose? Will you fetch Brother Tola and Brother Guss here? Do not allow them to come into the cabin until I ask them. Oh, and can you spare one of your sailors to come down here? I think we shall need to put a guard on this cabin.’
Murchad went off without further comment. After a short while, there was a tap on the door. A ruddy-faced sailor put his head around it. ‘My name is Drogon, lady. The captain says you want someone down here.’
‘I do. Stand outside and make sure no one comes into this cabin unless I say.’
Drogon raised his fist to his brow in salute and withdrew. A moment or two later, she heard Brother Tola’s querulous tones outside demanding to know why he had been summoned. Fidelma went to the door.
‘Come in, Brother Tola,’ she ordered curtly. Then, seeing Brother Guss behind him, she added: ‘Wait there. I will speak with you in a moment.’
Brother Tola came in with a frown.
‘Well, what now?’ he demanded, looking around him in distaste.
Fidelma went to the bunk and raised the lantern over the dead body.
Brother Tola let out a gasp and took a step nearer.
‘Who is this, Brother Tola?’ Fidelma asked, her eyes not leaving his face.
An expression of utter amazement crossed it and he bent forward shaking his head.
‘It is Sister Muirgel,’ he whispered. ‘What does this mean? I thought she had been swept overboard.’
There was no questioning the genuineness of his surprise.
‘Return to the others, Tola,’ Fidelma instructed quietly, ‘and do not say anything about this until I come along, which will be shortly. Tell Brother Guss to come in as you leave.’
Shaking his head a little, the shocked religieux left. Fidelma was disappointed. She had been almost counting on some sign that Tola was not exactly astonished to see the body of Muirgel. She was certain that he was not that good an actor. He was as bewildered at the reappearance of Muirgel as she was. There was a cough and the young monk entered.
Again, Fidelma simply held the lantern high and watched his face.
‘Who is this, Brother Guss?’
The young man’s face went white, drained of blood and he staggered back. Fidelma thought he was going to faint for a moment. His hands went to his face and he emitted a heartrending groan.
‘Muirgel! Oh my God, Muirgel!’ He started to rock back and forth on his heels.
Fidelma hung up the lantern and pushed him gently into a chair.
‘You have some explaining to do, Brother Guss. You knew that Sister Muirgel was still alive when I questioned you yesterday. You did not show this grief when we all presumed her to be washed overboard. Where has she been hiding and why?’
‘I loved Muirgel,’ the youth sobbed quietly.
‘And you knew that she was still alive?’
‘Yes, I knew,’ he confirmed between sobs.
‘Why did she go to such an elaborate charade, pretending that she had been swept overboard?’
‘She feared that she was going to be killed,’ he wept.
Fidelma examined him curiously.
‘Are you saying that she hid herself somewhere on board this ship because she felt in danger of her life?’
The young man nodded, trying to control his grief-stricken sobs.
‘Why did she come aboard ship in the first place if she believed that? Isn’t a ship the last place to find refuge in?’
‘She did not realise that she would be the next victim until after she came aboard. Then it was too late, for we had set sail. So she arranged to hide and I helped her.’
‘The
next
victim?’ Fidelma asked abruptly, picking up on the word.
‘Sister Canair had been killed before we came aboard.’
‘Canair?’ Fidelma’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Are you telling me that when Sister Muirgel and yourself came aboard this ship, you both knew that Sister Canair was dead?’
‘It is a long story, Sister,’ Brother Guss gulped, having managed to get his emotions under control.
‘Then let us begin it. What was the purpose of Sister Muirgel hiding in the ship and not remaining in her cabin?’
‘The idea was to hide from the murderer, and then I would smuggle her off at our first landing-place. That was to be the island of Ushant. We hoped to land there under the cover of darkness and remain in hiding there until after the ship sailed again, taking the murderer with it.’
‘A curious plan. Why not simply take your story to the captain? If you knew that a murderer was on board and attempting to kill …’
‘It was Muirgel’s idea. She felt that no one would believe her. They will have to now.’ The young Brother shuddered in deep distress.
‘So the murderer was on board. Did you know their identity?’
Guss shook his head sadly.
‘I did not know, not for sure. Muirgel knew but refused to tell me. She wanted to protect me. However, I can guess who it was.’
The youth was still suffering from deep emotional shock for he spoke as if he were a somnambulist, slowly and deliberately, his eyes unfocused.
In other circumstances Fidelma would have tended to him, given him a strong drink, but she needed information and she needed it quickly. Reaching into her habit, she pulled out the small silver cross
which Sister Muirgel had been clutching in her hand and held it up before his eyes.
‘Do you recognise this?’ she demanded.
Guss gave an hysterical laugh.
‘It belonged to Sister Canair.’
‘How do you know that Canair is dead? Or is that something else that only Muirgel knew for certain?’
‘I saw her body. We saw it together.’
‘Are you sure that it was Canair?’
‘I am not likely to forget the sight of that corpse.’
‘When was this?’
‘It was the night before we came on board ship.’
‘At the Abbey of Ardmore?’
‘Not at the abbey. Muirgel and I did not stay there all that night.’
Fidelma was almost beyond being surprised by the contrary turns to the story.
‘I thought that your entire party stayed at the Abbey.’
‘Our company arrived at the Abbey during the late afternoon. Prior to our arrival, Sister Canair had told us that she was going to visit someone nearby and left us before we reached the Abbey. She said that she would join us later. If she arrived too late, she said that she would simply meet us on the quay at dawn. The Abbot had already booked our passage on
The Barnacle Goose
so there was nothing to be done but meet and go on board.’
‘I see. But Sister Canair did not turn up on the quay the next morning, did she?’
‘No. She was dead by then.’
‘So when did you know that she was dead?’
‘We had arrived at the Abbey, as I say. Most of our company was exhausted and retired to their beds. Muirgel whispered to me that she was going for a walk before retiring. She told me to meet her outside the Abbey gates and come without being seen. Crella was dogging her the whole time, getting on her nerves. She said she wanted to be alone with me. I told you – we were in love.’
‘Go on,’ prompted Fidelma when he paused. ‘Did you meet her outside?’
‘I did. She was in good humour and … and a very wicked humour, too. She told me that there was a tavern at the bottom of the hill and we could spend the night there without anyone finding us or interfering.’
‘Did you agree to that?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you spent the night at this inn?’
‘Some of it.’
‘And Sister Canair? Where does she come into this story?’
Brother Guss took in a deep breath and expelled it as a long sigh. ‘We … after we … sometime after we were in bed – in the tavern, that is – we heard the sound of scuffling in the next room. We did not think anything of it. Then there was a sort of cry and we heard someone hurrying down the corridor. We would not have taken any notice except we heard moaning coming from the next room.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Out of curiosity Muirgel went to the door and listened for a moment. Then she looked out into the corridor. The door of the next room was slightly ajar and a candle was flickering inside. She went in to see if she could help, for someone was obviously in pain.’
The young man came to a halt. His mouth appeared to have gone dry and Fidelma helped him to some water from a jug. After a pause he continued.
‘Muirgel came hurrying back to me. She was shocked and upset. She whispered: “It’s Sister Canair!” I went into the room and saw Canair lying on the bed; she had been stabbed several times in the chest, around the heart. Then it seemed her throat had been cut.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.
‘That was surely indicative of a frenzied attack,’ she commented.
Brother Guss did not respond.
Fidelma prompted him again.