Ross, however, was making no idle boast when he said that he had been watching the ship for half-an-hour. Almost from the first time that he had noticed the other ship he was aware that it was either sailed by poor seamen or there was something wrong on board. The sails filled and deflated as each unpredictable wind caught them with no one on board seeming to correct the ship’s heading.
‘The way she is heading, captain,’ muttered Odar, ‘she’ll be piling up on the rocks soon.’
Ross did not reply for he had already made the same deduction. He knew that a mile or so ahead were some semi-submerged rocks, their black granite rising among streams of sea foam which poured down the sides as the seas broke over them with a noise of thunder. Moreover, Ross knew that around the granite bastions was a line of reefs under water over which a small draught vessel such as his barc could easily pass but that the sea-going ship to his port had no chance.
Ross gave a low sigh.
‘Stand by to turn towards her, Odar,’ he grunted to the steersman and then he yelled to his crew. ‘Ready to loose the main sail!’
With deft precision, the Foracha swung from its course to a new tack with the wind full at her back so that it fairly flew across the waves towards the large ship. It cut the distance with great rapidity until the barc was but a cable’s distance away and then Ross moved forward to the rail, cupping his hands to his mouth.
‘Hóigh!’ he yelled. ‘Hóigh!’
There was no responding cry from the now towering, dark vessel.
Suddenly, without warning, the fickle wind changeddirection. The tall, dark bow of the sea-going ship was turned directly towards them, the sails filled and it was bearing down on them like an infuriated sea monster.
Ross yelled to the steersman: ‘Hard to starboard!’
It was all he could do as he helplessly watched the larger vessel bearing remorselessly down.
With agonising slowness the bows of the Foracha dragged unwillingly over and the great ship went scraping along the portside of the vessel, banging against the little ship so that she heeled and wallowed and was left bobbing in the wake of the passing vessel.
Ross stood shaking angrily as he gazed at the stem of the vessel. The wind had suddenly died away and the larger ship’s sails had deflated as it slid slowly to a halt.
‘May the captain of that vessel never see the cuckoo nor the corncrake again! May the sea-cat get him! May he die roaring! May he fester in his grave!’
The curses poured out of Ross as he stood enraged, shaking a fist at the ship.
‘A death without a priest to him in a town without clergy …’
‘Captain!’ The voice that interrupted him in full flow was feminine, quiet but authoritative. ‘I think God has heard enough curses for the moment and knows you to be upset. What is the cause of this profanity?’
Ross wheeled round. He had forgotten all about his passenger who had, until this moment, been resting below in the Foracha’s main cabin.
A tall religieuse now stood on the stern deck by Odar, the steersman, regarding him with a slight frown of disapproval. She was a young woman, tall but with a well-proportioned figure, a fact not concealed even by the sombreness of her dress nor even the beaver-fur edged woollen cloak that almost enshrouded her. Rebellious strands of red hair streaked from beneath her headdress, whipping in the sea-breeze. Her pale-skinned features were attractive and hereyes were bright but it was difficult to discern whether they were blue or green, so changeable with emotion were they.
Ross gestured defensively towards the other ship.
‘I regret that I have offended you, Sister Fidelma,’ he muttered. ‘But that ship nearly sank us.’
Ross knew that his passenger was not simply a religieuse but was sister to Colgú, king of Muman. She was, as he knew from past experience, a dálaigh, an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann, whose degree was that of anruth only one grade below the highest qualification which the universities and ecclesiastical colleges could bestow.
‘You have not offended me, Ross,’ replied Fidelma with a grim little smile. ‘Though your cursing might have offended God. I find cursing is often a waste of energy when something more positive might be done.’
Ross nodded reluctantly. He always felt uncomfortable with women. That was why he had chosen a life at sea. He had tried marriage once but that had ended with his wife deserting him and the necessity of having to care for a daughter. Even his daughter, who was now about Sister Fidelma’s own age, had not made him feel any easier dealing with the opposite sex. Moreover, he felt particularly uncomfortable with this young woman whose quiet, authoritative demeanour made him feel sometimes like a child whose behaviour was constantly under judgment. The worst thing, he realised, was that the religieuse was right. Cursing the unknown captain was of no help to anyone.
‘What is the cause of this?’ pressed Fidelma.
Ross swiftly explained, gesturing to where the great sea-going vessel was now becalmed in this brief period of contrary winds.
Fidelma examined the ship with curiosity.
‘There does not seem to be any sign of movement aboard her, Ross,’ she pointed out. ‘Did I hear you hail her?’
‘I did so,’ replied Ross, ‘but received no answer.’
In fact, Ross himself had only just come to the conclusion that anyone on board the ship could not have failed to see his barc or return his hail. He turned to Odar. ‘See if you can take us alongside,’ he grunted.
The steersman nodded and slowly brought the little barc’s bows around, praying that the winds would continue to moderate until he was in position. Odar was a taciturn man whose skill was a by-word along the coasts of Muman. It was a short while before they bumped hulls against the taller vessel and Ross’s men grabbed for the ropes that were hanging down her sides.
Sister Fidelma leant against the far rail of the Foracha, out of the way, gazing up at the taller ship with dispassionate interest.
‘A Gaulish merchant ship, by the cut of her,’ she called to Ross. ‘Isn’t the tops’l set dangerously?’
Ross cast her a glance of reluctant approval. He had ceased to be surprised by the knowledge that the young advocate displayed. This was the second time that he had acted as her transport and he was now used to the fact that she possessed knowledge beyond her years.
‘She’s from Gaul, right enough,’ he agreed. ‘The heavy timbers and rigging are peculiar to the ports of Morbihan. And you are right; that tops’l isn’t properly secured at all.’
He glanced up anxiously at the sky.
‘Forgive me, sister. We must get aboard and see what is amiss before the wind comes up again.’
Fidelma made a gesture of acquiescence with her hand.
Ross told Odar to leave the helm to another crewman and accompany him with a couple of his men. They swung easily over the side and scaled the ropes, disappearing up on deck. Fidelma stayed on the deck of the barc waiting. She could hear their voices calling up on the deck of the bigger vessel. Then she saw Ross’s crewmen speeding aloft to lower the sails of the ship obviously in case the wind sprung up again. It was not long before Ross appeared at the side of the ship andswung himself over, dropping cat-like to the deck of the Foracha. Fidelma saw that there was a bewildered expression on his face.
‘What is it, Ross?’ she demanded. ‘Is there some sickness aboard?’
Ross took a step towards her. As well as his expression of perplexity, did she detect a lurking fear in his eyes?
‘Sister, would you mind coming up on the Gaulish ship? I need you to examine it.’