Fidelma, still on her knees, had become distracted by something else that she had observed. She was examining patches of brown red clay which seemed to lie on the wooden decking of the hold.
‘What is it, sister?’ demanded Ross, reaching forward and holding the lamp high.
Fidelma scooped some of it up on her fingers and stared down at it.
‘Nothing, I suppose. Just red clay. I presume it was probably trodden from the shore by those who filled the hold. But there seems a great deal of it about this place.’
She rose to her feet and moved across the bare storage area to a hatchway on the far side towards the bows. Suddenly she paused and turned back to Ross.
‘There is no way anyone would hide under this deck, is there?’ she asked, pointing to the flooring.
Ross grimaced wryly in the gloom.
‘Not unless they were a sea rat, sister. There is only the bilge under here.’
‘Nonetheless, I think it would be well if every place aboard this vessel were searched.’
‘I’ll see to it directly,’ agreed Ross, accepting her effortless authority without complaint.
‘Give me the lamp and I’ll continue on.’ Fidelma took the lamp from his hand and moved through the hatch into the for’ard area of the ship while Ross, glancing about nervously, for he had all the superstition of a seaman, began calling for one of his crewmen.
Fidelma, holding the lamp before her, found a small flight of steps which passed a cable tier where the anchor of the large vessel was stored. At the top of the stairs were two more cabins, both were empty. They were also tidy. It was then that Fidelma realised what was lacking. Everything was tidy; too tidy for there were no signs of any personal possessions such as must have belonged to the captain, his crew or any person who might have taken passage on the ship. There were no clothes, no shaving tackle, nothing save a pristine ship.
She turned, moved up a short companionway to the deck to seek out Ross. As her hand ran along the polished rail she felt a change in texture against her palm. Before she could investigate she heard someone moving across the deck and calling her name. She continued up into daylight.
Ross was standing near the companionway entrance with a glum face. He saw her at the top of the companionway and came forward.
‘Nothing in the bilge, sister, except rats and filth as one would expect. No bodies, that’s for sure,’ he reported grimly. ‘Alive or dead.’
Fidelma was staring down at her palm. It was discoloured with a faint brown texture. She realised what it was immediately. She showed her palm to Ross.
‘Dried blood. Split not all that long ago. That’s the secondpatch of blood on this vessel. Come with me.’ Fidelma retraced her steps down towards the cabins with Ross close behind. ‘Perhaps we should be looking for a body in the cabins below?’
She paused on the stairway and held up her lamp. Blood had certainly been smeared along the rail and there was more dried blood on the steps and some which had splashed against the side walls. It was older than the blood on the linen cloth and on the handrail of the ship.
‘There is no sign of blood on the deck,’ observed Ross. ‘Whoever was hurt must have been hurt on these stairs and moved downwards.’
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‘Or else was hurt below and came up here to be met by someone who bound the wound or otherwise prevented the blood from falling to the deck. Still, let us see where the trail leads.’
At the foot of the companionway, Fidelma bent down to examine the decking by the light of the lantern. Her eyes suddenly narrowed and she smothered an exclamation.
‘There are more signs of dried blood down here.’
‘I do not like this, sister,’ muttered Ross, anxiously casting a glance around. ‘Perhaps something evil haunts this vessel?’
Fidelma straightened up.
‘The only evil here, if evil it be, is human evil,’ she chided him.
‘A human agency could not spirit away an entire crew and a ship’s cargo,’ protested Ross.
Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘Indeed, they could. And they did not do a perfect job of it for they have left bloodstains which tell us that it was, indeed, a human agency at work. Spirits, evil or otherwise, do not have to shed blood when they wish to destroy humankind.’
She turned, still holding her lantern up, to examine the two cabins adjoining the foot of the companionway.
Either the wounded person, for she presumed the amountof blood had come from someone who had been severely injured, had been gashed with a knife or a sharp instrument at the foot of the companionway or in one of the cabins. She turned into the first one, with Ross unwillingly trailing in her wake.
She paused on the threshold and stood staring around trying to find some clue to the mystery.
‘Captain!’
One of Ross’s men came clambering down behind them.
‘Captain, I’ve been sent by Odar to tell you that the wind is getting up again and the tide is bearing us towards the rocks.’
Ross opened his mouth to curse but, as his eye caught Fidelma’s, he contented himself with a grunt.
‘Very well. Get a line on the bow of this vessel and tell Odar to stand by to steer her. I shall tow her into a safe anchorage.’
The man scampered off and Ross turned back to Fidelma.
‘Best come off back to the barc, sister. It will not be easy to steer this vessel to shore. It will be safer on my ship.’
Fidelma reluctantly turned after him and as she did so her eyes caught something which she had not perceived before. The open cabin door had shielded it from her as she had stood in the cabin. Now, as she turned to go, she saw something unusual hanging from a peg behind the door. Unusual because it was a tiag liubhair, a leather book satchel. Fidelma was astonished to see such an item in the cabin of a ship. It was true that the Irish kept their books, not on shelves, but in satchels hung on pegs or racks around the walls of their libraries, each satchel containing one or more manuscript volumes. And such satchels were also generally employed to carry books from place to place. It was always necessary for a missionary priest to have Gospels, offices and other books and so such satchels were also designed to transport them on their missions. The tiag liubhair which hung behind the cabin door was one that was commonly slung from the shoulder by a strap.
Fidelma was unaware of Ross now pausing impatiently at the foot of the companionway.
She unhooked the satchel and reached in. Inside there was a small vellum volume.
Suddenly her heart was racing, her mouth dry, and she stood rooted to the spot. The blood pounded in her ears. For a moment or two she thought she was going to pass out. The volume was a small, innocuous looking manuscript book, its vellum leaves bound in heavy calf-leather and embossed with beautiful patterned whirls and circles. Fidelma had recognised that it would be a Missal even before she turned to the title page. She knew also what would be inscribed on that page.
It was now over twelve months since Sister Fidelma had last held this book in her hands. Over twelve months ago, on a warm Roman summer evening, in the herb-scented garden of the Lateran Palace, she had stood holding this little book. It had been the evening before she had left Rome to return home to Ireland. She had handed the book to her friend and companion in adventure, Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, from the Saxon land of the South Folk. Brother Eadulf, who had helped her solve the mystery of Abbess Etain’s murder at Whitby and later of the murder of Wighard, the archbishop-elect of Canterbury in Rome.
The book which she now held in her hands, in this mysterious abandoned ship, had been her farewell gift to her closest friend and companion. A gift that had meant so much to them in that emotional parting.