gratias and then we may proceed with our meal.’
Fidelma raised her eyes expectantly. The idea of Cian as a religieux, leading the gratias, was something that she had never imagined.
The former warrior flushed, seemingly aware of her inquisitive gaze, and turned to the elderly, austere Brother.
‘Let Brother Tola proclaim the gratias ,’ he muttered stiffly, raising his eyes to challenge Fidelma. ‘I have little to be thankful for,’ he added in a soft whisper meant for her ears only. She did not bother to respond. Murchad, hearing the remark, raised his bushy brows but said nothing.
Brother Tola clasped his hands before him and intoned in a loud baritone: ‘Benedictus sit Deus in Donis Suis.’
They responded automatically: ‘ Et sanctus in omnis operibus Suis.’
While the meal was being eaten, Murchad began to explain, as he had previously done to Fidelma, his estimation of the length of their voyage.
‘It is to be hoped that we will be graced with fair weather to the port at which you will disembark. The port is not far from the Holy Shrine to which you are bound. It is a journey of just a few miles inland.’
There was a murmur of excitement among the pilgrims. One of the
two young Brothers, whom Fidelma had seen up on the main deck earlier, a youth she learnt was called Brother Dathal, leant forward, his face as animated as it had been when he had been speaking to his companion on deck.
‘Is the shrine near to the spot where Bregon built his great tower?’
Clearly Brother Dathal was a student of the ancient legends of the Gael because, according to the old bards, the ancestors of the people of Éireann had once lived in Iberia and many centuries ago had spied the country from a great tower, built by their leader Bregon. It was the nephew of Bregon, Golamh, known also as Mike Easpain, who had led his people in the great invasion which secured for them the Five Kingdoms.
Murchad smiled broadly. He had heard the question many times before from other pilgrims.
‘So legend has it,’ he replied in good humour. ‘However, I must warn you that you will find no sign of such a massive construction, apart from a great Roman lighthouse which is called the Tower of Hercules, not of Bregon. Bregon’s Tower must have been a very, very high tower indeed, for a man to be able to see the coast of Éireann from Iberia.’ He paused but no one seemed to appreciate his humour. His voice became serious. ‘Now, since we have a moment together, I need to say a few things to all of you which you must pass on to your fellows who have not been able to join us in this first meal. There are rules which you must observe while on this ship.’
He hesitated before proceeding.
‘I have told you that our voyage will take the best part of a week. During that time you may use the main deck as much as you like. Try not to get in the way of my crew while they perform their duties, for your lives depend on the efficient running of this ship and sailing these waters is not an easy task.’
‘I have heard stories of great sea monsters.’
It was the youthful Sister Gormán. Fidelma examined her with surreptitious interest, for she felt it would be best to start becoming acquainted with her fellow passengers, to the extent that they would be confined together in the ship for several days. Gormán was, indeed, young; no more than eighteen. She spoke in a nervous, breathless tone, giving the impression of a naive child. In fact, Fidelma had the image of an eager young puppy wishing to please its master. She had one odd feature, in that her eyes seemed never still, but flickering as if in a state of permanent anxiety. Fidelma found herself wondering if she had ever been that young. Eighteen. It suddenly reminded her that she
had been eighteen when she had met Cian. She dismissed the thought immediately.
‘Shall we be seeing sea monsters?’ the girl was asking. ‘Will we be in any danger?’
Murchad laughed, but not
Fidelma raised her eyes expectantly. The idea of Cian as a religieux, leading the gratias, was something that she had never imagined.
The former warrior flushed, seemingly aware of her inquisitive gaze, and turned to the elderly, austere Brother.
‘Let Brother Tola proclaim the gratias ,’ he muttered stiffly, raising his eyes to challenge Fidelma. ‘I have little to be thankful for,’ he added in a soft whisper meant for her ears only. She did not bother to respond. Murchad, hearing the remark, raised his bushy brows but said nothing.
Brother Tola clasped his hands before him and intoned in a loud baritone: ‘Benedictus sit Deus in Donis Suis.’
They responded automatically: ‘ Et sanctus in omnis operibus Suis.’
While the meal was being eaten, Murchad began to explain, as he had previously done to Fidelma, his estimation of the length of their voyage.
‘It is to be hoped that we will be graced with fair weather to the port at which you will disembark. The port is not far from the Holy Shrine to which you are bound. It is a journey of just a few miles inland.’
There was a murmur of excitement among the pilgrims. One of the
two young Brothers, whom Fidelma had seen up on the main deck earlier, a youth she learnt was called Brother Dathal, leant forward, his face as animated as it had been when he had been speaking to his companion on deck.
‘Is the shrine near to the spot where Bregon built his great tower?’
Clearly Brother Dathal was a student of the ancient legends of the Gael because, according to the old bards, the ancestors of the people of Éireann had once lived in Iberia and many centuries ago had spied the country from a great tower, built by their leader Bregon. It was the nephew of Bregon, Golamh, known also as Mike Easpain, who had led his people in the great invasion which secured for them the Five Kingdoms.
Murchad smiled broadly. He had heard the question many times before from other pilgrims.
‘So legend has it,’ he replied in good humour. ‘However, I must warn you that you will find no sign of such a massive construction, apart from a great Roman lighthouse which is called the Tower of Hercules, not of Bregon. Bregon’s Tower must have been a very, very high tower indeed, for a man to be able to see the coast of Éireann from Iberia.’ He paused but no one seemed to appreciate his humour. His voice became serious. ‘Now, since we have a moment together, I need to say a few things to all of you which you must pass on to your fellows who have not been able to join us in this first meal. There are rules which you must observe while on this ship.’
He hesitated before proceeding.
‘I have told you that our voyage will take the best part of a week. During that time you may use the main deck as much as you like. Try not to get in the way of my crew while they perform their duties, for your lives depend on the efficient running of this ship and sailing these waters is not an easy task.’
‘I have heard stories of great sea monsters.’
It was the youthful Sister Gormán. Fidelma examined her with surreptitious interest, for she felt it would be best to start becoming acquainted with her fellow passengers, to the extent that they would be confined together in the ship for several days. Gormán was, indeed, young; no more than eighteen. She spoke in a nervous, breathless tone, giving the impression of a naive child. In fact, Fidelma had the image of an eager young puppy wishing to please its master. She had one odd feature, in that her eyes seemed never still, but flickering as if in a state of permanent anxiety. Fidelma found herself wondering if she had ever been that young. Eighteen. It suddenly reminded her that she
had been eighteen when she had met Cian. She dismissed the thought immediately.
‘Shall we be seeing sea monsters?’ the girl was asking. ‘Will we be in any danger?’
Murchad laughed, but not
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