‘What is that cloth up there, there on the rigging twenty feet above us?’ she asked.
Odar glanced at Ross quickly before replying.
‘I do not know, sister. Do you want me to fetch it?’
It was Ross who instructed him.
‘Up you go, Odar.’
The man leapt up the rigging with practised ease and was down in a moment holding out a strip of torn material.
‘A nail in the mast had caught it, sister,’ he said.
Fidelma saw that it was simply a piece of linen. A torn strip of material that could have come from a shirt. What interested her was that part of it was stained with blood and it was a comparatively fresh stain for it was not fully dried brown but still retained a distinctness of colour.
Fidelma looked thoughtfully upwards for a moment, walking to the base of the rigging and peering towards the furled topsail. Then, as she went to turn away, her eye caught something else. The smeared dried blood imprint of what was clearly a palm on the railing. She stared down at it thoughtfully, noting that whoever had made that imprintmust have been holding the rail from the seaward side of it. She sighed quietly and placed the torn piece of linen in her
‘Take me to the captain’s cabin,’ instructed Fidelma, seeing there was nothing to be learnt above decks.
Ross turned aft to the main cabin underneath the raised stern deck. In fact, there were two cabins there. Both were neatly arranged. The bunks were tidy and in one of the cabins, plates and cups were set in place on the table, slightly jumbled. Ross, seeing her glance, explained that they would be jumbled by the erratic motion of the vessel as it swung without a helmsman before the wind.
‘It is a wonder that it has not already crashed on the rocks before now,’ he added. ‘God knows how long it has been blown across the seas without a hand to guide it. And it is under full sail, so a hefty wind could have easily capsized it with no one to shorten or reef the sails.’
Fidelma compressed her lips thoughtfully for a moment.
‘It is almost as if the crew has simply vanished,’ Ross added. ‘As if they were spirited away …’
Fidelma arched a cynical eyebrow.
‘Such things do not happen in the real world, Ross. There is a logical explanation for all things. Show me the rest of the ship.’
Ross led the way from the cabin.
Below decks, the soft, pungent salt tang of the sea air gave place to a more oppressive odour which evolved from years of men living and eating together in a confined space, for the space between decks was so narrow that Fidelma had to bend to prevent her head knocking against the beams. The stale stench of sweat, the bitter sweet smell of urine, not dispersed by even salt water scrubbing, permeated the area where the crew had been confined while not performing their tasks above deck. The only thing to be said about it was that it was warmer down here than up on the cold wind-swept decks.
However, the crews’ quarters were fairly tidy although not as neat as the cabins that were presumably used by the officers of the ship. Still, there was no sign of disorder or hasty departure. The stores were stowed meticulously.
From the crew’s quarters, Ross led the way into the central hold of the ship. Another smell caught Fidelma’s senses, it being a rapid change of sensual stimulus from the stale bitter odour of the crew’s quarters. Fidelma halted, frowning, trying to place the perfume that assailed her nostrils. A combining of several spices, she thought, but something else dominated it. An aroma of stale wine. She peered around in the gloom of the hold. It appeared to be empty.
Ross was fiddling with some tinder and flint and struck a spark to light an oil lamp so that they could see the interior better. He exhaled softly.
‘As I said, the ship was riding high out of the water which made her doubly unwieldy before the weather. I expected that we would find an empty hold.’
‘Why would there be no cargo on board?’ Fidelma demanded as she peered round.
Ross was clearly puzzled.
‘I have no idea, sister.’
‘This merchant ship is Gaulish, you say?’
The seaman nodded.
‘Could the ship have sailed from Gaul without a cargo?’
‘Ah,’ Ross saw her point immediately. ‘No, it would have sailed with a cargo. And likewise it would have picked up a cargo in an Irish port for the return journey.’
‘So we have no idea when the crew deserted her? She might have been on her way to Ireland or on her way back to Gaul? And it could well be that her cargo was removed when her crew deserted her?’
Ross scratched his nose reflectively.
‘They are good questions but we have no answers.’
Fidelma took a few paces into the empty hold and began to study it in the gloom.
‘What does a ship like this usually carry?’
‘Wine, spices and other things not so easily come by in our country, sister. See, those are racks for the wine kegs but they are all empty.’
She followed his outstretched hand. There was, together with the empty racks, a certain amount of debris, of pieces of broken wood and, lying on its side, was a iron-shod cartwheel, with one of the spokes broken. There was something else which caused her to frown a little. It was a large cylinder of wood around which was tightly wound a coarse thick thread. The cylinder was two feet in length and some six inches in diameter. She bent down and touched the thread and her eyes widened a little. It was a skein of animal gut.
‘What is this, Ross?’ she asked.
The sailor bent, examined it and shrugged.
‘I have no idea. It has no use aboard a ship. And it is not a means of fastening anything. The skein is too pliable, it would stretch if any tension was placed on it.’
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.
