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community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was but a day’s sailing along the rugged coastline and therefore Fidelma had sought passage in the barc of Ross.
    The discovery of the deserted Gaulish merchant ship and the book satchel, containing her parting gift to Brother Eadulf, had caused all thoughts of the reason for her journey to be driven momentarily from her mind.
    ‘Sister,’ insisted Ross, in agitation, ‘we must return to the barc .’
    Unwillingly, she agreed, replacing the Missal back into the leather satchel and swinging it over her shoulder.
    Ross’s men had fastened lines from the bow of the Gaulish ship to the stern of their smaller vessel and two men were left
aboard her, the steersman, Odar, and another man, while Ross and Fidelma accompanied the others to the deck of the Foracha .
    Fidelma’s mind was preoccupied as Ross issued instructions to ease his ship away from the bigger vessel and turn before the wind. Soon the tow lines grew taut and the smaller craft began to make way with the larger ship, clawing through the choppy seas, after her. The wind was up again and there was no doubt that had Ross not intervened then the Gaulish ship would have already foundered on the hidden rocks and reefs that lay nearby.
    Ross kept an anxious eye on the straining ropes and the wallowing vessel behind them. Odar was an expert steersman and skilfully kept the bigger ship on course. Ross then turned to judge his course for the coast. He was heading for one of the great bays between two south-westerly thrusting granite peninsulas, towards a large peninsula along which tall mountains ran, dominated by one distant high round dome that overpowered all other peaks. Before this peninsula rose the squat, bulbous shape of a large island and Ross ordered his helmsman to guide the barc towards the inlet between this island and the coast of the peninsula.
    Fidelma had perched herself, with folded arms, against the stern rail, her head bowed in thought, oblivious to the approaching coast and its spectacular scenery. She also seemed oblivious to the pitch and toss of the barc as it was propelled before the winds tugging its prize after it.
    ‘We’ll soon be in sheltered waters,’ Ross informed her, feeling sympathy for the young religieuse for the distress which her discovery had caused showed plainly on her features.
    ‘Could it have been slavers?’ she suddenly asked him without preamble.
    Ross thought a moment. It was known that raiders, seeking slaves, often penetrated Irish waters, sometimes
attacking coastal villages or fishing boats and carrying off inhabitants to be sold in the slave markets of the Saxon kingdoms or even further afield in Iberia, Frankia and Germania.
    ‘Perhaps slavers might have attacked the merchant ship and carried everyone off?’ Fidelma pressed as he hesitated.
    Ross made a negative gesture of his head.
    ‘Forgive me, sister, but I do not think so. If, as you say, a slaver had captured the merchant ship, then why not simply put a prize crew on board her and sail her back to their home port? Why remove the crew and, what is more curious, why remove the cargo leaving the ship behind? They would get as much, if not more money, for the ship as for its crew and cargo.’
    Fidelma saw that Ross’s logic was right. Indeed, why leave the ship so neat and comparatively tidy? She sighed deeply as no immediate answers came to the innumerable questions which hammered in her mind.
    She tried to stop wasting emotional energy asking questions which were impossible to answer. Her mentor, Brehon Morann of Tara, had taught her that it was no use worrying about answers to problems unless she knew the questions that should be asked. Yet even when she tried to clear her mind and seek refuge in the art of the dercad , the act of meditation, by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the calming of extraneous thought and mental irritations, she found the task impossible.
    She decided to focus