The Subtle Serpent Read Free Page A

Two
    The Foracha, the coastal barc of Ross of Ross Ailithir, was making a swift passage parallel to the southern coast of the Irish kingdom of Muman. Her sails were full with an icy, cold, easterly wind almost laying the vessel over and whistling among the taut ropes of the rigging, playing on the tightly stretched cordage like harp strings. The day appeared fine, apart from the blustery sea winds swooping down from the distant coastline. A host of sea birds were circling the little ship, beating their wings against the squalls to remain in position, the gulls crying with their curious plaintive wail. Here and there, some hardy cormorants speared into the waves, emerging with their prey, oblivious to the jealous cries of the gulls and storm petrels. And among the sea birds were the species after which the Foracha received her name — the guillemots, with their dark brown upper parts and pure white underparts, moving in tight formations to inspect the vessel before wheeling back to their densely-packed colonies on the precipitous cliff ledges.
    Ross, the captain of the vessel, stood by the steersman at the tiller with feet spaced apart, balancing to the roll as the wind thrust the waves to rush against the ship, heeling her to starboard so that the little barc would roll slowly, slowly until it seemed that she was heading for disaster. But then her bow would rise over the wave and plunge downwards, setting her back to the port side. In spite of the rolling motion of the ship, Ross stood without the necessity to clutch any support,
forty years of sea-going was enough for him to anticipate every pitch and roll with an automatic adjustment of his weight without moving from the spot. On land, Ross was moody and irritable, but at sea he was in his element and fully alive to all its moods. He became a flesh and blood extension to his swift sailing barc and his deep green eyes, reflecting the changing humours of the sea, watched his half-a-dozen crewmen with a cautious approval as they went about their tasks.
    His bright eyes never missed a thing, either on sea or in the sky above it. He had already perceived that some of the birds wheeling overhead were rarely to be seen in winter and had ascribed their presence to the mild autumnal weather that had only recently given way to the winter coldness.
    Ross was a short, stocky man with greying, close-cropped hair, and his skin was tanned by the sea winds almost to the colour of nut. He was a man with a dour humour and always ready with a loud bellow when he was displeased.
    A tall sailor, caressing the tiller in his gnarled hands, suddenly narrowed his eyes and glanced across to where Ross was standing.
    ‘Captain …’ he began.
    ‘I see her, Odar,’ returned Ross before he had even finished. ‘I’ve been watching her this last half hour.’
    Odar, the steersman, swallowed as he regarded his captain with surprise. The object of their conversation was an oceangoing ship with tall masts which was now a mile or so distant. It had, as Ross had indicated, been visible for some time to the smaller barc. But it was only in these last few minutes that the steersman had become aware that something was not right about the ship. It was under full sail and was riding very high out of the water. Not much ballast in her, Odar, the steersman had thought. But the main curiosity was that its course was erratic. In fact, twice it had changed course in such an unconventional and capricious manner that the
steersman had believed that it was going to capsize. He had also noticed that the topsail of the ship seemed badly fixed and was swinging in all manner of directions. It was then that he had decided to bring the matter to the attention of his captain.
    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