Macliau suddenly caught himself and smiled quickly, saying in more moderate tones, ‘We are petitioning King Alain to allow us to claim some of our ancient rights again.’
‘This Alain is a descendant of King Judicael who forced your family to surrender, isn’t he?’ asked Eadulf.
‘He is the son of Judicael,’ replied Macliau quietly.
Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma.
‘Doesn’t that make this claim an…er…uncomfortable one for him?’ he asked tactfully.
The young man realised what he was implying and said immediately, ‘Oh no. Alain Hir is our friend, for he was brought up with my father and neither of them blames the enmity of the past on each other. You will see — Alain will finally return the rights that have been taken from us by the greed and avarice of others.’
‘It is good to hear you say so,’ Brother Metellus said; he had been silent until now. ‘But he has surely been many years as King. Why does the matter of rights arise now?’
Macliau glanced at him with irritation.
‘There was much to be done before he could turn his attention to righting past wrongs done to the house of Brilhag,’ he said defensively. ‘The Franks are always attacking our eastern borders, and some of the western chieftains have been in rebellion against him. Anyway, the matter will soon be resolved.’
The little group stood in silence for a while, looking out on the seascape with the lowering sun sending long shadows across the islands.
‘A beautiful spot,’ murmured Fidelma. ‘Strange that there can be evil and death in such a peaceful landscape.’
Macliau looked up at the sky. ‘It grows late. The evening meal will be prepared soon. Perhaps you would like to retire to your rooms and refresh yourselves?’
It was when Fidelma and Eadulf were alone in their chamber, to which a fussy middle-aged female servant had shown them, bobbing and wringing her hands and enquiring every few minutes if all was in order, that Fidelma finally relaxed, throwing herself on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
Eadulf stood looking at her with a worried frown.
‘I know what you are thinking, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, not even looking at him.
‘I am thinking that I feel like a fly who has voluntarily walked into a spider’s web.’
She exhaled in a deep sigh.
‘Sometimes one has to put oneself in danger’s way, to discover the truth,’ she said philosophically.
‘I’d rather not do so. We should have-’
‘Should have done — what?’ Fidelma sat up, her voice tense. ‘Sat still, praying for a ship to take us home? That will not help us find these killers.’
‘But-’ protested Eadulf.
‘Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet,’ she countered. He who feared that he would not succeed sat still and did nothing.
‘That’s unfair!’ Eadulf said.
Fidelma had regretted her sharpness almost as soon as she uttered the phrase. She knew that her temper was never good at the best of times. She said contritely, ‘You are right, Eadulf. I was unfair. But I mean to find these killers.’
‘What I fear,’ Eadulf’s voice was low, ‘is that we might well have found them already. There is one other thing that worries me, apart from the emblem on their flag…’
Fidelma looked at him with an enquiry on her face.
‘Cast your mind back to the image of the commander of those sea-raiders. A lithe figure in white.’
‘And? He was masked so he could not be recognised.’
‘A lithe figure with a voice that was high-pitched. Our host, Macliau, fits that description.’
‘It has not escaped my attention,’ she said slowly. ‘Also, you saw the arrows stacked in the tower? Goose feathers in three sections, the work of an expert fletcher.’
‘And?’ asked Eadulf.
‘You forget so soon,’ she admonished. ‘I’d swear the hand that made them, also made the arrows that killed Biscam and his men.’
Eadulf was shocked. ‘Then what are we doing here, accepting the hospitality of these people?’ he wanted to know.
‘Because there is no better way to resolve this mystery than being at the centre of it. We shall proceed, but arrectis auribus…with ears pricked up,’ she smiled, adding the Latin expression to be on the alert.
Chapter Seven
Dusk was making their chamber gloomy by the time they had bathed and made themselves presentable for the evening meal. A servant — a slim, mournful-looking girl with dark hair and blue eyes — had been sent with a choice of more comfortable clothing for Fidelma and the compliments of Trifina. She had also brought candles of beeswax for illumination. Fidelma spent time putting the finishing touches to her toilette, for among her own people such matters were of importance, although Fidelma did not go so far as to paint her fingernails crimson, nor dye her eyebrows black or redden her cheeks with berries of the elder trees as many women of the Five Kingdoms did. She preferred to keep her long red hair flowing to her shoulders and not even plaited but simply well-combed.
While he waited for her to finish, Eadulf sat on the low windowsill, looking out across the shores and waters of the Morbihan. Now that the dusk had swept over the area he could see lights appearing across the waters, indicating where the myriad islands must be occupied. He also saw lights along the foreshore below the fortress, moving this way and that, which fascinated him for it was not indicative of dwellings but rather of people moving along the shore and even boats setting out to sea. Then, to his surprise, he saw a large dark outline of a ship moving slowly in the gloom. He could just make out its dark lines being towed by two small rowing boats. Then it stopped in the centre of the bay below.
Fidelma had finished combing her hair and he called her over to point this out.
‘It is strange there is so much movement once darkness has fallen,’ she agreed. ‘This is a time when most people should be at the evening meal.’
‘But the ship,’ Eadulf said. ‘Do you think it is…?’
‘If it is, we must be careful. We must not allow them to know that we suspect them.’
‘Can we trust Brother Metellus?’
Before she could reply, the slim, mournful-looking servant returned to announce that Macliau and Trifina were ready to receive their guests for the meal.
Brother Metellus was already seated at the long wooden table in the great hall when Fidelma and Eadulf were shown in. The great hall was lit with ornate bronze oil lanterns, rather like the type called lespaire in Fidelma’s own land. On the table were several candles that gave a warming glow.
Macliau came forward to greet them, appearing as charming as ever. His sister, Trifina, remained in her chair and gave them an expressionless smile of welcome. There were three other guests — two men and the voluptuous-looking Argantken, still arrayed in colourful attire that was very distracting. Ignoring them, she sat eating from a bowl of nuts and swallowing large mouthfuls of what seemed to be white wine from a glass.
Of the two men, one was the tall, handsome-looking warrior called Bleidbara, the commander of the warriors at Brilhag. The second guest was a stranger to them. He was a tall, sallow-faced man of middle age clad in long woollen robes that had once been white but grown dull with age. His dark hair was streaked with grey; he wore it long, with a drooping moustache but was otherwise clean-shaven in the old Celtic fashion. A thin band of burnished copper encircled his head. Around his neck was a gold chain hung with an ancient symbol, a circular solar motif. His cheeks seemed pale and bloodless, in contrast to his thin red lips. In fact, it crossed Eadulf’s mind that the man must have reddened them with berry juice. The dark eyes were restless, moving constantly while they held an unfathomable quality. His bland expression, on the other hand, seemed to hold no emotion.
Macliau introduced him. ‘This is my father’s bretat. Iarnbud.’
‘Bretat?’ The word seemed so similar to her own language that Fidelma hazarded a guess. ‘Are you a judge, a breitheamh?
’
Iarnbud, like many she had by now encountered, spoke Latin, although it was not the old literary language which she had been taught but a curious rolling dialect.
‘Just so, lady. Exactly as you are, for I have been speaking to Brother Metellus as to who you are and how you came here.’
Macliau waved them to chairs at the table. He took the head of the table with his constant companion, the little dog, curled at his feet. They learned that the animal was named Albiorix, which brought a smile to Fidelma’s face. When Eadulf later asked her what the joke was, she explained the name, that literally meant ‘great king’, was the name of a Gaulish god of war equated with the Roman Mars; a curious name for such a docile looking animal. Eadulf had responded that it probably had more to do with Macliau’s character than that of the dog. Fidelma was seated on Macliau’s left and Trifina on his right. Brother Metellus sat next to Fidelma, and the girl, Argantken, had already taken a seat at the bottom opposite Brother Eadulf, with Iarnbud seated between Eadulf and Trifina. At the end of the table, facing Macliau, was Bleidbara.
‘It is good to meet with a Brehon of this land,’ Fidelma opened as the wine was poured. It was a cold white wine from the country. ‘Brother Metellus has obviously told you of the murder and thefts that have taken place. I am interested in your law here. How would you attend to this matter?’
The drawn eyebrows were raised but there was no other expression on the sallow face of the man called Iarnbud.
‘Attend to it?’
‘How would you set about tracking down these thieves and murderers?’
Iarnbud shook his head. ‘That is not my task. It is only once they are caught that the culprits are brought before me and arraigned for judgement.’
‘So who tracks them down and brings them before you?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘Those who charge them.’
Fidelma gave a puzzled shake of her head, saying, ‘There is no office under your law that would be responsible to undertake an investigation to find out the culprits?’
Macliau intervened with a smile.
‘That is the duty my father would assign to his warriors, such as Bleidbara there.’ He indicated the young man.
Fidelma turned with a gaze of enquiry to the young man, who seemed to have developed a high colour on his cheeks. He made a dismissing gesture with his left hand.
‘In truth, lady, I am trained in warfare and the command of men in battle. I can track men as well as animals. But unless they leave tracks for me to follow, I cannot find them.’
‘There are tracks from the scene of the murders of the merchants,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Have you examined them?’
‘I sent Boric, my best tracker, who is also my second-in-command, to examine the spot and retrieve the bodies,’ Bleidbara replied. ‘He is not back yet. But the sky was darkening and perhaps it was too late to see anything — there would be nothing to follow. Nonetheless, we will await his report. We are anxious to meet up with these brigands.’
Fidelma became aware that, as he spoke, Bleidbara seemed to concentrate his gaze on Trifina. His expression was one of almost dog-like devotion, his eyes never leaving her face as if ready to jump to her bidding. For her part, Trifina did not bother to glance at him once. Fidelma noted that the warrior was a personable young man with an affable smile and ready wit. She was just wondering what their relationship was when Trifina suddenly yawned, placed a hand over her mouth and murmured an apology to Macliau.
Her brother seemed to take the hint.
‘Come, let us turn our minds to more pleasant matters.’ He glanced towards Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘We have prepared a special meal for you because you are strangers to our land.’
He signalled to a waiting attendant and, from a side door, others brought in flagons of cider and more of the local white wine. The mournful young servant girl now appeared and started to direct the attendants with some authority as they served the evening meal. Her whole attitude had changed from subservience to authority. Fidelma’s quick eye caught the special attention that this girl seemed to be giving the commander of the guard, Bleidbara, while the young man still seemed to exhibit an unusual interest in Trifina. This body language at the table amused Fidelma, for it was clear that the young warrior was attracted by the daughter of the mac’htiern of Brilhag, while the servant girl was obviously attracted by him.
Bowls of steaming soup were placed before them and platters of freshly baked bread. Eadulf examined the soup, stirring it with a frown of curiosity.
‘Local mussel soup with leeks and cream,’ Macliau smiled as he explained.
Brother Metellus was already halfway through his bowl and he paused to wave his spoon in appreciation.
‘Leeks were a favourite of the Emperor Nero,’ he said breezily. ‘It is said that he was very partial to a soup made of leeks.’
The soup was followed by a dish of young eels, which they were told were seasoned with salt, and dressed in imported olive oil and vinegar. The eels were not to Fidelma’s liking and she contented herself with nibbling on a piece of bread while the others finished. Then came the main course: rabbit cooked in cider accompanied by a dish of ceps — large fleshy mushrooms cooked in butter, mixed with shallots, wild garlic, herbs and some nuts that Eadulf could not place.
Brother Metellus helped him out. ‘We called them nux Gallica, nuts of Gaul.’
‘Ah, I think we call them foreign nuts — Welsh Nuts,’ said Eadulf.
The walnuts certainly added to the flavour of the dish. And there was another vegetable dish that made Macliau smile as it was presented to them.
‘This one I am sure that you will not have come across.’
Fidelma surveyed the dish before tasting it.
‘I recognise what the Greeks call katos, the heart of the artichoke, which has long been known to our merchants importing them from the Mediterranean. I have also tasted this juice before…ah, it is lemons. I had them when I was in Rome. There is also sorrel mixed with it.’
Macliau looked disappointed. ‘So you have been to Rome?’ he asked, a little enviously.
‘I have.’
‘One day, I mean to travel there, for Brother Metellus has told me much about it. It sounds a great city,’ Macliau continued.
‘Nullus est instar domus,’ Eadulf soliloquised softly. There is nothing like your own home.
Fidelma glanced at him thoughtfully. He was looking down at his plate, his mind apparently elsewhere. Although Eadulf had spent years in her own land, he was actually an Angle from Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk. He even made a joke of it when he was constantly referred to as a Saxon. Fidelma had made the assumption that he had accepted without question that he would remain happily at her brother’s capital of Cashel, although there had been little time spent there due to the nature of the tasks she had been requested to do on behalf of her brother, the King. In fact, she had made only one journey with Eadulf to his home territory, when his friend Brother Botulf had been murdered at Aldred’s Abbey. Was she assuming too much? And there was the matter of their son, Alchú. They had spent so little time with the child, having to leave him with his nurse Muirgen when they went on their journeys. Although Fidelma had a great sense of duty to her brother, the King, it had become a constant worry these days that the child would think that Muirgen was his mother rather than Fidelma.
At the bottom of the table to her left, she was aware of Argantken tucking into the food with gusto and hardly speaking to anyone. When she did, Fidelma tried to understand what she was saying but could barely make out one word in twenty. She felt sorry that the girl had no knowledge of Latin, which seemed to be the common language of the others at the table.
Then Fidelma realised someone was speaking to her. It was Iarnbud.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said hastily.
‘I was merely asking your frank opinion of Rome. Unlike Macliau, I have no wish to go there. Rome has caused many problems to my people.’
Bro
ther Metellus grimaced wanly as Fidelma glanced at him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he sighed. ‘Iarnbud and I are old antagonists but our battles are merely verbal.’
Fidelma turned back to Iarnbud.
‘I can understand your viewpoint, for I know some history of your people. But through Rome, the new Faith has been spread.’
Iarnbud sniffed to indicate he thought little of the idea.
‘A good thing or a bad thing?’ he asked, making clear that he thought the latter. ‘Ask a lot of fishing folk hereabouts and they’ll tell you they prefer to put their trust in the old gods of the sea when they set sail.’
Fidelma nodded politely, but did not reply; instead, she addressed Macliau.
‘Speaking of fishing folk, this evening there seemed to be a lot of activity along the shore, below the fortress. Why is that?’
Macliau gazed at her in bewilderment. ‘Activity?’
‘People were gathering on the foreshore here with lighted torches, and there was a large ship being towed to anchor in the bay below.’
Eadulf tried to disguise his surprise that she had mentioned the matter so blatantly, having previously warned him to be careful. Her words seemed to create uneasiness at the table. Bleidbara glanced at Trifina, and this time she returned his look with a frown.
Macliau was hesitating. ‘Activity? I did not…’
‘I think you refer to my men, lady.’ It was Bleidbara who spoke. ‘They are taking supplies to my ship which has been guided here to a safe anchorage for the night. That is all.’
‘Your ship?’ queried Fidelma.
‘As I have said, we are a seafaring people,’ broke in Macliau. ‘The ship is that of my father, Lord Canao. Bleidbara is her captain.’
‘You will often see lights along the foreshore in this area. Fishing is often done at night.’ It was Trifina who spoke. She had remained remarkably silent throughout the meal, sitting with her slightly bored expression, which Fidelma now realised was her standard facial cast ‘Don’t the people go fishing for carp at night?’
The Dove of Death sf-20 Page 11
