The Dove of Death sf-20

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘No.’ Eadulf glanced at her uneasily.

  ‘So why did they alert our attention to the fact that they wanted to keep this hidden?’ she went on. ‘They surely cannot think we would be so stupid as not to see through all their storytelling?’

  They walked along the beach deep in thought for a while. Fidelma suddenly halted.

  The beach was intersected by a stream coming down through the woods from the hill behind the fortress before trickling across the sands to the sea. Beyond it was a large outcrop of rocks that acted as a natural breakwater and as a wall between the sandy shore and what lay on the far side of the rocks. Between the stream and the rocks the sand seemed to change its colour and texture a little. Eadulf knew that he had seen something similar before, but he could not remember where.

  However, it was not this that had caught Fidelma’s attention; she was staring at the rocks beyond.

  ‘Look!’ she said softly. ‘There is the mast of a boat. Beyond those rocks must be the harbour for the fortress. I thought it odd that they would use an open beach without a jetty.’

  Eadulf followed her gaze towards the sea end of the line of rocks. Indeed, there was a boat’s mast poking above them. He estimated it was a small sailing craft. At the top of the mast was a strip of white silk. Although the emblem was not clear, for it hung limply as the morning breeze had dropped away, Eadulf was sure that it was the dove emblem of the mac’htiern of Brilhag.

  ‘Come on,’ Fidelma urged. ‘Let’s have a look at it. We can easily scramble over these rocks.’

  The water from the stream trickling across the sands barely came over her insteps and she crossed it in two strides and went enthusiastically onward.

  Eadulf was halfway across the stream close behind her when he suddenly recalled where he had seen the texture of the sand before.

  ‘Stop!’

  By the time his yell had resounded, she was up to her ankles in quicksand.

  He came quickly up, searching the sands behind her, before he grabbed her and pulled her backwards. They tumbled down together into the cold water of the stream — but at least the stream was flowing across a thickly compacted, firm stretch of sand. Then they scrambled hastily to their feet and moved back to where they knew the sand was safe. Fidelma had lost her sandals in the quicksand; indeed, they had already vanished beneath it.

  She stood looking at the innocent-looking expanse, breathing heavily.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Eadulf, trying to dislodge the clinging wet sand from his clothing. ‘I should have realised it sooner. Remember the quicksand across the stretch of water to the fortress of Uallaman the Leper? It eventually killed him and could have killed many others. I knew I had seen such a texture of sand before, It is not the same as normal sand. There is something about it…’

  ‘Well, thankfully you recognised it in time,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Had I been moving more quickly, then-’

  ‘Hóigh!’ They heard the voice faintly and glanced back. The familiar form of Brother Metellus was hurrying across the sands, waving at them.

  Fidelma looked at Eadulf with a grim expression.

  ‘I wonder if we have just found out the answer to our question?’ she mused softly.

  ‘The answer…?’ Eadulf’s eyes widened as he took in what she meant. ‘Do you think that we were intended to go into that quicksand?’

  ‘It is a thought,’ she said, and turned to face Brother Metellus who came panting up to them, red-faced and a trifle out of breath.

  ‘Deo favente!’ he gasped. ‘I have caught you in time. Do you know that you were walking into an area of quicksand?’

  Fidelma answered with an ironic smile. ‘I am afraid that we have already learned that,’ she said.

  The monk glanced down at their soiled clothing and his mouth opened and for a moment he could say nothing. Then he stammered, ‘Th-thank God you have been saved. How?’

  Eadulf was watching Brother Metellus’ face closely.

  ‘By the grace of God,’ he replied simply. ‘But how came you here after us?’

  Brother Metellus blinked. ‘I was told by Iuna that you had gone walking on the shore alone.’

  ‘Alone?’ Eadulf jerked his head towards the hills. ‘I thought Iarnbud was watching over us from a discreet distance.’

  ‘Iarnbud? I saw no one on my way here. No, when I heard that you had set out for this shore I wondered if anyone had warned you of this area of quicksand. It is notorious among locals and people avoid this side of the rockline between there and the stream.’

  ‘That we can imagine. But we were not warned.’

  ‘I came hurrying after you — to warn you.’

  ‘Why were you so sure that we had come this way?’

  Brother Metellus looked bewildered for a moment.

  ‘There is only one strand where there is danger. This one. To get to the safer little harbour you have to leave the fortress through the kitchens and out a side door. But you came through the main gates. So I came here immediately and saw you from a distance. I shouted to warn you. Why do you ask these questions? Do you not believe me? Do you not trust me?’

  Fidelma reached out a hand and laid it on the man’s arm in reassurance.

  ‘Forgive us. It was a close escape from danger and we are slightly distraught. But for your timely assistance, Brother Metellus, we are most grateful. And now, I’m afraid, we must return to the fortress and prevail upon our hosts for more clothing and footwear, for I am afraid I have lost my sandals and our clothes need washing.’

  They turned together and began to walk slowly back along the beach.

  ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’ Brother Metellus asked after a few moments, breaking the silence. ‘You seemed interested in the lights on the foreshore last night.’

  ‘What should we be looking for?’ queried Fidelma innocently.

  ‘Bleidbara explained that his men were taking supplies to his ship last night. I thought perhaps you took the opportunity to come to see. But I note that Bleidbara has already sailed.’

  ‘Did you know that the Lord of Canao kept a ship?’

  ‘Many of the lords around Morbihan have ships.’ Brother Metellus smiled and shrugged. ‘It is a tradition among the people whose ancestors were the Veneti.’

  His words gave Fidelma food for thought.

  There was no sign of Iarnbud as they returned up the hill towards the fortress. Nor was there any sign still of Macliau when they entered the great hall, but Iuna came forward, allowing her eyes to drop to Fidelma’s bare feet and the dishevelled clothing.

  ‘You have met with misfortune, lady.’ Her voice was flat, unemotional.

  Fidelma wondered for a moment if the girl was being sarcastic. Iuna’s features were composed as if carved from wood.

  ‘You did not warn us about the quicksand on the beach.’ She made it into a statement and not an accusation.

  ‘I did advise that you take a guard with you, lady, but you seemed adamant to proceed on your own. I had no means of knowing that you would take that path to that beach. It is not a place that leads anywhere.’

  Fidelma realised it was pointless to pursue the matter.

  ‘Well, Eadulf and I shall need new clothing and these should be cleaned.’

  Iuna lowered her gaze a fraction. ‘It shall be done, lady.’

  It was only a short while before they both rejoined Brother Metellus in the great hall, by which time the youthful Macliau had risen and joined them, his ever-present dog Albiorix trotting closely at his heels. It was clear that he was suffering from his over-indulgence of alcohol on the previous evening. However, he greeted them warmly, as if relieved to see them both again.

  ‘I was told that you nearly walked into the quicksand on the beach. It is a bad area indeed — you should have avoided it. Why did you leave the fortress without a guard?’

  ‘We merely wanted to go for some exercise along the beach,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We were in sight of the fortress and thought no
harm would have come to us.’

  ‘Ah well, no matter. What is the ancient saying — si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit — if the end is good, everything will be good.’ Macliau paused a moment and then said: ‘Boric and his men have returned from the abbey. He tells me that he has seen Aourken and brought back your few belongings. Iuna will send them to your room. The bodies of Biscam and his men have been taken to the abbey and Abbot Maelcar has agreed to give them burial.’

  ‘That is good,’ Brother Metellus commented.

  ‘But there is also bad news,’ added Macliau. ‘The survivor of the attack did not live the night. You did not tell us that there was a survivor?’

  ‘The wound was a bad one but I did not think it life-threatening,’ Eadulf blurted in surprise.

  ‘We forgot about him,’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘Dead, you say?’

  ‘The physician at the abbey told my men that his condition had been very bad,’ continued Macliau. ‘In fact, he said that there was no hope for him. He was surprised that the man survived long enough to get to the abbey.’

  Eadulf’s lips compressed in annoyance. That had certainly not been what the physician had told them when they had seen the man at the abbey. And Eadulf had not told anyone that he had spent some years at Ireland’s foremost medical school of Tuam Brecain, studying the healing arts. He knew that the man should not have died. He glanced at Fidelma but saw the warning look in her eyes.

  ‘So now we have no one who can identify the attackers,’ Brother Metellus sighed, having also picked up the warning glance.

  ‘And that is a pity,’ Fidelma said heavily.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Macliau. ‘Moreover, my warriors also tried to follow the tracks of Biscam’s donkeys. They led into the marshy land before they disappeared.’

  ‘Is it not worrying to you that your sister Trifina has left this fortress early this morning, apparently alone?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

  Macliau chuckled and shook his head.

  ‘My dear lady, my sister and I were born and grew up here. We know these woods like the backs of our hands. And no one would dare to challenge us in this, our own territory. Anyway, Trifina has probably gone back to our island of Govihan. She frequently goes there. And, wherever she goes, she takes a couple of warriors.’

  ‘You have no worries about her safety in the circumstances?’

  ‘When you are home in your brother’s kingdom, does your brother come running after you, lady?’ replied Macliau.

  ‘If there were raiders wandering loose, he might well be worried,’ Fidelma replied sharply.

  ‘I think they will have fled back to their lair, having carried out such an attack. That might be anywhere.’

  Fidelma sniffed. ‘Perhaps. But it would be better to be certain.’

  ‘Well, lady, it is a matter of speculation. I have no evidence to the contrary. Speculation without knowledge is pointless,’ Macliau said glibly.

  Fidelma coloured as the young man used a phrase she was fond of declaiming.

  ‘Anyway, Argantken and I have arranged to go hunting,’ he continued, still with an amused expression. ‘So the hospitality of Brilhag is yours to do with as you see fit.’

  The statement surprised both Fidelma and Eadulf. After his late night and heavy consumption of wine, they were amazed that the young man had been able to rise before noon. Seeing their expressions, he interpreted them as concern for his safety under the present conditions.

  ‘You need have no care for me either,’ he told them smugly. ‘I shall have my warriors with me. I will return this evening but, meanwhile, this fortress may be considered your home. Ask of Iuna what you will, for she is in charge of the household.’

  ‘I look forward to your safe return, Macliau,’ Fidelma replied coolly.

  It was Eadulf who thanked him for his continuing hospitality, feeling that perhaps Fidelma had been a little too abrasive with the young lord. The latter merely nodded in acknowledgement, turned away and whistled — at which sound his little dog came bounding towards him.

  Fidelma and Eadulf looked from one of the windows of the great hall and saw that horses were already saddled in the courtyard outside. Argantken was mounted and waiting for Macliau. Two warriors and two others, huntsmen by their attire, were also in attendance. When Macliau had joined them, the party set off through the gates, with Albiorix the dog yelping and scampering behind them.

  After they had gone, Brother Metellus addressed Fidelma sternly.

  ‘You made your disapproval of the conduct of Macliau very obvious. I feel it my duty to point out that you are here under the laws of hospitality, and that although you are honoured in your country of Hibernia, being the sister of a king, here you are a stranger in a strange land. Macliau is the son of the mac’htiern of Brilhag, a descendant of the rulers of Bro-Waroch, and he should be treated with all respect.’

  Fidelma’s eyes flashed warningly, which only Eadulf interpreted, and he spoke quickly before she did.

  ‘You are right to point these things out, Brother Metellus, and we accept them. But these are trying circumstances and we should not have to repeat warnings of the dangers.’

  Brother Metellus was also serious. ‘I had some role in this matter, as I recall.’

  At once, Fidelma was contrite.

  ‘My apologies to you, Brother Metellus. You saved us from death. But do you not find it odd that the man we left, well on his way to recovery, was now said to be so ill that he did not survive the night?’

  Brother Metellus hesitated a moment. Then he spoke quietly.

  ‘I am not forgetting why we came to this fortress. I am not forgetting the banner that Biscam held in his lifeless hand — the banner that flies above this very place. But truly I cannot see what reason there would be for the family of Brilhag to be involved in either sea raiding or robbing merchants passing through their country. Having said that, I cannot deny the evidence of the banner.’

  ‘For the moment, what we know about that banner must remain between us,’ Eadulf advised.

  ‘Do not worry,’ returned Brother Melletus. ‘I am as concerned about the truth of this as you are.’

  ‘Then we are agreed,’ Fidelma said. ‘I will try to be more circumspect, but it is frustrating to feel that there is a mystery here and no path to follow to seek it out.’

  ‘Let us consider this logically,’ Brother Metellus invited. ‘Why would the mac’htiern of Brilhag be behind these actions? Why would he turn sea raider or thief when he is lord of all on this peninsula and indeed, can claim authority throughout all of Bro-Waroch?’

  ‘You ask good questions, Brother Metellus,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I cannot supply the answers to them yet. In those answers is the solution to the conundrum that faces us: whoever is behind these crimes does them under the banner of this fortress. Now you tell me why that is?’

  But Brother Metellus was unable to offer an explanation, and as he struggled to do so, a faint trumpet sounded from beyond the gates.

  ‘What does that signify?’ asked Eadulf, as he saw Brother Metellus raise his head with a puzzled expression. ‘Is Macliau in trouble?’

  ‘It is a call to alert the guards of the approach of someone of importance.’

  The trumpet sounded again, closer to the fortress, and they all went out together to watch the newcomers’ arrival.

  Several guards had now taken up positions. A line of horses was trotting along the track towards the open gates. Warriors rode the first two animals. The next carried a woman, who rode on her own. She was a tall, slim figure, richly clad. Behind her came another woman, then two more warriors, and finally two attendants who were holding the lead reins of two asses on which baggage was strapped.

  The cavalcade entered the fortress and came to a halt before the steps leading to the doors of the great hall where Fidelma’s little party stood.

  One of the warriors, a good-looking young man, immediately leaped down from his horse and went over to the tall woman’s mount, where he kne
lt, so that she could use his broad back as a step to alight. No one else moved as she did so. Then she walked slowly over to the steps where Fidelma, Eadulf and Brother Metellus stood. The young warrior came behind her, eyes narrowed as he held them in his keen gaze, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. They halted at the foot of the steps.

  The woman was as tall as Fidelma; her hair was a honey colour, glinting with slight touches of red. Her headdress was fastened around her forehead by a circlet of gold with a gleaming sapphire stone in its centre. Her clothes and jewellery were equally rich, for she had pushed back her blue riding cloak, displaying her costume and jewellery. But it was not these accoutrements that drew Fidelma’s attention. It was her unusual beauty.

  The woman was younger than Fidelma and her heart-shaped face had a curious ethereal quality. And yet the firm chin spoke of authority and purpose. Her eyes were soft grey in colour; her red lips owed nothing to artifice.

  At this moment of meeting, her grey eyes stared with curiosity into the fiery green of Fidelma’s eyes. Then she spoke in the language of the country.

  Brother Metellus coughed nervously, moved a step forward and said something quickly in response.

  The grey eyes widened a fraction. The woman did not respond to Brother Metellus but continued to gaze thoughtfully at Fidelma. After this close scrutiny she then addressed her in Latin.

  ‘I am Riwanon, wife to Alain, King of the Bretons. Why am I requested to speak to you in this language?’

  Chapter Nine

  Brother Metellus appeared to feel that he should make the explanations and introductions.

  ‘It is because these strangers do not speak the language of this country, lady. This is the lady Fidelma of Muman in the land of Hibernia. Her companion is Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk in the country of the Angles.’

  The young woman’s expression did not change, nor did her eyes drop from the steady gaze with which she held Fidelma’s eyes.

  ‘You and your companion are a long way from home, lady.’ The comment seemed to Fidelma to be a standard opening.