The Dove of Death sf-20

by Peter Tremayne

  Abbot Maelcar absently glanced up at the girl and then, for a moment, his body sensed to tense. It seemed that only Fidelma noticed a strange expression cross his features. He composed himself quickly, however, before she could identify it, and turned back to the Queen.

  ‘There is no need to go to such trouble, lady. If we leave now, we can still return to the abbey by nightfall.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Riwanon replied. ‘This mystery is too fascinating to let you return without its resolution.’

  ‘But,’ the Abbot protested, ‘if the messenger was sent to bring me on a fool’s errand, perhaps it was done for a purpose? Perhaps someone plans some mischief at the abbey in my absence?’

  ‘That is a good point,’ conceded Brother Metellus, speaking for the first time since the arrival of the Abbot. The latter scowled at him; he had obviously not forgotten the manner of their parting.

  ‘There are several warriors here,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Perhaps some of them could be sent to the abbey to warn the community and maintain a watch in case of anything untoward occurring?’

  ‘Excellent,’ approved Riwanon. ‘Then we shall relax and enjoy the fire and the food, which I am sure this generous fortress will provide, and Ceingar can indulge us by demonstrating her talents upon the harp. Let us relax and leave it to our good sister from Hibernia to fathom the mysteries of this day.’

  She turned, waved Budic to come forward and proceeded to issue rapid instructions in her own language. After a few moments, the warrior hurried away. Riwanon looked round with satisfaction.

  ‘I have commanded two of my warriors to set out for the abbey in case of any problems. Budic will order the guards here to keep a careful watch on the roads in case my husband does decide to make a descent on this fortress — though, if I know him, he will be too intent on hunting his wild boar for a while yet.’

  The Abbot sat down, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied. Riwanon had to repeat a question before he realised he was being addressed.

  ‘It is a few years since I visited the community of Gildas,’ she said. ‘My husband informs me that you have made some changes?’

  The abbot looked at her blankly. ‘Changes?’

  ‘When I was there last, it was a conhospitae, in the old traditions of our people. Now I believe it is confined to males only and the Rule has been changed to that of the Roman religious Benedict. Is this so?’

  The abbot frowned and his voice was defensive as he stated, ‘It is done with my authority, lady. In such matters I follow the Father of our Faith and his Curia.’

  ‘I would not question your authority, Maelcar. Once elected by your brethren, then you may run your community as you will — for as long as you have their support.’ Riwanon seemed to smile mischievously.

  Abbot Maelcar flushed in annoyance. The old system, which was also part of the tradition of Fidelma’s land, was that abbots and bishops, like chieftains, were elected by their communities. They were constrained by an adherence to the laws to promote the welfare of their people. If they did not, they lost office. Obviously, Maelcar had been appointed Abbot by this method, but now it seemed he was imposing his own pro-Roman views on his community. Fidelma saw that Riwanon did not approve of it.

  ‘If only males are allowed at your community now,’ went on Riwanon, ‘I was wondering what had happened to those women and their children who were part of that community?’

  ‘They have gone safely to form their own communities,’ the Abbot replied stiffly.

  ‘I recall the kindness of Sister Aourken when I was small and was brought to the abbey by my father,’ Riwanon murmured, speaking almost to herself. ‘I wonder what became of her?’

  ‘Aourken?’ Fidelma repeated. ‘I can report that she is well. She gave us hospitality when we came to Gildas, for the abbey could not provide it.’

  ‘No women are allowed to stay within our community,’ snapped Abbot Maelcar, as if his hospitality was being questioned.

  Riwanon gazed sadly at him.

  ‘Then times have changed, indeed,’ she sighed, before turning to Fidelma. ‘I am glad to hear that Aourken thrives. I must make a point of visiting her before I leave this area. So come, sister, let us draw closer to the fire and you may tell me what you know of the kindly Aourken.’

  It was clear that Abbot Maelcar was not regarded highly by the Queen, and Fidelma could not condemn her for it. He was all the things that she held in contempt in a man of rank and one who proclaimed the Faith.

  Riwanon’s female attendant Ceingar had reappeared and removed herself to a corner of the hall with Budic, and the pair were chatting gaily away, with now and then a peal of merry laughter. As Fidelma and Riwanon drew apart to talk pleasantly of various matters, Fidelma noticed that, while Eadulf and Brother Metellus sat with Abbot Maelcar as good manners dictated, their conversation was mainly with one another. However, the Abbot seemed to exclude himself and merely sat with a frown contemplating the space before him.

  Once when Iuna entered to announce the readiness of the evening meal, Fidelma noticed the Abbot once more staring at the young woman with a curious look. When she returned to the kitchens, he rose and, muttering something about the privy, disappeared. Curiosity seized Fidelma as she noticed this and while Riwanon turned to speak to Eadulf, she rose and moved to the door and stealthily went through it. Along a darkened corridor she could hear raised voices. There was no mistaking the Abbot’s heavy growl and the higher-pitched indignation of Iuna. Fidelma strained to hear what they were arguing about, but when the voices lowered she returned quickly to rejoin the others. A moment later, Abbot Maelcar returned, clearly upset and in an ill temper.

  The evening passed without further incident, until Eadulf raised the question that had begun to worry him since darkness had descended across the fortress.

  ‘Is it not strange that Macliau and Argantken have not returned from their hunting expedition? He said they would be back by evening.’

  Brother Metellus rose from his place.

  ‘Forgive me, lady,’ he said to Riwanon. ‘I will go to the gate and see if there is news of him.’

  He was gone for a while and when he returned and resumed his seat, the others looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Boric, who now commands the guard, tells me that they are not unduly worried,’ he said. ‘Macliau and Argantken left with four men, including his chief huntsman. Boric tells me that Macliau often does not return from the hunt until he has something worthy of returning with — and frequently stays out all night.’

  Riwanon was frowning slightly. ‘Boric? I thought Bleidbara was in command of the warriors at this fortress?’

  ‘Bleidbara has gone as escort to Trifina, lady,’ offered Iuna, who was attending them at the table. ‘They have not returned yet. Perhaps they will not. Trifina often spends more time on the island of Govihan than in this fortress.’

  Budic grinned, his expression full of some cynicism, which seemed to be habitual with him.

  ‘It is a peculiar household where all the hosts vanish and no one is left to offer hospitality save the servants. Who is Argantken, by the way?’

  ‘Just a local girl,’ muttered Iuna resentfully.

  This seemed to amuse Budic even more, but a sharp glance from Riwanon caused him to compose his features.

  ‘Argantken did not strike me as the sort who took pleasure in staying out all night in pursuit of game,’ Brother Metellus offered, but no one responded to his comment.

  There was a sense of relief all round when the meal finished and it was announced that Riwanon would retire to her chamber. Now protocol allowed freedom for the rest of the company to disperse.

  As Fidelma was climbing the stairway behind Eadulf, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye: Iuna was clearing away the plates from the table in front of Budic. The warrior caught her wrist and Iuna looked down at him, shook her head and then motioned towards the kitchen and whispered something. Budic glanced around as if to be sure they had not been
seen. Thankfully, he did not glance upwards and Fidelma hurried on.

  Once Fidelma and Eadulf were in their own chamber, they could talk freely. Eadulf had felt inhibited about saying much in the presence of Riwanon, but now he was eager to ask questions. Fidelma could only agree with him that the absence of Macliau and Argantken, as well as Trifina and Bleidbara, was strange — as well as a breach of all the protocols surrounding hospitality.

  ‘And what of Abbot Maelcar?’ he demanded. ‘In truth, I have not felt so uneasy in a place since I had the misfortune to stay at the abbey of Fearna.’

  Fidelma shivered slightly at the memory of how Eadulf was nearly hanged by the evil Abbess Fainder.

  ‘Someone wanted Abbot Maelcar to come here,’ she deduced. ‘Yes, I agree that coincidences can happen, but there are enough strange events occurring here that I feel they are happening for a purpose. Omnia causa fiunt, Eadulf. Everything happens for a reason. But we can only speculate after we have the information to do so. And that is the problem. We have no information.’

  Eadulf was disappointed and said so.

  Fidelma’s thoughts were preoccupied with the curious behaviour of both Abbot Maelcar and Budic towards the girl Iuna. Both seemed to know her and both surreptitiously sought her out. One to quarrel and the other apparently to have a secret assignation. What was the meaning of it?

  Fidelma gave a tired smile as she slid into bed.

  ‘We can only see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps the mystery will soon be sorted. In the meantime, it is sleep we need more than conjecture.’

  Fidelma came awake fretfully. Her mind was filled with images of the masked figure in white and that terrible moment when she saw her Cousin Bressal collapsing in his own blood on the deck of the Barnacle Goose. Yet other things, other images, crowded into her mind. She sat up in bed. The prone figure of Eadulf beside her was emitting deep, regular breaths and, for a moment, she was irritated that he was able to sleep so soundly. Then she gave an inward smile. He deserved rest. They had been through much recently.

  She drew her tongue over her dry lips and realised just how parched she was. At the window, the racing clouds had passed across the bright orb of the moon and she saw the jug of water by the bed. She reached over — and found that it was empty. For a moment or two she entertained the thought of returning to sleep, but knew that her dry throat and the constant thoughts of the strange sea-raiders would keep her awake. There was no other course than to make her way down to the kitchens behind the great hall to see if she could find fresh water.

  With a reluctant sigh, she swung out of the bed and drew on her robe, making her way over the cold wooden boards to find her shoes of soft leather. Then, glancing back into the gloomy half-light of the chamber, she drew open the door and passed quietly out into the corridor. In spite of her robe and the leather on her feet, the cold of the stone walls seemed to permeate her very being. The bright moon cast its light through the tall window at the end of the corridor, throwing eerie shadows.

  Fidelma was moving quietly, keeping to the middle of the corridor to avoid the chests and standing vases that fringed the walls. Thus it was that when the figure seemed to leap from nowhere into her path, she had warning enough to move to avoid a collision.

  The figure halted a moment and seemed to cower back. It was clear that whoever it was had not seen Fidelma’s approach, but had come rushing from a side door, beyond which a flickering candlelight spread a little illumination.

  It was Fidelma who recovered first and recognised the features distorted by the blending of the half-light.

  ‘Iuna? I am sorry that I gave you a start.’ She then became aware of the strange posture of the girl, her visible trembling. ‘What is the matter?’

  The girl did not respond but looked silently back into the room from which she had just come.

  At first, Fidelma could see nothing; frowning, she walked into the room. A dancing light emanated from a candle on a table beside a bed. A figure lay on the bed, something projecting from its chest, around which spread a dark, shining substance. It was the handle of a knife.

  Fidelma moved forward and looked down.

  Abbot Maelcar, of the abbey of the Blessed Gildas, was dead. He had been stabbed through the heart.

  Chapter Ten

  A group of very worried people were huddled in the great hall as the grey light of dawn crept through the windows. Riwanon, attended by Ceingar, sat moodily before the smouldering wood fire, while a male servant tried to coax it into bright flames. Iuna stood sullenly to one side, still wearing a gown stained with the blood of the Abbot. Fidelma was standing opposite the Queen while Eadulf and Brother Metellus stood nervously by the table. Budic, fully dressed and looking relaxed and refreshed, was perched on the edge of the table, one leg swinging, wearing his perpetual grin. They had been in silence for some time while the male servant was attending to the fire. Finally, Riwanon let out a long sigh of impatience.

  ‘That’s enough!’ she told him. ‘We can attend to it ourselves. You may go.’

  The man bobbed his head in acknowledgement and seemed glad to leave the room.

  Riwanon gazed from Fidelma to Iuna and then back again.

  ‘Well, my sister of Hibernia? What now? You told me yesterday that you were adept at making enquiries into unnatural deaths. I ask for your advice. In fact, I now commission you to investigate this murder and am resolved to abide by your finding. You have my word.’

  ‘I thank you for the confidence you have shown me, lady,’ Fidelma said. ‘But I am a stranger in a strange land. I do not know your laws nor am I qualified to interpret them.’

  ‘I do not ask you to do so,’ Riwanon told her. ‘I ask you to find out who is responsible for this crime and then we shall sort out the laws to apply.’

  ‘Very well. Perhaps you will allow me to begin by ascertaining some facts?’

  Riwanon made a quick gesture with her hand that implied consent, and said, ‘It is better than we make ourselves comfortable, so you may all be seated. You as well, Iuna.’

  The stewardess started nervously and then sank obediently into the nearest chair.

  Everyone turned to look expectantly at Fidelma.

  ‘Let me start with you, Iuna,’ she began, not unkindly. ‘You told me that you chanced by the Abbot’s room and found him thus. How came you there at such an hour?’

  There was a sound from Budic — a curious cynical grunt — and Riwanon glared at him. The warrior grimaced as if in apology and was quiet.

  ‘It is my task to rise early and ensure that all is prepared for the day in this household,’ Iuna stated. ‘I have to see that the servants have brought water in, that it is ready to heat and that the fires have been rekindled, where they have been allowed to die during the night. I have to see there is enough fuel for the day. There are many things to be done.’

  ‘That explains why you were up at such an hour, but not how you came to be in the Abbot’s room.’

  ‘My room is adjacent to the lady Trifina’s room for, when she is staying here, I am appointed her personal attendant and I am so placed that she can call upon my services when she requires.’

  ‘And Trifina’s room is where?’

  ‘At the far end of the corridor. I left my room and was making my way along the corridor…’

  ‘Without a candle?’ Fidelma asked sharply. ‘You did not have one when I came upon you.’

  ‘The candle in the Abbot’s room was mine.’

  ‘So what happened? Tell us in your own words. You came along the corridor…’

  ‘As I was about to pass the Abbot’s room I heard a noise, the sound of a groan. Believing the Abbot might be ill, I paused and knocked on the door. There was no response. I saw that it was slightly ajar and so I pushed it open.’

  ‘Ajar?’ Fidelma interjected. ‘Not closed?’

  ‘Ajar,’ confirmed the girl.

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘I pushed it open and called to ask the Abbot if he was ailing o
r required anything. There was no response.’

  ‘No groan?’

  ‘No sound at all. I raised my candle and entered the room. I saw the Abbot lying still on the bed. I think I spoke again, asking if he was all right, but there was no reply. I moved across to the bed, put down my candle and bent over him. I felt something hard as I did so…it was the handle of the knife protruding from his chest. I felt blood on my dress. I turned and fled the room in panic…’

  ‘And nearly collided with me,’ Fidelma ended. ‘Now tell me, you say that you heard him groan before you entered the room?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Perhaps it was his last dying breath,’ offered Budic. His eyes were focused at some point on the ceiling and he did not see Fidelma’s irritated glance at his interruption.

  ‘One presumes,’ she continued, ‘with such a wound that it would have been the cause of an almost instantaneous death. However, you heard nothing else — no sound of anyone leaving the room by another exit? For surely the killer must have been in the room.’

  ‘There is a window,’ the girl replied quietly.

  ‘So when you entered the room,’ Fidelma went on, ‘did you observe if the window was open?’

  ‘No, but there is a sheer drop below it.’

  ‘The door was ajar, you say. Had you seen any movement, anyone coming from the Abbot’s room as you came along the corridor?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I saw nothing else. I saw no one leave the room as I approached along the corridor.’

  ‘Now this window in the room,’ reflected Fidelma. ‘I examined it. It was closed.’

  ‘So we have a mystery again,’ Riwanon intervened. ‘How did this killer leave the bedside of the murdered Abbot? Could someone from the outside have entered the fortress?’

  Fidelma gave a thin smile.

  ‘I have already asked Boric, who I took the precaution of summoning through Iuna, to examine the area and grounds adjacent to see if there was any sign of any egress or exit.’