The Dove of Death

by Peter Tremayne

  It was Bleidbara, still waiting to be dismissed, who answered Fidelma.

  ‘I will tell Boric that when he recovers the bodies of Biscam and his men, he should inform Aourken that you are guests at Brilhag. He can bring your belongings here.’

  ‘They will not amount to much as we fled ship in nothing more than what we stood up in,’ replied Eadulf.

  ‘See that the old lady is well compensated for foregoing their company, Bleidbara,’ added Macliau.

  The young warrior raised a hand in salute and left.

  Fidelma turned to Trifina, saying, ‘This fortress stands, I believe, on the edge of what you call the Little Sea?’

  ‘That is true,’ replied the girl languidly.

  ‘Do you not fear attack from the sea?’

  The girl did not answer but Macliau roared with laughter. ‘Impossible. It was a natural fortification for our ancestors, the Veneti, in ancient times.’

  ‘Could not these brigands be hiding out on these islands? There is room for a ship to anchor by them.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  They all turned to Trifina with some surprise at the vehemence in her voice.

  ‘Impossible, lady?’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘Why so?’

  ‘We have a fortified dwelling on Govihan, the island of the smithy’s forge,’ Macliau explained hurriedly, glancing in annoyance at his sister. ‘From there our men maintain a watch along this coast. We are seafarers ourselves and have our own ships. If there were any strange movements, our men would know and inform us. It is the duty of the Lord of Brilhag to offer protection to our people in this area.’

  ‘I have just returned from Govihan,’ Trifina added, as if to justify her vehemence. ‘That is why I have said it is impossible.’

  ‘Where is this island exactly?’

  ‘Govihan?’ asked the girl. ‘It is the first large island off the headland here.’

  Macliau suddenly stood up with a smile.

  ‘Come,’ he invited, ‘it is still light. Let me take you up the tower and you can see it for yourself. The tower also provides a good view of the Little Sea. And you will see why we do not fear attack.’

  Trifina spread herself on her chair with a yawn. ‘I will remain here. I have had enough exercise today,’ she drawled.

  Just as they rose to follow him, a girl came down the stairway. She paused at the bottom, caught sight of Macliau and smiled happily before moving towards him. She was young and of a fleshy build. ‘Voluptuous’ was the word that came into Fidelma’s mind; this was a girl who knew her ability to attract certain types of men and was not above using it. She had dark hair, brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and full red lips. Seeing Macliau, she moved seductively across the floor to him, showing off the whiteness of her teeth in a proprietorial smile. Her clothing seemed to match her personality; it was bright and verging on the gaudy.

  For a moment, Macliau looked rather embarrassed. Then he introduced her.

  ‘This is Argantken. She does not speak Latin, but there is little need for you to talk with her.’

  He turned without further ado and addressed the girl in a sharp tone. She pouted and said something in reply, then with a frown of displeasure at the company, but still without acknowledging them, she left the room with the same flouncing motion as that with which she had entered it.

  Eadulf looked at Brother Metellus but the monk’s face was impassive.

  ‘To the tower.’ Macliau began to lead the way, with the little dog trotting close at his heels. They followed him to a door at the base of a square tower, then up a narrow wooden stairway swung around the inner wall, intricately worked in oak beams; every five metres or so, it supported a floor, each floor given over to stores of various kinds. The upper floor held implements of war, bows and stacks of arrows. Fidelma commented on the fact and bent to examine one of the sheaths of arrows that hung from the walls.

  ‘I am glad to see you are prepared,’ she said. ‘You say that attack from the sea on your fortress is impossible. The sea is a good road to the world, but the traffic is not all outward-going. Sometimes the sea brings guests whom we do not want.’

  Macliau shrugged. ‘So it was in the time of our ancestors when it brought the fleet of Julius Caesar within sight of these very shores. Of late it has brought the warships of the Franks and even of the raiding Saxons to our southern coasts, but they have not infiltrated into the Morbihan. Brother Metellus, wasn’t it your writer Seneca who underscored the lesson by saying that it will not always be summer?’

  ‘Non semper erit aesta,’ repeated Brother Metellus, solemnly nodding.

  ‘We are prepared for winter. But these recent raiders obviously have no wish to attack those who can defend themselves – just harmless merchant ships and isolated travellers.’

  They emerged at the top of the tower, some twenty metres above ground. It commanded a magnificent panoramic view in all directions, the hills and forests on the landward side, and the great inland sea to the north with its multitude of islands stretching away as far as the eye could see. Many of the islands appeared forested.

  ‘There, that is Govihan,’ said Macliau, pointing to a stretch of land beyond the headland. They had elevation enough to see that it was shaped like a kidney bean with a long strip of white sand on its eastern side and a little stretch of sand on the west. It was thickly wooded at the southern end and they could also see a tall wooden tower beyond. ‘That is the watchtower which rises from the little fortified dwelling we have there. Rather, it is an ancient villa given by my father to Trifina as her own house. As you see, between this tower and that, there is little that can move in this part of Morbihan, without being noticed.’

  Fidelma agreed that the towers did command a clear view of the area.

  ‘But how would you warn one another of danger?’ she asked.

  ‘Watchfires,’ replied the young man immediately. ‘And, on a clear day, we can use our banners.’ He pointed to the pole attached to the tower, from the top of which hung a large rectangle of white silk. Now and then the wind lifted it, fluttering in the breeze so that the image of it could be clearly seen. It was the same bird image as on the torn piece of silk that now reposed in Eadulf’s marsupium.

  Fidelma regarded it innocently. ‘Surely that is a strange emblem to have on your banner? It looks like a dove.’

  Macliau chuckled in amusement, which caused the little dog to glance up at his master and whine slightly.

  ‘It is a dove indeed, and when I am head of this family, I shall have it changed back.’

  ‘Changed back?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘Our ancestors were of the Veneti, as I have said. We dominated the seas in all directions. Even the Romans praised our skills. Our emblem was the osprey, the great sea hunter, the eagle of the sea.’

  His voice had risen with pride and for a moment or two Fidelma allowed him to contemplate some inner vision he seemed to be experiencing.

  ‘That doesn’t explain why your flag now bears a dove on it. It is a symbol of peace,’ she prompted.

  A bitter expression appeared on the young man’s face.

  ‘It became a symbol of my family’s shame,’ he muttered.

  ‘Shame? I don’t understand.’

  ‘When my ancestor, Canao, who was the second of his name to rule as King of Bro-Erech, was killed, Judicael of Domnonia took over the kingdom. He claimed descent from another King of this land called Waroch, and from then on we were told the land would be called Bro-Waroch. It was Judicael who ordered my family to surrender their battle-flag to him and to cease using the image of the royal eagle of the seas. My family had no choice, but in protest they adopted the image of the dove…an image of humility and peace. One day, God willing, we will demand our ancient rights again and—’

  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 be
en 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.