The Dove of Death Page 6

  With the single sail hoisted, it quickly filled and the small boat, with Brother Metellus at the tiller, was gliding swiftly out from the bay, leaving a small knot of islanders waving their goodbyes on the foreshore. The journey across the water to the mainland seemed swift, and so calm was the sea that even Eadulf did not have time to feel queasy. Brother Metellus was an excellent sailor, manoeuvring his sailing boat with consummate skill, shifting every time there was a subtle change in the wind to re-catch the force of it in his sail. Fidelma observed that the monk knew the waters well, for there was a series of rocky shoals through which he navigated with ease. They did not speak much during the short voyage over the distance that separated the island of the Little Duck from the low-lying stretch of land that Brother Metellus identified as the Rhuis peninsula.

  Fidelma was aware of the sheer numbers of seabirds as they approached the coastline. The ringed plover, with their distinctive black ring and bright orange bill and legs, were heading along the shoreline in search of shellfish in the mudflats. High up, marked by their white crowns and underparts, but dark brown upper feathers, two osprey wheeled, alternatively flapping and gliding, as they hunted for fish swimming near the surface. A sudden pause, as if they were hovering, and then with partly closed wings, the birds dived on their kill. Fidelma had seen osprey before, but it was always a spectacular sight, watching them make their kill. Even the gulls, emitting cries like souls in torment, seemed to avoid these hunters.

  ‘The abbey is around that headland,’ called Brother Metellus, pointing to a rocky headland with a large green mound. The area was covered with thickly growing woodland. There seemed no place to effect a landing.

  ‘Don’t worry, we shall come into the west of that, where there is an open sandy beach,’ Brother Metellus said, correctly guessing the thoughts that were passing through their minds.

  Indeed, Fidelma had already spotted the sandy strip stretching to the north-west towards another rising headland, which she estimated must be five kilometres away.

  ‘They call this the Great Mount and the one over there the Little Mount,’ explained Brother Metellus.

  There was a tide with them now as well as the wind, and they came swiftly onto the sandy beach among several other craft that were pulled up there. Fishermen and some women sat in little groups, some mending nets, while others were simply talking and cooking fish over open fires. Two of the fishermen came trotting down into the surf to help draw the small craft up onto the dry sand, and one courteously helped Fidelma out. Greetings were exchanged in the local language and then Brother Metellus led the couple from the beach and up a winding path through a very green and fertile area, most of which appeared thickly forested. Fidelma noticed it was filled with broadleaf trees, mainly thick oaks and beeches, with a few conifers sprinkled here and there when a thinning of the woodland provided space.

  ‘There is good hunting here and the nobles of Bro-Waroch often come to hunt in this area. The peninsula is fertile with game and with wild boar,’ Brother Metellus explained. Fidelma had the impression they were crossing back towards the large headland overlooking the sea. ‘Beyond that rise to the north is the fortress of the mac’htiern of Brilhag.’

  ‘Mac Hiern?’ Fidelma tried to repeat the phonetics.

  ‘Mac’htiern,’ carefully repeated Brother Metellus. ‘It is the title of the Lord of Brilhag, who is the ruler of this area.’

  ‘Surely, then, he would be in a better position to help us than your Abbot?’ Fidelma suggested.

  Brother Metellus disagreed. ‘Better that we firstly speak with Abbot Maelcar. He is strict about protocol and might take it amiss if we went directly to Lord Canao.’

  While Fidelma had the impression that this was a hurried excuse, Eadulf saw nothing amiss.

  ‘Canao?’ queried Eadulf. ‘You have mentioned that name before.’

  ‘I did,’ agreed Brother Metellus easily. ‘The Lord of Brilhag is a descendant of the old rulers of Bro-Waroch, many of whom had that name.’

  They emerged abruptly from the surrounding trees and bushes to find themselves faced with a stretch of cultivated fields. Fidelma and Eadulf saw that many of them contained vines. In the centre of these fields stood a group of low sandstone buildings that must constitute the Abbey of Gildas. The buildings were not impressive, even though the Abbey was, according to Brother Metellus, about one hundred years old. There were basically four separate buildings placed around a quadrangle. To one side was the chapel, identifiable by its architecture. It was fairly small, topped with the traditional cross of the churches of the western islands, a cross mainly contained within a circle. Two of the other buildings rose to three storeys in height while the fourth one on the last side of the square was a one-storey structure and quite ornate by comparison with its fellows. The square itself was given over to a herb garden, from which an assortment of scents assailed their nostrils. However, compared with those great buildings that Fidelma and Eadulf had seen in their travels, the whole complex of the abbey was modest.

  There were a few religious about, some of whom greeted Brother Metellus by name, while others hurried by with faces averted from them as though shocked by the sight of Fidelma in their midst. Indeed, some stared, scandalised at a woman’s presence in the abbey precincts. Brother Metellus ignored them and they followed him through the small entrance between the buildings into the quadrangle gardens.

  ‘This is the Abbey of the Blessed Gildas,’ Brother Metellus announced, unnecessarily, with a slight gesture of his hand as if to encompass the buildings around them. ‘If you will wait here, in the herb garden, I will go and inform Abbot Maelcar of your presence.’ He hesitated a moment and then explained awkwardly: ‘As I have said, this abbey follows the celibacy rule and is for males only. It is not a mixed house.’

  ‘Do not worry,’ Fidelma replied, and Eadulf discerned her slightly mocking tone. ‘We will await your Abbot here so as not to outrage the abbey’s sense of propriety.’

  There was a rough carved wooden bench nearby and Fidelma promptly seated herself on it. Brother Metellus hesitated a moment more before making his way to the single-storey building and disappearing inside. Eadulf gave a little sigh before going to sit by her.

  ‘This is certainly no port where ships from any of the Five Kingdoms will put in,’ he observed.

  ‘Our intention is to be directed to such a port,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But first, I want to ask some questions of the Abbot.’

  ‘You hope that he might have information about the ship that attacked us?’

  ‘He may know something. I would like to get some information as to the identity of that murderous captain and his vessel before we return home.’

  ‘Returning home is our main aim. Don’t forget that we are destitute,’ Eadulf reminded her.

  ‘We will hope that the charity of these brethren will help us. Also, I still have one emerald ear-clip left. Perhaps we can barter the stone for food or other things.’

  Eadulf was sceptical. ‘I doubt that will take us far,’ he said. ‘I think it would be better to seek out this Lord Canao. He might be able to guide us to King Alain, who would surely help us as Bressal negotiated the treaty with him?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But it is a long way back to Naoned, and that is where Bressal said he had last seen the King. Even so, I want to find out more about these pirates before we set out for Naoned again.’

  Eadulf saw the set of Fidelma’s jaw and realised it was not worth arguing. Once she had made up her mind, the only way to change it was persuasion by example.

  ‘So far as I can see, we will have to go where the tide takes us at the moment until we can find a benefactor,’ he said dourly.

  Fidelma glanced towards the building into which Brother Metellus had disappeared. Her impatience was obvious to Eadulf and he was about to urge calm when a ‘miaow’ at his feet caused him to look down. A large black cat had appeared, its nose in the air sniffing gently. It moved immediately towards Fidelma
and rubbed itself against her legs. She stared down at it and then a frown formed on her features. She bent down and ran a hand across the sleek black fur at the back of its neck. The animal gave another ‘miaow’, then turned and stalked off without haste among the bushes of the herb garden.

  Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a curious expression. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘The abbey seems to have a pet,’ he replied with a smile.

  ‘You didn’t recognise it?’ she pressed.

  ‘Why should I?’ Eadulf did not understand.

  Fidelma ran a tongue nervously over her lips and glanced quickly round, lowering her voice in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

  ‘Because that animal was Luchtigern. That was the ship’s cat, the cat from the Barnacle Goose.’

  Chapter Four

  Eadulf regarded her in astonishment for a moment, not sure whether she was joking or not.

  ‘You must be wrong,’ he said eventually. ‘One black cat looks exactly like another.’

  Fidelma shook her head determinedly. ‘That is not so. Cats have individual looks and personalities just as we have. That was Luchtigern – I know it. But how came the cat here?’

  ‘Are you saying that the cat escaped overboard and swam here?’ Eadulf tried to joke.

  ‘I am not stupid, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said irritably. ‘I tell you that it was Luchtigern. On the back of his head is a lump of pitch that is entangled with his hair. I felt it just now. I saw it on the ship and Wenbrit told me just before we were attacked that he was going to cut it off.’

  Eadulf was silent for a moment. He knew that Fidelma would not be so intense if she was anything but sure and the evidence of the pitch was damning.

  ‘But how…?’ he began.

  ‘Don’t ask me how it came here!’ she snapped. ‘Maybe the Barnacle Goose had to put into harbour here and the cat escaped.’

  ‘There is no harbour near here,’ protested Eadulf. ‘You saw that the beaches are long and sloping. A ship would have to stand off some way out to sea, and no cat could swim that distance to shore.’

  ‘Then we must examine the coast round here. If Luchtigern is here then so are those who have survived the attack on the Barnacle Goose. The animal could not have travelled far on its own.’

  ‘Don’t male cats wander?’ hazarded Eadulf. ‘The ship could be miles away.’

  Fidelma’s expression indicated what she thought of his comment. She glanced around with a frown.

  ‘We’ll have to be careful about what we say until we know who we can trust.’

  ‘Surely we can trust Brother Metellus? After all, he saved us.’

  ‘It’s true that he saved us,’ she agreed. ‘But I am sure the dove emblem meant something to him when you mentioned it. Also, he did not seem keen about us going to see this local lord.’

  There was no time to say any more because Brother Metellus had reappeared, in the company of an elderly man. The latter was stocky in appearance, with a fleshy moon face and red cheeks. His hair, while bearing the tonsure of Peter, was a silver-grey and with thick curls at its ends. The eyes were dark, and there was some unfathomable quality to them as if they were a mask rather than expressive of the personality of the man. He wore black robes and around his neck was a golden chain with a crucifix denoting that he held the rank of Abbot.

  His lips parted in what was meant as a smile of welcome but his features held no warmth behind the greeting.

  ‘Pax vobiscum. Greetings, my children. You are welcome to our little community.’ He spoke in Latin.

  ‘Pax tecum,’ they replied almost in unison.

  ‘Brother Metellus has told me of your adventure but, Deo iuvante, you have survived.’

  ‘Indeed, with God’s help,’ muttered Eadulf.

  ‘Brother Metellus also tells me that you have been rendered without means of support. You may be in luck – we are expecting a merchant, called Biscam, to arrive here shortly. Biscam comes regularly to our community and he will be returning to Naoned within a few days. I am sure that he would offer you his protection and a place among his wagons as far as the port. Brother Metellus tells me that ships from many quarters of the world use the port, including those from your own land. I am sure you will be able to find a safe passage back.’

  The man spoke firmly as if there would be no questioning of what he had decided.

  ‘You are most kind…’ began Fidelma.

  The Abbot barely heard her before cutting in: ‘But until the merchant arrives…well, we must secure you some shelter. Beyond the abbey is a little village of fisherfolk.’ He paused and made a curious gesture with a motion of his hand. ‘You see, we are a community of monks, those who have taken vows of chastity in accordance with what we believe is the true path to God. There is no place, no facilities, for a woman here.’

  ‘I was told that a local chieftain has his fortress nearby and perhaps, out of respect for my brother, the King of Muman, he might give us hospitality and ensure our safe passage home,’ interposed Fidelma.

  A frown of annoyance crossed Abbot Maelcar’s features. He clearly did not like to have his own plans questioned.

  ‘The Lord of Brilhag is not resident in his fortress. In fact, I believe he is presently in Naoned with the King. Best that you travel there as soon as Biscam, the merchant, departs.’

  ‘I have no wish to impose on your community,’ Fidelma said coldly.

  ‘Neither shall you,’ replied the Abbot with equanimity. ‘Brother Metellus will take you to the village and arrange your beds and also meals. You have the freedom of all places except the abbey buildings themselves.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘The reasons for that are obvious. The harmony and peace of our community cannot be disturbed. While Brother…er, Eadulf,’ he struggled with the unfamiliar name, ‘can join us if he wishes, either at meals or services, we cannot extend such hospitality to you, Sister. Our rules are strict.’

  ‘I will not bother you, Abbot,’ Eadulf intervened quickly, before Fidelma had a chance to respond. There was irritation on her face and he knew her response would be critical. ‘We will be content with whatever arrangements you suggest, and thank you for your generosity. Are we not like that traveller from Jerusalem to Jericho who was set upon by robbers and left destitute and for dead? And have you not come as the Samaritan did to take pity on us? For this much we applaud your beneficence, Father Abbot.’

  Fidelma was puzzled for a moment because the speech was so unlike Eadulf. Then she realised that he was using gentle irony to deflect the Abbot’s thoughts. Abbot Maelcar apparently did not hear any mockery in what was said but merely nodded seriously.

  ‘Although I do not approve of the path you have taken, Brother Eadulf,’ he glanced from Eadulf to Fidelma, ‘we are Christians together and must fulfil the tenets of our Faith that are compassion and charity. It is God’s will that soon all the churches of these western lands will come into accord with Rome and every abbey and monastery will adopt the Rule of the Blessed Benedict. Only a few days ago, I received news of the ordinances of the Council at Autun, which has ordained that this Rule of Benedict be adopted by every religious community. Any other course leads to profligacy and depravity. Unless our churches here abandon those ways, there is no reward in heaven.’

  Fidelma swallowed hard but Eadulf nodded quickly.

  ‘Each sheep comes to the shepherd in his own way,’ he smiled easily. ‘It may interest you to know that we were among the delegates to the Council of Autun.’ He ignored Fidelma’s frown of warning.

  ‘Delegates?’ The Abbot’s eyes shot up on his forehead in surprise. ‘It was a Council of bishops and abbots. Why would you be among the delegates?’

  ‘Sister Fidelma was asked to act as legal adviser to the Abbot of Imleach, the premier bishop of her brother’s kingdom,’ Eadulf said.

  For the first time during this conversation, Brother Metellus cleared his throat and bent in deferential manner towards the Abbot.

  ‘Sister Fidelma is a legal advocate i
n her own land,’ he began to explain.

  ‘When is this merchant, Biscam, due to arrive here?’ asked Fidelma, cutting in sharply, and determined to draw the conversation back to the immediate problem.

  ‘Biscam? He should be here within the next day or two. He and his brothers have been trading with us for many years.’

  ‘Then we shall trouble you no further, Abbot Maelcar.’ Fidelma glanced about the abbey grounds as if noticing them for the first time and commented: ‘You have a beautiful place here.’

  The Abbot’s eyes widened at the change of subject. ‘It was a spot chosen by the Blessed Gildas,’ he replied.

  ‘Your herb garden is especially fragrant and well kept.’

  ‘God blesses the hands of our brethren in their tending of the plants.’

  ‘I saw that the abbey has a cat and I presume that you keep it to fend off the pests that sometimes dominate in a garden.’

  This time Abbot Maelcar looked puzzled. ‘The abbey does not have a cat,’ he replied.

  ‘No?’ Fidelma feigned surprise. ‘The abbey does not have a large black cat?’

  ‘We have no cat at all.’

  ‘But I saw it wandering through the gardens.’

  ‘Then it must be one from the village. And now…’ The Abbot left the sentence unfinished as a token of dismissal.

  ‘Of course. Forgive me. We have kept you for too long from your duties.’

  ‘We will doubtless meet again before you leave our community,’ the Abbot said, before turning and walking back towards the single-storey building.

  Brother Metellus had been standing in silence, his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him. He sighed and stirred as the Abbot left them.

  ‘He has told me to look after you until the arrival of Biscam,’ he explained in a resigned voice. ‘I had been hoping to use this fair weather to get back to the island.’