The Dove of Death Page 8

  The main movement was the circling birds above – mallards, plovers and even teals – all combining the cacophony of their cries into a noisy concert of protest at human presence around the mound. Fidelma and Eadulf saw no sign of anyone on their journey there, nor as they stood looking across the strange seascape before them.

  Fidelma stared hard at the islands, but there were no anchored ships that resembled either the Barnacle Goose or the sleek black ship that had attacked them. She was reluctant to drag herself away from the scene and it was Eadulf who finally voiced the conclusion.

  ‘The old woman was right. Aourken told us that this Little Sea was so vast and thick with islands that, even if the Barnacle Goose had been brought there, we might not be able to find it if we scoured the area for months in a small boat.’

  Fidelma sighed; the slump of her shoulders indicating resignation.

  ‘Yet where did that cat come from?’ she demanded.

  Eadulf decided to take the question as rhetorical and refrained from answering.

  She delayed a moment longer, sweeping the horizon with her keen eyes, before turning and suggesting that they begin their return journey. In other circumstances, Eadulf might have enjoyed the warmth and smells of the countryside, the gentle whispering of the nearby sea as it teased the coast. Even the crying birds, the multi-species, should have provided a distracting interest but failed in the circumstances.

  The sun was past its zenith when they reached Aourken’s stone cabin and found the woman taking fresh bread from her clay oven. She smiled at their arrival and immediately bustled about to provide them with bowls of fish soup and fresh bread.

  ‘You saw the Little Sea?’ asked the woman, after they were seated.

  ‘It was everything you said it was,’ Eadulf answered philosophically.

  Aourken looked at Fidelma keenly. ‘But you did not see what you were hoping to see?’

  ‘I saw what you told me that I would see,’ Fidelma admitted quietly. ‘I saw little else.’

  Aourken nodded thoughtfully. ‘It is a beautiful place. But, I am thinking that you were not looking at the beauty.’

  ‘You are right.’

  ‘The sea and sadness go together,’ reflected the old woman. ‘Come, sit you down and eat. You have had a long walk.’

  Fidelma sat down, feeling depressed. She had been hoping against hope that she would have been able to discover something that would lead her to an explanation of Luchtigern’s strange appearance at the abbey. The only way that the animal could have arrived there was if the ship itself had put into some harbour close by. But why would he desert the ship which had always been his home? She knew a male cat was more likely to wander than a female, but a ship’s cat was usually very territorial.

  ‘If the pirates were hiding somewhere in Morbihan,’ volunteered Aourken, ‘as Brother Metellus said, there is hardly a chance at all of spotting them…’ She paused as she was placing bread on the table and suddenly looked thoughtful. Fidelma caught her change of expression.

  ‘You have thought of something?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘If there is a sea-raider in these waters then perhaps our mac’htiern might have word of it.’

  ‘The lord of this territory?’ enquired Eadulf. ‘This Lord Canao who has been mentioned?’

  ‘Our chieftain, he occupies the curule magistracies.’

  ‘But we were told he was not here but at Naoned,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  Aourken shrugged at the news. ‘So he has not returned? I did not know. A pity. He is a good man and is patron of the abbey. I taught his daughters Latin grammar when they were young.’ She sighed with nostalgic remembrance. ‘That I do miss, although they were a handful. The younger daughter – well, she was his foster-daughter – was very ambitious and, alas, very arrogant.’ The old woman smiled wistfully. ‘She once told me that when she grew up, she would rule not only this peninsula but all of Bro-Waroch and every kingdom of the Bretons…’

  Eadulf had been listening patiently. ‘A shame if this Lord of Brilhag is in Naoned.’

  ‘If anyone had knowledge it would have been him,’ Aourken agreed. ‘But perhaps his son, Macliau, might help. However, he is not half the man his father is. He indulges himself too much with wine and…well, with women.’

  ‘We were not told he had a son. Where would we find him?’

  ‘You would go to see him?’ She was a little surprised.

  ‘It is the only way to acquire information,’ affirmed Fidelma.

  ‘He dwells at his father’s fortress of Brilhag, which is on the north coast of this peninsula. It, too, overlooks the Morbihan.’

  ‘Perhaps we could start now and—’

  But Fidelma did not have time to end her sentence before the sound of hurrying footfalls came to their ears. A moment later Brother Metellus appeared. He was breathing rapidly from his exertion and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead. Something had clearly put him in a state of distress.

  ‘What is it, Brother?’ asked Aourken, rising to greet him.

  Brother Metellus halted before them and tried to recover himself.

  ‘I have news of Biscam and his brothers,’ he said between gasps.

  ‘He has arrived at the abbey?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘He has not,’ Brother Metellus replied hollowly, turning with a tragic face towards him. ‘The news is terrible.’

  ‘Perhaps you will be good enough to tell us what this news is. Where is this man Biscam?’ Fidelma demanded.

  ‘Dead, Sister,’ replied Brother Metellus, turning back to her. ‘He and his brothers were attacked and their donkeys and goods were stolen. It happened only a mile from the abbey.’

  Brother Eadulf grimaced and said: ‘That is indeed terrible.’

  ‘I think,’ intervened Fidelma gently, ‘that Brother Metellus would not be telling us this news unless it held a deeper meaning for us.’

  The monk nodded. ‘One of Biscam’s drivers managed to survive. He is badly wounded but somehow he was able to crawl to the abbey. I think it better if you come with me and hear what he has to say.’

  ‘You make it sound intriguing, my friend, but as you’ll recall, Abbot Maelcar made it quite clear that I was not welcome in the abbey.’

  ‘Then let Brother Eadulf come with me, for this should be heard.’

  Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘As you are so insistent, let us all go to see this man. If Abbot Maelcar is concerned that my presence will destroy the spirituality of his community, then I will stand aside and Eadulf may listen to what there is to say. Where is the man now?’

  ‘There is a little house behind the chapel, set aside for the ailing sick of the community,’ Brother Metellus said, looking relieved. ‘Biscam’s man is there.’

  ‘You said that he is badly wounded,’ Eadulf said. ‘Has he been attended to?’

  Brother Metellus nodded quickly. ‘We have a good apothecary in the abbey and his wounds have been dressed and tended. But the man has lost a lot of blood.’

  They excused themselves from Aourken’s presence and followed Brother Metellus back to the abbey buildings.

  ‘What is this man’s name?’ asked Fidelma as they hurried along the path.

  ‘Berran. He worked for Biscam and his brothers.’

  ‘You have intrigued me as to what Berran might say that is of such importance,’ Fidelma said. ‘Is this one of the raids on local farms that Aourken told us about?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had not heard of them until yesterday, for I have been on my island for quite a while.’ Brother Metellus fell silent and so they followed him without any further questions back to the abbey. He led the way straight to a small building behind the chapel. It was a single room in which some wooden cots were placed, only one of which was occupied. A tall thin religious stood nearby administering some dark-coloured liquid. He looked up with a frown of disapproval as they entered.

  ‘The man needs rest,’ he admonished Brother Metellus in a whisper. ‘Sleep is the
great healer in such cases.’ Then he seemed to notice Fidelma for the first time and his jaw slackened a little.

  ‘Sister Fidelma is here with my authority, Brother,’ Brother Metellus said quickly before he could raise another objection. Fidelma had looked quickly at the figure in the bed.

  ‘Is the prognosis good?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘It is not a life-threatening wound, if that is what you mean,’ the physician murmured. ‘He has lost blood and has pain from the wound, but he is young, and youth and time will lead to a good recovery.’

  ‘Has Abbot Maelcar been here to see him?’ asked Brother Metellus.

  ‘He has. The Abbot has just returned to his own chambers.’

  ‘Good.’ Brother Metellus ushered them to the bedside. They were surprised to see that the man who lay there was conscious; his eyes were focused on them, though it was plain to see that he was in some discomfort. ‘Hello, Berran,’ Brother Metellus spoke gently. ‘This will not take but a moment. I just want you to repeat to Sister Fidelma here exactly what you told us about the attack.’

  Berran was, indeed, a young man, but his face was lined and weather-beaten and also furrowed with deep lines of pain. The eyes were dark and almost fathomless as he turned towards her.

  ‘We…’ he licked a tongue over his parched lips. ‘We were not far from the abbey. Biscam thought we should reach it by mid-morning. We had fifteen donkeys laden with goods and there were five of us – Biscam, his two brothers, my friend Brioc and myself. The journey from Naoned had been without incident…’

  He blinked and paused.

  ‘It all happened so suddenly. I felt a pain and was knocked over by a blow on the shoulder. It was an arrow. I fell to the ground and was aware of my comrades falling around me. I heard their cries of surprise and pain, then I passed out. The attackers must have thought I was dead like the others but when I woke up, the donkeys and their packs were gone and only the dead lay on the forest pathway. I saw Biscam, his brothers…all dead. Only I survived.’

  ‘Tell the Sister what you saw before you passed out,’ Brother Metellus urged.

  ‘I saw the attackers emerging from the trees and bushes that lined the path. They had their bows ready in their hands and swords as well…’

  ‘And…?’ pressed Brother Metellus.

  ‘Their leader…’

  ‘Yes, their leader?’ cajoled the Roman. ‘Tell us of their leader.’

  ‘He was dressed all in white and wore a mask. He was a thin man with a shrill voice.’

  Fidelma exhaled softly and glanced at Eadulf. She turned back to the wounded man.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?’ she whispered.

  Berran was obviously trying to recall. ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘I was overcome with pain and passed out. In fact, I kept coming to and crawling along the path, knowing that I would eventually get to the abbey.’

  Brother Metellus turned to Fidelma. ‘You see why you had to hear this? The leader was dressed in white as you described.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Tell me, Berran, have you ever heard any rumours or stories about robbers in this area? Was this the first time you have been attacked in this fashion?’

  The young man’s lips twisted in a spasm of pain before he answered. ‘I have heard nothing of merchants being attacked in this area of Bro-Waroch. There were stories of some attacks on farmsteads when we entered the peninsula two days ago. But there has never been any trouble before.’

  ‘Forgive me asking you again, Berran, but can you tell us anything more about the identity of these attackers? Apart from their leader, a slim man clad in white, you say?’

  ‘That is all I can recall.’

  ‘And you have no idea of where they came fr—’

  ‘Enough!’ The voice at the door was harsh.

  They swung round to see Abbot Maelcar gazing angrily from the doorway.

  ‘Did I not make myself clear, Sister Fidelma?’ His eyes narrowed on her. ‘You are not welcome in the abbey precincts and certainly not in these buildings reserved for sick members of our community!’

  Brother Metellus took a step forward. ‘It is my fault, Father Abbot. The people who attacked Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf at sea are the same that attacked Biscam and his men. I felt that she should hear what Berran had to say.’

  Abbot Maelcar sniffed disapprovingly. ‘You dare disobey me? You knew my orders!’

  ‘Isn’t it more important to discover who these murderers are, than keep strictly to the rules of the community?’ Brother Metellus asked defiantly.

  Abbot Maelcar’s features reddened. His eyes flashed with fury.

  ‘You still defy me?’ His voice rose sharply.

  ‘Abbot Maelcar,’ Fidelma spoke quietly. ‘We are in the presence of a sick man in the infirmary. If you wish to raise your voice, then we should repair outside and away from this place.’

  The Abbot’s mouth opened in astonishment and he seemed at a loss for a moment at what he considered her impudence.

  Eadulf knew that she was doing no more than obeying the law that appertained in her own land. The laws of how hospitals were run were very precise, and nothing that disturbed the peace of the patients was to be allowed within a certain area of the house where the sick were being nursed – no barking dogs or noisy people. He moved forward, slightly in front of Fidelma, facing the Abbot, and spoke softly but firmly.

  ‘I suggest that we leave poor Berran in peace and continue this discussion outside. It is too important a matter to argue over the dogma of rules when lives are at stake.’ He turned to the worried-looking physician attending him and smiled to indicate his thanks, although Eadulf felt that his anxiety was more for the wrath of the Abbot than care for his patient.

  The Abbot turned on his heel. He was waiting for them outside, his expression angry.

  ‘I defer only to the sick man,’ he said, his tone harsh.

  ‘That is all we were asking you to do,’ replied Eadulf. Fidelma was surprised by his tone. He did not usually assume a belligerent manner. ‘As to the matter in hand, this man had important information about the people who attacked and killed the merchant’s company. From his description, it was the same thieves who attacked our ship and killed the Prince of Cashel, the cousin of the Lady Fidelma here.’ For the first time Eadulf had abandoned the religious title to emphasise that she was sister of the King of Muman. Before Abbot Maelcar could reply, Eadulf continued: ‘That means these murderers and robbers are based in this vicinity. And that means your abbey might be in danger from them.’

  But Abbot Maelcar did not seem concerned.

  ‘Nonsense. Why would they, whoever they are, attack this abbey?’

  ‘There are many reasons why an abbey is attacked,’ pointed out Brother Metellus. ‘For the precious icons, the riches of the goods bestowed on them and offered in praise of the Christ.’

  ‘No robber would dare attack the Abbey of Gildas,’ snapped the Abbot.

  ‘If they would dare attack and kill merchants bringing goods to the abbey and within proximity to the abbey, then why not attack the abbey itself?’ Fidelma’s voice was still soft but her delivery was studied. ‘If they would dare attack a ship sailing under the protection of a King’s envoy, why bother about a remote abbey? This matter should be brought to the attention of your lord, or his deputy, so that he may extend his hand in protection here in case of attack.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Maelcar said irritably. ‘How do we know that what this man,’ he gestured to the infirmary, ‘says is the truth? A wounded man comes to the abbey with a story that starts a panic – who knows what his motivations are?’

  Fidelma considered him with surprise.

  ‘I presume that you have already sent someone to the spot where this attack took place to ascertain the facts and see if there were other survivors too badly wounded to move?’

  The Abbot raised his chin stubbornly.

  ‘I am not to be panicked into any c
ourse of action until I know the facts.’

  ‘You will not learn the facts by sitting here and quoting rules!’ Fidelma admonished him. ‘There might be wounded men out there dying for lack of attention. We must go to where this attack took place and discover the facts.’

  ‘I know the place that Berran was speaking about,’ said Brother Metellus. ‘It’s less than a kilometre east from here in a wooded area. It would be ideal for the sort of ambush that Berran spoke of.’

  Abbot Maelcar was staring angrily at Brother Metellus.

  ‘I forbid you to leave this abbey,’ he said.

  ‘You may forbid Brother Metellus but you will certainly not forbid us from proceeding,’ Fidelma rapped out. ‘As sister to the King of my land, whose cousin, his envoy, was murdered, I invoke my right to claim the hazel wand of office from him and track down his murderer.’ As she spoke, Fidelma drew forth the hazel wand that she had been carrying in her girdle since she had picked it up from the deck where Bressal’s lifeless hand had dropped it. ‘I will appeal to the King of this land, who recognised the embassy of my cousin, and who was duty bound to protect him. I will assert my right. Now, if Brother Metellus will point us along the right path…?’

  Brother Metellus was gazing defiantly at the Abbot.

  ‘Not only will I give you directions but I will take you there myself,’ he said, addressing Fidelma while continuing to gaze at the Abbot.

  Abbot Maelcar seemed shocked.

  ‘Have you not learned humility yet, Brother Metellus?’ he asked. ‘Were you not sent to Hoedig to reflect and learn humility?’

  ‘Humility has nothing to do with this matter,’ Brother Metellus said.

  ‘The first degree of humility is obedience without question,’ returned the Abbot in a voice like thunder. ‘Does not the Rule of the Blessed Benedict say that as soon as anything has been commanded by the Superior of the abbey, no delay in the execution of that order is permitted. The order must be obeyed as if God Himself had commanded it. You will obey me without question.’