The Dove of Death

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 or 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.’

‘And therefore…?’ came Riwanon’s prompt.

‘There is none. Whoever killed the Abbot knew the way in and out of his room. Also, they must have known which bedchamber he had been assigned.’

Iuna shifted nervously in her chair.

‘Which means?’ demanded Riwanon.

‘The conclusion, according to Iuna’s statement,’ Fidelma went on, ‘can only be that the killer left in the darkness moments before she came down the corridor. That someone has to have access to this fortress and know their way about this building, even to the location of the room where the Abbot was sleeping.’

‘Supposing that it was the Abbot who was the intended victim…’ Budic still had a trace of a smile on his face.

Fidelma turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Can you expound on that remark?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps this killer was not committing a premeditated murder. Perhaps they were merely a thief, a thief who wandered into a room by chance, woke the occupant by accident and struck out to silence him.’

‘It is an interesting theory,’ said Riwanon. ‘Perhaps we should make a search for missing items?’

‘I doubt whether anything is missing.’ Fidelma’s expression did not change. ‘And it would still mean that the killer had knowledge enough to wander this place at night, knowing their way around. There is one other thing that we are already forgetting.’

‘Which is?’ Riwanon leaned eagerly forwards.

‘The strange message that brought the Abbot here yesterday. It purported to be from your husband, Riwanon. Was that message designed to lure the Abbot here, to bring him to his death?’

‘Lure?’ Brother Metellus’ brows were drawn together. ‘You mean that the message was purposely sent to bring him here, for him to be killed? That sounds dramatic.’

‘It is something to be considered,’ Fidelma said calmly.

‘But who could have done such a thing?’

‘Isn’t that what we are discussing?’ Riwanon sighed impatiently. ‘All I can say is that the message was not sent by my husband.’

‘The point is,’ Eadulf intervened, ‘who would want to kill Abbot Maelcar?’

Brother Metellus could not restrain a chuckle, saying, ‘He was not the most likeable of men. There are plenty who would not shed a tear at his demise.’

‘According to what you have told us, Brother Metellus, that would include yourself?’ Fidelma pointed out dryly.

His shoulders tensed for a moment before he relaxed with a rueful laugh.

‘Just so, lady,’ he conceded. ‘As well as many members of the community at Gildas. And there are many more who are no longer of the community, those whom the abbot expelled when they did not agree with his new Rule, who would doubtless bear a grudge against him.’

Fidelma turned to Iuna. ‘One more question:…how well did you know Abbot Maelcar?’

Iuna started. ‘Know him?’

‘Abbot Maelcar did know you, didn’t he?’ she said, before the girl could deny it. ‘I saw from his expression that he recognised you last night.’

The girl regained her composure quickly, saying, ‘He has been to Brilhag several times to see Lord Canao. Of course, I know him.’

‘He seemed to be arguing with you in the kitchen last night,’ Fidelma said gently.

Iuna looked shocked for a second, and then sighed. ‘He was remonstrating with me for not making Confession under his new religious rule.’

Fidelma saw the closed look on the girl’s face and realised that pursuing things further at this stage would not help them make progress.

‘I think we can allow you to go and change out of that bloodstained gown,’ she said gently.

The girl rose, glanced at Riwanon, who nodded as if to confirm Fidelma’s suggestion, and hurried off.

Fidelma turned to Brother Metellus. ‘Do you know the scribe who accompanied the Abbot here?

‘Brother Ebolbain? Not well at all. Only by sight.’

‘Will you find him and bring him here? We should hear if he has anything to add to the reason why the Abbot came here.’

Brother Metellus left the great hall.

Fidelma went to the table where, at the beginning of the gathering, she had placed something wrapped in a cloth. Now she carefully unwrapped it and held it up, so that Riwanon could see it.

‘I wonder if you recognise this, lady?’ she asked.

Riwanon frowned at the object.

‘Why would I recognise it, apart from the fact that it’s a knife?’

‘Examine it,’ invited Fidelma.

‘It’s a hunting knife.’

‘Rather it is a dagger used in warfare,’ Fidelma corrected. ‘But what I wanted you to particularly notice, and express if it means anything to you, is the symbol engraved on the handpiece.’

Riwanon peered closer. ‘It is an image of a bird, a dove. Oh, that is the symbol of the house of Brilhag.’

‘And this was the knife that was embedded in the chest of the Abbot,’ Fidelma explained solemnly.

Riwanon seemed unperturbed.

‘Then it is a dagger that belongs to this household. It would probably mean that the killer grabbed the first item to hand to kill the Abbot. Ah, I see. That would mean that it was not a premeditated act.’ She smiled. ‘You see, I have observed our own advocates pleading in the courts and know some of the ways of their thinking.’

‘Or it could mean that the killer was part of this household,’ Fidelma corrected her. ‘Thus they would have access to the Abbot’s chamber. And who would leave a war dagger lying about? I noticed that Macliau, when he greeted us, was most particular about the placing of weapons in a room for safety. He told us that his people share an old custom with mine. No weapons were brought into the great hall but kept in that small room, over there.’ She indicated the chamber at the end of the great hall, which Macliau had showed them.

‘The custom is so strong that even your bodyguard, Budic, last night handed his weapons over. That means that the killer would have had to collect the dagger from that armoury, taking the key from its hook to unlock the door. I checked this morning. The door was still unlocked.’

‘In which case it was a premeditated act,’ Eadulf finished. ‘And the dove…’

Fidelma frowned warningly at him as she said, ‘Exactly. The dove is symbol of this household.’

The door opened and Brother Metellus returned. Trailing in his wake was a small, balding man, peering nervously about him in shortsighted fashion. His eyes were large and round, almost owl-like.

‘This is Brother Ebolbain,’ announced Brother Metellus, adding: ‘I have informed him what has happened.’

The little man nodded emphatically, moving his head up and down rapidly in a birdlike motion.

‘The Abbot slain! Terrible! Terrible!’ he muttered.

‘Come forward, Brother Ebolbain,’ instructed Fidelma, pointing to a spot before them. She re-wrapped the dagger and placed it back on the table. ‘Do you know who that lady is?’ She indicated Riwanon.

Brother Ebolbain continued the jerking of his head as he mumbled, ‘Riwanon. The wife of our King, Alain Hir.’

‘I am Fidelma of Hibernia and have been requested by your Queen to ask some questions about the death of Abbot Maelcar. Do you understand?’

Brother Ebolbain looked from Fidelma to Riwanon and back again.

‘I suppose so. I saw you outside the abbey infirmary when you were there a few days ago.’

‘So tell us, how did you and the Abbot come here?’

‘We came by foot, Sister,’ replied the monk ingenuously.

‘I meant, what caused you to come here,’ corrected Fidelma.

‘The Abbot told me to do so.’

Budic, still seated on the table, sniggered.

‘Did he explain why?’ asked Fidelma patiently.

‘Oh yes, he told me that the messenger had instructed him to meet the King, your husband,’ he turned to Riwanon, ‘as a matter of urgency.’

‘Did you see this messenger?’

‘Oh yes. He was in the Abbot’s study when the Abbot called me in.’

‘Describe him.’

This instruction caused the scribe’s eyebrows to raise. He hesitated a moment.

‘He was ordinary. A messenger — that’s all. There was nothing to mark him apart.’

‘He wore no insignia, nothing to denote he was a King’s messenger, no sign that most heralds affect to show their office?’

Brother Eboblain shrugged. ‘I suppose he must have shown the Abbot some badge of his office. I did not see it. One warrior looks much like another, to me.’

‘So he was accoutred as a warrior? He carried shield and sword?’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘I suppose he did. I did not notice.’ He thought a moment. ‘Yes, he did have a shield.’

‘Was there an emblem on it?’

‘Probably. I can’t recall. I know that, as I entered, the youth left and said he would precede us to this fortress. I have seen no sign of him among the warriors here. I have been told that the King and his escort are yet to arrive.’

‘You said that the youth left. The messenger was young then?’ Fidelma persisted in a calm voice.

‘He was slightly built and did not have much stubble on his face. Thereby I presumed him to be a youth. In all honesty, I did not look closely at him, for the Abbot was then giving me instructions.’

‘And these instructions were?’

‘To accompany him here.’

‘Did the Abbot say anything on your journey? Anything that would relate to the reason why the King had asked to meet him?’

The balding little man shook his head.

‘Can you make a guess?’

‘It is not my place to guess, lady.’

‘Perhaps guess is the wrong word,’ replied Fidelma patiently. ‘Did you have any thoughts as to this matter?’

The scribe sniffed at the rewording of the question.

‘It is my task to serve the Abbot and not to express my thoughts on the whys and wherefores of the orders he gives me.’

Eadulf suppressed a sound that was between a bark of laughter and a snort. Fidelma bit her own lip.

‘It will be a sorry world when no one can express an opinion,’ she sighed, ‘or if no one even has an opinion.’

The elderly scribe flushed, stung by the rebuke.

‘The Rule of the Blessed Benedict says that the first degree of humility is obedience without delay,’ he snapped. ‘It is the virtue of those who serve Christ and fear hell’s damnation that as soon as anything has been ordered by the superior, the Abbot, it is received as a divine command and there should be no delay in executing it, for the obedience given to the Abbot is given to God.’

Fidelma regarded him sadly.

‘So, if Abbot Maelcar had told you to go to a high cliff and jump off, you would have obeyed it as a divine command?’

Budic broke into a laugh as the scribe’s brows came together in a puzzled expression.

‘He would not have ordered it.’

‘But if he had? You say that you must obey every superior of the Faith, whatever orders they give you?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Indeed, you are right, for that is the Rule of Benedict. But in such a matter it cannot be taken so literally,’ Brother Ebolbain replied stubbornly.

‘Where in the Rule does it say that?’ Fidelma responded sharply. ‘Are you saying that, in spite of the Rule, you can pick and choose which ones to obey? We have recently been at the Council in Autun where this Rule has been debated. There is nowhere in the Rule that says that you can choose what orders you will obey.’

‘You have clearly not read the Rule properly, Sister,’ protested the scribe. ‘There is such a Rule if the order is unreasonable.’

Fidelma eyes sparkled.

‘I know the Rule well, for it has been my task to examine it to see if it is contrary to the laws of my people,’ she told him. ‘You are the one who misunderstands, Brother. What the Rule actually says is, if a Brother is given a difficult or impossible task he must receive the order with meekness and obedience. If the task is beyond his strength, he may go to the superior and submit his reasons for his inability to carry it out. And if the superior still insists on the order, the Brother must obey, relying only on the help of God. There is no choice, my friend. No choice. Blind obedience is an evil. Caeci caecos ducentes! The blind lead the blind.’

Even Eadulf stirred uneasily as her voice grew angry. He knew that Fidelma did not tolerate those who never questioned and went blindly through life obeying rules.

Brother Ebolbain stood stiffly before her.

‘I have my beliefs,’ he said slowly. ‘My loyalty is to my Abbot.’

‘And since he is dead? Then to whom?’

‘Whoever is appointed his successor.’

She shook her head in frustration and dismissed him with a wave.

‘Well, my sister from Hibernia, you seem to have strong views.’ Riwanon was regarding her with amusement. ‘Also, it seems that you have an adherence to the old beliefs of your people.’

‘I dislike the idea that one should obey and not question, no matter how extreme the order. I especially dislike it in those who are presumably bestowed with intelligence. In them it is a sin worse than ignorance, for as we often preach, ignorance does not excuse one from responsibility. How can we do this if we teach them to obey without understanding?’

‘You are angry, my sister.’

‘Such things do anger me, Riwanon. Forgive me.’

‘There is nothing to forgive, for I am in accord with you.’ She paused a moment and then said: ‘I suppose we must despatch Brother Ebolbain back to the abbey to inform the community there of what has happened. Perhaps some of the mac’htiern’s attendants can transport the body of the Abbot back to the abbey for the interment?’

Brother Metellus began to speak and then stopped.

Fidelma turned to look at him enquiringly. ‘You have a thought, Brother Metellus?’

‘I just wondered if I should return with Brother Ebolbain. I am a member of the community. If a new Abbot is to be chosen by the brethren, I would not like the decision to be made precipitately or without an opportunity to express my opinion.’

‘Would they choose one so soon? Should not the obsequies for Abbot Maelcar be conducted first?’ queried Eadulf.

Brother Metellus pulled a cynical face.

‘Abbot Maelcar gathered around him some, like Brother Ebolbain, who might be panicked into a wrong choice.’

Riwanon now intervened.

‘Brother Metellus is correct that he should return to the abbey. To be honest, Brother Ebolbain does not seem a person who is able to present himself in a leadership role, and that is probably what is needed at this time. The community will be shocked and fearful. Brother Metellus here has the strength of character that is needed to guide them.’ It was a statement without guile or any hint of flattery. ‘I am sure that if a guide or interpreter are needed for you and Brother Eadulf, we can find someone to replace Brother Metellus in this role.’

Fidelma was, in fact, reluctant to see Brother Metellus leave, for his knowledge of the area was invaluable. But she found herself assenting. As most people seemed to speak a form of Latin as well as their own tongue, she was not worried on that account.

‘You are right, Riwanon. I am too selfish in this matter. Of course, I agree that Brother Metellus should go to the abbey.’

Brother Metellus smiled at her and Eadulf.

‘I will see you again soon. You will be waiting here for King Alain, no doubt. I may well return before his arrival.’

After he had left, Riwanon excused herself to accompany her female attendants in a walk in the grounds while Budic muttered something about attending to the horses and also left.

‘What now?’ Eadulf asked Fidelma.

‘I am going to have a further word with Iuna,’ she said and, as Eadulf made a movement to join her, she added: ‘You stay here. I think she might be more amenable to my questions without a witness. I want to challenge her about the subject of that argument with Abbot Maelcar.’

‘As you wish,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Though I cannot see her revealing anything more than she has already.’

‘You do not know how revealing someone can be when they do not wish to answer questions,’ Fidelma replied dryly, then turned and went through the door that led into the kitchens.

Eadulf lowered himself into one of the comfortable chairs by the fire with a deep sigh of relief. He turned matters over in his mind and came to the conclusion that, while he had been in worse situations, none had made him so uneasy. Was it being in an unfamiliar country whose language he did not speak, whose laws he did not know, which, combined with the mysteries with which they were faced, made things seem so malevolent and threatening? Sea-raiders…well, he certainly knew about them from the stories he had heard in Seaxmund’s Ham, where he had been brought up. The sea was nearby — the very shores across which raiders had come to plunder or to settle since time began, including his own people only a few centuries before.

He was saddened for Fidelma’s loss of her cousin and her friend Murchad, the captain of the Barnacle Goose. But such things happened. It was a part of life, and life was brutal. Attacks on merchants and their goods — that, too, he knew about. And the murder of abbots was not unknown: Eadulf had been with Fidelma enough times when they had to investigate the untimely deaths of prelates. So what was the cause of the dark threatening atmosphere that seemed to be oppressing him? He had just settled to his analysis when the door through which Fidelma had vanished a few moments before, burst open and she stood there, flushed and slightly breathless.

‘Eadulf, come quickly.’

He sprang up and went towards her.

‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What is the matter?’

‘I have just seen Iuna in animated argument with Iarnbud and they have left the fortress,’ she replied, motioning him to follow her. ‘I want to know where they are going.’

‘Iuna and the old pagan? I didn’t think she liked the old man.’

‘Come. They are moving so fast, they might disappear before we catch up with them.’

Eadulf did not protest further but ran with her through the kitchens, ignoring the puzzled glances of those servants who were busy about their duties, preparing the food for the day.

Fidelma led the way to some storage rooms and halted before a door.

‘I could not find Iuna,’ she explained, opening it, ‘so I asked one of the kitchenmaids where she was and was told she was in here. When I came here, the door was open and I heard raised voices. She and Iarnbud were quarrelling. A door was slammed shut on the far side of the room. I waited a moment and went in. The door led out onto the cliffs, and the two of them were moving together down the path towards the shore. So I came back to find you.’

As she was speaking, she and Eadulf went through a storage area to another door. It was a sturdy one with bolts and chains on the interior which, of course, had not been secured.

This door, Eadulf found, as Fidelma had told him, opened beyond the fortress walls to where a path led through an area of thick bushes and trees, steeply downward towards the shore of the Morbihan. It was a well-trodden path and they were able to move quickly down it. The salt tang of water was immediate, and within a few moments they had come to a small inlet surrounded by rocks where waves lapped noisily against them and where several wooden boats bumped against each other with a hollow thudding noise. Eadulf realised that the other side of the rocks to their right must be the stretch of sandy shore where Fidelma had nearly come to disaster in the quicksand.

Rocky steps had been carved on the more precipitous part of the incline that had ended in a natural harbour. There seemed no one in the vicinity.

Fidelma halted, peering around in frustration.

‘This is a means of supplying the fortress from the sea,’ Eadulf commented, ‘but it presents a weak point in times of war.’

But Fidelma was not interested in his martial views. She was looking for some sign of Iuna and Iarnbud. Then she noticed a sail some way out on the glinting waters before them. It seemed to be heading in the direction of one of the islands.

‘Can you see who is in that boat?’ she demanded.

‘It’s too far away.’

‘What was the island — the one where the boat is heading? Macliau or Trifina told us the name of it.’

‘Govihan, I think. The island of the smith’s forge, they said it meant.’

‘That’s it. It’s where there is a fortified dwelling and watchtower where Trifina prefers to spend her time. That’s where Iuna and Iarnbud are heading. Come on, I believe some answers will be there.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened in alarm. Fidelma was already descending the stone steps at a dangerous pace into the small harbour.

‘Wait a moment…’he began.

She ignored his protests and seemed to be examining the remaining boats moored there. Two were small boats with oars but a third one held a mast and single sail.

‘We’ll take that one,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on.’

‘But…but I hate sailing,’ protested Eadulf.

Fidelma’s brows drew together. ‘I’ll handle the sail. It doesn’t require more than one person in this tiny skiff.’

‘But we are stealing…’

‘Borrowing,’ she corrected.

‘We ought…’

‘Do I have to go alone?’ she threatened.

Eadulf knew when he was beaten and, with a shrug of his shoulders, moved down the steps to join her. She had clambered into the small skiff and was untying the sail.

‘Unfasten the rope there,’ she instructed, ‘and push us away from those other craft.’

He did so without further argument. There were two oars in the skiff as well, and while she made ready with the sail, he used one of them to push the boat away. He tried to guide them out into the mouth of the inlet. There was a wind blowing from shore which flapped at the sail, and now Fidelma hoisted it; it immediately filled with wind and a tremor went through the vessel as the offshore breeze caught it. It began to move, slowly at first.

‘Quickly, come and sit here by the mast,’ she instructed. ‘Mind the boom.’

Eadulf moved with alacrity as the vessel began to gather speed across the wavelets. Fidelma went to the stern and took the tiller. She steered the vessel out into the open water.

‘You do realise that we will be seen as soon we approach that island?’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Remember what Macliau said about the watchtower and having lookouts posted there?’

Fidelma had forgotten but did not say so.

‘We will be careful,’ she assured him. ‘If we can find one link in this mystery then we will ask Riwanon for assistance.’

‘Riwanon? So you think Macliau and his sister are involved?’

‘It is their symbol that these brigands are using. It is logical to believe that they are involved.’

‘This is true,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Except that if they were, why didn’t they make us prisoners or even kill us when we turned up at their fortress? The leader of the pirates certainly had no compunction about killing when he raided the Barnacle Goose.’

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

‘Yes. That is one thing that I cannot explain at the moment,’ she agreed.

Eadulf twisted round to glance at the island ahead of them. When he had viewed it from the tower at Brilhag, it appeared small and compact. Now it grew larger as they approached it. There seemed no sign of the other craft that Fidelma had presumed Iuna and Iarnbud were using. Indeed, they had probably made landfall on the island already. Eadulf hoped that Fidelma had thought matters through because, as soon as they approached the island, they would surely be spotted and if she were right, then they would have no excuse about disguising their suspicions of the guilt of the children of the Lord of Brilhag.

The island’s southern end rose, inhospitable. Eadulf knew from his observation from the tower that to the east was a long sloping sandy shore while to the west there was a small strip of sand. Both provided easy landing-places, but either would be easily observable.

‘Where are you going to land?’ he asked nervously.

It was something that had just begun to bother Fidelma. She did not want to land observed, if possible. She actually hoped their crossing from the peninsula had not been seen or, at least, mistaken as a normal fisherman crossing the waters. But to land on either beach was to invite inspection from the inhabitants of the fortified dwelling on the island.

‘The one place that won’t be watched is the southern end of the island,’ she said at last. ‘We could bring the boat in unobserved under the high banks there and climb up to the treeline. Then we could see the lie of the land before committing ourselves.’

Eadulf’s jaw tightened as he viewed the dark, high shoreline. ‘Land there?’

‘It is not that forbidding,’ replied Fidelma calmly.

‘There’s white water there. Rocks.’

‘Get into the bow and tell me if I come near anything. Use one of the oars to stand us off.’

Muttering under his breath, he turned and scrambled forward, dragging an oar with him.

They were closing fast — too fast, thought Eadulf.

‘Left!’ he shouted, waving his hand in that direction. ‘Keep left!’

They were still a long way from the stony seashore when he realised that not only did the white water herald rocks poking above the sea, but there were also shadows of hidden rocks beneath the dark waters.

‘It’s too dangerous!’ he protested. ‘We should turn back.’

Even as he spoke he could see they had come in too close among these underwater rocks to turn with any degree of safety. There was a tidal current driving them towards the shore.

‘Right!’ he suddenly screamed. ‘Bear right!’

He felt the boat begin to respond.

Thoughts raced through his mind. They were going too fast. They ought to take down the sail. But he was needed as lookout to shout warnings of the rocks, and Fidelma was needed at the tiller. It was too late to take the sail down and no one to do so anyway. And now they could not turn out of danger. There was still 100 metres to go before they reached the shore. It was just a matter of time when…

The impact knocked Eadulf forward over the bows and into the water. He felt his head bang against a rock and, for a moment, he was confused and dizzy. For a split second, before he was thus precipitated, he had been conscious of a tearing sound, and had an image in his mind’s eye of a sharp rock ripping into the wooden planking of the boat. Then he was struggling in the water, struggling for his life for the second time in recent days. The currents and eddies among the rocks were strong and pulled him this way and that. He reached out, trying to grasp a rock but they were all covered with slimy weeds and he could get no purchase. The waves smashing down from the swirling currents drove the breath from his body, and when he opened his mouth to inhale, seawater gushed into it and he swallowed automatically. He was choking. He had no breath and then suddenly everything was black. He felt a brief moment of regret; regret that life had to end in such a fashion.