The Dove of Death

Chapter Fourteen

It did not take them long to return to Brilhag in the same fast skiff that had brought the messenger to Trifina. She, with Fidelma, Eadulf and three warriors, had immediately set out for the fortress on the peninsula of Rhuis. A worried-looking Bleidbara greeted them as they landed on the quay just below the fortress. He looked surprised for a moment at seeing Fidelma and Eadulf in the party.

Helping her from the boat, Bleidbara began to speak rapidly, but Trifina said something and he reverted to Latin.

‘The message came from Brother Metellus just after I returned,’ he said. ‘Brother Metellus says that Macliau had reached the abbey with a mob on his heels crying for his blood. They would have killed him there and then, but Macliau pleaded for sanctuary. Brother Metellus, acting for the community, granted it.’

‘A mob? Who constitutes this mob?’ demanded Trifina.

‘Local people, farmers, fishermen. They are led by Barbatil.’

Trifina recognised the name. ‘The father of Argantken?’

‘The same. The situation is that despite sanctuary having been given, they have surrounded the abbey and are preparing to attack to take Macliau away by force and kill him. The monks are threatening them with damnation if they enter the chapel where he has taken refuge. Such threats will not keep their anger at bay for long, however.’

‘And this mob are claiming Macliau is the Dove of Death — the leader of the raiders? They are mad!’ Trifina was angry. ‘Very well. Raise your warriors and we will teach them a lesson they won’t forget!’

‘I have already despatched a dozen warriors to the abbey with Boric in command,’ Bleidbara offered. ‘I had told them to defend Macliau and the monks, but only if their lives are in jeopardy.’

Fidelma reached forward and caught the girl’s arm.

‘Calm yourself,’ she admonished. ‘Let us establish the facts. I agree we must stop this mob from visiting harm on Macliau, but we know how people are able to blame Brilhag for these attacks. In no way should you bring force to bear against these people until we have a chance to reason with them.’

Bleidbara added: ‘We need to keep warriors here in case this is a trick to make us leave Brilhag unguarded and Riwanon unprotected.’

‘I am not concerned with Riwanon’s safety but that of my brother,’ snapped Trifina. She thought for a moment. ‘We will take these men,’ she pointed to the warriors who had accompanied her from Govihan, ‘and ride for the abbey.’

‘Can you give Eadulf and me horses?’ asked Fidelma. ‘We need to come with you.’

Eadulf gave an inward groan. The idea of confronting an angry mob with a few warriors and two women was not his idea of being prudent.

As they made their way into the fortress, Bleidbara was already shouting orders for horses to be saddled. Budic agreed to command the warriors remaining in Brilhag.

It was as they were riding out of the gates of the fortress that something made Fidelma glance back over her shoulder. Standing on the steps before the great hall, watching their departure, was Iuna. For a moment, Fidelma contemplated reining in her horse and turning back to question the girl, but she was swept along in the group of riders, whose priority was to get to the abbey. The mystery of Iuna would have to wait.

The ride to the abbey of the Blessed Gildas was accomplished at breakneck speed. Bleidbara and a warrior led the way, Trifina and Fidelma came next, then Eadulf, with two warriors behind him. The pace of Eadulf’s mount was thus forced by those in front and behind, so that Eadulf, as bad a horseman as he was a sailor, simply clung to his mount and hoped for the best. His headache had returned and the events of the day seemed to be overtaking him. Already the summer day was drawing to a close, the sky darkening. Could it have really been only this morning that he had set out in a sailboat with Fidelma?

The small band of riders raced through the thick forests along the track which led across the peninsula from Brilhag directly to the abbey buildings. As they neared the abbey, the sound of raucous shouting could be clearly heard.

Bleidbara slowed the pace and the party trotted through outlying buildings into the quadrangle that lay before the chapel of the community.

The mob was not as big as Eadulf had expected, though it was big enough. There were some forty or fifty people gathered in front of the chapel steps, all of them men, waving an assortment of weapons, mainly agricultural implements, and burning torches. They were sturdy men who, from their appearance, laboured on the land. Around the front of the chapel, weapons at the ready, a few warriors stood facing them, obviously the men that Bleidbara had sent on before.

In front of them, hands held up in supplication, as if trying to quieten the mob, stood Brother Metellus. Some of the other religious of the community stood nervously by him.

Bleidbara, at a quick trot, swung his group of riders around the mob — who started to yowl with derision when they saw them. The warriors dismounted swiftly, one grabbing the horses and leading them to a secure place at a rail by the side of the chapel before rejoining his companions. They reinforced the line of stoic men facing the crowd. Bleidbara led Trifina, Fidelma and Eadulf behind to where an anxious Brother Metellus was standing.

‘There will be no reasoning with this crowd much longer,’ the Brother said.

‘Tell us the story as quickly as you can,’ Fidelma said. ‘What has happened?’

‘Macliau came running into the community. He was in a bad condition — bleeding from some wounds, his clothes dishevelled. On his heels came some of these people.’ He jerked his head towards the mob. ‘They wanted to kill him. They accused him of being a murderer and thief, saying he is the leader of raiders who have been attacking their settlements for the last week. Macliau demanded sanctuary in our chapel and I took the decision to give it to him, now that the Abbot no longer lives.’

‘Where is my brother?’ Trifina demanded.

‘In the chapel behind us,’ replied Brother Metellus.

Without another word, Trifina turned and went inside.

Fidelma frowned as she surveyed the angry crowd.

‘From half a dozen men, over the last few hours, the mob has grown,’ Brother Metellus told her. ‘Any moment, they will have gathered enough courage to brush us aside.’

‘I am told someone called Barbatil leads this crowd. Who is he?’

Brother Metellus cast an eye towards the front of the mob.

‘That man there.’ He pointed to a middle-aged, stocky and muscular-looking man, with greying hair. He was weather-beaten, though his cheeks showed a ruddy complexion. His garb and appearance clearly revealed him to be a farmer.

‘I need you to come with me as interpreter,’ said Fidelma. She glanced at Eadulf. ‘Stay here. Only Brother Metellus and I will go forward.’

Then, without another word, Fidelma went down the few steps to the front of the crowd. Brother Metellus was clearly not happy, but dutifully followed at her shoulder.

The crowd grew silent and even fell back a little as she came forward with apparent confidence. Fidelma went straight to the man Brother Metellus had pointed out.

‘I am told that your name is Barbatil and that you accused Macliau, the son of the mac’htiern of Brilhag, of murder,’ she said without preamble.

Brother Metellus duly translated this.

The stocky farmer’s eyes narrowed. There was anger in every fibre of his body.

‘I am Barbatil, and I accuse him. We will have vengeance!’

‘If your accusation is proved, then you shall have justice,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But this is not the way to secure it.’

‘What do foreigners know about the injustices that are happening here?’ replied the farmer. He pointed to Brother Metellus. ‘He is from Rome and God alone knows where you are from!’

Fidelma advised him that she was a lawyer in her own country of Hibernia and went on: ‘It is the custom among all civilised countries to state your evidence when you accuse somebody.’

‘You should know that during the last two weeks, warriors have been raiding our farms and settlements. They sail in a ship bearing the flag of the mac’htiern above it — the flag of our lord of Brilhag, who is supposed to be our protector — not our persecutor!’

‘Anyone can raise a flag,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘Is that your only evidence?’

The farmer seemed to grow even angrier.

‘It is not. The young lord, Macliau,’ he almost spat the name, ‘has a reputation here. No man’s daughter is safe. He takes his pleasures and we have to pay for them.’

Fidelma remembered Trifina’s estimation of her brother. Then she recalled that Trifina had identified Barbatil as the father of Argantken, Macliau’s companion at the fortress.

‘A man’s character as a womaniser does not make him a murderer,’ she replied.

‘No woman is safe from his lechery — and even the Church,’ Barbatil gestured towards Brother Metellus, ‘does not chide him for his debauchery — just because he is the son of the mac’htiern whose flag now inspires terror throughout this peninsula.’

‘You say that men bearing the emblem of Brilhag made these raids. Did you ever go to demand an explanation from Brilhag?’

‘At first we did,’ blustered Barbatil. ‘We saw the lady Trifina. She spoke in the absence of her father, Lord Canao. Macliau was not there. She claimed that no warriors of Brilhag were involved. She promised that she would take up our cause and find out who these people were. Nothing has been done.’

‘I ask, yet again, where is your evidence that Macliau is responsible?’ Fidelma demanded doggedly.

‘Evidence? You ask for evidence?’ Spittle edged the farmer’s mouth. ‘Did not this immoral libertine debauch my own daughter, Argantken! I accuse him of murder in her name!’

There was an angry murmur when the girl’s name was pronounced.

‘If Argantken is accusing him of murder, let her come forward and do so,’ Fidelma said stubbornly.

The anger of the crowd seemed to increase.

‘She cannot!’ replied the farmer, barely keeping his temper. ‘For she was his victim!’

Fidelma stared at Barbatil for a moment, taking in his words.

‘Argantken, your daughter, has been murdered?’

‘Have I not said as much?’

Fidelma’s mind raced for a moment or two and then she faced the man with a softened expression.

‘I am sorry for your trouble, my friend. But we must have some facts to work on, to resolve this matter. Rest assured, justice will be yours. But, I say again, it will be justice — and not revenge. Tell me the facts as you know them.’

The shoulders of the farmer, Barbatil, slumped a little as if there were a heavy weight on them.

‘It was not long ago that Macliau turned his lustful attention on my daughter. She is…she was…attractive — the apple of her mother’s eye and of mine too. She was a good daughter until he rode by our farmhouse one morning and coaxed her with honeyed words to ride away with him. She believed his promises of marriage and riches — as if the daughter of a poor farmer could ever become wife to the lord of Brilhag. She was too naïve and too trusting.’

‘Go on,’ coaxed Fidelma.

‘I pleaded with her to return to the farm, but she would have none of it. She believed that scoundrel’s lies and promises. Yesterday morning, word came to me that Argantken and Macliau had been seen riding along the coast at Kerignard, which is not far from my farm. I decided to make one last attempt to persuade my daughter to come back to her mother’s home. But knowing that Macliau had some warriors with him, I asked some of my neighbours to go with me.’

‘How many?’ Fidelma interrupted.

‘Two or three of those who are here with me now.’ Barbatil gestured to those around him, who muttered in agreement.

‘And then?’

‘We went to Kerignard. I knew the little ruined oratory where Macliau had camped on other hunting trips. I suspected he would be there.’

‘A ruined oratory?’

‘It is an old stone oratory along that coast by Kerignard. There are cliffs all along that coast, and on the top of them is the oratory, which was built and deserted many years ago.’

‘And was he there?’

‘When we arrived we saw no sign of his warriors or huntsmen. I was not even going to look in the oratory until I realised that there was a loose horse wandering behind it. I went to the oratory — there was no door, it had rotted away years before, so the place was open — and the first thing I saw was Macliau, lying on the floor in a drunken stupor.’

‘How did you know that he was drunk?’

‘The smell of intoxicating liquor was strong. Macliau smelled as if he had just crawled out of a cider vat.’

‘So he was lying there drunk. What then?’ continued Fidelma, trying to keep the man calm.

‘Beside him on the ground was…was my daughter! Argantken.’ His voice caught. ‘She was dead. There was blood all over the place. A dagger, Macliau’s dagger, was buried in her lifeless form.’

‘How do you know it was Macliau’s dagger?’

‘Everyone knows the emblem of the lords of Brilhag. It bore the emblem of the dove…the emblem of peace.’

His voice ended in a cry of almost physical pain. The crowd growled ominously and seemed to surge forward.

‘Patience!’ cried Fidelma, through the translation of Brother Metellus. ‘I have promised this man justice but I need answers to more questions.’

She turned back to Barbatil.

‘A few more questions,’ she repeated softly. ‘For your daughter will not rest quietly if the truth remains unknown.’

‘What more do you want?’ grunted the farmer, recovering his composure. ‘The evidence explains itself.’

‘Having come on this terrible scene, what did you do?’

‘One of my neighbours took the dagger from her breast and covered her body.’

‘Do you still have the dagger?’

‘Coric, do you still have the dagger?’ asked the farmer, turning to one of his companions.

A small man, whose short stature belied his thick, muscular body, came forward and held up a knife. Fidelma took it: it was exactly the same design as the one she had found in the body of Abbot Maelcar. The same emblem of a dove was engraved on it.

‘I will keep this as evidence,’ she said. ‘And then…what of Macliau? What did you do then?’

The farmer scowled. ‘He was drunk. We tried to rouse him. We hit him across the cheeks, but he was too far gone to respond. So we carried him outside and threw him in a stream. Even then it took us time to make the swine come to and comprehend his surroundings. Finally we told him that we were going to hang him for what he had done.’

The little man, the one who had been addressed as Coric, spoke for the first time.

‘He started weeping like a child, pleading with us for his life, even claiming that he was not responsible and knew nothing of the killing. The lies that poured from his cowardly mouth made us sick.’

‘We took Argantken’s body back to my farm,’ continued Barbatil, ‘so that my wife and family could mourn her in the proper manner. And we took Macliau to my pigpen and locked him in. We decided that we would hang him after we had interred my daughter’s body. That was to be midday today.’

‘So what happened?’

‘We buried my daughter. All these good folks came,’ he encompassed his companions with a motion of his arm. ‘Then we went to the pigpen. We found Macliau had managed to break free. We soon picked up his trail and it led us here. The coward has taken refuge in the chapel but we will drag him out like the animal he is and-’

‘You will do no such thing. I have promised you justice and we,’ Fidelma threw an arm towards the religious and the warriors, ‘will not countenance vengeance. Vengeance only breeds more vengeance. Do you know what sanctuary is?’

Barbatil snorted derisively, replying, ‘Just a cunning means to prevent the guilty from punishment.’

‘No, my friend, it is a means to prevent injustice. The Church recognises the right of giving protection to all peoples. Asylum is recognised by all civilised people, and rules and laws are devised to govern it. For a person to qualify for the protection of the Church there are rules, my friend. Rules not only for them to qualify, but rules as to how long that protection may be extended. So I tell you this: I must now hear what the accused has to say in his defence. When the evidence is heard, then — and only then — can a judgement be made.’

There was a muttering of discontent among the crowd.

Fidelma continued to speak directly to Barbatil through Brother Metellus.

‘You hold the decision, my friend. You lead these people. Your word may stop your friends from pursuing a misguided course. Your word may even stop them squandering their blood needlessly for, make no mistake, the warriors you see before you will defend this right of sanctuary. Not to defend Macliau, but to defend a higher principle — the right of the Church to offer sanctuary. They will sell their lives dearly in this cause. Are you prepared for this unnecessary effusion of blood? Death of many for the pursuit of vengeance? Do you believe your daughter would rest happy in the knowledge that such injustice was carried out in her name?’

She saw the man wavering and she prayed that Brother Metellus was translating her words with the same eloquence as she was trying to give them.

‘Send your friends away, so that they may not die this day. Remain here with me and hear the words of Macliau. Then you may see that I am not merely defending him for the sake of who he is, but rather to search for the truth. Out of this truth, justice will come to you.’

The farmer stood hesitantly. Then he sighed deeply and turned, handing his weapon to his companion Coric.

‘I will go with the foreigner from Hibernia,’ he said slowly. ‘Wait for me here, Coric.’ Then he turned to the rest and raised his voice. ‘Friends, I thank you for what you have done. I am a man who believes in the Church and in the law. And I believe the law is for everyone, not only for our lords. I am going to give this foreign Sister of the Faith a chance to demonstrate that her words are not mere sounds that vanish on the air. I will go with her to see and hear what she intends, and how she will conjure this justice for my family and me. Indeed, justice for all of us who have suffered from the raids of this Dove of Death.’

‘What do you want us to do, Barbatil?’ cried a voice from the crowd.

‘For the moment, disperse to your homes. Disperse, but hold yourselves ready, for if lies are being told here, then these lies must be met by a force that is born of our truth.’

There was a muttering among the crowd but then they slowly turned, in ones and twos, and began to remove from the buildings of the abbey, taking their weapons with them.

Brother Metellus had been sweating in his anxiety and now he almost physically collapsed.

Bleidbara moved in an aggressive manner towards Barbatil. Fidelma saw what was passing in his mind and spoke sharply.

‘Bleidbara, I was not amusing myself with false words. Barbatil is under my protection and will not be harmed, for no one can condemn his actions entirely, given what he has suffered. He will come into the chapel and sit unharmed while we question Macliau. Do I make myself clear?’

Bleidbara reddened a little and then he bowed his head stiffly.

‘You have made yourself clear, lady.’

Brother Metellus turned to her; the sweat stood out on his forehead and the relief was plain on his features.

‘I can only commend your action, for I have never seen a woman stand up to an angry mob and turn their anger to a peaceful solution before. I was afraid for all of us.’

‘Yet not so afraid that you were prevented from giving Macliau sanctuary and were prepared to defend your decision with your life,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘You did the right thing.’

‘From time immemorial the right of protection on a holy spot has been inviolable. Of course I could not contemplate giving in before an armed mob,’ replied Brother Metellus.

Fidelma glanced to where Coric had gone to sit on a stone wall nearby, still holding the weapons he and Barbatil had brought with them.

‘There seem to be some essential witnesses missing,’ she said, after a moment’s thought.

‘Essential witnesses?’ queried Bleidbara, puzzled.

‘Where are the companions of Macliau? He left Brilhag not only with Argantken but with two huntsmen and two warriors. Where are they?’ She turned to Barbatil. ‘Did you see any sign of the rest of Macliau’s hunting-party when you found him?’

When Brother Metellus had translated this, the farmer shook his head.

‘There was no sign of anyone else but the body of my daughter and her murderer.’

‘That is a cause of worry,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Bleidbara, I suggest that you send out a couple of your men in search of these lost souls. You can spare them now. It is of concern that they have deserted Macliau.’

Bleidbara turned to his warriors and relayed the orders to two men, who immediately left on horseback. Meanwhile, Fidelma led her companions into the chapel, leaving the guards and most of the religious outside.

Macliau was slumped on the floor against the altar. He was in a pitiful condition. The stench of stale drink and the excrement of pigs was nauseous. There was blood on his face and clothing, and he was shivering as if with some ague. Trifina was standing over him and her angry voice faded as they entered.

Brother Metellus, hearing Fidelma’s sharp intake of breath and the disgust on her face as she viewed Macliau, whispered: ‘We have had no time to cleanse him or give him clean clothes.’

‘At least give him a chair to sit on,’ she instructed. ‘By the altar, if he prefers not to leave it,’ she added, for she knew that it was in the area of the altar that most churches placed their zone of sanctuary.

Trifina had turned as they approached. Her expression was anxious, but Bleidbara quickly told her what Fidelma had done. Fidelma, by unspoken agreement, took total charge of the situation.

‘Barbatil shall sit there where he may observe,’ she instructed. ‘Brother Metellus, you will have to act as his interpreter for I shall speak to Macliau in Latin. Before you do so, Brother Metellus, send one of your brethren to bring water for Macliau to drink and a cloth to wipe the blood from his face. Bleidbara, help him into that chair.’

Someone had already brought a chair for the dishevelled young man and another for Fidelma. She seated herself opposite to him.

When Macliau, who had remained silent so far, had wiped his face and taken some water, he looked at her with a tearful expression, almost like a little boy lost.

‘Why did they have to kill Albiorix, lady?’ The words came out as a sob.

She stared, not understanding for a moment, and then she remembered his little terrier.

‘Who killed your dog?’

‘I don’t know. Whoever killed Argantken, I suppose. Such a little dog…yet they killed him.’

Fidelma turned to Barbatil. ‘You did not mention the dog.’

The farmer shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘What was there to mention? It was only a dog.’

‘It was Albiorix my dog!’ wept Macliau.

‘Did you kill it?’ queried Fidelma sharply of Barbatil.

‘Of course not, lady,’ replied the farmer. ‘We found the dog with its neck broken, lying at his feet. He must have killed it.’ He jerked his head at Macliau.

‘I did not kill him. I would never kill him,’ snivelled the son of the lord of Brilhag.

Fidelma turned back, her voice unemotional and commanding.

‘Pull yourself together, Macliau,’ she remonstrated. ‘You are the son of the Lord of Brilhag. Be a man and remember that your companion Argantken, this man’s daughter, has died a most bloody and terrible death!’

Macliau blinked rapidly and looked round, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. An apologetic expression crossed his face. He sniffed and wiped his face again.

‘I regret you see me in this position, lady,’ he muttered, licking his dry lips.

‘And I regret to see any man in such a plight,’ Fidelma replied, not unkindly. ‘Perhaps you will tell us now what happened. You should start from when you left Brilhag.’

Macliau glanced nervously at Barbatil and then back to Fidelma. His eyes seemed to ask a question.

‘It is Barbatil’s right to hear what you have to say,’ Fidelma said.

Macliau tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I was going on a hunt,’ he frowned, as if trying to remember.

‘You left Brilhag with your companion Argantken,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘You also had four companions, two warriors and two huntsmen.’

He stared at the stone floor as if examining something there.

‘I took my two huntsmen and two warriors,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I was hoping to return by nightfall.’

‘But you did not. So what happened?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘The hunting was bad. Argantken was tired and so I took her to the old oratory where I thought we could rest and take refreshment. It was Argantken who suggested that while we…while we rested, the huntsmen and the others could go and try to track down a wild boar or a deer. So they left us there.’

‘In the oratory?’

‘Exactly. Night eventually came on and we had lit a fire. I wondered why our companions had not returned. Anyway, we had food that we had taken with us as well as drink, so we decided to remain there and not to attempt the ride back to Brilhag that night.’

‘There was no sign of your companions at all?’

‘None. I admit it was curious, but I assumed they might have lost the way back to the oratory.’

‘Was that feasible? Had you been in this area before?’

Macliau frowned as if apparently thinking about the matter for the first time, before saying, ‘It is true that we had hunted before in that very area.’

‘So we can discount the idea that they could not find the way back to the oratory. Yet you were not so alarmed that you felt you should return at once to Brilhag?’

‘Why would I be alarmed? Oh, you mean the brigands.’ Macliau shook his head. ‘But I am the son of the mac’htiern. Why should we be afraid of robbers?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Barbatil said loudly, when the remark was translated to him. ‘He was one of them.’

Fidelma frowned warningly at the farmer before returning to Macliau.

‘So you remained in the oratory that night?’

‘Yes. We ate, drank and fell asleep. When I awoke, he,’ he pointed angrily to Barbatil, ‘and his friends were throwing me into a stream. Me, the son of their lord!’

Fidelma looked at him closely. ‘Are you telling me that you knew nothing between the time you went to sleep and being awoken by Barbatil?’

Macliau kept his eyes on the floor; it seemed as if he was trying to remember. Slowly, his eyes cleared and a look of horror came over his face.

‘I was asleep,’ he said slowly. ‘And…and then I came awake and someone was holding me down. Yes, I remember that now. The fire had died and all I could see were shadows. Someone forced my mouth open and someone else was pouring strong drink into me. I thought I was going to drown — I choked and struggled to no avail, and I finally passed out. When I came to, someone was hitting me. Then I was thrown into a cold stream. People were yelling at me. Attacking me. They claimed that I had stabbed Argantken — that she was dead. They bound me and dragged me along. I was still only half-conscious but I saw some of them carrying a body. Argantken’s body. Then I knew it was not a bad dream. It was true that the poor girl was dead. I remember that I had that one thought before I passed out again. I do not know how long I was unconscious.’

He paused. No one spoke.

Macliau rubbed a filthy hand across his face, streaked with tears. ‘When I came to again, I was in a dark, muddy place. It stank; as I do now. I saw it was a pen, filled with pigs. Then I found the body of Albiorix. They had killed him and thrown his body into the pigsty with me.’

Fidelma held up her hand and addressed Barbatil. ‘You did that?’

‘I told you — he killed the animal. It was his dog. So after we have hanged him we shall bury him with the dog on top of him. That is an insult among our people.’ The farmer showed no sign of guilt or remorse.

Fidelma exhaled softly and, with a shake of her head, turned back to Macliau again. She raised her hand before he could speak.

‘I know you say that you could not kill your dog, but continue: what did you do next?’

‘I tried to get out of the pigpen but someone had barred the means of exit. It took me all night, trying my strength against it. It was not long before daybreak that I managed to create a small burrow, whereby I crawled out. I managed to get into some nearby woods, and went through them, wondering where to make for. I had just realised that I was nearer to the abbey than Brilhag when I began to hear the cries of people whom I knew instinctively were my pursuers. I had to make it to the abbey. I ran. I ran as no one has ever had to run before. I nearly fell with exhaustion but then…then I saw the chapel and Brother Metellus, and I fell on my knees before him, begging him to shelter me from the fiends who were after me.’

‘There were no fiends after you, Macliau,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘It was a father who had lost his daughter, in a most violent and tragic way, and the friends and relatives of that father.’ She was gazing into the face of the weak, indolent young man, trying to judge the honesty of his words. Finally she shrugged and rose to her feet.

‘What of my brother?’ Trifina demanded. ‘We cannot leave him here in this state.’ As much as she had criticised her brother, it seemed that the girl did have affection for her sibling.

‘I agree,’ Fidelma replied. ‘However, as I see it, there is a case to be answered. Macliau must receive a fair hearing before one of your judges — a bretat, as you call them.’

‘Iarnbud?’ suggested Bleidbara.

Fidelma shook her head firmly. ‘He is a friend of the lord of Brilhag. No, this judge has to be independent, someone who is beyond reproach. The people of this peninsula must be confident that the judge has no favouritism towards the family of the lord of Brilhag.’

‘Then we must send for a judge from Bro-Gernev,’ Brother Metellus suggested. ‘That is the neighbouring kingdom.’

‘Would that be acceptable to you, Barbatil?’ asked Fidelma.

The farmer reluctantly indicated that if time was to be wasted in a legal hearing, then such a judge was better than one with a close association with Brilhag.

‘Very well.’ Fidelma glanced round at the company as they waited expectantly. ‘I would suggest that we secure an agreement with Barbatil there. Macliau may return to Brilhag and give his word of honour, swearing as a sacred oath, to present himself before such a judge where this matter can be fairly heard. I presume that you have the same concept in your laws as we of Hibernia have in ours? A man is bound by his honour. He will make no attempt to escape or conceal himself from justice until the time comes for the hearing. And Barbatil must take a similar oath that he will not attempt to harm, or cause to be harmed, Macliau, while he resides at Brilhag awaiting this hearing. Can that be agreed?’

Macliau was hesitant about leaving the safety of what he saw as the sanctuary of the abbey but, if guarantees were given, he agreed to accompany warriors back to Brilhag — but on a curious condition. He demanded that someone went to the farm of Barbatil to recover the carcass of his dog so that he could bury it at Brilhag.

Barbatil took a little more persuading as he saw in the plan some plot to take Macliau to the safety of the fortress and deprive him and his family of justice. Fidelma argued long and ardently through Brother Metellus and finally the farmer agreed.

Brother Metellus immediately despatched a messenger to the neighbouring western kingdom of Bro-Gernev, to ask King Gradlon to send a judge to hear the accusation against Macliau.

‘I suggest that we all return to Brilhag now, where we can await the coming of this bretat Bro-Gernev,’ Fidelma concluded.

‘It will probably take three or four days before the man can arrive here,’ Brother Metellus warned them. ‘Our messenger has to travel west to the city of Kemper, which lies at the junction of two rivers, a few days’ ride from here.’ He paused and then looked embarrassed. ‘I nearly forgot — the Widow Aourken was here earlier and asking to see you.’

Fidelma was momentarily distracted because Trifina was still worried.

‘Let us make sure the mob understands that it is to allow us safe passage back to Brilhag.’ Trifina had swung round to Barbatil, who reddened under the fire in her eyes and from the tone of the young woman’s voice as she addressed him. Fidelma was not sure what she was telling the man. However, at the end of it, the farmer turned to Fidelma and spoke firmly and with dignity. Brother Metellus interpreted.

‘He says that he has given his oath to you, Fidelma. He will abide by it and instruct his family, his neighbours and his friends to keep it.’

‘Your word and honour is acceptable.’ Fidelma smiled reassuringly at him. ‘And Macliau will also keep his word.’

They left the chapel and saw Barbatil walk across to his friend Coric and begin speaking with him. The little man was shaking his head in apparent disagreement but finally he shrugged, shouldered his weapons and strode off into the gathering dusk with Barbatil.

Eadulf saw that Brother Metellus had been talking quietly to Fidelma and she turned to their companions.

‘Eadulf and I have some business to discuss with Brother Metellus before we return to Brilhag.’

At once Bleidbara raised objections to leaving them alone there.

‘Lady, night will soon be upon us and who knows that the mob may change its mood? It is dangerous to be abroad without escort.’

‘I shall have Eadulf and Brother Metellus with me. And we shall not be long following you.’

When Bleidbara insisted, she finally agreed that he should leave one of his men as their escort.

When the rest of the party had left, she turned to Brother Metellus with a query in her eyes. ‘You say that Aourken wanted to see me?’

‘She did,’ he confirmed.

‘Then let us see what it is she wants.’

Brother Metellus led the way along the path to the fishing village, the warrior walking a respectful distance behind. They went directly to Aourken’s cottage and found the elderly woman sitting outside, obviously awaiting them. She rose with a smile of welcome.

‘I have heard that much has happened since you left me,’ she greeted them, and offered them refreshment. ‘Biscam and his merchants dead, Abbot Maelcar murdered and Macliau, the son of the mac’htiern, accused of killing Argantken. I didn’t know Argantken well but her father Barbatil is a good man, a farmer who is well respected on this peninsula.’

‘Even good men can be mistaken,’ replied Fidelma, after they had all declined the offer of refreshment. ‘Brother Metellus tells me that you wanted to see me about something specific.’

The elderly woman nodded. ‘You remember that you mentioned a black cat to me?’

When Fidelma indicated that she had, Aourken went to her door and beckoned Fidelma to follow. Then she pointed inside.

Before the hearth, in an old basket, a black cat was curled up. Fidelma took a pace towards it and the cat, hearing the noise, glanced up and gazed at her. Then it rose slowly and stretched on all four legs and let out a ‘miaow’.

‘Luchtigern!’ breathed Fidelma, reaching down to stroke the animal. ‘Is it you?’

The cat purred and stretched again. Fidelma checked carefully and felt the telltale lump of pitch still entangled in the fur on the back of its neck.

‘It is the ship’s cat from the Barnacle Goose. So it did manage to get to land. I was almost convinced that I was imagining it. That means the ship must have put in somewhere in this vicinity. Maybe the crew has survived as well.’

Eadulf silently wished that he had not been so ready to dismiss Fidelma’s claim when they had first arrived at the abbey.

Fidelma turned to Aourken. ‘Is it possible for you to keep hold of this cat until…until…’ She was hoping that the young cabin boy, Wenbrit, who looked after the ship’s cat, had survived.

Aourken gave her a sympathetic smile of understanding.

‘Until it can be returned to its rightful home? Have no fear, I will keep it. I hope that you and Brother Eadulf will look after yourselves. It seems that these are dangerous times now. I disliked Abbot Maelcar, but no one deserves to be killed in such a fashion.’

‘You heard how he was slain then?’ Fidelma glanced at her in curiosity.

‘Iuna told me.’

‘When was this?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

‘This morning.’

‘This morning? Where did you see her?’

Aourken was puzzled at the sharp interest that Fidelma was displaying.

‘Is something wrong?’ she countered.

‘Nothing that need cause you alarm,’ Fidelma replied with a tight smile.

‘Well, I went to get some oysters with a few other women of the village. There is a bay to the north of here.’

‘Facing the Little Sea, as you call it?’

‘On the north side of the peninsula, yes. It is not a long walk from here. And the oysters are good.’

‘And that is where you saw Iuna?’

‘Indeed it was. She was there, choosing oysters for Brilhag. She likes to choose them herself.’

‘At what part of the morning was this?’

‘When was it that I saw her…about mid-morning, I suppose.’

Fidelma frowned, mentally calculating the time, and becoming aware that she had made a mistake. A bad one. Trifina had not been lying. Iuna could not have sailed to Govihan with Iarnbud, after all. However, she had no time to waste on rebuking herself.

‘That is most helpful, Aourken. And you will look after the cat for a while?’

‘I will. He is no trouble, but I think he is pining for his real owner.’

Fidelma was about to leave when she turned back.

‘One more thing. You told me that you knew Abbot Maelcar when he was a young man here. Did he ever speak about his family?’

Aourken was surprised by the question.

‘Not much. His parents had been killed in a Frankish raid when he was scarcely more than a baby. He was sent to be fostered at the abbey of Meven. Then he came here.’

‘The abbey of Meven — where is that?’

‘In the forests of Brekilien, north of here.’

‘Did he have any siblings?’

The old woman frowned. ‘I do not think so. He always spoke of himself as an only child.’

‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘That is very helpful. My thanks again.’

The small party left the old woman at her cottage door and walked back towards the abbey. They found their horses where they had left them and bade farewell to Brother Metellus before mounting and heading back to Brilhag.