The Dove of Death

Chapter Twenty

The great hall of Brilhag was crowded. Dusk was gathering outside and numerous oil lamps, unglazed earthenware receptacles with a snout to support the wicks, had already been lit in the main body of the hall. Their flickering flames caused a smoky atmosphere to permeate the interior of the building, sending out a pungent aroma. With the people crowding into the hall, the place was warm, uncomfortably so. The ornate tables had been carried to one side, and chairs and benches placed for people to sit. Facing the main body of the hall, a small platform had been raised by the servants in front of the large fireplace. It was a wooden construction on which four wooden chairs had been placed. Behind each was a tall, wrought-metal candleholder in which beeswax candles were lit.

King Alain and Riwanon had seated themselves on the centre chairs. The red-haired ruler of the Bretons had a sombre expression. The attractive Riwanon was colourfully dressed, so that many an eye focused in her direction. On the King’s right sat Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag, Alain’s close friend. He looked anxious, his forehead creased in a permanent frown. When he appeared, there had been many angry mutterings from the local people now pressed onto the benches to hear the judgement of Macliau by the King and his bretat. To Riwanon’s left sat Budic, the handsome son of the King and commander of the bodyguard.

An elderly man with slightly stooped shoulders sat just in front and below King Alain. He was the bretat Kaourentin of Bro-Gernev who had arrived to be the impartial judge of the proceedings. He did not inspire confidence in Fidelma. He was a thin-faced man, with a pale complexion, a beak of a nose and a look of permanent disapproval on his features. His long, once-fair hair was a dirty white, tied at the back of his neck with a ribbon. Fidelma sat directly opposite him, with Brother Metellus at her side as translator. On Metellus’ other side was Eadulf, then Bleidbara and Heraclius, their bench being slightly to the right of the elderly judge and thus opposite Riwanon and Budic. Facing Alain and Lord Canao, on the first bench sat Macliau, stubborn-looking, his chin held aggressively high, like a child about to be censured by its father. By his side was his sister Trifina, slouched on her seat with melancholy eyes downcast.

Behind them, all the other benches were filled. Among the people crowded there Fidelma had spotted Barbatil, the farmer and father of Argantken, Coric his friend, and the elderly Aourken. At the back was Hoel, now elevated to captain of the Barnacle Goose, with Wenbrit the cabin boy and other members of the crew. Fidelma presumed that the rest of the crowd consisted of local people and members of the community of the abbey. At strategic points around the hall were warriors of the King’s bodyguard, together with some of the warriors of Brilhag led by Boric.

There was a suppressed excitement in the great hall. The murmurs rose and then gradually died as Alain Hir cleared his throat. He opened with a few words in his native language, phrasing them in a rich baritone that commanded people’s immediate attention. Then he switched easily into Latin.

‘My friends, since the language common to most of us is Latin then I enjoin you to use it. For those who do not possess knowledge of it, your friends will know who you are. Please will those friends go and sit beside you now — in order to translate, so that you may understand what is being said. I make this special concession in this hearing due to the fact that we have a foreigner among us who will make a plea before us, and, not being proficient in our language, will do so in Latin.’

Fidelma was about to rise when the old judge, Kaourentin, did so quickly and half-turned to acknowledge the King.

‘I have to speak for the law we share among our kingdoms and over which you, Alain Hir, preside.’ His voice was dry and rasping. ‘It is a custom and has been observed from time immemorial that no foreign person, especially one unable to speak our language, may plead before our judges, let alone in the capacity of a prosecutor. I raised this matter with you last night when, after my arrival, the nature of this case was explained,’ he added reproachfully.

Alain the Tall gazed down at him.

‘You made your point eloquently last night and I have weighed your words most carefully. However, I have decided, in the exceptional circumstances which face us, to allow Fidelma of Hibernia to state why she should be allowed to speak here.’ He raised a hand to silence the judge, who was clearly about to make further objections.

Fidelma now rose and smiled quickly at the King. Then she took out the hazel wand of office, the wand of a techtaire or ambassador, that she had been carrying ever since she had picked it up from the deck of the Barnacle Goose, where it had fallen from Bressal’s nerveless fingers.

‘This is the symbol of office of an ambassador, which the people of Hibernia hold sacred, and which sacred office was violated. It fell from the hand of Bressal, who came to you in peace. He came to conclude a treaty with your kingdom and mine. As sister to my brother, Colgú, King of Muman in the land of Hibernia, I now pick it up and claim that role.’

‘Your rank and position are recognised here,’ conceded King Alain.

‘Your courtesy is only exceeded by your wisdom, Alain, King of the Bretons,’ she replied. ‘I thank you. Let me make it plain that I am not here to prosecute in your court. I am an advocate of the laws of my country but that does not give me the knowledge to plead in your laws, which I freely admit remain unknown to me. What I would wish is to be allowed to present to those gathered here some facts. Should they be accepted and it is felt that there is a charge to be answered under your laws, I merely hand these facts to you. To you, Kaourentin, so that you may pursue them to a logical conclusion within the constraints of your law.’

The elderly man gazed at her with his dark suspicious eyes.

‘These facts that you have gathered by means of investigation — did this involve the questioning of people?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘What authority had you to do so?’ Kaourentin smiled thinly. ‘Again, it is our law that no foreigner can come into our kingdoms and use subterfuge and guile to extract information to present for legal use.’

‘Subterfuge and guile? That is a strange way of putting it,’ Fidelma observed.

‘A law nevertheless. So you admit that you have no authority to have made such an investigation?’

‘I did not concede that I had no authority to do so.’ Fidelma glanced meaningfully at Riwanon, who flushed slightly.

‘She acted under my authority, I think,’ the wife of Alain Hir announced.

Kaourentin, his brows drawn, turned to her. ‘You say that you think she acted on your authority? How is this?’

‘I told her to find out who killed Abbot Maelcar.’

‘Hah!’ Kaourentin exclaimed. ‘May I remind you that the charge against Macliau, son of Lord Canao, is that he murdered the girl called Argantken?’

‘The charge is further that he is the person behind the Koulm ar Maro, the sea raiders, and thereby responsible for all the deaths that occurred here,’ Fidelma reminded him.

‘The Queen has said that she told you only to find out who killed Abbot Maelcar,’ quibbled the bretat.

‘If it makes it clearer, Riwanon reiterated her authority on the very morning Ceingar was killed and when Trifina and Iuna were abducted, which authority included the other deaths,’ Fidelma told the old judge calmly, but wondered whether he was being pedantic or obstructive. ‘The words used in front of Budic and of Eadulf were that I had “complete authority” to do so.’

King Alain made an irritated sound and bent forward.

‘My wife has explained this, Kaourentin. If that is not enough, then her authority is now confirmed by my own authority for, my wife in our law, always acts under my name.’ He spoke sharply, clearly annoyed by this legal attempt to stop Fidelma speaking after he had given his permission for her to do so.

‘Forgive me, sire.’ Kaourentin was bowing to him. His voice was suave. ‘It is my duty to instruct in the law and ensure that all is done according to its principles.’

‘Having done so,’ King Alain replied in a heavy tone, ‘may we finally proceed?’

Kaourentin inclined his head and, sitting down, added: ‘Speak, Fidelma of Hibernia. But remember that the primary reason we are gathered here is to hear the case against Macliau, son of Lord Canao, and consider his defence.’

Fidelma allowed the ripple of voices to spread through the great hall and eventually die away. She liked to concentrate her mind for a few moments when she was about to present a case before the Brehons of her own country. She realised that she would be limited in what she had to claim, since she had none of the legal supports of her own laws to back her. She was not even sure that she would be able to cross-examine any of the people she wanted to. But for the sake of justice she had to pursue this course with all the eloquence that she could command. It was her duty.

‘I did not come willingly to your country,’ she began quietly but firmly.

She paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts again, but Fidelma had an advocate’s sense of the dramatic.

‘My companion, Eadulf, and I were returning to our own country of Hibernia on a ship called the Barnacle Goose. On board that ship was my cousin, a prince of my country, Bressal of Cashel, who had but lately conducted a treaty of trade with King Alain and was en route home with a cargo of salt from the salt pans at Gwenrann. An old friend of mine, Murchad of Aird Mhór, captained the ship. We were sailing near the island called Hoedig when we were attacked by another ship. That ship had a dove carved on its bow and flew a white banner from its stern, on which was the emblem of a dove. We were forced to surrender after one of the crew and the first mate were killed. After that surrender, the commander of this hostile vessel, a person dressed in white and masked, murdered my cousin in cold blood and then murdered the captain. Both of them were unarmed and were making verbal protest, my cousin showing the emblem of his office at the time.’

She paused once more.

‘I shall not go into many details. Eadulf and I were about to be slaughtered so, to save our lives, we were forced to jump overboard. Brother Metellus, like a guardian angel, came sailing by and rescued us. Eventually he brought us to the Abbey of Gildas. There I saw evidence that our captured ship must have put in close to these shores.’

Aourken was nodding in her seat.

‘I also learned that the emblem of a dove was known as the standard of the mac’htiern of Brilhag. Subsequently I discovered that there had been raids on farmsteads, an attack on merchants and several deaths attributed to these same pirates who acted under that flag. Both the ship and the leader of the raiders were referred to as the Koulm ar Maro, the Dove of Death.’

Canao now leaned forward in his seat. He spoke loudly and firmly.

‘Let it be recorded that the mac’htiern of Brilhag clearly and completely denies that any of his followers have acted in the manner described, and that these deeds were not committed by anyone who was legally entitled to serve under the emblem of his family.’

Fidelma turned and inclined her head towards him as there came an outburst of angry murmuring from the direction of Barbatil, Coric and their friends.

‘But let us agree that the pirates used the standard of Lord Canao of Brilhag during their raids,’ she stated.

Barbatil rose to his feet and spoke rapidly, his words quickly translated.

‘There are many of us,’ he waved his hand to indicate his supporters in the hall, ‘farmers, and others, who have witnessed attacks by warriors carrying that now accursed banner bearing a dove as its emblem. We should be protected by the lord of Brilhag and yet, for these last two weeks, we have been persecuted by him!’

‘You are out of order!’ shouted the rasping voice of Kaourentin.

‘Out of order?’ cried the burly farmer, his anger bubbling over. ‘My daughter is dead. I am here not for order but for vengeance! I am here to speak for the farmers who have been killed, for our wives and daughters who have been deprived of their husbands and fathers and sons. And for those who have been violated by these vermin. I speak for all the dead who have perished by the hand of this Dove of Death!’

King Alain raised his strong baritone voice to suppress the rising babble in the room.

‘Let no one be under any illusion. This hearing will be conducted in the name of justice, not of vengeance, and in accordance with our traditions and spirit of our laws. The guilty shall be punished. If they are guilty, they shall be punished, even though they sit at my side.’

Lord Canao flushed but made no response, staring doggedly ahead of him.

The King turned to Fidelma and motioned her to continue.

‘Having landed here on this peninsula, we heard of these attacks of which the farmer, Barbatil, has spoken. We found the merchants of Biscam after they were attacked and slaughtered. My companion, Eadulf here, discovered this banner clutched in the dead hands of one of them…’

Eadulf stood up, unfolded the silk banner he had brought with him and held it up before the assembly, allowing them to see it and recognise it before he sat down again. A ripple of voices spread through the great hall.

‘The evidence is obvious,’ shouted someone. Fidelma thought it was Coric, the friend of Barbatil. ‘That is the flag of Lord Canao.’

King Alain was looking thoughtful.

‘From what I have heard, these attacks began only two weeks ago. But for what purpose? They seem senseless, particularly so if they were being carried out on the orders of the lord of Brilhag — who, I have to say, for these last two weeks has been constantly in my company both at Naoned, Gwenrann and with me hunting along these shores.’

‘I have said, and I say it again,’ Lord Canao intervened. ‘These attacks have not been ordered by me or the house of Brilhag.’

‘Yet the act was done under your emblem,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘We must, therefore, ask — why?’

The mac’htiern frowned in annoyance.

‘Why would I, or any of my family, attack and despoil those very people who exist under the protection of Brilhag? I am their chieftain. They look to me and mine for their wellbeing. Our existence is symbiotic. I cannot exist without them nor they without me. Will there be honey if the queen bee should turn and kill the worker bees?’

As eloquent as this was, his words provoked some angry murmuring from Barbatil and his comrades.

‘We are here to bring Macliau to justice,’ cried Barbatil, ‘not Lord Canao. If the father won’t admit responsibility then his son must accept the evidence of his guilt.’

Fidelma ignored the cries of support for the farmer.

‘Lord Canao has asked a good question. And now, I will answer it. These attacks started when those responsible for them learned that Alain Hir, King of the Bretons, was coming as guest to Brilhag. To what end were all these senseless attacks directed? The lady Trifina has provided the answer. Trifina, what was your response?’

Trifina hesitated and then rose uncertainly.

‘I told you that someone was out to destroy the reputation of my family,’ she said. ‘I believed that the person using the banner of my family did so as a ruse, to bring disgrace on us.’

‘Just so’ agreed Fidelma mildly. ‘But for what end? Just to bring disgrace on a family is not a strong enough motive in itself to go to such murderous lengths. Murder is not an end in itself. There must surely be something more.’

‘What more could there be?’ Lord Canao bent forward and asked. ‘My daughter has given you good reason and has suffered because of it. Bleidbara has brought back half-a-dozen prisoners from his encounter with the Koulm ar Maro — they must be made to confess who their leader was. Confess if there was anyone else in conspiracy with them.’

‘The truth is that they do not know,’ Fidelma replied. ‘They are mercenaries. Their captain, a man called Taran from Pou-Kaer, was the only one to have direct dealings with the person who organised them. They were paid from the booty they took, but they never saw their real leader unmasked. Perhaps Taran could have identified the real Dove of Death, but he lies at the bottom of the Morbihan.’

‘It is true, Lord Canao,’ called Bleidbara. ‘They might be willing to talk to save their lives by confession, but they do not know what to confess.’

‘I will come to the identity of the leader in a moment,’ Fidelma said confidently. ‘But firstly I will tell you the reason why this has taken place.’ She allowed a few seconds to pass; the great hall was completely silent. ‘The lady Trifina was right. This “Dove of Death” as this person became known, was using the emblem of Brilhag for a purpose. However, it was not merely to bring disgrace to this family — but to bring blame.’

‘Blame?’ enquired King Alain, showing bewilderment. ‘Blame for what?’

‘Your death.’

Fidelma waited until the wave of incredulous voices began to recede.

‘These attacks started and built up so that people would already be in the frame of mind to hate and mistrust Brilhag. Who else would they blame if the King of the Bretons, arriving on a visit to Brilhag, were to be assassinated? Assassinated in such a way that the Dove of Death was blamed? The family are descended from the kings of Bro-Waroch, and some believe that they have long had a grudge against the house of Judicael, whose son is Alain Hir. Who would question their motive? Macliau, himself, bemoaned the loss of the kingship of Bro-Waroch to Domnonia, and boasted that he wanted to retrieve the ancient rights of his family.’

Lord Canao cast a look of dismay at his son. Macliau sat white-faced, staring unseeingly at his feet. It was as if he had withdrawn into himself.

‘So he is guilty! He is the Dove of Death!’ shouted Barbatil.

Alain Hir was grave and thoughtful.

‘You seem to have gathered a lot of information in your investigation, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ he said.

‘My old mentor in law in Hibernia, the Brehon Morann, used to say that once you have a motive you will be led to the culprit. I am afraid that in this instance he was wrong. The motive was to kill you and place the blame on the family who might have claimed this kingdom on your death. But if that family were not guilty of the assassination…who else could possibly benefit from such events as have occurred here?’

‘You mean, a beneficiary other than the house of Brilhag?’

‘Exactly. As a Roman lawyer, Cicero, once argued before a judge — cui bono? Who stands to gain? That is the basis of this matter. Curiously enough, a short time before his death, my Cousin Bressal and I were speaking of the very motivation behind the assassination of a king or chieftain, and of our concerns for the wellbeing of our own High King. From the attack on our ship, we have made a long journey through many dark minds, but now all shall be revealed.’

‘Let us confine ourselves to the accusation that Macliau killed his mistress Argantken and is, in fact, the Dove of Death,’ demanded the bretat Kaourentin. ‘That is why this hearing has been called and that should be the first thing we do.’

An expectant murmur ran through the audience.

‘We cannot confine ourselves to that alone,’ retorted Fidelma. ‘However, let us put Macliau out of his misery. He was not guilty of Argantken’s murder any more than he was responsible for the outrages that have been committed under the flag of Brilhag. He was a victim of the Dove of Death, a victim of another outrage which would make people think that Brilhag was responsible. And when the last of these actions, the assassination of the King and his replacement, would occur, everyone would blame the family of Brilhag, so that the person responsible could be swept to the kingship on an hysterical wave of support.’

It was some moments before the hubbub died away.

For the first time Macliau raised his head and an expression of hope crossed his features.

Fidelma glanced at him with a satisfied smile.

‘I discounted Macliau’s involvement on several grounds. Primarily, while, with the right motive, we are probably all capable of killing someone, what motive did he have for killing Argantken? Macliau loves the good life. He loves wine and women. He is no warrior. He confessed as much to us when we arrived here. Importantly, he would never have killed his dog Albiorix. I think he loved that dog perhaps more than he did the women in his life. No, it is impossible to see Macliau in the role of the Koulm ar Maro. The Dove of Death is vicious, a ruthless killer with a fixed ambition — not the sort of person who would fall into a drunken stupor next to their newly killed victim and their pet dog. Finally, how would Macliau have succeeded as King? Even his sister, Trifina, and others have pointed out that he did not have the support to succeed as lord of Brilhag, let alone King. I am told the Bretons still adhere to choosing the most capable member of the bloodline, male or even female.’

‘If not Macliau then who…?’ began Lord Canao.

‘I can now name the person who gave direct orders to Taran: the pirate who, dressed all in white and wearing a mask, even went on some of their murderous raids and enjoyed the killing as much as those they led. The person who killed my Cousin Bressal and the captain of the Barnacle Goose was — Iuna.’

There was a thunderous noise of incredulity and surprise through the hall. Trifina turned from her seat with shocked features.

‘You must be jesting! Iuna, our stewardess?’ she cried over the hubbub.

Fidelma was calm.

‘Iuna was the person who actually led some of the raids. She is a ruthless and ambitious young woman. It was Aourken who first told me about that ambition. Her parents had been killed and she had been fostered by the lord of Brilhag.’

‘But she was content simply to be our domestic…’ began Lord Canao. ‘She was my foster-daughter. She had no ambition.’

‘On the contrary, she had great ambition,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Iuna came from a noble family that dwelt in Brekilian. Iuna’s parents had been slain. You knew that when you took her into your household.’

Lord Canao raised his arms in a helpless gesture. It was King Alain who, sitting back, was shaking his head with a sad smile.

‘Unfortunately, Fidelma of Hibernia, in your accusation of Iuna, you are forgetting one thing. I knew Iuna’s father, since he fought at my side against the Frankish incursions. He was a great noble and a great warrior. But he was not of the bloodline of Domnonia or Bro-Waroch. If the motive was to assassinate me and blame it on Lord Canao’s family, in order that she could claim my throne, that would have been impossible.’

‘True,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘But I did not say that she was aiming to be the direct beneficiary of these murderous acts. She was acting for someone else, someone who would be the beneficiary — in the mistaken belief that she would then join him as his Queen.’

‘But,’ replied King Alain, ‘if I died now, there is only…’

There was a sudden silence and then Fidelma spoke slowly and distinctly.

‘Yes. There is only your son by your first wife who is of the bloodline and would come to the throne without challenge. Budic would succeed you.’

Once again the rest of her words were drowned in the cacophony of voices throughout the great hall. Budic sat with a broad grin spreading over his features, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Finally, Fidelma made herself heard again, speaking directly to King Alain.

‘I did not know that Budic was your son and possible heir until you confirmed it last night. I should have realised it before, when Abbot Maelcar arrived in answer to what he believed was a command from you as King. Abbot Maelcar asked Budic if he had sent the message on behalf of his father. Of course, Abbot Maelcar knew you were Budic’s father. Not picking up on that was a serious error on my behalf.’

Budic was actually laughing now.

‘And not the only one. You are accusing me of attempting to murder my own father?’ He turned to King Alain. ‘The woman is mad. When these attacks started to occur I can prove I was not even in this province.’

‘I am sure you can because you were working with Iuna, the Dove of Death.’

Budic gazed at Fidelma with a cynical smile. ‘You still have to prove all these accusations, and foreigner or not, a King’s sister or not, you will have to account for them.’ The vehemence in his voice belied the smile.

‘Silence!’ King Alain snapped. ‘This is not the place to make threats. Fidelma of Hibernia is under my protection and may present her accusations here without fear. But I have to say that these same accusations are wild and unreasonable. You will have to present proof that Iuna and Budic are in such a conspiracy.’

‘Indeed,’ sneered Budic. ‘And where is Iuna? Will she come forward to confess this? I think not. And for what reason am I supposed to have killed Abbot Maelgar, the girl found with Macliau and heaven knows who else?’

‘Iuna killed Abbot Maelcar,’ went on Fidelma confidently. ‘The Abbot was from Brekilien and had been fostered in an abbey — I believe it is called Pempont. Next to it is the royal court. On a visit recently, he chanced on Iuna in a compromising position with Budic. He came back muttering about loose morality at the court — about a provincial servant fornicating with the King’s offspring. Aourken told me that. Alain has only one offspring. Abbot Maelcar considered Iuna a provincial servant. And Iuna let slip that Abbot Maelcar used to call her that as an insult. She also said he was a man who looked at women through cracks in curtains. She was about to tell me what had happened at Brekilien when she realised that it would incriminate her. Indeed, she realised that Abbot Maelcar could be witness to her relationship with Budic. That was why he was invited here and killed by her. She grew more vicious as the time for the fruition of the conspiracy grew close.’

During this recital, Riwanon had turned to regard Budic with an expression of distaste, but the young man was still sneering at Fidelma.

‘But I am told that Budic himself was nearly slain in an ambush by the followers of this Dove of Death,’ King Alain objected. ‘They attacked Riwanon and killed members of their escort. Budic saved her life.’

‘Explain that, foreigner!’ Budic taunted her.

‘The ambush was faked,’ answered Fidelma flatly.

Riwanon coloured and leaned forward, her cheeks aflame.

‘But I was there,’ she said. ‘Bleidbara and your companion went out after the attackers and found them, rescued my maid while she was being raped, and killed them. How was that a fake?’

‘I’ll tell you what really happened,’ Fidelma said. ‘Budic and yourself rode out with Ceingar, your maid, and two warriors. Budic needed such an event to enhance his position when the time came to present himself as a hero who had escaped death from the evil machinations of Brilhag. Iuna had arranged for one of the raiding parties from the Koulm ar Maro to meet up with Budic and his party. In fact, I suspect the two warriors who accompanied Budic were either part of the conspiracy or mercenaries from the Koulm ar Maro. I found it curious that Budic and Riwanon had decided to go to the oratory that morning when the countryside was in such uproar. When they returned to Brilhag with the story of two warriors and their maid dead or captured and their own miraculous escape, I became very suspicious.

‘What really happened was that the party had met up and then Riwanon and Budic had returned with their stories. Meanwhile, the two warriors and Ceingar had joined the others and even attacked a farmstead, killing a farmer and his family.

‘Bleidbara and Boric, and Boric is a first-class tracker, could find no signs of any attack along the forest track where it was said to have happened. Nor could Boric find tracks of Riwanon and Budic’s horses fleeing back to Brilhag, hotly pursued in the manner that had been claimed. Bleidbara and his men — Eadulf was with them — came across the camp of the raiders and Ceingar, the maid.’

‘They arrived there as Ceingar was being raped,’ Riwanon reminded her.

‘Indeed, they did. Either Ceingar’s lover was among these raiders or else she was a young lady of loose morals. From what Eadulf told me, she was not protesting against the man’s amorous attentions. When she was returned to Brilhag, she was scared. In her hysteria the truth might have come out, but she was sent to her chamber before I could question her.

‘Iuna realised the arrival of King Alain was imminent and nothing must go wrong with the plan. Perhaps even Budic gave the order. Ceingar had to be silenced. Iuna had already killed Maelcar and had no compunction about doing the same to Ceingar. Iuna is a cold-blooded killer.’

‘Then why didn’t she kill me then?’ demanded Trifina. ‘Why did she simply kidnap me after she had killed Ceingar?’

‘You were needed alive for the time being to mislead everyone into believing the Dove of Death was definitely a member of the house of Brilhag. King Alain was due to arrive: the conspiracy was about to come to fruition. Iuna and one of her followers from the Koulm ar Maro took you bound and gagged from your chamber down to a boat in the harbour. You were taken to The Barnacle Goose where you were placed as a prisoner, but were well treated and given free range of the captain’s cabin. They needed to keep you in good health for when Budic made his accusation against the house of Brilhag.’

Bleidbara was clearly chastened and his face reddened as he realised that his suspicions about Trifina had not been justified.

‘Iuna then returned to the fortress, perhaps to establish her own alibi. Budic was about to make his bid for power but Iuna, having set up the circumstances, was no longer needed. She had been useful to him and he had used her ambition to help his own cause. However, he also knew the dangers of that ambition and was determined that Iuna should never be his Queen. Indeed, while he had probably made all sorts of promises to her, such an outcome had never been his intention.

‘His plan for her was quite horrible. On her return, after Trifina was abducted, he went to her room. Whether by guile or by force, he got her to eat mushrooms which contained a Death Cap fungus. Once prepared, it is hard to spot the differences in fungi, so perhaps it was by guile. Budic did not count on the fact that Trifina, aware that the Koulm ar Maro was trying to discredit Brilhag, had an able spy watching. That was Iarnbud.’

‘How much more of this rubbish do I have to listen to?’ Budic demanded, the smile now gone from his features.

‘Iarnbud came ashore at Govihan alive and managed to tell us the story. He took Iuna from her chamber and carried her to his boat. His aim was to find Heraclius, Trifina’s apothecary, as he knew that he might be the only one with the skills to find an antidote for her.’

‘And did he?’ enquired Lord Canao quietly. The great hall of Brilhag had fallen silent since Fidelma had begun her summary.

‘A guard unfortunately saw Iarnbud as he carried Iuna to his boat. When challenged, he did not stop and therefore was shot at. An arrow found its mark but Iarnbud managed to get his boat out of the harbour. Unfortunately he was too weak — maybe he had passed out — and was unable to sail directly to Govihan. It was not until late the next day that he made landfall there, came ashore, told us the tale and then died.’

‘So everything you have to say is pure conjecture,’ observed the bretat Kaourentin, feeling it was about time he tried to take charge of the situation. ‘You have no witnesses.’

‘I am not given to making conjectures without means of supporting them,’ replied Fidelma in a dangerously soft tone.

‘Then where are your witnesses? Where is the evidence to-?’

Budic interrupted the bretat, full of arrogance again.

‘Let her explain why I would poison Iuna if, as you say, she had helped me in this ridiculous plot and was my mistress? Your argument is full of flaws. You are better suited to take your place among the bards and storytellers, Sister Fidelma, than to plead before a court of law.’

‘You wanted to be rid of Iuna so that, after King Alain’s death, you could marry your real mistress, whose union with you would enhance your image when you claimed the kingship.’

‘And do you name her?’ demanded King Alain, in a terrible voice. It was now self-evident to most people where her logic led and whom she would name.

Fidelma raised her eyes to those of Riwanon.

‘You are Budic’s mistress, lady. It was a matter that puzzled me greatly. Why were you so keen to give me, a foreigner with a poor knowledge of your language, the responsibility of investigating the murder of Abbot Maelcar? With the murder committed under the same roof as where you were staying, as Queen, you had to be seen to be doing something. It would have otherwise been suspicious. Obviously, you did not expect me, with the disadvantages I have mentioned, to discover anything at all.’

Riwanon’s jaw was thrust out defiantly but it was Budic who replied with a laugh.

‘So where is your proof? Iarnbud died on the shore of Govihan — should we take the word of a dead man? This Taran of Pou-Kaer, the captain of the Koulm ar Maro, is at the bottom of Morbihan. The few survivors cannot identify the Dove of Death. So who else will support your fantasy?’

Fidelma turned towards him.

‘You forget that Iarnbud had brought Iuna with him to find Heraclius the apothecary so that he might administer an antidote to the poison. Iuna was alive when she was brought ashore on Govihan.’

For a moment there was a deathly silence in the great hall, broken only by the crackle of flames from the fire.

Then Budic sprang up; his chair went over backwards and his sword appeared in his hand as if conjured there from nothing. With a terrible cry of rage, he leaped towards his shocked father. As quick as Budic was, Bleidbara was faster — for his dagger flew swiftly from his hand and embedded itself in Budic’s sword wrist. The weapon dropped as he gave a scream of pain. Then the King’s bodyguard came forward to restrain him. Another guard appeared quickly at the side of Riwanon. She had slumped in her chair, pale and shaking.

King Alain rose unsteadily.

‘My son is condemned by his own actions.’ His voice was thick with emotion. He glanced down at the bretat Kaourentin. ‘I think the accusation against Macliau, son of Lord Canao, can now be dismissed. My son Budic will be punished under our laws for all the crimes he has committed against me and against my peoples.’ He turned to Riwanon. ‘Do you have anything to add to what we have heard?’

There was an imperceptible shake of the woman’s head and a suppressed sob.

‘Then know that you, too, must face the consequences for your part in this conspiracy.’ King Alain turned his back on her.

After the guards had taken them away, King Alain addressed Fidelma, his face still bearing the marks of shock and sorrow.

‘I am grateful to you, Fidelma of Hibernia. Thankfully, Iuna has survived to bear witness against my son, otherwise he might have continued to feign his innocence.’

Fidelma answered with a sad smile.

‘I am afraid that I was being frugal with the facts,’ she said in a tired voice. ‘It is true that Iuna was alive when we brought her ashore in Govihan and Heraclius administered to her. But she was unable to speak and, indeed, she died befores he could say anything to confess her guilt or to implicate Budic in her death. It was merely logical deduction that ensnared Budic and Riwanon. Their guilt produced their own confessions.’

King Alain gazed long and hard at her. For a moment he plucked at his lower lip. Then he sighed deeply.

‘You are an ingenious woman, Fidelma of Hibernia. Riwanon’s greatest mistake was in underestimating your ability and thinking you would be handicapped by a lack of knowledge of our language.’

Fidelma bowed slightly, a motion with her head only.

‘I was always taught vincit omnia veritas — truth conquers all things.’