The Dove of Death

Chapter Six

Eadulf was staring in fascination at the image of the bird on the torn silk.

‘That is an odd emblem for a chieftain to have,’ Fidelma said.

Brother Metellus spread his hands in a strangely helpless gesture.

‘It is the Lord Brilhag’s standard,’ he replied.

‘Do the people here believe it is an oracular bird, as we do?’ queried Fidelma. ‘They made stone figures of doves and, before the coming of the Faith, they used to pray to them in healing shrines for good health. Our Church Fathers often associated themselves with the dove. Crimthann mac Fedilmid took the name Colmcille — Dove of the Church. It is a symbol of peace and harmony, but surely an odd image for a chieftain to carry as an emblem?’

Eadulf folded the silk into a tiny square and placed it in his leather marsupium. ‘Does this mean that this Lord Canao is the leader of thieves and murderers?’

Brother Metellus was shocked.

‘The mac’htiern of Brilhag is very respected,’ he said immediately. ‘He is a friend and adviser to the King Alain Hir, and would not demean himself by attacking unarmed merchants. Anyway, he is supposed to be in Naoned.’

‘But I hear he has a son who is not as worthy as his father?’ Fidelma said thoughtfully.

‘I have met Macliau several times,’ Brother Metellus admitted. ‘He is a young, vain man who likes wine and women. I cannot see him leading such an attack as this.’

Fidelma was silent for a while and Eadulf knew not to interrupt her thoughts. Finally she drew herself up and glanced at them.

‘Nevertheless, the emblem of this lord of Brilhag features both in the attack on the Barnacle Goose and now in this ambush of these poor merchants. I think we must go to Lord Canao’s fortress to see if there is more that we can learn.’

‘That might be dangerous,’ Brother Metellus said immediately, ‘especially if there is some involvement. Though I cannot believe it.’

‘Eadulf and I must follow this path as it is the only lead we have to finding the killer of my cousin and my friend — not least the killer of all these poor people,’ Fidelma said, and she gestured at the bodies around them. ‘You can return to the abbey and report this before you return to your island.’

Brother Metellus shook his head.

‘I cannot abandon you in this strange country. You will need someone to interpret and one who knows this land. If you go to Lord Canao’s fortress, then I will come with you. Besides, I am as much intrigued by this mystery as you are.’

‘You do not have to come with us,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘As you say, it may be a dangerous path.’

‘I have made my decision,’ the other replied stubbornly. ‘If we set off now, it is not a great distance and we should be there well before the day begins to close in.’

‘Then I thank you, Brother Metellus. Your help is appreciated. Let us go back to the stream and see if we can pick up the tracks again.’

They returned to the spot where the stolen pack animals had apparently entered the stream, and turned to follow its course. Indeed, it was not long before the woodland on either side thinned and they were in flat, muddy marshy grounds where walking was difficult. Several times they had to resort to using the stony bed of the stream itself as an easier way than along the marshy riverbanks. But after a while, even the stream turned into a boggy waste and they had to look for other areas of dry land to seek a passage.

Whatever path the thieves had taken, they could not find it and they lost all signs of the movement of the pack animals and the passage of those who had taken them. But by that time, Fidelma was aware of the salt tang of the sea in the air and the mournful cry of the gulls that meant they were near to the northern coast of the peninsula. Trees began to appear again as they left the low-lying marshes, and the land became firm underfoot once more. The woodland rose on hills that formed a ridge along the coast separating the sea from marshland. Beyond the trees they could hear the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.

It did not take long to get through the woodland and then they emerged on a hill overlooking a deep inlet. On the top of a headland to their left rose a large sandstone fortress.

‘That is Brilhag,’ muttered Brother Metellus.

The outer walls rose about four times the height of a tall warrior and there was a tall tower to the seaward side. Fidelma realised that the great expanse of water before them was the Morbihan, or Little Sea. Brilhag looked very alien to the type of fortresses Fidelma was familiar with: it must have originally been of Roman construction. The complex was quite substantial. She could make out two warriors standing outside the tall wooden gates, their slouched postures showing they were bored with their duties. Their heads were turned towards the sea below them and not inland where Fidelma and her companions had emerged from the woodland.

Fidelma suggested they move back to the shelter of the treeline.

‘Well, there are no signs of the raiders’ ship anchored in this inlet.’ Eadulf pointed out the obvious. ‘It would certainly be an excellent place though, to keep a ship secure from prying eyes.’

‘There are other inlets and islands all along here,’ Brother Metellus said. ‘The ship could hide almost anywhere.’

‘I’d like to see inside this fortress first,’ Fidelma said.

‘Impossible,’ replied Brother Metellus. ‘If you think that the Lord of Brilhag is behind the attack on your ship, then the moment you approach the fortress, they will know why you have come.’

‘Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,’ replied Fidelma confidently. ‘I’ll either find a way or make one.’

It was only when a voice close by shouted harshly that they realised that they were being observed. They had been so closely engaged in examining the fortress of Brilhag that they had not seen the two men approaching until it was too late. They swung round to see two warriors, for such they proclaimed themselves by their long swords, which were sheathed, and shields, although they wore no war helmets or body armour. They were young and muscular men. One was short and stocky but with pleasant, even features, dark hair and eyes whose scrutiny seemed to indicate that he missed nothing. He spoke again, sharply. It was obviously an enquiry as to what they were doing in this place.

Brother Metellus took it on himself to answer and he was sparing with the full truth of the matter as he afterwards related the conversation in translation to his companions.

‘I am Brother Metellus, from the abbey. I am showing my companions, who are strangers to this place, our beautiful country.’

The two men glanced at one another but did not look reassured.

‘I do not recognise you,’ replied the spokesman suspiciously. ‘You have a foreign accent.’

‘One is not responsible for where one is born, my friend,’ replied Brother Metellus. ‘Merely for how we live our lives.’

‘Why are you spying on the mac’htiern’s fortress?’

‘I am showing my companions the amazing view.’

Fidelma and Eadulf, with their limited knowledge of the language of the Britons, had been trying to follow the conversation.

‘Tell him we are not spying on the fortress. We are simply strangers from the land of Hibernia,’ Fidelma instructed Brother Metellus.

‘We have never heard of it,’ replied the warrior, still suspicious.

‘It is the island called Iwerzhon,’ explained Brother Metellus, substituting the local name for the Latin one.

The warrior’s silent companion now spoke rapidly to him and he turned to Brother Metellus.

‘It may be that Macliau will desire to meet your companions,’ he announced. ‘You will accompany us to ascertain his wishes.’ And, as if in emphasis, he dropped a hand to his sword hilt.

Fidelma saw Eadulf tense and she surreptitiously shook her head.

‘Tell them that we shall be delighted to accompany them,’ she said to Brother Metellus, wondering if he was able to translate the humour correctly.

The warriors made no reply but the leader merely motioned with one arm in the direction of the fortress, indicating that they should precede him and his companion.

‘Óis carcre,’ muttered Eadulf in Fidelma’s own language. ‘We are prisoners.’

Fidelma smiled encouragingly at him.

‘Well, I wanted to examine the fortress,’ she said. ‘These warriors have made it easy for us to do so.’ She noticed that the warriors were regarding them suspiciously and she glanced at Brother Metellus’ gloomy features. As they walked along, she spoke to him loudly, wondering if the warriors knew Latin. ‘As you have told us, Brother, this is a magnificent view and this sea ahead of us is what you called the Morbihan?’

Realising she was speaking for the warriors’ benefit, the monk returned her smile, although with a little effort.

‘Exactly so. Beyond this headland of Brilhag are many islands. It is a beautiful area.’

They came to the gates in the sandstone walls. The sentinels, on observing their approach, had straightened up and assumed more rigid postures. One of their warrior companions shouted an order and the gates were immediately opened.

‘Inside!’ he commanded and, with Brother Metellus leading the way, they entered into a courtyard where they were called upon to halt. The great gates slammed shut behind them.

Then a voice called from somewhere above them.

A young man was leaning out of a window of a large building that towered over the courtyard. They could see that he was a slightly built youth, with a mop of fair hair, pale, sunken cheeks and watery eyes that might be light blue.

‘Why are these people here?’ His voice was a high, nasal drawl. Then he recognised the Roman. ‘Is that Brother Metellus?’

‘It is I, Macliau,’ confirmed the monk, stepping forward.

‘Then do not stand on ceremony. Enter.’ The young man glanced at the warriors. ‘There is no need for an escort, Boric,’ he said to the leading man and then disappeared from the window.

The dark warrior addressed as Boric stepped forward and opened the great door for the visitors with an apologetic look.

‘All strangers must be regarded with suspicion until they are shown to be friends,’ he said in Latin, which surprised them. So he had understood them the whole time.

‘Ad utrumque paratus,’ Fidelma smiled with the phrase given to one who is prepared for all eventualities.

The warrior actually grinned. ‘Semper paratus,’ he answered. Always prepared.

They entered into the great hall of the fortress. Logs blazed in the large fireplaces at both ends of the chamber in spite of the summer weather. Tapestries of bright colours and with fascinating imagery, presumably from the myths, hung on most of the walls, and in between, at regular paces, were displayed ornate shields. A great woven carpet, of matching bright colours, spread across the central area of the floor, which was of stone flags. On this was a stout, carved oak table set ready for feasting with bowls of fruit on it. Around the table were several wooden chairs. More comfortable chairs were placed in front of the fires while other chairs seemed dotted at haphazard in various parts of the hall. Here and there was a polished wooden chest or small table, and strange-looking earthenware pots and a giant amphora balanced on a stand in one corner. There were several doors leading off the hall and at the end, to one side of the great fireplace, was a wooden stairway that apparently led to the upper chambers.

In front of the fire a small dog had been stretched. It now arose and came trotting towards them. It had long hair, with a blue-grey coat and black ears and muzzle. The hair reached over the forehead and eyes, so that they were barely seen, and ended in a moderate beard below the muzzle. It was a hunting dog — Fidelma recognised the breed as one often used in the pursuit of badgers. The dog sniffed around them. The young man who had hailed them from the window was now descending the stairs with a smile of welcome on his face. The dog looked up at him with a soft whine, the tail wagged slightly and it trotted back to its place in front of the fire.

Eadulf muttered: ‘Well, this young lord seems friendly enough.’

‘This is Macliau, the son of Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag,’ replied Brother Metellus quietly.

‘It is good to see you again, Brother Metellus,’ greeted the young man slightly effusively. ‘You do not often grace us with your presence. I thought you had been exiled to the island of the duckling for arguing with our good friend Abbot Maelcar.’

Brother Metellus returned the youth’s cynical grin with a slight bow.

‘I think that you will know how easy it is to argue with Abbot Maelcar,’ he replied dryly. ‘My companions are the Lady Fidelma from Hibernia and her husband Brother Eadulf, a Saxon.’

‘You are all welcome to the house of Brilhag,’ announced the young man in fluent Latin. ‘I am Macliau and I greet you in the absence of my father, Lord Canao.’

He bowed his head to Fidelma and then acknowledged Eadulf with a quick smile. Close up, Fidelma saw the flaw in the young man’s handsome features. There was something dissipated about them. A weak jawline perhaps, and the eyes were rheumy and cheeks too flushed.

A male attendant had entered and was now hovering discreetly in the background, ready to obey Macliau’s wishes.

‘First, we have to perform the protocol of our house,’ the young man announced in a bored fashion. ‘Do any of you carry weapons?’

Eadulf could not disguise his surprised expression.

Macliau laughed outright at it.

‘Do not be concerned. My father is a man of traditions. There is a custom, a very ancient custom here, that no one can enter the hall of the mac’htiern of Brilhag as a guest if he is bearing weapons.’ He moved to a door and, taking down a key from a hook beside it, unlocked it. He threw open the door and pointed inside. They saw a small armoury of swords, spears, daggers and other instruments of war. ‘All weapons must be discarded by visitors and placed here. They are returned when a person leaves the great hall.’

‘It is also an ancient custom in my land,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘When people sit down to feast, it is the custom that all weapons should be left outside the feasting hall. And perhaps it is a good custom, too, for when one is drinking and arguing, tempers can grow hot. In anger, one’s impulse might be to reach for a weapon.’

‘Just so,’ agreed the young man. ‘My father insists on the continuance of this custom and many have been the times that he has beaten me for not observing it. So, even in his absence, I follow the rule in case word gets back to him.’ He stared with apparent distaste at the array of weapons stored there. ‘Thankfully, I am no warrior. Fighting and bloodshed — I abhor them. There are better things to occupy one in life.’

Eadulf smiled in agreement, saying, ‘We of the religious do not carry weapons but only a knife to cut our meat.’

‘Then enter freely and receive the hospitality of the son of the mac’htiern of Brilhag,’ replied the young man, finishing what was obviously the ritual. He shut the door and motioned them towards the fire in the great hearth at the far end of the chamber. ‘May I offer you all refreshment?’

They chose cider, which was the main drink of the country, and Macliau relayed their wishes to the attendant who duly hurried away to fulfil them. He waved them to seats and, as he slouched into his own chair, the little dog rose and came forward to spread itself at his feet with a contented sigh.

‘So what brings you to our shores, lady?’ asked the young man, reaching down in an absent fashion to fondle the ears of the animal whose tail began to beat contentedly on the floor. ‘It is not often that we see wandering religious, especially one who is referred to by a noble form of address. I am sure Brother Metellus, who is a stickler for protocol in such matters, did not make a slip of the tongue when he introduced you.’

Fidelma had made up her mind to stick to the truth. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. She told their story briefly and without mentioning the dove emblem that had brought them to Brilhag.

The young man seemed to accept the news of the attack on the merchants with equanimity.

‘I knew Biscam,’ he said. ‘He often traded with us. You say that he and all his men are slain?’

Fidelma had neglected to mention the one survivor and did not enlighten him, merely saying: ‘Biscam is dead and all his pack animals and goods have been stolen.’

‘And the thieves? Do you know where they have gone?’ demanded the young man.

‘They have disappeared through the marshy area near here,’ Fidelma replied.

The young man was silent for a moment and then shook his head sadly.

‘I am afraid that during the last week we have begun to hear stories of several robberies, attacks on isolated farmsteads on this peninsula. It is said that the raiders come from a ship and each time grow bolder. My father is away at the court of King Alain and means to escort him and his entourage here. But he is not due to return for several days yet. I will send four of my men to retrieve the bodies and take them to the abbey. Doubtless, Abbot Maelcar will want to perform the obsequies over them.’

Brother Metellus expressed his approval.

‘Your men should have a care, for we do not know whether the cut-throats have entirely left the area,’ he advised.

‘I fear there is little we can do to trace the thieves at this late hour. However, I will order Boric to keep a special watch.’

Fidelma was regarding Macliau thoughtfully.

‘Did you say that your King is coming here?’ she queried.

‘King Alain,’ the young man confirmed.

‘Does he visit here often?’

Macliau shook his head. ‘He comes as my father’s guest to hunt. This area is famous for its deer and boar.’

‘It could be dangerous for the King and his entourage with such murderers and thieves about,’ Fidelma pointed out.

The young man gave a confident laugh.

‘I think not, lady. Rather it would be more dangerous for the thieves once the King and my father arrive here, for they will come in the company of their warriors. Meanwhile, my own men are on the watch for these brigands — and when they catch them…’He made a sharp gesture with his hand.

‘Even so, the Lady Fidelma is right. Forewarned is to be forearmed,’ Brother Metellus said cautiously. ‘Perhaps word should be sent to King Alain and your father?’

‘I take your point, Brother Metellus. But I assure you that they have nothing to fear here. If these thieves and warriors have managed to sneak into my father’s domain, then they will not like the reception my father shall give them.’

Just then, they heard voices beyond one of the doors. Macliau put his head to one side and grimaced. The dog raised his head and gave a little growl but did not move.

‘I think this is my sister, returning.’

As he spoke, the door was thrown open and a girl entered. Even from across the shadowy great hall, Fidelma and Eadulf could see that she was the twin of Macliau. Behind her came a tall young man with fair hair. The girl flung off her cape in an almost petulant gesture and was about to speak when she saw the group by the fire.

‘We have visitors who bring us worrying news,’ announced Macliau. ‘And we are in need of your skills, Bleidbara.’

He continued to speak in Latin and the girl responded in the same language.

‘Worrying news?’ she repeated, and her voice held the same high timbre as that of her brother. It was unattractive.

Fidelma and her companions rose from their chairs as the newcomers came forward. Macliau waved a hand in introduction.

‘This is the Lady Fidelma, who is sister to a King of Hibernia; her companion is Brother Eadulf and, of course, you will remember Brother Metellus from the abbey. This is my sister, the Lady Trifina. And this is Bleidbara, who is the commander of my…my father’s bodyguard.’

The young man inclined his head towards them in a brief gesture. He was quite handsome, Fidelma thought. His features were regular, and his bright blue eyes seemed to have a discerning and caring quality about them.

The girl regarded Fidelma with a suspicious gaze as she seated herself.

‘You are a long way from home, lady,’ she said. ‘We heard no word of a ship from Hibernia putting in around our coasts. What brings you here?’

‘Nothing that is of my choice,’ responded Fidelma, feeling hostility in her tone.

‘Indeed,’ interposed Macliau, and quickly outlined the situation as they had told him.

‘And this is the worrying news?’ drawled the girl.

Again it fell to Macliau to tell her about the attack on the merchant Biscam and his men. He turned to Bleidbara: ‘I was about to give orders to Boric to take some men and gather their bodies and transport them to the abbey.’

‘I will instruct him now,’ the young commander said grimly. Then he glanced to Trifina. ‘Biscam, now. The attacks increase.’

‘We need fear no attack by brigands here,’ Trifina said. ‘We have enough warriors to protect us. And our father should return within a few days.’

‘I have already assured our friends of that.’ Macliau wore a thin smile. ‘And, indeed, I feel we should insist that they remain as our guests until he does, rather than face the hazards of a return to the abbey. These marauders may not be gone entirely,’ he added, ‘and we would not wish anything to happen to you.’

Eadulf felt an uncontrollable shiver on his spine. Was there some hidden meaning to the young man’s words? He glanced at Fidelma in expectation that she would make the excuse of returning, but Fidelma remained calmly smiling.

‘It is a tempting offer,’ she replied. ‘You may be aware that Abbot Maelcar seems to dislike the presence of women at the abbey and we have had to rely on the hospitality of a nearby village.’

Macliau chuckled. ‘Then it is settled. I will hear no protests. You are the guests of the house of Brilhag. I know that Brother Metellus here has little love for the Abbot and I am sure he will accept our invitation as well.’

Brother Metellus inclined his head in polite acquiescence, saying, ‘I have offered my services to my friends here as translator and guide until such time as they can find passage back to their own land of Hibernia.’

‘And I am sure that will not be long, once my father has returned,’ replied Macliau in good spirits.

‘One thing,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘We need to send a message back to Aourken, with whom we were staying, to inform her where we are.’

‘Aourken?’ Trifina frowned. ‘I know the name. She used to teach me Latin grammar when I was young.’

It was Bleidbara, still waiting to be dismissed, who answered Fidelma.

‘I will tell Boric that when he recovers the bodies of Biscam and his men, he should inform Aourken that you are guests at Brilhag. He can bring your belongings here.’

‘They will not amount to much as we fled ship in nothing more than what we stood up in,’ replied Eadulf.

‘See that the old lady is well compensated for foregoing their company, Bleidbara,’ added Macliau.

The young warrior raised a hand in salute and left.

Fidelma turned to Trifina, saying, ‘This fortress stands, I believe, on the edge of what you call the Little Sea?’

‘That is true,’ replied the girl languidly.

‘Do you not fear attack from the sea?’

The girl did not answer but Macliau roared with laughter. ‘Impossible. It was a natural fortification for our ancestors, the Veneti, in ancient times.’

‘Could not these brigands be hiding out on these islands? There is room for a ship to anchor by them.’

‘Impossible!’

They all turned to Trifina with some surprise at the vehemence in her voice.

‘Impossible, lady?’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘Why so?’

‘We have a fortified dwelling on Govihan, the island of the smithy’s forge,’ Macliau explained hurriedly, glancing in annoyance at his sister. ‘From there our men maintain a watch along this coast. We are seafarers ourselves and have our own ships. If there were any strange movements, our men would know and inform us. It is the duty of the Lord of Brilhag to offer protection to our people in this area.’

‘I have just returned from Govihan,’ Trifina added, as if to justify her vehemence. ‘That is why I have said it is impossible.’

‘Where is this island exactly?’

‘Govihan?’ asked the girl. ‘It is the first large island off the headland here.’

Macliau suddenly stood up with a smile.

‘Come,’ he invited, ‘it is still light. Let me take you up the tower and you can see it for yourself. The tower also provides a good view of the Little Sea. And you will see why we do not fear attack.’

Trifina spread herself on her chair with a yawn. ‘I will remain here. I have had enough exercise today,’ she drawled.

Just as they rose to follow him, a girl came down the stairway. She paused at the bottom, caught sight of Macliau and smiled happily before moving towards him. She was young and of a fleshy build. ‘Voluptuous’ was the word that came into Fidelma’s mind; this was a girl who knew her ability to attract certain types of men and was not above using it. She had dark hair, brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and full red lips. Seeing Macliau, she moved seductively across the floor to him, showing off the whiteness of her teeth in a proprietorial smile. Her clothing seemed to match her personality; it was bright and verging on the gaudy.

For a moment, Macliau looked rather embarrassed. Then he introduced her.

‘This is Argantken. She does not speak Latin, but there is little need for you to talk with her.’

He turned without further ado and addressed the girl in a sharp tone. She pouted and said something in reply, then with a frown of displeasure at the company, but still without acknowledging them, she left the room with the same flouncing motion as that with which she had entered it.

Eadulf looked at Brother Metellus but the monk’s face was impassive.

‘To the tower.’ Macliau began to lead the way, with the little dog trotting close at his heels. They followed him to a door at the base of a square tower, then up a narrow wooden stairway swung around the inner wall, intricately worked in oak beams; every five metres or so, it supported a floor, each floor given over to stores of various kinds. The upper floor held implements of war, bows and stacks of arrows. Fidelma commented on the fact and bent to examine one of the sheaths of arrows that hung from the walls.

‘I am glad to see you are prepared,’ she said. ‘You say that attack from the sea on your fortress is impossible. The sea is a good road to the world, but the traffic is not all outward-going. Sometimes the sea brings guests whom we do not want.’

Macliau shrugged. ‘So it was in the time of our ancestors when it brought the fleet of Julius Caesar within sight of these very shores. Of late it has brought the warships of the Franks and even of the raiding Saxons to our southern coasts, but they have not infiltrated into the Morbihan. Brother Metellus, wasn’t it your writer Seneca who underscored the lesson by saying that it will not always be summer?’

‘Non semper erit aesta,’ repeated Brother Metellus, solemnly nodding.

‘We are prepared for winter. But these recent raiders obviously have no wish to attack those who can defend themselves — just harmless merchant ships and isolated travellers.’

They emerged at the top of the tower, some twenty metres above ground. It commanded a magnificent panoramic view in all directions, the hills and forests on the landward side, and the great inland sea to the north with its multitude of islands stretching away as far as the eye could see. Many of the islands appeared forested.

‘There, that is Govihan,’ said Macliau, pointing to a stretch of land beyond the headland. They had elevation enough to see that it was shaped like a kidney bean with a long strip of white sand on its eastern side and a little stretch of sand on the west. It was thickly wooded at the southern end and they could also see a tall wooden tower beyond. ‘That is the watchtower which rises from the little fortified dwelling we have there. Rather, it is an ancient villa given by my father to Trifina as her own house. As you see, between this tower and that, there is little that can move in this part of Morbihan, without being noticed.’

Fidelma agreed that the towers did command a clear view of the area.

‘But how would you warn one another of danger?’ she asked.

‘Watchfires,’ replied the young man immediately. ‘And, on a clear day, we can use our banners.’ He pointed to the pole attached to the tower, from the top of which hung a large rectangle of white silk. Now and then the wind lifted it, fluttering in the breeze so that the image of it could be clearly seen. It was the same bird image as on the torn piece of silk that now reposed in Eadulf’s marsupium.

Fidelma regarded it innocently. ‘Surely that is a strange emblem to have on your banner? It looks like a dove.’

Macliau chuckled in amusement, which caused the little dog to glance up at his master and whine slightly.

‘It is a dove indeed, and when I am head of this family, I shall have it changed back.’

‘Changed back?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Our ancestors were of the Veneti, as I have said. We dominated the seas in all directions. Even the Romans praised our skills. Our emblem was the osprey, the great sea hunter, the eagle of the sea.’

His voice had risen with pride and for a moment or two Fidelma allowed him to contemplate some inner vision he seemed to be experiencing.

‘That doesn’t explain why your flag now bears a dove on it. It is a symbol of peace,’ she prompted.

A bitter expression appeared on the young man’s face.

‘It became a symbol of my family’s shame,’ he muttered.

‘Shame? I don’t understand.’

‘When my ancestor, Canao, who was the second of his name to rule as King of Bro-Erech, was killed, Judicael of Domnonia took over the kingdom. He claimed descent from another King of this land called Waroch, and from then on we were told the land would be called Bro-Waroch. It was Judicael who ordered my family to surrender their battle-flag to him and to cease using the image of the royal eagle of the seas. My family had no choice, but in protest they adopted the image of the dove…an image of humility and peace. One day, God willing, we will demand our ancient rights again and-’

Macliau suddenly caught himself and smiled quickly, saying in more moderate tones, ‘We are petitioning King Alain to allow us to claim some of our ancient rights again.’

‘This Alain is a descendant of King Judicael who forced your family to surrender, isn’t he?’ asked Eadulf.

‘He is the son of Judicael,’ replied Macliau quietly.

Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma.

‘Doesn’t that make this claim an…er…uncomfortable one for him?’ he asked tactfully.

The young man realised what he was implying and said immediately, ‘Oh no. Alain Hir is our friend, for he was brought up with my father and neither of them blames the enmity of the past on each other. You will see — Alain will finally return the rights that have been taken from us by the greed and avarice of others.’

‘It is good to hear you say so,’ Brother Metellus said; he had been silent until now. ‘But he has surely been many years as King. Why does the matter of rights arise now?’

Macliau glanced at him with irritation.

‘There was much to be done before he could turn his attention to righting past wrongs done to the house of Brilhag,’ he said defensively. ‘The Franks are always attacking our eastern borders, and some of the western chieftains have been in rebellion against him. Anyway, the matter will soon be resolved.’

The little group stood in silence for a while, looking out on the seascape with the lowering sun sending long shadows across the islands.

‘A beautiful spot,’ murmured Fidelma. ‘Strange that there can be evil and death in such a peaceful landscape.’

Macliau looked up at the sky. ‘It grows late. The evening meal will be prepared soon. Perhaps you would like to retire to your rooms and refresh yourselves?’

It was when Fidelma and Eadulf were alone in their chamber, to which a fussy middle-aged female servant had shown them, bobbing and wringing her hands and enquiring every few minutes if all was in order, that Fidelma finally relaxed, throwing herself on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Eadulf stood looking at her with a worried frown.

‘I know what you are thinking, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, not even looking at him.

‘I am thinking that I feel like a fly who has voluntarily walked into a spider’s web.’

She exhaled in a deep sigh.

‘Sometimes one has to put oneself in danger’s way, to discover the truth,’ she said philosophically.

‘I’d rather not do so. We should have-’

‘Should have done — what?’ Fidelma sat up, her voice tense. ‘Sat still, praying for a ship to take us home? That will not help us find these killers.’

‘But-’ protested Eadulf.

‘Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet,’ she countered. He who feared that he would not succeed sat still and did nothing.

‘That’s unfair!’ Eadulf said.

Fidelma had regretted her sharpness almost as soon as she uttered the phrase. She knew that her temper was never good at the best of times. She said contritely, ‘You are right, Eadulf. I was unfair. But I mean to find these killers.’

‘What I fear,’ Eadulf’s voice was low, ‘is that we might well have found them already. There is one other thing that worries me, apart from the emblem on their flag…’

Fidelma looked at him with an enquiry on her face.

‘Cast your mind back to the image of the commander of those sea-raiders. A lithe figure in white.’

‘And? He was masked so he could not be recognised.’

‘A lithe figure with a voice that was high-pitched. Our host, Macliau, fits that description.’

‘It has not escaped my attention,’ she said slowly. ‘Also, you saw the arrows stacked in the tower? Goose feathers in three sections, the work of an expert fletcher.’

‘And?’ asked Eadulf.

‘You forget so soon,’ she admonished. ‘I’d swear the hand that made them, also made the arrows that killed Biscam and his men.’

Eadulf was shocked. ‘Then what are we doing here, accepting the hospitality of these people?’ he wanted to know.

‘Because there is no better way to resolve this mystery than being at the centre of it. We shall proceed, but arrectis auribus…with ears pricked up,’ she smiled, adding the Latin expression to be on the alert.