The Dove of Death

Chapter Seven

Dusk was making their chamber gloomy by the time they had bathed and made themselves presentable for the evening meal. A servant — a slim, mournful-looking girl with dark hair and blue eyes — had been sent with a choice of more comfortable clothing for Fidelma and the compliments of Trifina. She had also brought candles of beeswax for illumination. Fidelma spent time putting the finishing touches to her toilette, for among her own people such matters were of importance, although Fidelma did not go so far as to paint her fingernails crimson, nor dye her eyebrows black or redden her cheeks with berries of the elder trees as many women of the Five Kingdoms did. She preferred to keep her long red hair flowing to her shoulders and not even plaited but simply well-combed.

While he waited for her to finish, Eadulf sat on the low windowsill, looking out across the shores and waters of the Morbihan. Now that the dusk had swept over the area he could see lights appearing across the waters, indicating where the myriad islands must be occupied. He also saw lights along the foreshore below the fortress, moving this way and that, which fascinated him for it was not indicative of dwellings but rather of people moving along the shore and even boats setting out to sea. Then, to his surprise, he saw a large dark outline of a ship moving slowly in the gloom. He could just make out its dark lines being towed by two small rowing boats. Then it stopped in the centre of the bay below.

Fidelma had finished combing her hair and he called her over to point this out.

‘It is strange there is so much movement once darkness has fallen,’ she agreed. ‘This is a time when most people should be at the evening meal.’

‘But the ship,’ Eadulf said. ‘Do you think it is…?’

‘If it is, we must be careful. We must not allow them to know that we suspect them.’

‘Can we trust Brother Metellus?’

Before she could reply, the slim, mournful-looking servant returned to announce that Macliau and Trifina were ready to receive their guests for the meal.

Brother Metellus was already seated at the long wooden table in the great hall when Fidelma and Eadulf were shown in. The great hall was lit with ornate bronze oil lanterns, rather like the type called lespaire in Fidelma’s own land. On the table were several candles that gave a warming glow.

Macliau came forward to greet them, appearing as charming as ever. His sister, Trifina, remained in her chair and gave them an expressionless smile of welcome. There were three other guests — two men and the voluptuous-looking Argantken, still arrayed in colourful attire that was very distracting. Ignoring them, she sat eating from a bowl of nuts and swallowing large mouthfuls of what seemed to be white wine from a glass.

Of the two men, one was the tall, handsome-looking warrior called Bleidbara, the commander of the warriors at Brilhag. The second guest was a stranger to them. He was a tall, sallow-faced man of middle age clad in long woollen robes that had once been white but grown dull with age. His dark hair was streaked with grey; he wore it long, with a drooping moustache but was otherwise clean-shaven in the old Celtic fashion. A thin band of burnished copper encircled his head. Around his neck was a gold chain hung with an ancient symbol, a circular solar motif. His cheeks seemed pale and bloodless, in contrast to his thin red lips. In fact, it crossed Eadulf’s mind that the man must have reddened them with berry juice. The dark eyes were restless, moving constantly while they held an unfathomable quality. His bland expression, on the other hand, seemed to hold no emotion.

Macliau introduced him. ‘This is my father’s bretat. Iarnbud.’

‘Bretat?’ The word seemed so similar to her own language that Fidelma hazarded a guess. ‘Are you a judge, a breitheamh?’

Iarnbud, like many she had by now encountered, spoke Latin, although it was not the old literary language which she had been taught but a curious rolling dialect.

‘Just so, lady. Exactly as you are, for I have been speaking to Brother Metellus as to who you are and how you came here.’

Macliau waved them to chairs at the table. He took the head of the table with his constant companion, the little dog, curled at his feet. They learned that the animal was named Albiorix, which brought a smile to Fidelma’s face. When Eadulf later asked her what the joke was, she explained the name, that literally meant ‘great king’, was the name of a Gaulish god of war equated with the Roman Mars; a curious name for such a docile looking animal. Eadulf had responded that it probably had more to do with Macliau’s character than that of the dog. Fidelma was seated on Macliau’s left and Trifina on his right. Brother Metellus sat next to Fidelma, and the girl, Argantken, had already taken a seat at the bottom opposite Brother Eadulf, with Iarnbud seated between Eadulf and Trifina. At the end of the table, facing Macliau, was Bleidbara.

‘It is good to meet with a Brehon of this land,’ Fidelma opened as the wine was poured. It was a cold white wine from the country. ‘Brother Metellus has obviously told you of the murder and thefts that have taken place. I am interested in your law here. How would you attend to this matter?’

The drawn eyebrows were raised but there was no other expression on the sallow face of the man called Iarnbud.

‘Attend to it?’

‘How would you set about tracking down these thieves and murderers?’

Iarnbud shook his head. ‘That is not my task. It is only once they are caught that the culprits are brought before me and arraigned for judgement.’

‘So who tracks them down and brings them before you?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Those who charge them.’

Fidelma gave a puzzled shake of her head, saying, ‘There is no office under your law that would be responsible to undertake an investigation to find out the culprits?’

Macliau intervened with a smile.

‘That is the duty my father would assign to his warriors, such as Bleidbara there.’ He indicated the young man.

Fidelma turned with a gaze of enquiry to the young man, who seemed to have developed a high colour on his cheeks. He made a dismissing gesture with his left hand.

‘In truth, lady, I am trained in warfare and the command of men in battle. I can track men as well as animals. But unless they leave tracks for me to follow, I cannot find them.’

‘There are tracks from the scene of the murders of the merchants,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Have you examined them?’

‘I sent Boric, my best tracker, who is also my second-in-command, to examine the spot and retrieve the bodies,’ Bleidbara replied. ‘He is not back yet. But the sky was darkening and perhaps it was too late to see anything — there would be nothing to follow. Nonetheless, we will await his report. We are anxious to meet up with these brigands.’

Fidelma became aware that, as he spoke, Bleidbara seemed to concentrate his gaze on Trifina. His expression was one of almost dog-like devotion, his eyes never leaving her face as if ready to jump to her bidding. For her part, Trifina did not bother to glance at him once. Fidelma noted that the warrior was a personable young man with an affable smile and ready wit. She was just wondering what their relationship was when Trifina suddenly yawned, placed a hand over her mouth and murmured an apology to Macliau.

Her brother seemed to take the hint.

‘Come, let us turn our minds to more pleasant matters.’ He glanced towards Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘We have prepared a special meal for you because you are strangers to our land.’

He signalled to a waiting attendant and, from a side door, others brought in flagons of cider and more of the local white wine. The mournful young servant girl now appeared and started to direct the attendants with some authority as they served the evening meal. Her whole attitude had changed from subservience to authority. Fidelma’s quick eye caught the special attention that this girl seemed to be giving the commander of the guard, Bleidbara, while the young man still seemed to exhibit an unusual interest in Trifina. This body language at the table amused Fidelma, for it was clear that the young warrior was attracted by the daughter of the mac’htiern of Brilhag, while the servant girl was obviously attracted by him.

Bowls of steaming soup were placed before them and platters of freshly baked bread. Eadulf examined the soup, stirring it with a frown of curiosity.

‘Local mussel soup with leeks and cream,’ Macliau smiled as he explained.

Brother Metellus was already halfway through his bowl and he paused to wave his spoon in appreciation.

‘Leeks were a favourite of the Emperor Nero,’ he said breezily. ‘It is said that he was very partial to a soup made of leeks.’

The soup was followed by a dish of young eels, which they were told were seasoned with salt, and dressed in imported olive oil and vinegar. The eels were not to Fidelma’s liking and she contented herself with nibbling on a piece of bread while the others finished. Then came the main course: rabbit cooked in cider accompanied by a dish of ceps — large fleshy mushrooms cooked in butter, mixed with shallots, wild garlic, herbs and some nuts that Eadulf could not place.

Brother Metellus helped him out. ‘We called them nux Gallica, nuts of Gaul.’

‘Ah, I think we call them foreign nuts — Welsh Nuts,’ said Eadulf.

The walnuts certainly added to the flavour of the dish. And there was another vegetable dish that made Macliau smile as it was presented to them.

‘This one I am sure that you will not have come across.’

Fidelma surveyed the dish before tasting it.

‘I recognise what the Greeks call katos, the heart of the artichoke, which has long been known to our merchants importing them from the Mediterranean. I have also tasted this juice before…ah, it is lemons. I had them when I was in Rome. There is also sorrel mixed with it.’

Macliau looked disappointed. ‘So you have been to Rome?’ he asked, a little enviously.

‘I have.’

‘One day, I mean to travel there, for Brother Metellus has told me much about it. It sounds a great city,’ Macliau continued.

‘Nullus est instar domus,’ Eadulf soliloquised softly. There is nothing like your own home.

Fidelma glanced at him thoughtfully. He was looking down at his plate, his mind apparently elsewhere. Although Eadulf had spent years in her own land, he was actually an Angle from Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk. He even made a joke of it when he was constantly referred to as a Saxon. Fidelma had made the assumption that he had accepted without question that he would remain happily at her brother’s capital of Cashel, although there had been little time spent there due to the nature of the tasks she had been requested to do on behalf of her brother, the King. In fact, she had made only one journey with Eadulf to his home territory, when his friend Brother Botulf had been murdered at Aldred’s Abbey. Was she assuming too much? And there was the matter of their son, Alchú. They had spent so little time with the child, having to leave him with his nurse Muirgen when they went on their journeys. Although Fidelma had a great sense of duty to her brother, the King, it had become a constant worry these days that the child would think that Muirgen was his mother rather than Fidelma.

At the bottom of the table to her left, she was aware of Argantken tucking into the food with gusto and hardly speaking to anyone. When she did, Fidelma tried to understand what she was saying but could barely make out one word in twenty. She felt sorry that the girl had no knowledge of Latin, which seemed to be the common language of the others at the table.

Then Fidelma realised someone was speaking to her. It was Iarnbud.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said hastily.

‘I was merely asking your frank opinion of Rome. Unlike Macliau, I have no wish to go there. Rome has caused many problems to my people.’

Brother Metellus grimaced wanly as Fidelma glanced at him.

‘Don’t worry,’ he sighed. ‘Iarnbud and I are old antagonists but our battles are merely verbal.’

Fidelma turned back to Iarnbud.

‘I can understand your viewpoint, for I know some history of your people. But through Rome, the new Faith has been spread.’

Iarnbud sniffed to indicate he thought little of the idea.

‘A good thing or a bad thing?’ he asked, making clear that he thought the latter. ‘Ask a lot of fishing folk hereabouts and they’ll tell you they prefer to put their trust in the old gods of the sea when they set sail.’

Fidelma nodded politely, but did not reply; instead, she addressed Macliau.

‘Speaking of fishing folk, this evening there seemed to be a lot of activity along the shore, below the fortress. Why is that?’

Macliau gazed at her in bewilderment. ‘Activity?’

‘People were gathering on the foreshore here with lighted torches, and there was a large ship being towed to anchor in the bay below.’

Eadulf tried to disguise his surprise that she had mentioned the matter so blatantly, having previously warned him to be careful. Her words seemed to create uneasiness at the table. Bleidbara glanced at Trifina, and this time she returned his look with a frown.

Macliau was hesitating. ‘Activity? I did not…’

‘I think you refer to my men, lady.’ It was Bleidbara who spoke. ‘They are taking supplies to my ship which has been guided here to a safe anchorage for the night. That is all.’

‘Your ship?’ queried Fidelma.

‘As I have said, we are a seafaring people,’ broke in Macliau. ‘The ship is that of my father, Lord Canao. Bleidbara is her captain.’

‘You will often see lights along the foreshore in this area. Fishing is often done at night.’ It was Trifina who spoke. She had remained remarkably silent throughout the meal, sitting with her slightly bored expression, which Fidelma now realised was her standard facial cast ‘Don’t the people go fishing for carp at night?’

Fidelma smiled quickly. ‘Forgive me, lady, but carp is usually found in fresh water. I presume your Morbihan is seawater?’

Trifina waved her hand as if to indicate the matter irrelevant. ‘There are plenty of other fish to be found at night.’

Iarnbud’s expression had become more serious, if such a feat were possible on his impenetrable features.

‘Many things are found at night when fishermen leave their homes,’ he stated.

‘That sounds mysterious, my friend.’ Fidelma turned to examine him.

‘It is not meant to be so. It is just a statement of fact.’

‘What sort of things?’ Eadulf demanded.

Macliau joined in with a chuckle. ‘Iarnbud is just jesting with you.’

‘Indeed, I have spoken in jest.’ The thin-faced man gave a parody of a smile. But there was no conviction in his voice and he looked away.

‘Yet there is a meaning behind your jest, Iarnbud,’ Fidelma challenged him. ‘Perhaps you will share it with us?’

Iarnbud turned his sallow face to them with his thin red lips drawn back in a mirthless smile. For someone whose features were usually without emotion, it was like watching a mask being bent and altered into unusual shapes.

‘All I mean is beware of this shore, lady. It is not a place to venture after nightfall.’

Fidelma regarded him with interest.

‘This shore?’ she asked, using his emphasis. ‘Why would that be?’

‘The fisherfolk around here will tell you,’ the man replied, as if wanting to increase the air of mystery.

‘I regret that I cannot wait to go out and find a fisherman,’ Fidelma said coolly, ‘so perhaps you will enlighten me — since I presume that you know the story?’

Iarnbud blinked at the forthrightness of her manner. He seemed to receive no help from Macliau or his sister Trifina.

‘This is the haunted coast. Along these savage shores the souls of the dead wait for their transportation to the Otherworld,’ he intoned solemnly.

While Eadulf shivered a little, Fidelma was doing her best to suppress a smile that played at the corner of her mouth.

‘And if we venture out at night we might encounter ghosts?’ she added innocently.

‘Since time began, the sea folk that dwell along this coast have known the route to the Otherworld,’ Iarnbud replied. ‘Fishermen recognise the day when they are marked to perform a sacred duty. At midnight, they will hear a knocking at their door and they must then go to the shore, where they will see strange boats awaiting them — and these boats are not their own but strange empty vessels. They must go aboard and loose the sails and, even if there is no wind, an inexplicable breath of air will come and they will be taken out to sea and along the coast to the west to the place we call Bae an Anaon…’

‘The Bay of Souls,’ interpreted Brother Metellus. ‘I have heard it lies at the western end of Bro-Gernev, the kingdom that borders us to the west.’

‘Indeed,’ Iarnbud said. ‘It is a desolate place where the lost city of Ker Ys sank beneath the waves when its King was cursed by the Abbot Winwaloe because of his allegiance to the Old Faith.’

Once again, Fidelma tried to hide her amusement at their solemn faces, saying simply, ‘It seems that this Abbot was a powerful man if he was able to drown a city with a curse.’

Iarnbud sniffed in disapproval at her levity.

‘He was the son of Fracan, a prince of Dumnonia in the Old Country who had to flee here to escape the Saxons. He founded a great abbey in Bro-Gernev called Landevenneg.’

‘So what has this to do with the Bay of Souls?’ Eadulf was touchy at yet another reference to his people.

Iarnbud smiled, almost maliciously this time.

‘I say it to point out that it is a mysterious place, where there are mysterious currents beneath the waves and dark forces above them. The swell enters the bay with such mystical force that many avoid those brooding waters.’

‘I don’t understand the connection with warning us to avoid the shores here after nightfall.’ Fidelma was growing tired of Iarnbud’s tendency to the dramatic.

The sallow-faced man suddenly looked pained. ‘I am coming to that,’ he said.

‘You were talking about the fishermen being drawn by some strange wind to this Bay of Souls,’ prompted Brother Metellus with a grin at Fidelma.

Iarnbud compressed his lips for a moment in frustration at the loss of atmosphere the interruption in his story had made.

‘As the fishermen approach the Bay of Souls, they hear muffled voices around them and their boats grow heavy; so heavy that a boat’s gunwales sink to barely a finger’s breadth above the waterline. Yet they see no one on their boats and their crafts are drawn westward at amazing speeds — so that within a short time they come to land. They come to a place where there should be no land, but they arrive at an island, and here their ships are halted, and soon the weight in the boats lightens as if they were empty, and as they lighten the boatmen say they hear a voice asking invisible people for their names, and the names are given — men, women and children, all who are dead souls, who have waited for the time when the gods of the dead will transport them to the Otherworld, to the Island of the Blessed. And then the wind comes up again and the boats go back, the fishermen disembark and return to their homes and the strange vessels vanish until the next time the fisherfolk of these shores are asked to transport the souls of the dead again.’

Iarnbud sat back with a deep sigh at the end of his narrative.

Eadulf snorted indignantly.

‘It seems to me that the fishermen are superfluous in this story. If these dark forces supply the craft and the wind to take them to the Otherworld and back again, why are human fishermen needed to man their ships? These forces could do the job by their own powers.’

Iarnbud looked shocked.

‘We have similar stories,’ interposed Fidelma. ‘Stories even the coming of the New Faith has not entirely eradicated from our land. To the west of my brother’s kingdom is an island we called Tech Duinn, the House of Donn. Donn was our God of the Dead. It was an island where the souls of the dead had to assemble before they began their journey westward to the Otherworld.’

Iarnbud glanced at Bleidbara and shrugged as if he were disappointed. It was so slight that the motion of his shoulder was almost lost on Fidelma — but not quite. She turned to where Bleidbara had been sitting in silence during this whole conversation.

‘You are a warrior, a practical man,’ she said smoothly, ‘and you say you command a ship. Do you believe in such tales?’

Bleidbara had been deep in thought and now he looked up.

‘Tales?’ He reflected hurriedly. ‘I believe only in what I see, feel, hear and smell, lady.’

‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘it was a good story, well told, and these ancient beliefs are to be respected.’

She looked at Eadulf for support. He interpreted her expression correctly, for he nodded earnestly.

‘That is so,’ he agreed. ‘For there is usually a reason behind an ancient tale. It is best to be sitting before a blazing hearth fire or, better yet, to be in a warm bed, rather than stalking the shores in the dead of night when the powers of the old gods are exalted.’

Brother Metellus regarded him in disgust.

‘The old gods have only the power we give them,’ he rebuked.

‘As do the new gods,’ Iarnbud rejoined quickly.

‘Are you a believer in the old gods, then, Iarnbud?’ asked Fidelma gently.

Iarnbud looked nervously at Macliau who pretended to be interested in his little dog, still stretched asleep at his feet.

‘I am, as you have heard, Bretat to Canao, Lord of Brilhag. I am a keeper of the arcane knowledge of the people of this land.’

‘That is not what I asked,’ Fidelma responded gently. ‘It just sounded as though you gave equal credence to the old gods as you do to the New Faith.’

The man pursed his lips in thought for a moment or two and then sighed.

‘It would seem strange, lady, that the gods who the people accepted at the time that was beyond time, and who were believed and worshipped for generation after generation for millennia, could suddenly lose their power and disappear in such a short space of time when some people turned to stories of other alien gods from the east.’

Brother Metellus did not seem outraged but he observed quietly: ‘That is sacrilege.’

Iarnbud was unperturbed by his condemnation.

‘You know from old, Brother Metellus, that I merely state what is logical. Many of our people still make offerings to the old gods and goddesses. They have proved their worth over the generations while the new deities have only just appeared in the land and need to demonstrate their greater power — if they have it.’

Macliau stirred and set down his wine and, as he had been doing throughout the evening, bent to caress the ears of his little dog Albiorix. It was obvious that he was fond of the animal.

‘Is it not enough that when the New Faith entered our lands, it did so soon after the Roman legions?’ he said vehemently. ‘First the Roman legions came and slaughtered our people, and then the New Faith came and subverted the minds of those who remained, turning them away from their very roots.’

Fidelma and Eadulf stared at the young man in surprise. Fidelma was aware that he had been helping himself very liberally to the wine and she wondered if this had been the means of making him so outspoken.

Trifina surprised them even further by giving a peal of laughter.

‘My brother likes to annoy people by being contrary,’ she said. ‘He says what he knows to be opposite to their views merely to provoke them.’

Macliau stared at his sister for a moment and Fidelma was sure that she gave him a warning signal. He turned back with a shrug.

‘I do not believe it is a fault to stimulate conversation,’ he explained grumpily. ‘If we all sat around agreeing with each other, it would surely be a boring existence.’

‘The way our great teachers provoked knowledge was taking an opposite view, to induce the student to bring forth argument,’ confirmed Iarnbud.

‘That was also the method in our land,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But it sometimes gets in the way of the seeker after facts.’

Iarnbud leaned back in his chair and examined her quietly for a moment.

‘Then the facts are simple. This New Faith is spreading through the land. The princes have seized upon it and great centres have been erected, like the abbey built here by Gildas. These new centres dominate the lives of the people. But the beliefs of a thousand years and more are hard to eradicate. The old gods and goddesses live on, and in the depths of the great forests north of here, they are still respected and worshipped. And even among those who follow the Christ, while they might genuflect before His symbols, in their minds they still respect the old gods and the customs of the ancestors.’

Eadulf stirred uneasily. He had been a youth brought up with the gods of the Saxons — Woden, Thunor, Tyr and Freya — until a wandering monk from Hibernia had converted him to the New Faith. But still, in times of stress, it was the old gods that he mentally invoked. Iarnbud’s comment was a telling one.

Iarnbud noticed his discomfort and smiled knowingly.

‘I think you understand me well, Saxon,’ he said, before turning to Fidelma. ‘You have travelled on shipboard to this place, lady. Have you noticed the behaviour of seamen or the fisherfolk? Have they abandoned their faith in the protection of the old sea gods? They have not. They will give them their due, especially to the goddess of the moon who controls the seas. They will not even mention her true name once they set foot on shipboard for fear of her.’

Fidelma had to agree that among the fisherfolk of her own land, this was true, for there were many names by which the moon was called, and all were euphemisms for her proper name. Names such as ‘The Brightness’, ‘The Radiance’, ‘The Queen of the Night’ and ‘The Fair Mare’. She shivered slightly. Was Iarnbud secretly laughing at her?

Eadulf was trying to disguise his irritation.

‘What does it matter?’ he said. ‘Most people accept the Faith now.’

‘The New Faith is but a veneer to disguise other true allegiance to the old ways.’ Iarnbud turned to face him. ‘When your Saxon hordes started to land on the island of Britain, the Britons had long converted to the New Faith and welcomed you at first with talk of peace and the rule of Thou Shalt Not Kill. Your people, crying upon your War God Woden, soon dissuaded them by eliminating them or driving them from the land.’

Eadulf’s jaw tightened. ‘I am not responsible for what my ancestors did,’ he muttered. ‘I live in the present.’

‘And the Saxon kingdoms are now being converted to the New Faith,’ pointed out Fidelma, coming to his defence.

Iarnbud laughed. ‘Indeed, converted by those religious of Hibernia. Do you see any Britons converting the Saxons? The Britons have better sense. One day you Hibernians may regret it.’

Trifina suddenly stretched languorously and yawned.

‘You will excuse me,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘The hour grows late and I must retire.’

With a glance that embraced the company, she rose and left them.

Eadulf waited until she was ascending the stairs before he turned to Iarnbud.

‘What do you mean,’ he demanded angrily, ‘that the Britons have better sense?’

‘When the Bishop of Rome sent the Roman Augustine to Britain less than a hundred years ago, he decided to meet with the bishops of the Britons. He even chastised them for making no attempt to convert the Angles and Saxons to the New Faith before his coming. Augustine was an arrogant man who had swallowed the stories told him by the Saxons that the Britons were savages. So, when he met the bishops of the Britons, he pitched his camp on their borders and demanded that they come to him. When they did so, he remained seated, not even rising to greet his fellow bishops as was the custom, but launching into a tirade of criticism of their behaviour and rites and rituals. He ordered them to join him in converting the Saxons and accepting his church at the old capital of the British Cantii as their spiritual centre.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘The Cantii?’

‘The town or burgh, as you call it in your language, of the Cantii, Canterbury. Agustine was ignorant as well as arrogant. Did not the Britons have greater and older centres of their faith? There was Blessed Ninian’s great abbey of Candida Casa in Strath-Clóta with its extensive library. And the Blessed Dewi’s abbey of Menevia in Dyfed. Augustine was a brash upstart and the Britons were astounded at his behaviour. And when they refused to submit themselves to him, he lost his temper and in a rage told them that the Saxons would come and the Britons would suffer vengeance for refusing to meet his terms. On his return to his new Saxon flock, he even officially designated Athelberht, the King of Kent, as Bretwalda, ruler over all the Britons.’ Iarnbud’s voice was bitter. ‘So the Britons continued to flee from the Saxon arrogance in search of new lands to dwell in freedom.’

At this point, Bleidbara rose abruptly.

‘Forgive me. I have to be on board my ship early in the morning, for I have duties to attend to.’ The warrior bade a good night to them all and left through the door that led to the kitchen quarters.

No sooner had he departed than the girl, Argantken, rose and said something in pointed tones to Macliau. As the young man stared at her, it was clear to Fidelma from the way his eyes took time to focus that he had indulged himself a little too freely with wine. When Macliau answered her, in a slightly slurred speech, Fidelma was surprised to see the girl flush and reply in petulant fashion, even stamping her foot. Macliau’s face grew angry, his voice irate as he responded. The girl’s mouth became a thin line and she stomped her way across the room and up the stairs.

Macliau glanced at the company with an imbecilic grin, which was obviously meant to be one of apology, but Brother Metellus was pretending not to notice that anything was amiss.

‘We are all human beings,’ the monk was now pointing out, continuing the discussion that had been raging. ‘Augustine was a stranger in a strange land. He was a monk from the Caelian Hill in Rome, and had merely been wrongly advised as to the nature and history of the Britons.’

‘So ignorance excuses all things? Do you Romans not have a saying — ignorantia non excusat?’ Iarnbud riposted, picking up the thread again.

Macliau was chuckling and nodding approvingly.

‘A point well made, Iarnbud. I swear that I enjoy your visits. At least we are not wanting in stimulus.’

Fidelma had raised her head with interest. ‘So you do not reside in this fortress, Iarnbud?’

The bretat shook his head. ‘It is my choice to live on my little boat among the islands. I prefer life under the open sky.’

‘You have no fear of these thieves and murders?’ Eadulf enquired.

‘Fear?’ The sallow-faced man smiled thinly. ‘I fear only that the sky may fall and crush me, the sea may rise and drown me, or the earth may open and swallow me.’

Fidelma recognised the ancient ritual saying which meant that he feared nothing at all.

She glanced at Eadulf and raised a hand to her mouth as if to disguise a yawn. Eadulf took the hint and he rose, bowing slightly to Macliau.

‘This has been a long day for us. We will retire, with your permission.’

Fidelma followed him, leaving Macliau, Brother Metellus and Iarnbud still in conversation.

Once in their chamber Eadulf showed his irritation.

‘Well, I for one did not find Iarnbud’s conversation stimulating but rather insulting,’ he began, but Fidelma raised a finger to her lips.

‘You cannot change history and so you cannot stop people from giving their views on it, Eadulf,’ she admonished.

‘And what about those silly ghost stories of fishermen transporting souls at night?’

‘It is obvious that Iarnbud and, by logical deduction, Macliau and his sister do not want us investigating any strange lights along the shore at night. Their supernatural story was meant to frighten us. That is why I pretended to go along with it in the end, once I realised their intention.’

‘So you don’t believe in such phantoms as claimed by Iarnbud?’ queried Eadulf.

‘You should know me better by now,’ she rebuked him. ‘However, I have read Procopius.’

‘Procopius?’ Eadulf repeated.

‘The Byzantine historian who wrote about the Gothic Wars as part of his History of the Wars of Justinian. Just over a hundred years ago he recounted this story of the transportation of souls, the belief of the people of this very area of Gaul. I have heard the tale many times and yet we cannot go through life believing all the old folklore and legends.’

‘If it was a story purposely told to stop us investigating what was happening on the shore, what do you intend?’ Eadulf had gone to the window and was watching the area where they had previously seen the lights. There was no sign of any light or movement there now, although he could just make out pinpricks of light from the distant islands. The large ship was still a fairly discernible black shadow in the inlet below.

‘It is too late now but I think we should go to the shore tomorrow and see if we can discover anything,’ she said. ‘Particularly, I would like to examine that ship to see if it is painted black and has a dove engraved on its bow.’

‘I doubt we will see anything,’ Eadulf said in resignation, returning to the bed. ‘They have had plenty of warning to change things, having heard our story.’

‘Yet why do so at all when they could simply silence us? The captain had no compunction about slaughtering Bressal or Murchad.’ She was silent for a moment, and Eadulf knew she was mastering her emotions. Eventually she went on: ‘I was trying to work out the relationship between Macliau and the girl Argantken. She is without finesse.’

‘That one is easy enough,’ shrugged Eadulf indifferently. ‘She is his mistress.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘Would a chieftain’s son bring his mistress into his father’s house? She is lacking in grace and manners…’

‘De gustibus et coloribus non est disputandum,’ sighed Eadulf. About tastes and colours there is no disputing, meaning it was better not to argue about matters of personal preference.

He was about to get into bed when through the window came the sound of raised voices, as if in argument. They were speaking in the language of the Bretons but their tones sounded familiar.

‘There you are,’ grinned Eadulf. ‘I’ll wager that is Macliau and Argantken.’

Fidelma swung out of the bed and went swiftly to listen at the window. The voices continued for a few moments and then suddenly ceased. She told Eadulf, ‘If I took that wager, you would lose. That was Trifina, and I swear the second voice was that of Bleidbara.’

‘And if that were so, what of it?’ Eadulf enquired tiredly, lying down.

‘Did you notice that Bleidbara seems to be enamoured with the lady Trifina, who studiously ignores him, but the girl with the dark hair who was serving us was making cow’s eyes at him while he acted oblivious to her?’

Eadulf had not heard the expression ‘cow’s eyes’ before but he got the idea.

‘I wonder what they were arguing about?’ mused Fidelma as she returned to the bed.

‘Unrequited love?’ yawned Eadulf. ‘If the young man is enamoured of Trifina, then maybe he chose this moment to seek her out and make his protestation of love. And if she was not interested, she might well have stated it in strong terms. Is it really any of our concern?’

Fidelma pulled a face at him.

‘I am not concerned at all. Mysteries interest me, that is all. Anyway, we’ve had a long day. We will talk about these things tomorrow.’