The Dove of Death

‘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.’

Epilogue

All sails set, the Barnacle Goose was leaning into the wind, with the hum of the breeze in her rigging and the soft groaning of her wooden spars. Ribbons of cream-cap-waves spread from her plunging bow and trailed out at angles from either side of the large wooden vessel. It seemed odd to be back on the ship again. Everything seemed so familiar to Fidelma and Eadulf and yet, at the same time, so strangely alien. Instead of Murchad and Gulvan at the helm, there was the lean, fair-haired figure of Hoel the Briton. He stood easily balanced, with feet wide apart, his chin thrust forward into the gusting air, his keen eyes on the sails, noting every movement of the wind and adjusting the tiller accordingly.

Fidelma knew and trusted him as a capable seaman. She had no concern that the passage home would be anything but safe in his able hands. But the strangeness was due to the fact that she had been so used to Murchad’s predictable mannerisms and Gulvan’s stoic responses. They had been such an integral part of the ship, as much a part of it as the carved figure of the goose at her bows or the tall oak masts or beams. It was just hard to imagine that the Barnacle Goose could ever sail without them.

Yet everything else was the same. Or was it? Wenbrit seemed quieter, older, somehow not the same carefree child that he had once been, running eagerly to do her bidding. He had become — what was the word that she was looking for? — mature. That was it. He had become mature. And even Luchtigern, the Mouse Lord, the black cat that had been such an essential feature of the life on shipboard, had become more reclusive, preferring to stay in the dark shadows of the vessel rather than venturing out into the sunlight. Hoel too seemed taciturn and had taken refuge in his task of captain.

Once, the ship had been manned with a light-hearted quality among the crew. Sadly, there was no longer the occasional jest among them, the bluff, good-natured ripostes. All the crew had been marked by their recent experiences.

Fidelma leaned against the taffrail and stared solemnly at the receding headlands that marked the dangerous entrance to Morbihan. At her side, Eadulf seemed to read her mind.

‘I shan’t be sorry to see the last of that place,’ he said tightly.

‘It will be good to sight the coast of Muman again,’ she agreed. ‘Even better to see Cashel rising before us and to embrace our little Alchú again.’ She suddenly gave a deep sigh. ‘But there is also regret at leaving Brilhag. Travelling and meeting people, getting to know them, surely enhance one’s experiences in life? Yet establishing such friendships also makes parting a sad experience when the time comes that we must travel on. Leaving such new friends behind is always a matter of regret. I hope things work out with Trifina and Bleidbara.’

‘I am sure they will. Bleidbara’s suspicion was natural. She will forgive him.’

‘But he should have had more trust in her if he truly loved her,’ Fidelma objected.

‘It’s hard to say. He is a man much concerned with duty. With some people, duty is often paramount rather than obedience to the heart.’

Fidelma looked at him closely, wondering if there was a hidden meaning somewhere.

‘It seems that Brother Metellus will come well out of this,’ went on Eadulf, apparently oblivious of her glance. ‘He now stands to be elected Abbot of the community of Gildas. That was something he never expected.’

‘And, perhaps, never wanted. Also, this adventure might be a means of making a man of Macliau.’

‘Perhaps.’ Eadulf did not seem sure. ‘I gather he has left Brilhag to study poetry and music and, in that, he will have plenty of opportunity to pursue his libertine existence.’

‘He was shocked by what occurred. He told me that he feels the need to redeem himself. I hope he succeeds.’

Eadulf sighed, then admitted, ‘Well, I am quite happy to leave behind some of our new friends. Unfortunately, we always seem to get acquainted with the bad people of the world.’ He glanced at her. ‘I know, I know. It is your task in life to seek out the wrongdoer and secure their punishment. So it is inevitable that we must encounter such people as Iuna — the Dove of Death.’ He shivered suddenly. ‘Such evil in a woman and in one so young.’ Then he said awkwardly to Fidelma, ‘Tell me, when you embarked on outlining the case against Budic and Riwanon, did you really do so knowing that you could not prove anything conclusively? That it was mostly circumstantial evidence?’

‘You will find in the Law of the Fénechus that indirect evidence can be used to argue before a Brehon. You can present this circumstantial evidence, and if the accused has a physical reaction to the evidence, whether he may tremble, blush, turn pale, develop a dry throat or display any other symptoms of nervousness, then the suspicion of guilt is strong.’

‘But not conclusive. Anyway, that may be so in Hibernia but what if Budic had not confessed?’

Fidelma smiled thinly, saying, ‘I am a lawyer and have to use the tools that the law allows me. In these circumstances, my strategy worked.’ She turned to regard Eadulf with her brows drawn together. ‘I thought that the law was also the task you were born to,’ she reproved softly. ‘You were a gerefa, a magistrate of your people. You had to dispense the law among them. Remember that was how we first met? It was because you were a gerefa of your people and I a dálaigh of mine that we were brought together in Hilda’s abbey.’

‘I abandoned being a gerefa when your countryman, Fursa, converted me to the Faith and I went to study in Tuam Brecain. I am a member of the religious now.’