The Dove of Death

Brother Metellus coughed nervously at this recital.

‘I have some matters to attend to — items to be gathered for my eventual return to Houdig,’ he said apologetically. ‘My friends, I will leave you in the hands of Aourken and return here later.’

As Brother Metellus left them, Aourken said, ‘Poor Brother Metellus. He is a Roman, you know. Another of those who feels constrained to live an unnatural life as a statement of his Faith. Why did God make men and women if He wanted them to live as eunuchs?’ She laughed at her own humour.

Fidelma and Eadulf were ushered inside the dark but homely stone cottage and shown a room to sleep and where they might wash. Within a short while they were seated on a wooden bench outside, for the afternoon was now warm. Aourken provided them with a pitcher of cider and bowls to drink it from as well as fresh bread, goat’s cheese and some apples.

The woman came and sat with them on a stool by the door. She had placed a bag of wool before her and taken out a distaff and spindle. Helping herself to a handful of wool, she wound it loosely on the distaff; then, using her left hand, the material was gradually drawn onto the spindle, which was held in the right hand. She did it automatically, unconscious of her dexterity, and chatting all the while.

‘I take the thread to my cousin who lives at that cottage at the end there,’ she jerked her head to indicate the place. ‘She will weave the thread into garments for me.’

‘Do you keep your own sheep them?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Bless you, no. I keep goats. I exchange goat’s cheese and milk for the wool.’

‘It must be a hard life, without…without…’ Eadulf became embarrassed.

‘Without a man?’ she queried. ‘My husband was a good fisherman. He and two others were drowned in the entrance of the Morbihan, which means the Little Sea. The tide flows quickly there and sometimes it can be too quick for safety’s sake. One of the fishing boats got into trouble. My husband and his friends went to its aid and their own boat was swept onto the rocks, smashed to firewood and they drowned. The sea is a hard taskmaster. Anyway, the other fisherfolk here see that I get a portion of their catch so that I want for nothing. In turn I supply them with my goat’s cheese. That is our way.’

Fidelma nodded approval. ‘It is also the way of my own people,’ she said before adding: ‘You have a comfortable place here.’

‘We are sheltered here,’ Aourken agreed.

‘In my land, we keep many pets,’ Fidelma began.

‘My goats are my pets,’ replied the woman.

‘And cats?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Oh yes, there are several cats in the village.’

‘I thought I saw a black cat earlier.’

Eadulf suddenly realised where her question was leading.

Aourken looked baffled. ‘I have never seen a black cat here because our people think them a symbol of bad luck. To be honest, most people believe they carry demons and have special supernatural abilities. Black cats aren’t welcomed here. The old ones say that they are human beings, undergoing punishment for evil deeds.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘In my land, it is the very opposite — for the wives of fishermen keep black cats, especially while their husbands are at sea, because they believe they will prevent danger coming against them.’

Aourken was silent as she continued her work with distaff and spindle.

‘Why are you interested in black cats?’ she asked after a while.

‘There was a black cat on the Barnacle Goose. It was rather a special cat.’

‘Fidelma thought she saw it in the abbey grounds,’ Eadulf said, only to receive a frown from Fidelma.

‘I did see the cat,’ she insisted. ‘It is identifiable by a lump of pitch that was stuck to the back of its neck.’

‘So, you think that this cat managed to get from the ship to here?’ Aourken pursed her lips. ‘Well, no large ships have anchored in this bay for as long as I recall.’

Fidelma shifted her weight on the bench and stared at the mug of cider in her hand thoughtfully for a moment or two.

‘Is there anywhere along this coast where large ships can take refuge?’ she asked outright. There was little use in being subtle. ‘You mentioned raids against the farmsteads here.’

Aourken stopped her spinning for a moment and observed Fidelma with her keen eyes. She said nothing. Fidelma decided to be honest with the woman, for her personality invited trust.

‘You see, it occurred to me that the vessel might have come from somewhere along this coast,’ Fidelma continued. ‘When we approached the coastline from the south, it looked fairly open and with no natural harbours. But I was wondering if there was anywhere that a raiding ship could hide. Somewhere it could take a captive ship. The cat must have managed to get ashore near here.’

Aourken shrugged. ‘I am afraid that there are many such places,’ she answered, as she resumed her task at the spindle.

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance.

‘From what we saw, we thought the beaches were fairly shallow and open, and the rocky places do not indicate a sheltered harbour.’

‘That is only along this southerly coast,’ replied the woman. ‘But we are on a small peninsula — it is like a finger that sticks out. At the base of the finger is the abbey; at the tip of the finger is Noalou, a headland. There is a sea channel between that and another headland, Penn hir. That’s the very channel where my husband lost his life. That channel leads from the Great Sea into the Morbihan, an area surrounded by land all except that channel into it and rivers. And in the Little Sea there are countless islands where ships and men can hide for all eternity.’

Fidelma was frowning with concentration as she followed her description.

‘But you said this channel was dangerous? Could a large vessel enter into it?’

‘If it is crewed by good seamen and the vessel is sturdy enough. One can only enter in and go out when the tide is right.’

‘The right tide?’ Fidelma was trying to remember something. Then she envisaged the slight white-robed form. ‘Quickly now or the tide will be against us!’ Was that what the murderous captain meant? Had he been anxious to get through that particular channel?

‘I should like to see this Morbihan,’ she said.

‘That is easy. All you need to do is take the westerly path towards Noalou. Before you reach it, there is a hill nearby, which we call Ar mont bihan, the Little Height, on which there stands a great stone place built by the ancients — the tomb of some great king, so the old ones say: Tumieg’s tomb. If you stand there, you will have a view across the peninsula to the Little Sea, and will be able to observe its vastness and all the islands in it.’

‘You said there are many islands?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Yes, indeed. I’ve heard it said there is one island for every day of the year. No one has ever counted them, though my husband once said that there are around a hundred, counting the lumps of rock that rise out of the sea.’

Eadulf suppressed a whistle of surprise. ‘That is enough. Are they all large?’

‘Many are large enough to be inhabited.’

‘How far away is this height where we can view the Little Sea?’ The question came from Fidelma.

‘Five kilometres on a good path.’

Fidelma glanced up at the sky and Eadulf, seeing the movement, said nervously: ‘We would not have time to go there and return before nightfall.’

Aourken nodded sympathetically. ‘Brother Eadulf is right. You would have no time now before nightfall. Anyway, if you were looking for a ship at anchor, then you have no chance at all because it would be dusk. Indeed, my dear, that ship could easily be hidden behind any one of the islands. Make no mistake; we are not talking about a lake. That is why we call it the Little Sea. From one side to the other is half the distance to Houdig, where you came from, and far more than that wide. There are inlets and rivers — not to mention the islands. You could lose an entire fleet of warships there. This was the very heartland of the great Veneti who fought the Romans in the ancient times.’

‘You seem to know it well?’ Eadulf said.