The Dove of Death

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.