The Dove of Death

After he had left, Riwanon excused herself to accompany her female attendants in a walk in the grounds while Budic muttered something about attending to the horses and also left.

‘What now?’ Eadulf asked Fidelma.

‘I am going to have a further word with Iuna,’ she said and, as Eadulf made a movement to join her, she added: ‘You stay here. I think she might be more amenable to my questions without a witness. I want to challenge her about the subject of that argument with Abbot Maelcar.’

‘As you wish,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Though I cannot see her revealing anything more than she has already.’

‘You do not know how revealing someone can be when they do not wish to answer questions,’ Fidelma replied dryly, then turned and went through the door that led into the kitchens.

Eadulf lowered himself into one of the comfortable chairs by the fire with a deep sigh of relief. He turned matters over in his mind and came to the conclusion that, while he had been in worse situations, none had made him so uneasy. Was it being in an unfamiliar country whose language he did not speak, whose laws he did not know, which, combined with the mysteries with which they were faced, made things seem so malevolent and threatening? Sea-raiders…well, he certainly knew about them from the stories he had heard in Seaxmund’s Ham, where he had been brought up. The sea was nearby — the very shores across which raiders had come to plunder or to settle since time began, including his own people only a few centuries before.

He was saddened for Fidelma’s loss of her cousin and her friend Murchad, the captain of the Barnacle Goose. But such things happened. It was a part of life, and life was brutal. Attacks on merchants and their goods — that, too, he knew about. And the murder of abbots was not unknown: Eadulf had been with Fidelma enough times when they had to investigate the untimely deaths of prelates. So what was the cause of the dark threatening atmosphere that seemed to be oppressing him? He had just settled to his analysis when the door through which Fidelma had vanished a few moments before, burst open and she stood there, flushed and slightly breathless.

‘Eadulf, come quickly.’

He sprang up and went towards her.

‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What is the matter?’

‘I have just seen Iuna in animated argument with Iarnbud and they have left the fortress,’ she replied, motioning him to follow her. ‘I want to know where they are going.’

‘Iuna and the old pagan? I didn’t think she liked the old man.’

‘Come. They are moving so fast, they might disappear before we catch up with them.’

Eadulf did not protest further but ran with her through the kitchens, ignoring the puzzled glances of those servants who were busy about their duties, preparing the food for the day.

Fidelma led the way to some storage rooms and halted before a door.

‘I could not find Iuna,’ she explained, opening it, ‘so I asked one of the kitchenmaids where she was and was told she was in here. When I came here, the door was open and I heard raised voices. She and Iarnbud were quarrelling. A door was slammed shut on the far side of the room. I waited a moment and went in. The door led out onto the cliffs, and the two of them were moving together down the path towards the shore. So I came back to find you.’

As she was speaking, she and Eadulf went through a storage area to another door. It was a sturdy one with bolts and chains on the interior which, of course, had not been secured.

This door, Eadulf found, as Fidelma had told him, opened beyond the fortress walls to where a path led through an area of thick bushes and trees, steeply downward towards the shore of the Morbihan. It was a well- trodden path and they were able to move quickly down it. The salt tang of water was immediate, and within a few moments they had come to a small inlet surrounded by rocks where waves lapped noisily against them and where several wooden boats bumped against each other with a hollow thudding noise. Eadulf realised that the other side of the rocks to their right must be the stretch of sandy shore where Fidelma had nearly come to disaster in the quicksand.

Rocky steps had been carved on the more precipitous part of the incline that had ended in a natural harbour. There seemed no one in the vicinity.

Fidelma halted, peering around in frustration.

‘This is a means of supplying the fortress from the sea,’ Eadulf commented, ‘but it presents a weak point in times of war.’

But Fidelma was not interested in his martial views. She was looking for some sign of Iuna and Iarnbud. Then she noticed a sail some way out on the glinting waters before them. It seemed to be heading in the direction of one of the islands.

‘Can you see who is in that boat?’ she demanded.

‘It’s too far away.’

‘What was the island — the one where the boat is heading? Macliau or Trifina told us the name of it.’

‘Govihan, I think. The island of the smith’s forge, they said it meant.’

‘That’s it. It’s where there is a fortified dwelling and watchtower where Trifina prefers to spend her time. That’s where Iuna and Iarnbud are heading. Come on, I believe some answers will be there.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened in alarm. Fidelma was already descending the stone steps at a dangerous pace into the small harbour.

‘Wait a moment…’he began.

She ignored his protests and seemed to be examining the remaining boats moored there. Two were small boats with oars but a third one held a mast and single sail.

‘We’ll take that one,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on.’

‘But…but I hate sailing,’ protested Eadulf.

Fidelma’s brows drew together. ‘I’ll handle the sail. It doesn’t require more than one person in this tiny skiff.’

‘But we are stealing…’

‘Borrowing,’ she corrected.

‘We ought…’

‘Do I have to go alone?’ she threatened.

Eadulf knew when he was beaten and, with a shrug of his shoulders, moved down the steps to join her. She had clambered into the small skiff and was untying the sail.

‘Unfasten the rope there,’ she instructed, ‘and push us away from those other craft.’

He did so without further argument. There were two oars in the skiff as well, and while she made ready with the sail, he used one of them to push the boat away. He tried to guide them out into the mouth of the inlet. There was a wind blowing from shore which flapped at the sail, and now Fidelma hoisted it; it immediately filled with wind and a tremor went through the vessel as the offshore breeze caught it. It began to move, slowly at first.

‘Quickly, come and sit here by the mast,’ she instructed. ‘Mind the boom.’

Eadulf moved with alacrity as the vessel began to gather speed across the wavelets. Fidelma went to the stern and took the tiller. She steered the vessel out into the open water.

‘You do realise that we will be seen as soon we approach that island?’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Remember what Macliau said about the watchtower and having lookouts posted there?’

Fidelma had forgotten but did not say so.

‘We will be careful,’ she assured him. ‘If we can find one link in this mystery then we will ask Riwanon for assistance.’

‘Riwanon? So you think Macliau and his sister are involved?’

‘It is their symbol that these brigands are using. It is logical to believe that they are involved.’

‘This is true,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Except that if they were, why didn’t they make us prisoners or even kill us when we turned up at their fortress? The leader of the pirates certainly had no compunction about killing when he raided the Barnacle Goose.’

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

‘Yes. That is one thing that I cannot explain at the moment,’ she agreed.

Eadulf twisted round to glance at the island ahead of them. When he had viewed it from the tower at Brilhag, it appeared small and compact. Now it grew larger as they approached it. There seemed no sign of the