The Dove of Death

Bleidbara was turning for the door when Fidelma realised she had to act. The only place of concealment was a small recess not far away. It would be useless if the warrior turned in her direction. Thankfully, he chose the opposite direction and vanished through a door at the far end of the corridor. Fidelma waited a moment, her mind already made up, and hurried after him.

The door gave access to a small ante-room leading into a tiny yard and then a pathway that wound down to the eastern shore of the island, a long strip of white sand in a curving bay.

The warrior moved quickly down this path, oblivious to Fidelma coming up behind him. At the bottom, on the shore, two men were awaiting him. Fidelma spotted them just before they glanced up to see Bleidbara coming towards them. She had already crouched down behind a bush before they did so. She could hear a cheery greeting and the warrior answering. Then she peered carefully around the bush. All three were walking across the sandy beach towards a small rowing boat, by which another man stood. Bleidbara and one other man climbed in while the remaining two men pushed it out into the water and scrambled in as it rose on the waves.

It was only then that Fidelma realised there was a large ship at anchor in the bay to which the men were now heading, two of them hauling at the oars as the boat bobbed its way over the waters. The ship was a large wooden sailing vessel. It was painted black from bow to stern with the exception of the jutting spar and bow timber. These were a deep orange in colour that made the vessel appear very sinister. Fidelma’s eyes rose to the white flag flying from the masthead — a large white flag with the image of a bird on it…the image of a dove.

She gave a sharp intake of breath and was about to move forward to gain a better view when she was aware of a soft footfall behind her.

She pivoted round, rising automatically.

Trifina was standing regarding her with an amused expression. Behind her stood one of her guards, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

Chapter Twelve

Eadulf was feeling better. The young apothecary had been accurate in his prognosis. The shock of near death by drowning must have caused the reaction of the stupor that had come over him. Even his headache had gone, thanks to the potion that he had been given. He rose from the chair in front of the fire and took a swallow of water from the mug left on the table. The cold liquid refreshed his mouth, although he felt a distinct soreness in his chest and an ache in his stomach as if he had eaten bad food.

He had begun to feel frustrated by his inaction and moved to the window and gazed out on the western coastline of the island. The day seemed pleasant enough. In fact, there was little need of a fire at all for it was quite warm. He walked up and down for a few moments, realising that he was now in complete control of all his senses and movements.

Eadulf knew enough about the practice of the apothecary’s art to be aware that a warming cordial would do better for his chest than sipping fresh water. Deciding to go in search of the young apothecary or of the kitchens of the villa where he could make his own soothing concoction, he left the room and walked down the corridor until he found the stairway to the floor below. A young girl was hard at work scrubbing the stairs. Her head was bent down to her work so she did not notice him until he reached the step above her.

When he asked where he might find the apothecary she started nervously.

He smiled reassuringly at her and asked again. It was clear that she did not understand Latin and he tried to drag from his memory a word from his sparse knowledge of the language of the Britons. No word came to mind.

‘Culina,’ he said again, using the Latin word for kitchen, and made motions implying drinking and eating.

The girl seemed to understand his mime and pointed down the stairs saying something in her language, repeating the word ‘kegin’ several times.

Eadulf thanked her and moved past her down the stairway to the lower corridor. The girl had pointed almost directly under the stairs and Eadulf saw a doorway which led into an ante-room lined with shelves. Immediately his senses were bombarded with a mixture of aromas, sweet-smelling herbs and spices combined with dried meats that hung from metal hooks from the ceiling. The room was like a narrow corridor through which he passed quickly and, opening a door at the far end, he entered into a courtyard. In the covered area on one side were three great clay brick ovens and places where a fire could be lit in such a manner that a pot could be placed on an iron arm over the flames. Pots and pans hung along the wall behind the ovens. In the centre of the courtyard was a well, obviously the source of the fresh water for cooking.

There seemed no one about but this was clearly the kitchen area. He thought it strange that there was no one attending to the preparation of food in such a large villa as this. The rooms along this side of the courtyard consisted of various storerooms and a few that were clearly occupied by the kitchen workers as their personal quarters. He walked along, peering into each but there was no one around.

At the far corner, another open door led into what was clearly the dispensary. He was surprised that this was not closed and locked, but saw a key hanging from a hook just inside the door and presumed that the young apothecary had forgotten to lock up. Eadulf went in, examining the shelves. At one end there was a pile of moss in water, but a moss smelling strongly of the sea. Eadulf recognised it at once for it was a red alga that he knew was found along the western shores of Éireann among the sea-bathed rocks. That was just what he was looking for.

He reached forward and picked up some, smelling it to make sure it was the same plant.

‘What do you want?’

The sharp voice caused him to start. The youthful apothecary, who had attended him, was standing in the doorway. He was tall, with curly blue-black hair and dark eyes, with a swarthy face and a permanent furrow over his brows as though in constant thought.

‘I am looking for something that will relieve the soreness in the back of my throat and chest and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach,’ replied Eadulf, trying to remember his name. ‘I think I have found it.’

The young man’s frown deepened as he glanced at the plant Eadulf held.

‘You appear to have a good knowledge of the healing qualities of plants and herbs,’ he observed suspiciously.

Eadulf confessed that he had studied the art in Tuaim Brecain, a great medical college of Éireann.

‘I have not heard of it. However, you have picked a wise choice in pioka ruz,’ the young man said, nodding to the moss he held. ‘It should settle your ailment.’

Eadulf tried to repeat the name and added: ‘It is called carraigin in the language of Hibernia.’

‘It is a good demulcent,’ confirmed the young man. ‘You know how to use it?’

‘If I can boil a little of the plant to produce a syrup…?’

‘There is no need. I was preparing such a mixture earlier this morning as it is also used to make sweet dishes. I make a jelly substance mixed with honey, which the lady Trifina especially likes. Come, I will give you some.’

The young man pointed to the bowl standing near to where Eadulf had picked up the moss. He took an empty dish and measured out several spoonfuls from the bowl.

‘There now, it is a syrupy taste that coats the throat and will also make its way to your stomach. Perhaps you would like a spoonful of honey to sweeten the taste more?’

Eadulf shook his head as he tried an experimental spoonful. As the familiar taste of what he knew as carraigin made contact with his tongue, he swallowed and felt its comforting contact with his throat.

‘What did you call this, my friend?’ he asked.

‘I know only the name in the language of the Bretons, which is pioka ruz. I hear that it is known by several other names in various parts of this country. It is a plant that is unknown in my land.’