The Dove of Death

she knew that it was in the area of the altar that most churches placed their zone of sanctuary.

Trifina had turned as they approached. Her expression was anxious, but Bleidbara quickly told her what Fidelma had done. Fidelma, by unspoken agreement, took total charge of the situation.

‘Barbatil shall sit there where he may observe,’ she instructed. ‘Brother Metellus, you will have to act as his interpreter for I shall speak to Macliau in Latin. Before you do so, Brother Metellus, send one of your brethren to bring water for Macliau to drink and a cloth to wipe the blood from his face. Bleidbara, help him into that chair.’

Someone had already brought a chair for the dishevelled young man and another for Fidelma. She seated herself opposite to him.

When Macliau, who had remained silent so far, had wiped his face and taken some water, he looked at her with a tearful expression, almost like a little boy lost.

‘Why did they have to kill Albiorix, lady?’ The words came out as a sob.

She stared, not understanding for a moment, and then she remembered his little terrier.

‘Who killed your dog?’

‘I don’t know. Whoever killed Argantken, I suppose. Such a little dog…yet they killed him.’

Fidelma turned to Barbatil. ‘You did not mention the dog.’

The farmer shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘What was there to mention? It was only a dog.’

‘It was Albiorix my dog!’ wept Macliau.

‘Did you kill it?’ queried Fidelma sharply of Barbatil.

‘Of course not, lady,’ replied the farmer. ‘We found the dog with its neck broken, lying at his feet. He must have killed it.’ He jerked his head at Macliau.

‘I did not kill him. I would never kill him,’ snivelled the son of the lord of Brilhag.

Fidelma turned back, her voice unemotional and commanding.

‘Pull yourself together, Macliau,’ she remonstrated. ‘You are the son of the Lord of Brilhag. Be a man and remember that your companion Argantken, this man’s daughter, has died a most bloody and terrible death!’

Macliau blinked rapidly and looked round, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. An apologetic expression crossed his face. He sniffed and wiped his face again.

‘I regret you see me in this position, lady,’ he muttered, licking his dry lips.

‘And I regret to see any man in such a plight,’ Fidelma replied, not unkindly. ‘Perhaps you will tell us now what happened. You should start from when you left Brilhag.’

Macliau glanced nervously at Barbatil and then back to Fidelma. His eyes seemed to ask a question.

‘It is Barbatil’s right to hear what you have to say,’ Fidelma said.

Macliau tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I was going on a hunt,’ he frowned, as if trying to remember.

‘You left Brilhag with your companion Argantken,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘You also had four companions, two warriors and two huntsmen.’

He stared at the stone floor as if examining something there.

‘I took my two huntsmen and two warriors,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I was hoping to return by nightfall.’

‘But you did not. So what happened?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘The hunting was bad. Argantken was tired and so I took her to the old oratory where I thought we could rest and take refreshment. It was Argantken who suggested that while we…while we rested, the huntsmen and the others could go and try to track down a wild boar or a deer. So they left us there.’

‘In the oratory?’

‘Exactly. Night eventually came on and we had lit a fire. I wondered why our companions had not returned. Anyway, we had food that we had taken with us as well as drink, so we decided to remain there and not to attempt the ride back to Brilhag that night.’

‘There was no sign of your companions at all?’

‘None. I admit it was curious, but I assumed they might have lost the way back to the oratory.’

‘Was that feasible? Had you been in this area before?’

Macliau frowned as if apparently thinking about the matter for the first time, before saying, ‘It is true that we had hunted before in that very area.’

‘So we can discount the idea that they could not find the way back to the oratory. Yet you were not so alarmed that you felt you should return at once to Brilhag?’

‘Why would I be alarmed? Oh, you mean the brigands.’ Macliau shook his head. ‘But I am the son of the mac’htiern. Why should we be afraid of robbers?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Barbatil said loudly, when the remark was translated to him. ‘He was one of them.’

Fidelma frowned warningly at the farmer before returning to Macliau.

‘So you remained in the oratory that night?’

‘Yes. We ate, drank and fell asleep. When I awoke, he,’ he pointed angrily to Barbatil, ‘and his friends were throwing me into a stream. Me, the son of their lord!’

Fidelma looked at him closely. ‘Are you telling me that you knew nothing between the time you went to sleep and being awoken by Barbatil?’

Macliau kept his eyes on the floor; it seemed as if he was trying to remember. Slowly, his eyes cleared and a look of horror came over his face.

‘I was asleep,’ he said slowly. ‘And…and then I came awake and someone was holding me down. Yes, I remember that now. The fire had died and all I could see were shadows. Someone forced my mouth open and someone else was pouring strong drink into me. I thought I was going to drown — I choked and struggled to no avail, and I finally passed out. When I came to, someone was hitting me. Then I was thrown into a cold stream. People were yelling at me. Attacking me. They claimed that I had stabbed Argantken — that she was dead. They bound me and dragged me along. I was still only half-conscious but I saw some of them carrying a body. Argantken’s body. Then I knew it was not a bad dream. It was true that the poor girl was dead. I remember that I had that one thought before I passed out again. I do not know how long I was unconscious.’

He paused. No one spoke.

Macliau rubbed a filthy hand across his face, streaked with tears. ‘When I came to again, I was in a dark, muddy place. It stank; as I do now. I saw it was a pen, filled with pigs. Then I found the body of Albiorix. They had killed him and thrown his body into the pigsty with me.’

Fidelma held up her hand and addressed Barbatil. ‘You did that?’

‘I told you — he killed the animal. It was his dog. So after we have hanged him we shall bury him with the dog on top of him. That is an insult among our people.’ The farmer showed no sign of guilt or remorse.

Fidelma exhaled softly and, with a shake of her head, turned back to Macliau again. She raised her hand before he could speak.

‘I know you say that you could not kill your dog, but continue: what did you do next?’

‘I tried to get out of the pigpen but someone had barred the means of exit. It took me all night, trying my strength against it. It was not long before daybreak that I managed to create a small burrow, whereby I crawled out. I managed to get into some nearby woods, and went through them, wondering where to make for. I had just realised that I was nearer to the abbey than Brilhag when I began to hear the cries of people whom I knew instinctively were my pursuers. I had to make it to the abbey. I ran. I ran as no one has ever had to run before. I nearly fell with exhaustion but then…then I saw the chapel and Brother Metellus, and I fell on my knees before him, begging him to shelter me from the fiends who were after me.’

‘There were no fiends after you, Macliau,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘It was a father who had lost his daughter, in a most violent and tragic way, and the friends and relatives of that father.’ She was gazing into the face of the weak, indolent young man, trying to judge the honesty of his words. Finally she shrugged and rose to her feet.

‘What of my brother?’ Trifina demanded. ‘We cannot leave him here in this state.’ As much as she had criticised her brother, it seemed that the girl did have affection for her sibling.

‘I agree,’ Fidelma replied. ‘However, as I see it, there is a case to be answered. Macliau must receive a fair hearing before one of your judges — a bretat, as you call them.’

‘Iarnbud?’ suggested Bleidbara.

Fidelma shook her head firmly. ‘He is a friend of the lord of Brilhag. No, this judge has to be independent,