The Dove of Death

‘Macliau is a fool, a profligate and reckless with women. He is also weak and he should never succeed his father as mac’htiern. That does not mean he is a killer. He has a horror of blood. Of course,’ she added, ‘there is no accounting what a weak man will do when there is a prospect of being denied the power he thinks he is entitled to.’

‘You say he should not succeed as Lord of Brilhag. Who would become mac’htiern then?’

‘When a suitable male is not available to become chieftain or king,’ the girl replied, ‘then it is time to stand aside for a woman to take over.’

‘Meaning Trifina?’

Iuna’s eyes flashed for a moment and then she seemed to catch herself and smiled without humour.

‘Perhaps,’ she replied shortly. ‘She is the only other child of Lord Canao. One must not only be of the bloodline but be perceived as the best person for the task.’

‘I presume Iarnbud was asking about me because he is suspicious of all foreigners?’ continued Fidelma.

‘He wanted to know if you had known Riwanon before you came here.’

This answer puzzled Fidelma. She asked: ‘How did he think I would have known her?’

‘Perhaps because your Cousin Bressal had been sent as envoy to King Alain and you were on your cousin’s ship when it was attacked?’

‘Why would that follow? Oh, he might not have realised that I only joined Bressal at Naoned. I suppose he thought that I had come to this kingdom with my cousin and had been at Alain’s court?’

‘Iarnbud is a strange man,’ Iuna said, almost to herself. ‘He has never liked Riwanon.’

‘Any reason?’

‘Only that he was once patronised by Riwanon’s predecessor as Queen.’

Fidelma was trying to work that out.

‘Do you mean that Riwanon is not the first wife of this King Alain?’ she asked.

‘Correct. She is his second wife. King Alain is twice her age, you see.’

‘What happened to his first wife?’

‘What happened to half of the population a few years ago? The Yellow Plague, alas.’

‘And then Alain married Riwanon?’

‘He did.’

‘And where was she from? Domnonia?’

‘No, she was of Bro-Waroch. Her father was Lord of Gwern Porc’ hoed on the edge of the great forest of Brekilien.’

Brekilien again, thought Fidelma. This name cropped up so many times.

‘So is Riwanon related to your foster-father’s family?’

‘The Lord of Gwern Porc’ hoed was one of the chieftains who owed allegiance to the kings of Bro-Waroch, but he was not of the royal family.’

‘And you think that Iarnbud dislikes Riwanon for no other reason than that she married Alain Hir?’

‘He needs little excuse for his likes and dislikes,’ the girl replied. ‘And now I think I have gossiped enough. Excuse me — I have my duties to perform.’

With a quick jerk of her head to indicate that the conversation had ended, she turned and walked away, leaving Fidelma gazing thoughtfully after her. Perhaps, she thought, the family relationships were entirely irrelevant to the matter, but they were certainly complicated.

On her return to the great hall, Fidelma found that some of the others had arrived and were sitting morosely around the fire. Macliau was seated on one side of the hearth apparently recovering from his travails, while Trifina sat opposite him, both their gazes seemed concentrated on the flames. Brother Metellus had apparently made the early-morning journey to the fortress to report on conditions at the abbey after the near-riot. He sat near them, drumming his fingers uneasily on the wooden arm of his carved chair. Bleidbara was standing before the fire, hands clasped behind him, while Eadulf remained at the table, having finished breaking his fast. He raised his eyes in a meaningful expression as Fidelma entered, as if to indicate the awkward atmosphere that permeated the room.

Fidelma was just walking across to join her husband when the now-familiar warning blast on a trumpet at the gates of the fortress caused them all to start.

Bleidbara’s head jerked up, his expression one of concern. He hurried to the doors and threw them open.

They could hear the sounds of horses arriving and Bleidbara’s voice raised in question. It was not long before he came back. His expression was grim and foretold bad news.

‘What is it?’ demanded Trifina.

‘My men have returned,’ Bleidbara announced hollowly. ‘They found the four men who accompanied Macliau.’

‘Well, what do these men say? Why are they not brought before me?’ snapped Trifina.

Bleidbara glanced at Macliau, who was waiting anxiously for his reply.

‘They say nothing, lady, for they are all dead. They seem to have been shot at close range with arrows.’

There was a silence, broken only by a long shuddering breath from Macliau.

‘I see,’ said Fidelma slowly. ‘And where were the bodies found? I mean, were they in the proximity of the ruined oratory?’

‘Not far from it, but not close enough for any warning cry to be heard.’

‘Did your men bring the arrows with them?’

Bleidbara gazed at her in surprise, then muttered something and disappeared. He had returned in a moment and held out one of the arrows to her.

She looked at it. ‘Goose feather and three flights. A professional fletched arrow,’ she said, glancing over at Eadulf.

He nodded slightly, to show he understood. Bleidbara opened his mouth as if to speak, but changed his mind.

Macliau raised his head again, his pleading eyes regarding them each in turn.

‘They were my only witnesses that what I say is the truth,’ he said. ‘What trial shall I get now?’

Brother Metellus looked at him sorrowfully, saying, ‘Dead men do not make good witnesses, Macliau.’

Macliau jumped up, his mouth working.

‘I did not kill them!’ he cried. ‘Is that what you are implying. Brother Metellus? I did not kill anyone.’ He turned and almost ran from the hall in the manner of a petulant child.

‘This does not disprove Macliau’s story,’ Fidelma said. ‘It could have happened in the way he described. His men were killed and then the killers could have waited until Macliau and the girl were both asleep, entered the oratory, made him so drunk he passed out, and then stabbed the girl. The story is still feasible.’

Bleidbara glanced at Trifina, who had resumed her gaze at the fire. Her jaw was clenched.

‘There is one thing I should say,’ he said quietly. ‘Lady Trifina knows this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Our own fletcher made those arrows, which you remark on. There is a store of them in our armoury. Two weeks ago, the fletcher noticed that several bundles seemed to be missing. We could not account for their disappearance.’

‘Well, we need proof one way or the other, if we are to satisfy Barbatil and the local men,’ observed Brother Metellus.

Eadulf spoke up. ‘The attackers could well have stabbed the girl — but as Macliau woke, when they poured strong liquor into him to dull his senses, it would surely not have had such a rapid effect?’ he pointed out. ‘You cannot pour liquid down someone’s throat and expect them to become insensible with drink in so short a time.’

‘Are you saying that Macliau is lying?’ Trifina turned from the fireplace, her voice quiet but threatening.

‘No, I am not,’ Eadulf replied hurriedly. ‘What I am saying is that I think he would have had to have been drugged as well as having alcohol poured into him. If so, it would require someone with the