The Dove of Death

Eadulf was astonished at her confidence.

‘If you already know who is behind the Koulm ar Maro and these raids and killings, don’t you feel that you should share this knowledge?’ he asked.

‘I said that I suspect…suspicion, even based on circumstantial evidence, is not enough for an accusation to be proven.’

‘Even so, a shared knowledge is a danger halved.’

‘True, but a single whisper, or a glance might betray our thoughts, Eadulf, and if they are betrayed by as much as the blink of an eye, I may lose my quarry.’

‘We can return you to Brilhag on the Morvran, lady,’ Bleidbara offered. ‘We will drop you off there tonight and then move on to an anchorage I know of, where we can wait until the hour before dawn. Then we can sail for the interception point to engage the raiders as they attempt to catch the tide out of Morbihan.’

‘Excellent,’ she approved. ‘I feel things are drawing towards a conclusion.’

Dusk had fallen when the Morvran finally anchored in the bay under the headland on which the fortress of Brilhag rose. It had taken longer than they expected because Bleidbara had insisted on loading a number of curious-looking sections of wood, set into frames with ropes and wheels. Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf had ever seen such wooden constructions as were hoisted onto the deck, and had no idea what they were. Canvas sheeting covered them as they were set up in the bows of the vessel. Bleidbara had claimed that the equipment was necessary to his task, and that the presence of Heraclius was essential. Fidelma took the view that Bleidbara knew his business and so did not bother him or Heraclius with unnecessary questions. The young apothecary from Constantinopolis supervised the loading, paying particular care to a sealed wooden case as it was cautiously taken into the hold. Bleidbara saw their curiosity but did not explain.

Heraclius reported that Iuna had been given the treatment, but only the next twelve hours would show whether she would respond to it. He had left her in the care of one of the female servants at the villa, together with explicit instructions on how she should be treated. At Fidelma’s insistence, a warrior was left with them for protection.

Now, as they dropped anchor before Brilhag, Bleidbara came to see Fidelma off in one of the ship’s boats.

‘We shall leave and anchor further down the coast so as to be ready just before dawn,’ he said gravely. ‘If all goes well, you will see our return here sometime tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘I wish you luck.’

‘We all need luck, lady. These people, whoever they are, will be eager to destroy any that are in their way. If you need help, seek out Boric. He is a good man to have at your side in time of danger. Tell him that I have placed him under your orders.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf. ‘You look after yourself,’ she instructed softly. Then she climbed over the side into the boat. She was ferried to the shore by one of the ship’s company who left her on the quay and immediately rowed back to rejoin the Morvran.

Fidelma stood for a moment looking at the disappearing boat, heading out to the dark shape of Bleidbara’s ship. Then she turned up the pathway that led to the fortress, trying to adjust her vision to the darkness. She wished that she had had the foresight to bring a lamp but, almost as she thought it, the moon suddenly appeared from the bank of clouds and cast its blue glow over the area, revealing the man standing blocking the path a few paces in front of her.

Even with the moonlight, she could not make out any more than a few details. He was holding a shield, and a sword hung at his side. He challenged her in Breton and she guessed rather than knew the meaning of his words.

When she responded, assuming he was one of Boric’s guards, he moved forward and asked a further question, and this time she could not guess at its meaning.

‘Loquerisne linguam latinam?’ she asked hopefully,

The man shook his head, turned and shouted something. A moment later another man hurried down the path, surefooted in the darkness. The first man stiffened and spoke rapidly to him.

‘Who are you?’ demanded the second warrior in Latin.

Fidelma frowned. ‘Fidelma of Hibernia,’ she replied. This was probably the best form of announcing herself in a way that would be understood. ‘Where is Boric?’

The man did not answer, but his eyes focused on the darkness behind her and widened a little. He obviously saw the outline of the Morvran.

‘What ship is that?’ he demanded before she could speak again.

‘It is the Morvran, commanded by Bleidbara of-’

The man was already turning and shouting orders. Fidelma had an uneasy feeling.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Where is Boric, who commands the guard here?’

‘You will precede me to the fortress,’ snapped the man, his hand resting lightly on his sword.

With a sinking heart she suddenly realised that these were not the guards that had been left behind by Bleidbara. And now there was no way to warn Bleidbara. With her thoughts racing, she was forced to walk on, the warrior two paces behind her, his hand ready on his sword. She followed the path up to the gate in the outer wall and through the door that eventually led into the kitchen area of the fortress. Guards were placed at all the entrances.

Fidelma asked herself how the fortress of Brilhag had managed to fall into the hands of these men. They were well-clothed, well-armed and seemed highly disciplined. They were not as she had imagined the brigands of the Koulm ar Maro.

She was pushed firmly through the kitchens and finally into the familiar great hall.

Two men were standing before the fire, their features distorted by the flickering light. They looked up in surprise as Fidelma was ushered roughly into the room.

One of them — a tall, well-built man of over fifty, with long reddish hair and a beard, whose features seemed quite pleasant and handsome, took a step forward. His face seemed oddly familiar to Fidelma. His eyes were pale and she was not sure whether they were blue or grey. He was richly attired and wore a golden necklet and armbands.

‘Who are you, lady?’ he began.

Fidelma, angry with herself at being thus caught, replied angrily, ‘Who are you? And by what right do your men hold me prisoner?’

The man’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment at her fearless attitude. His companion, an elderly man with grey hair, chuckled as if witnessing a joke.

‘Lady,’ replied the tall man solemnly, ‘I am called Alain of Domnonia and am King of the Bretons. By this right, do I do all things. And now, please answer me: who are you?’

Another figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall, saying, ‘It is the stranger I told you of, Father. She is Fidelma of Hibernia.’

King Alain took a few rapid paces towards Fidelma with hands outstretched.

‘Fidelma of Hibernia — welcome! Riwanon and Budic have told me all about you, and how you came to be here. So I welcome you, but at the same time ask you to accept my sorrow for the suffering that you have been put through. Your Cousin Bressal had been an honoured guest at my court when we agreed a treaty between my people and your brother, the King of Muman. It grieves my heart to hear of his death and your distress. Where is your companion, Eadulf the Saxon?’

Instead of replying, Fidelma glanced towards Budic, who had perched himself with a grin on the table, with one leg swinging. It seemed his favourite posture. Then her eyes turned to the elderly man by the fire. His features, too, seemed familiar. Alain noticed her examination and smiled.

‘I crave your indulgence for not making the introduction. This is the mac’htiern of Brilhag, Lord Canao.’

The elderly man came forward, and Fidelma now realised why his features were familiar. There was the reflection of Macliau and of Trifina on them. Whereas Macliau’s features were weak, those of Canao, his father, were strong and held a quality of wisdom and maturity that seemed lacking in his son.

The lord of Brilhag held out his hand.