The Dove of Death (8 page)

‘Not far from here is an island which is now called Enez ar Manac’h – the Island of Monks. Maelcar initially went there to live out the hermit’s life. He did not remain there long, however, but came back to the abbey. He lived a pious life and the old Abbot made him his steward. The community thought well of him, and when the Abbot died, he was elected to the post. No sooner was he settled in that office than he expelled all the females from the abbey and told the members that they must take vows of celibacy and agree to follow the rule of Benedict. And that is how it is in the Abbey of Gildas today.’

Brother Metellus coughed nervously at this recital.

‘I have some matters to attend to – items to be gathered for my eventual return to Houdig,’ he said apologetically. ‘My friends, I will leave you in the hands of Aourken and return here later.’

As Brother Metellus left them, Aourken said, ‘Poor Brother Metellus. He is a Roman, you know. Another of those who feels constrained to live an unnatural life as a statement of his Faith.
Why did God make men and women if He wanted them to live as eunuchs?’ She laughed at her own humour.

Fidelma and Eadulf were ushered inside the dark but homely stone cottage and shown a room to sleep and where they might wash. Within a short while they were seated on a wooden bench outside, for the afternoon was now warm. Aourken provided them with a pitcher of cider and bowls to drink it from as well as fresh bread, goat’s cheese and some apples.

The woman came and sat with them on a stool by the door. She had placed a bag of wool before her and taken out a distaff and spindle. Helping herself to a handful of wool, she wound it loosely on the distaff; then, using her left hand, the material was gradually drawn onto the spindle, which was held in the right hand. She did it automatically, unconscious of her dexterity, and chatting all the while.

‘I take the thread to my cousin who lives at that cottage at the end there,’ she jerked her head to indicate the place. ‘She will weave the thread into garments for me.’

‘Do you keep your own sheep them?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Bless you, no. I keep goats. I exchange goat’s cheese and milk for the wool.’

‘It must be a hard life, without…without…’ Eadulf became embarrassed.

‘Without a man?’ she queried. ‘My husband was a good fisherman. He and two others were drowned in the entrance of the Morbihan, which means the Little Sea. The tide flows quickly there and sometimes it can be too quick for safety’s sake. One of the fishing boats got into trouble. My husband and his friends went to its aid and their own boat was swept onto the rocks, smashed to firewood and they drowned. The sea is a hard taskmaster. Anyway, the other fisherfolk here see that I get a portion of their catch so that I want for nothing. In turn I supply them with my goat’s cheese. That is our way.’

Fidelma nodded approval. ‘It is also the way of my own people,’ she said before adding: ‘You have a comfortable place here.’

‘We are sheltered here,’ Aourken agreed.

‘In my land, we keep many pets,’ Fidelma began.

‘My goats are my pets,’ replied the woman.

‘And cats?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Oh yes, there are several cats in the village.’

‘I thought I saw a black cat earlier.’

Eadulf suddenly realised where her question was leading.

Aourken looked baffled. ‘I have never seen a black cat here because our people think them a symbol of bad luck. To be honest, most people believe they carry demons and have special supernatural abilities. Black cats aren’t welcomed here. The old ones say that they are human beings, undergoing punishment for evil deeds.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘In my land, it is the very opposite – for the wives of fishermen keep black cats, especially while their husbands are at sea, because they believe they will prevent danger coming against them.’

Aourken was silent as she continued her work with distaff and spindle.

‘Why are you interested in black cats?’ she asked after a while.

‘There was a black cat on the
Barnacle Goose
. It was rather a special cat.’

‘Fidelma thought she saw it in the abbey grounds,’ Eadulf said, only to receive a frown from Fidelma.

‘I
did
see the cat,’ she insisted. ‘It is identifiable by a lump of pitch that was stuck to the back of its neck.’

‘So, you think that this cat managed to get from the ship to here?’ Aourken pursed her lips. ‘Well, no large ships have anchored in this bay for as long as I recall.’

Fidelma shifted her weight on the bench and stared at the mug of cider in her hand thoughtfully for a moment or two.

‘Is there anywhere along this coast where large ships can take refuge?’ she asked outright. There was little use in being subtle. ‘You mentioned raids against the farmsteads here.’

Aourken stopped her spinning for a moment and observed Fidelma with her keen eyes. She said nothing. Fidelma decided to be honest with the woman, for her personality invited trust.

‘You see, it occurred to me that the vessel might have come from somewhere along this coast,’ Fidelma continued. ‘When we approached the coastline from the south, it looked fairly open and with no natural harbours. But I was wondering if there was anywhere that a raiding ship could hide. Somewhere it could take a captive ship. The cat must have managed to get ashore near here.’

Aourken shrugged. ‘I am afraid that there are many such places,’ she answered, as she resumed her task at the spindle.

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance.

‘From what we saw, we thought the beaches were fairly shallow and open, and the rocky places do not indicate a sheltered harbour.’

‘That is only along this southerly coast,’ replied the woman. ‘But we are on a small peninsula – it is like a finger that sticks out. At the base of the finger is the abbey; at the tip of the finger is Noalou, a headland. There is a sea channel between that and another headland, Penn hir. That’s the very channel where my husband lost his life.
That
channel leads from the Great Sea into the Morbihan, an area surrounded by land all except that channel into it and rivers. And in the Little Sea there are countless islands where ships and men can hide for all eternity.’

Fidelma was frowning with concentration as she followed her description.

‘But you said this channel was dangerous? Could a large vessel enter into it?’

‘If it is crewed by good seamen and the vessel is sturdy enough. One can only enter in and go out when the tide is right.’

‘The right tide?’ Fidelma was trying to remember something. Then she envisaged the slight white-robed form.
‘Quickly now or the tide will be against us!’
Was that what the murderous captain meant? Had he been anxious to get through that particular channel?

‘I should like to see this Morbihan,’ she said.

‘That is easy. All you need to do is take the westerly path towards Noalou. Before you reach it, there is a hill nearby, which we call Ar mont bihan, the Little Height, on which there stands a great stone place built by the ancients – the tomb of some great king, so the old ones say: Tumieg’s tomb. If you stand there, you will have a view across the peninsula to the Little Sea, and will be able to observe its vastness and all the islands in it.’

‘You said there are many islands?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Yes, indeed. I’ve heard it said there is one island for every day of the year. No one has ever counted them, though my husband once said that there are around a hundred, counting the lumps of rock that rise out of the sea.’

Eadulf suppressed a whistle of surprise. ‘That is enough. Are they all large?’

‘Many are large enough to be inhabited.’

‘How far away is this height where we can view the Little Sea?’ The question came from Fidelma.

‘Five kilometres on a good path.’

Fidelma glanced up at the sky and Eadulf, seeing the movement, said nervously: ‘We would not have time to go there and return before nightfall.’

Aourken nodded sympathetically. ‘Brother Eadulf is right. You would have no time now before nightfall. Anyway, if you were looking for a ship at anchor, then you have no chance at all because it would be dusk. Indeed, my dear, that ship could easily be hidden behind any one of the islands. Make no mistake; we are not talking about a lake. That is why we call it the Little Sea. From one side to the other is half the distance to Houdig, where you came from, and far more than that wide. There are inlets and rivers – not to mention the islands. You could lose an entire fleet of warships there. This was the very heartland of the great Veneti who fought the Romans in the ancient times.’

‘You seem to know it well?’ Eadulf said.

‘When I first went with my husband, I sailed with him through those waters,’ she said. Then observing that her spindle was full, she placed it beside her and drew forth another one.

Fidelma glanced reluctantly at the sky again. ‘Tomorrow, early, we shall walk to this place. The tomb of Tumieg, you say? We will examine this Little Sea for ourselves.’

‘You are a strange lady, in truth,’ Aourken commented. ‘If it were me, I would be merely content that I had been preserved from the attack of these pirates and head for my home as quickly as I could. I would not wish to put myself in the way of encountering those evil people again.’

‘I have a duty to the dead and to justice,’ replied Fidelma simply. ‘And if there is a chance that some of the crew of the vessel that we were on are still alive, then it is my duty also to effect the rescue.’

‘Then God protect you in that desire,’ the woman sighed. ‘Ah, here is Brother Metellus coming back to join us.’

The stocky Roman came striding down the path to where they sat, and they saw he was smiling happily.

‘Good news,’ he greeted them, waving aside an offer of cider from Aourken. ‘I came to tell you that there is word that Biscam,
the merchant, and his brothers are close by. They should be at the abbey tomorrow before nightfall. They will stay with us no more than a day or so, which means I can soon head back to Houdig and you can both be on your way to Naoned.’

‘Good news, indeed,’ Eadulf responded, but he was aware that Fidelma did not seem to share their enthusiasm.

‘We’ve just been discussing the situation, Brother Metellus,’ she said quietly. ‘It seems there is a possibility that the ship that attacked us and captured the
Barnacle Goose
might be harboured in a place called the Little Sea.’

Brother Metellus was astonished. ‘Morbihan!’ he exclaimed. He glanced at Aourken. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘I was just telling them about the Little Sea.’ The elderly woman shrugged. ‘I made no other speculation.’

‘Do not blame Aourken,’ Fidelma said. ‘Some instinct tells me that the attackers came from along this coast and took the
Barnacle Goose
back to their hiding-place. I have now learned there is an entrance here into an inner sea which is where the ship could have come from.’

Brother Metellus drew up a stool to sit down.

‘Have you heard of such a vessel in those waters, Aourken?’ he demanded of the woman as she continued to work with distaff and spindle.

‘In truth, I have not, Brother,’ she responded obediently. ‘Although some of the farms have been raided by strangers and their barns burned and stock taken. No one knows where these raiders came from. But if they came from a ship that had somehow managed to hide in Morbihan, you could search for all eternity and not find it.’

‘I agree,’ Brother Metellus said heavily. ‘I have seen the extent of Morbihan, the Little Sea. Even if you were given months and a fast sail boat, you could not hope to search it thoroughly.’

‘I still intend to examine this place tomorrow morning from the mound you inform me of,’ Fidelma set her features stubbornly.

‘I told her of the grave of Tumieg,’ explained Aourken.

Brother Metellus actually smiled.

‘In that case, once you have seen the extent of the Morbihan, you will realise that what I say is correct. And by tomorrow evening, Biscam will be here and you will soon be able to start your journey home.’

Fidelma had risen early the next day and, with Eadulf, set off on the path that Aourken had pointed out. The journey had not been profitable other than providing them with some breathtaking views of the sea and countryside that surrounded them. They had seen no more of the black cat that Fidelma had identified as Luchtigern – the Mouse Lord – from the
Barnacle Goose
. Eadulf was still unsure whether Fidelma had correctly identified the animal or not. It seemed incredible that it had escaped from the ship. The fruitless walk to the grave of Tumieg and back had not put him in a good mood.

It was true that the walk around the sandy bay, keeping to the high ground above it, and then climbing to the ancient stone barrow, was pleasant enough in the sun. However, Eadulf was concerned at Fidelma’s lack of interest at securing their immediate homeward passage and her idea that she could track down their attackers. Reaching the spot to which they had been directed, the highest point so far as they could see, they had been met with a spectacular view to the north of an inland sea dotted with a myriad of islands. So many that they seemed to merge into one another as if they were one mass of land. Only now and then did the passage of a small boat show the channels between the islands.

The main movement was the circling birds above – mallards, plovers and even teals – all combining the cacophony of their cries into a noisy concert of protest at human presence around the mound. Fidelma and Eadulf saw no sign of anyone on their journey there, nor as they stood looking across the strange seascape before them.

Fidelma stared hard at the islands, but there were no anchored ships that resembled either the
Barnacle Goose
or the sleek black ship that had attacked them. She was reluctant to drag herself away from the scene and it was Eadulf who finally voiced the conclusion.

‘The old woman was right. Aourken told us that this Little Sea was so vast and thick with islands that, even if the
Barnacle Goose
had been brought there, we might not be able to find it if we scoured the area for months in a small boat.’

Fidelma sighed; the slump of her shoulders indicating resignation.

‘Yet where did that cat come from?’ she demanded.

Eadulf decided to take the question as rhetorical and refrained from answering.

She delayed a moment longer, sweeping the horizon with her keen eyes, before turning and suggesting that they begin their return journey. In other circumstances, Eadulf might have enjoyed the warmth and smells of the countryside, the gentle whispering of the nearby sea as it teased the coast. Even the crying birds, the multi-species, should have provided a distracting interest but failed in the circumstances.

The sun was past its zenith when they reached Aourken’s stone cabin and found the woman taking fresh bread from her clay oven. She smiled at their arrival and immediately bustled about to provide them with bowls of fish soup and fresh bread.

‘You saw the Little Sea?’ asked the woman, after they were seated.

‘It was everything you said it was,’ Eadulf answered philosophically.

Aourken looked at Fidelma keenly. ‘But you did not see what you were hoping to see?’

‘I saw what you told me that I would see,’ Fidelma admitted quietly. ‘I saw little else.’

Aourken nodded thoughtfully. ‘It is a beautiful place. But, I am thinking that you were not looking at the beauty.’

‘You are right.’

‘The sea and sadness go together,’ reflected the old woman. ‘Come, sit you down and eat. You have had a long walk.’

Fidelma sat down, feeling depressed. She had been hoping against hope that she would have been able to discover something that would lead her to an explanation of Luchtigern’s strange appearance at the abbey. The only way that the animal could have arrived there was if the ship itself had put into some harbour close by. But why would he desert the ship which had always been his home? She knew a male cat was more likely to wander than a female, but a ship’s cat was usually very territorial.

‘If the pirates were hiding somewhere in Morbihan,’ volunteered Aourken, ‘as Brother Metellus said, there is hardly a chance at all of spotting them…’ She paused as she was placing bread on the table and suddenly looked thoughtful. Fidelma caught her change of expression.

‘You have thought of something?’ she asked hopefully.

‘If there is a sea-raider in these waters then perhaps our
mac’htiern
might have word of it.’

‘The lord of this territory?’ enquired Eadulf. ‘This Lord Canao who has been mentioned?’

‘Our chieftain, he occupies the
curule magistracies
.’

‘But we were told he was not here but at Naoned,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Aourken shrugged at the news. ‘So he has not returned? I did not know. A pity. He is a good man and is patron of the abbey. I taught his daughters Latin grammar when they were young.’ She sighed with nostalgic remembrance. ‘That I do miss, although they were a handful. The younger daughter – well, she was his foster-daughter – was very ambitious and, alas, very arrogant.’ The old woman smiled wistfully. ‘She once told me that when she grew up, she would rule not only this peninsula but all of Bro-Waroch and every kingdom of the Bretons…’

Eadulf had been listening patiently. ‘A shame if this Lord of Brilhag is in Naoned.’

‘If anyone had knowledge it would have been him,’ Aourken agreed. ‘But perhaps his son, Macliau, might help. However, he is not half the man his father is. He indulges himself too much with wine and…well, with women.’

‘We were not told he had a son. Where would we find him?’

‘You would go to see him?’ She was a little surprised.

‘It is the only way to acquire information,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘He dwells at his father’s fortress of Brilhag, which is on the north coast of this peninsula. It, too, overlooks the Morbihan.’

‘Perhaps we could start now and—’

But Fidelma did not have time to end her sentence before the sound of hurrying footfalls came to their ears. A moment later Brother Metellus appeared. He was breathing rapidly from his exertion and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead. Something had clearly put him in a state of distress.

‘What is it, Brother?’ asked Aourken, rising to greet him.

Brother Metellus halted before them and tried to recover himself.

‘I have news of Biscam and his brothers,’ he said between gasps.

‘He has arrived at the abbey?’ Eadulf asked.

‘He has not,’ Brother Metellus replied hollowly, turning with a tragic face towards him. ‘The news is terrible.’

‘Perhaps you will be good enough to tell us what this news is. Where is this man Biscam?’ Fidelma demanded.

‘Dead, Sister,’ replied Brother Metellus, turning back to her. ‘He and his brothers were attacked and their donkeys and goods were stolen. It happened only a mile from the abbey.’

Brother Eadulf grimaced and said: ‘That is indeed terrible.’

‘I think,’ intervened Fidelma gently, ‘that Brother Metellus would not be telling us this news unless it held a deeper meaning for us.’

The monk nodded. ‘One of Biscam’s drivers managed to survive. He is badly wounded but somehow he was able to crawl to the abbey. I think it better if you come with me and hear what he has to say.’

‘You make it sound intriguing, my friend, but as you’ll recall, Abbot Maelcar made it quite clear that I was not welcome in the abbey.’

‘Then let Brother Eadulf come with me, for this should be heard.’

Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘As you are so insistent, let us all go to see this man. If Abbot Maelcar is concerned that my presence will destroy the spirituality of his community, then I will stand aside and Eadulf may listen to what there is to say. Where is the man now?’

‘There is a little house behind the chapel, set aside for the ailing sick of the community,’ Brother Metellus said, looking relieved. ‘Biscam’s man is there.’

‘You said that he is badly wounded,’ Eadulf said. ‘Has he been attended to?’

Brother Metellus nodded quickly. ‘We have a good apothecary in the abbey and his wounds have been dressed and tended. But the man has lost a lot of blood.’

They excused themselves from Aourken’s presence and followed Brother Metellus back to the abbey buildings.

‘What is this man’s name?’ asked Fidelma as they hurried along the path.

‘Berran. He worked for Biscam and his brothers.’

‘You have intrigued me as to what Berran might say that is of such importance,’ Fidelma said. ‘Is this one of the raids on local farms that Aourken told us about?’

‘I don’t know. I had not heard of them until yesterday, for I have been on my island for quite a while.’ Brother Metellus fell silent and so they followed him without any further questions back to the abbey. He led the way straight to a small building behind the chapel. It was a single room in which some wooden cots were placed, only one of which was occupied. A tall thin religious stood nearby administering some dark-coloured liquid. He looked up with a frown of disapproval as they entered.

‘The man needs rest,’ he admonished Brother Metellus in a whisper. ‘Sleep is the great healer in such cases.’ Then he seemed to notice Fidelma for the first time and his jaw slackened a little.

‘Sister Fidelma is here with my authority, Brother,’ Brother Metellus said quickly before he could raise another objection. Fidelma had looked quickly at the figure in the bed.

‘Is the prognosis good?’ she asked quietly.

‘It is not a life-threatening wound, if that is what you mean,’ the physician murmured. ‘He has lost blood and has pain from the wound, but he is young, and youth and time will lead to a good recovery.’

‘Has Abbot Maelcar been here to see him?’ asked Brother Metellus.

‘He has. The Abbot has just returned to his own chambers.’

‘Good.’ Brother Metellus ushered them to the bedside. They were surprised to see that the man who lay there was conscious;
his eyes were focused on them, though it was plain to see that he was in some discomfort. ‘Hello, Berran,’ Brother Metellus spoke gently. ‘This will not take but a moment. I just want you to repeat to Sister Fidelma here exactly what you told us about the attack.’

Berran was, indeed, a young man, but his face was lined and weather-beaten and also furrowed with deep lines of pain. The eyes were dark and almost fathomless as he turned towards her.

‘We…’ he licked a tongue over his parched lips. ‘We were not far from the abbey. Biscam thought we should reach it by mid-morning. We had fifteen donkeys laden with goods and there were five of us – Biscam, his two brothers, my friend Brioc and myself. The journey from Naoned had been without incident…’

He blinked and paused.

‘It all happened so suddenly. I felt a pain and was knocked over by a blow on the shoulder. It was an arrow. I fell to the ground and was aware of my comrades falling around me. I heard their cries of surprise and pain, then I passed out. The attackers must have thought I was dead like the others but when I woke up, the donkeys and their packs were gone and only the dead lay on the forest pathway. I saw Biscam, his brothers…all dead. Only I survived.’

‘Tell the Sister what you saw before you passed out,’ Brother Metellus urged.

‘I saw the attackers emerging from the trees and bushes that lined the path. They had their bows ready in their hands and swords as well…’

‘And…?’ pressed Brother Metellus.

‘Their leader…’

‘Yes, their leader?’ cajoled the Roman. ‘Tell us of their leader.’

‘He was dressed all in white and wore a mask. He was a thin man with a shrill voice.’

Fidelma exhaled softly and glanced at Eadulf. She turned back to the wounded man.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?’ she whispered.

Berran was obviously trying to recall. ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘I was overcome with pain and passed out. In fact, I kept coming to and crawling along the path, knowing that I would eventually get to the abbey.’

Brother Metellus turned to Fidelma. ‘You see why you had to hear this? The leader was dressed in white as you described.’

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

‘Tell me, Berran, have you ever heard any rumours or stories about robbers in this area? Was this the first time you have been attacked in this fashion?’

The young man’s lips twisted in a spasm of pain before he answered. ‘I have heard nothing of merchants being attacked in this area of Bro-Waroch. There were stories of some attacks on farmsteads when we entered the peninsula two days ago. But there has never been any trouble before.’

‘Forgive me asking you again, Berran, but can you tell us anything more about the identity of these attackers? Apart from their leader, a slim man clad in white, you say?’

‘That is all I can recall.’

‘And you have no idea of where they came fr—’

‘Enough!’ The voice at the door was harsh.

They swung round to see Abbot Maelcar gazing angrily from the doorway.

‘Did I not make myself clear, Sister Fidelma?’ His eyes narrowed on her. ‘You are not welcome in the abbey precincts and certainly
not
in these buildings reserved for sick members of our community!’

Brother Metellus took a step forward. ‘It is my fault, Father Abbot. The people who attacked Sister Fidelma and Brother
Eadulf at sea are the same that attacked Biscam and his men. I felt that she should hear what Berran had to say.’

Abbot Maelcar sniffed disapprovingly. ‘You dare disobey me? You knew my orders!’

‘Isn’t it more important to discover who these murderers are, than keep strictly to the rules of the community?’ Brother Metellus asked defiantly.

Abbot Maelcar’s features reddened. His eyes flashed with fury.

‘You still defy me?’ His voice rose sharply.

‘Abbot Maelcar,’ Fidelma spoke quietly. ‘We are in the presence of a sick man in the infirmary. If you wish to raise your voice, then we should repair outside and away from this place.’

The Abbot’s mouth opened in astonishment and he seemed at a loss for a moment at what he considered her impudence.

Eadulf knew that she was doing no more than obeying the law that appertained in her own land. The laws of how hospitals were run were very precise, and nothing that disturbed the peace of the patients was to be allowed within a certain area of the house where the sick were being nursed – no barking dogs or noisy people. He moved forward, slightly in front of Fidelma, facing the Abbot, and spoke softly but firmly.