The Dove of Death sf-20

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘And therefore…?’ came Riwanon’s prompt.

  ‘There is none. Whoever killed the Abbot knew the way in and out of his room. Also, they must have known which bedchamber he had been assigned.’

  Iuna shifted nervously in her chair.

  ‘Which means?’ demanded Riwanon.

  ‘The conclusion, according to Iuna’s statement,’ Fidelma went on, ‘can only be that the killer left in the darkness moments before she came down the corridor. That someone has to have access to this fortress and know their way about this building, even to the location of the room where the Abbot was sleeping.’

  ‘Supposing that it was the Abbot who was the intended victim…’ Budic still had a trace of a smile on his face.

  Fidelma turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Can you expound on that remark?’ she asked.

  ‘Perhaps this killer was not committing a premeditated murder. Perhaps they were merely a thief, a thief who wandered into a room by chance, woke the occupant by accident and struck out to silence him.’

  ‘It is an interesting theory,’ said Riwanon. ‘Perhaps we should make a search for missing items?’

  ‘I doubt whether anything is missing.’ Fidelma’s expression did not change. ‘And it would still mean that the killer had knowledge enough to wander this place at night, knowing their way around. There is one other thing that we are already forgetting.’

  ‘Which is?’ Riwanon leaned eagerly forwards.

  ‘The strange message that brought the Abbot here yesterday. It purported to be from your husband, Riwanon. Was that message designed to lure the Abbot here, to bring him to his death?’

  ‘Lure?’ Brother Metellus’ brows were drawn together. ‘You mean that the message was purposely sent to bring him here, for him to be killed? That sounds dramatic.’

  ‘It is something to be considered,’ Fidelma said calmly.

  ‘But who could have done such a thing?’

  ‘Isn’t that what we are discussing?’ Riwanon sighed impatiently. ‘All I can say is that the message was not sent by my husband.’

  ‘The point is,’ Eadulf intervened, ‘who would want to kill Abbot Maelcar?’

  Brother Metellus could not restrain a chuckle, saying, ‘He was not the most likeable of men. There are plenty who would not shed a tear at his demise.’

  ‘According to what you have told us, Brother Metellus, that would include yourself?’ Fidelma pointed out dryly.

  His shoulders tensed for a moment before he relaxed with a rueful laugh.

  ‘Just so, lady,’ he conceded. ‘As well as many members of the community at Gildas. And there are many more who are no longer of the community, those whom the abbot expelled when they did not agree with his new Rule, who would doubtless bear a grudge against him.’

  Fidelma turned to Iuna. ‘One more question:…how well did you know Abbot Maelcar?’

  Iuna started. ‘Know him?’

  ‘Abbot Maelcar did know you, didn’t he?’ she said, before the girl could deny it. ‘I saw from his expression that he recognised you last night.’

  The girl regained her composure quickly, saying, ‘He has been to Brilhag several times to see Lord Canao. Of course, I know him.’

  ‘He seemed to be arguing with you in the kitchen last night,’ Fidelma said gently.

  Iuna looked shocked for a second, and then sighed. ‘He was remonstrating with me for not making Confession under his new religious rule.’

  Fidelma saw the closed look on the girl’s face and realised that pursuing things further at this stage would not help them make progress.

  ‘I think we can allow you to go and change out of that bloodstained gown,’ she said gently.

  The girl rose, glanced at Riwanon, who nodded as if to confirm Fidelma’s suggestion, and hurried off.

  Fidelma turned to Brother Metellus. ‘Do you know the scribe who accompanied the Abbot here?

  ‘Brother Ebolbain? Not well at all. Only by sight.’

  ‘Will you find him and bring him here? We should hear if he has anything to add to the reason why the Abbot came here.’

  Brother Metellus left the great hall.

  Fidelma went to the table where, at the beginning of the gathering, she had placed something wrapped in a cloth. Now she carefully unwrapped it and held it up, so that Riwanon could see it.

  ‘I wonder if you recognise this, lady?’ she asked.

  Riwanon frowned at the object.

  ‘Why would I recognise it, apart from the fact that it’s a knife?’

  ‘Examine it,’ invited Fidelma.

  ‘It’s a hunting knife.’

  ‘Rather it is a dagger used in warfare,’ Fidelma corrected. ‘But what I wanted you to particularly notice, and express if it means anything to you, is the symbol engraved on the handpiece.’

  Riwanon peered closer. ‘It is an image of a bird, a dove. Oh, that is the symbol of the house of Brilhag.’

  ‘And this was the knife that was embedded in the chest of the Abbot,’ Fidelma explained solemnly.

  Riwanon seemed unperturbed.

  ‘Then it is a dagger that belongs to this household. It would probably mean that the killer grabbed the first item to hand to kill the Abbot. Ah, I see. That would mean that it was not a premeditated act.’ She smiled. ‘You see, I have observed our own advocates pleading in the courts and know some of the ways of their thinking.’

  ‘Or it could mean that the killer was part of this household,’ Fidelma corrected her. ‘Thus they would have access to the Abbot’s chamber. And who would leave a war dagger lying about? I noticed that Macliau, when he greeted us, was most particular about the placing of weapons in a room for safety. He told us that his people share an old custom with mine. No weapons were brought into the great hall but kept in that small room, over there.’ She indicated the chamber at the end of the great hall, which Macliau had showed them.

  ‘The custom is so strong that even your bodyguard, Budic, last night handed his weapons over. That means that the killer would have had to collect the dagger from that armoury, taking the key from its hook to unlock the door. I checked this morning. The door was still unlocked.’

  ‘In which case it was a premeditated act,’ Eadulf finished. ‘And the dove…’

  Fidelma frowned warningly at him as she said, ‘Exactly. The dove is symbol of this household.’

  The door opened and Brother Metellus returned. Trailing in his wake was a small, balding man, peering nervously about him in shortsighted fashion. His eyes were large and round, almost owl-like.

  ‘This is Brother Ebolbain,’ announced Brother Metellus, adding: ‘I have informed him what has happened.’

  The little man nodded emphatically, moving his head up and down rapidly in a birdlike motion.

  ‘The Abbot slain! Terrible! Terrible!’ he muttered.

  ‘Come forward, Brother Ebolbain,’ instructed Fidelma, pointing to a spot before them. She re-wrapped the dagger and placed it back on the table. ‘Do you know who that lady is?’ She indicated Riwanon.

  Brother Ebolbain continued the jerking of his head as he mumbled, ‘Riwanon. The wife of our King, Alain Hir.’

  ‘I am Fidelma of Hibernia and have been requested by your Queen to ask some questions about the death of Abbot Maelcar. Do you understand?’

  Brother Ebolbain looked from Fidelma to Riwanon and back again.

  ‘I suppose so. I saw you outside the abbey infirmary when you were there a few days ago.’

  ‘So tell us, how did you and the Abbot come here?’

  ‘We came by foot, Sister,’ replied the monk ingenuously.

  ‘I meant, what caused you to come here,’ corrected Fidelma.

  ‘The Abbot told me to do so.’

  Budic, still seated on the table, sniggered.

  ‘Did he explain why?’ asked Fidelma patiently.

  ‘Oh yes, he told me that the messenger had instructed him to meet the King, your husband,’ he turned to Riwanon, ‘as a ma
tter of urgency.’

  ‘Did you see this messenger?’

  ‘Oh yes. He was in the Abbot’s study when the Abbot called me in.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  This instruction caused the scribe’s eyebrows to raise. He hesitated a moment.

  ‘He was ordinary. A messenger — that’s all. There was nothing to mark him apart.’

  ‘He wore no insignia, nothing to denote he was a King’s messenger, no sign that most heralds affect to show their office?’

  Brother Eboblain shrugged. ‘I suppose he must have shown the Abbot some badge of his office. I did not see it. One warrior looks much like another, to me.’

  ‘So he was accoutred as a warrior? He carried shield and sword?’ Fidelma said quickly.

  ‘I suppose he did. I did not notice.’ He thought a moment. ‘Yes, he did have a shield.’

  ‘Was there an emblem on it?’

  ‘Probably. I can’t recall. I know that, as I entered, the youth left and said he would precede us to this fortress. I have seen no sign of him among the warriors here. I have been told that the King and his escort are yet to arrive.’

  ‘You said that the youth left. The messenger was young then?’ Fidelma persisted in a calm voice.

  ‘He was slightly built and did not have much stubble on his face. Thereby I presumed him to be a youth. In all honesty, I did not look closely at him, for the Abbot was then giving me instructions.’

  ‘And these instructions were?’

  ‘To accompany him here.’

  ‘Did the Abbot say anything on your journey? Anything that would relate to the reason why the King had asked to meet him?’

  The balding little man shook his head.

  ‘Can you make a guess?’

  ‘It is not my place to guess, lady.’

  ‘Perhaps guess is the wrong word,’ replied Fidelma patiently. ‘Did you have any thoughts as to this matter?’

  The scribe sniffed at the rewording of the question.

  ‘It is my task to serve the Abbot and not to express my thoughts on the whys and wherefores of the orders he gives me.’

  Eadulf suppressed a sound that was between a bark of laughter and a snort. Fidelma bit her own lip.

  ‘It will be a sorry world when no one can express an opinion,’ she sighed, ‘or if no one even has an opinion.’

  The elderly scribe flushed, stung by the rebuke.

  ‘The Rule of the Blessed Benedict says that the first degree of humility is obedience without delay,’ he snapped. ‘It is the virtue of those who serve Christ and fear hell’s damnation that as soon as anything has been ordered by the superior, the Abbot, it is received as a divine command and there should be no delay in executing it, for the obedience given to the Abbot is given to God.’

  Fidelma regarded him sadly.

  ‘So, if Abbot Maelcar had told you to go to a high cliff and jump off, you would have obeyed it as a divine command?’

  Budic broke into a laugh as the scribe’s brows came together in a puzzled expression.

  ‘He would not have ordered it.’

  ‘But if he had? You say that you must obey every superior of the Faith, whatever orders they give you?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Indeed, you are right, for that is the Rule of Benedict. But in such a matter it cannot be taken so literally,’ Brother Ebolbain replied stubbornly.

  ‘Where in the Rule does it say that?’ Fidelma responded sharply. ‘Are you saying that, in spite of the Rule, you can pick and choose which ones to obey? We have recently been at the Council in Autun where this Rule has been debated. There is nowhere in the Rule that says that you can choose what orders you will obey.’

  ‘You have clearly not read the Rule properly, Sister,’ protested the scribe. ‘There is such a Rule if the order is unreasonable.’

  Fidelma eyes sparkled.

  ‘I know the Rule well, for it has been my task to examine it to see if it is contrary to the laws of my people,’ she told him. ‘You are the one who misunderstands, Brother. What the Rule actually says is, if a Brother is given a difficult or impossible task he must receive the order with meekness and obedience. If the task is beyond his strength, he may go to the superior and submit his reasons for his inability to carry it out. And if the superior still insists on the order, the Brother must obey, relying only on the help of God. There is no choice, my friend. No choice. Blind obedience is an evil. Caeci caecos ducentes! The blind lead the blind.’

  Even Eadulf stirred uneasily as her voice grew angry. He knew that Fidelma did not tolerate those who never questioned and went blindly through life obeying rules.

  Brother Ebolbain stood stiffly before her.

  ‘I have my beliefs,’ he said slowly. ‘My loyalty is to my Abbot.’

  ‘And since he is dead? Then to whom?’

  ‘Whoever is appointed his successor.’

  She shook her head in frustration and dismissed him with a wave.

  ‘Well, my sister from Hibernia, you seem to have strong views.’ Riwanon was regarding her with amusement. ‘Also, it seems that you have an adherence to the old beliefs of your people.’

  ‘I dislike the idea that one should obey and not question, no matter how extreme the order. I especially dislike it in those who are presumably bestowed with intelligence. In them it is a sin worse than ignorance, for as we often preach, ignorance does not excuse one from responsibility. How can we do this if we teach them to obey without understanding?’

  ‘You are angry, my sister.’

  ‘Such things do anger me, Riwanon. Forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, for I am in accord with you.’ She paused a moment and then said: ‘I suppose we must despatch Brother Ebolbain back to the abbey to inform the community there of what has happened. Perhaps some of the mac’htiern’s attendants can transport the body of the Abbot back to the abbey for the interment?’

  Brother Metellus began to speak and then stopped.

  Fidelma turned to look at him enquiringly. ‘You have a thought, Brother Metellus?’

  ‘I just wondered if I should return with Brother Ebolbain. I am a member of the community. If a new Abbot is to be chosen by the brethren, I would not like the decision to be made precipitately or without an opportunity to express my opinion.’

  ‘Would they choose one so soon? Should not the obsequies for Abbot Maelcar be conducted first?’ queried Eadulf.

  Brother Metellus pulled a cynical face.

  ‘Abbot Maelcar gathered around him some, like Brother Ebolbain, who might be panicked into a wrong choice.’

  Riwanon now intervened.

  ‘Brother Metellus is correct that he should return to the abbey. To be honest, Brother Ebolbain does not seem a person who is able to present himself in a leadership role, and that is probably what is needed at this time. The community will be shocked and fearful. Brother Metellus here has the strength of character that is needed to guide them.’ It was a statement without guile or any hint of flattery. ‘I am sure that if a guide or interpreter are needed for you and Brother Eadulf, we can find someone to replace Brother Metellus in this role.’

  Fidelma was, in fact, reluctant to see Brother Metellus leave, for his knowledge of the area was invaluable. But she found herself assenting. As most people seemed to speak a form of Latin as well as their own tongue, she was not worried on that account.

  ‘You are right, Riwanon. I am too selfish in this matter. Of course, I agree that Brother Metellus should go to the abbey.’

  Brother Metellus smiled at her and Eadulf.

  ‘I will see you again soon. You will be waiting here for King Alain, no doubt. I may well return before his arrival.’

  After he had left, Riwanon excused herself to accompany her female attendants in a walk in the grounds while Budic muttered something about attending to the horses and also left.

  ‘What now?’ Eadulf asked Fidelma.

  ‘I am going to have a further word with Iuna,’ she said and, as Eadulf
made a movement to join her, she added: ‘You stay here. I think she might be more amenable to my questions without a witness. I want to challenge her about the subject of that argument with Abbot Maelcar.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Though I cannot see her revealing anything more than she has already.’

  ‘You do not know how revealing someone can be when they do not wish to answer questions,’ Fidelma replied dryly, then turned and went through the door that led into the kitchens.

  Eadulf lowered himself into one of the comfortable chairs by the fire with a deep sigh of relief. He turned matters over in his mind and came to the conclusion that, while he had been in worse situations, none had made him so uneasy. Was it being in an unfamiliar country whose language he did not speak, whose laws he did not know, which, combined with the mysteries with which they were faced, made things seem so malevolent and threatening? Sea-raiders…well, he certainly knew about them from the stories he had heard in Seaxmund’s Ham, where he had been brought up. The sea was nearby — the very shores across which raiders had come to plunder or to settle since time began, including his own people only a few centuries before.

  He was saddened for Fidelma’s loss of her cousin and her friend Murchad, the captain of the Barnacle Goose. But such things happened. It was a part of life, and life was brutal. Attacks on merchants and their goods — that, too, he knew about. And the murder of abbots was not unknown: Eadulf had been with Fidelma enough times when they had to investigate the untimely deaths of prelates. So what was the cause of the dark threatening atmosphere that seemed to be oppressing him? He had just settled to his analysis when the door through which Fidelma had vanished a few moments before, burst open and she stood there, flushed and slightly breathless.

  ‘Eadulf, come quickly.’

  He sprang up and went towards her.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘I have just seen Iuna in animated argument with Iarnbud and they have left the fortress,’ she replied, motioning him to follow her. ‘I want to know where they are going.’

  ‘Iuna and the old pagan? I didn’t think she liked the old man.’

  ‘Come. They are moving so fast, they might disappear before we catch up with them.’