The Dove of Death sf-20

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘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, someone who is beyond reproach. The people of this peninsula must be confident that the judge has no favouritism towards the family of the lord of Brilhag.’

  ‘Then we must send for a judge from Bro-Gernev,’ Brother Metellus suggested. ‘That is the neighbouring kingdom.’

  ‘Would that be acceptable to you, Barbatil?’ asked Fidelma.

  The farmer reluctantly indicated that if time was to be wasted in a legal hearing, then such a judge was better than one with a close association with Brilhag.

  ‘Very well.’ Fidelma glanced round at the company as they waited expectantly. ‘I would suggest that we secure an agreement with Barbatil there. Macliau may return to Brilhag and give his word of honour, swearing as a sacred oath, to present hims
elf before such a judge where this matter can be fairly heard. I presume that you have the same concept in your laws as we of Hibernia have in ours? A man is bound by his honour. He will make no attempt to escape or conceal himself from justice until the time comes for the hearing. And Barbatil must take a similar oath that he will not attempt to harm, or cause to be harmed, Macliau, while he resides at Brilhag awaiting this hearing. Can that be agreed?’

  Macliau was hesitant about leaving the safety of what he saw as the sanctuary of the abbey but, if guarantees were given, he agreed to accompany warriors back to Brilhag — but on a curious condition. He demanded that someone went to the farm of Barbatil to recover the carcass of his dog so that he could bury it at Brilhag.

  Barbatil took a little more persuading as he saw in the plan some plot to take Macliau to the safety of the fortress and deprive him and his family of justice. Fidelma argued long and ardently through Brother Metellus and finally the farmer agreed.

  Brother Metellus immediately despatched a messenger to the neighbouring western kingdom of Bro-Gernev, to ask King Gradlon to send a judge to hear the accusation against Macliau.

  ‘I suggest that we all return to Brilhag now, where we can await the coming of this bretat Bro-Gernev,’ Fidelma concluded.

  ‘It will probably take three or four days before the man can arrive here,’ Brother Metellus warned them. ‘Our messenger has to travel west to the city of Kemper, which lies at the junction of two rivers, a few days’ ride from here.’ He paused and then looked embarrassed. ‘I nearly forgot — the Widow Aourken was here earlier and asking to see you.’

  Fidelma was momentarily distracted because Trifina was still worried.

  ‘Let us make sure the mob understands that it is to allow us safe passage back to Brilhag.’ Trifina had swung round to Barbatil, who reddened under the fire in her eyes and from the tone of the young woman’s voice as she addressed him. Fidelma was not sure what she was telling the man. However, at the end of it, the farmer turned to Fidelma and spoke firmly and with dignity. Brother Metellus interpreted.

  ‘He says that he has given his oath to you, Fidelma. He will abide by it and instruct his family, his neighbours and his friends to keep it.’

  ‘Your word and honour is acceptable.’ Fidelma smiled reassuringly at him. ‘And Macliau will also keep his word.’

  They left the chapel and saw Barbatil walk across to his friend Coric and begin speaking with him. The little man was shaking his head in apparent disagreement but finally he shrugged, shouldered his weapons and strode off into the gathering dusk with Barbatil.

  Eadulf saw that Brother Metellus had been talking quietly to Fidelma and she turned to their companions.

  ‘Eadulf and I have some business to discuss with Brother Metellus before we return to Brilhag.’

  At once Bleidbara raised objections to leaving them alone there.

  ‘Lady, night will soon be upon us and who knows that the mob may change its mood? It is dangerous to be abroad without escort.’

  ‘I shall have Eadulf and Brother Metellus with me. And we shall not be long following you.’

  When Bleidbara insisted, she finally agreed that he should leave one of his men as their escort.

  When the rest of the party had left, she turned to Brother Metellus with a query in her eyes. ‘You say that Aourken wanted to see me?’

  ‘She did,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Then let us see what it is she wants.’

  Brother Metellus led the way along the path to the fishing village, the warrior walking a respectful distance behind. They went directly to Aourken’s cottage and found the elderly woman sitting outside, obviously awaiting them. She rose with a smile of welcome.

  ‘I have heard that much has happened since you left me,’ she greeted them, and offered them refreshment. ‘Biscam and his merchants dead, Abbot Maelcar murdered and Macliau, the son of the mac’htiern, accused of killing Argantken. I didn’t know Argantken well but her father Barbatil is a good man, a farmer who is well respected on this peninsula.’

  ‘Even good men can be mistaken,’ replied Fidelma, after they had all declined the offer of refreshment. ‘Brother Metellus tells me that you wanted to see me about something specific.’

  The elderly woman nodded. ‘You remember that you mentioned a black cat to me?’

  When Fidelma indicated that she had, Aourken went to her door and beckoned Fidelma to follow. Then she pointed inside.

  Before the hearth, in an old basket, a black cat was curled up. Fidelma took a pace towards it and the cat, hearing the noise, glanced up and gazed at her. Then it rose slowly and stretched on all four legs and let out a ‘miaow’.

  ‘Luchtigern!’ breathed Fidelma, reaching down to stroke the animal. ‘Is it you?’

  The cat purred and stretched again. Fidelma checked carefully and felt the telltale lump of pitch still entangled in the fur on the back of its neck.

  ‘It is the ship’s cat from the Barnacle Goose. So it did manage to get to land. I was almost convinced that I was imagining it. That means the ship must have put in somewhere in this vicinity. Maybe the crew has survived as well.’

  Eadulf silently wished that he had not been so ready to dismiss Fidelma’s claim when they had first arrived at the abbey.

  Fidelma turned to Aourken. ‘Is it possible for you to keep hold of this cat until…until…’ She was hoping that the young cabin boy, Wenbrit, who looked after the ship’s cat, had survived.

  Aourken gave her a sympathetic smile of understanding.

  ‘Until it can be returned to its rightful home? Have no fear, I will keep it. I hope that you and Brother Eadulf will look after yourselves. It seems that these are dangerous times now. I disliked Abbot Maelcar, but no one deserves to be killed in such a fashion.’

  ‘You heard how he was slain then?’ Fidelma glanced at her in curiosity.

  ‘Iuna told me.’

  ‘When was this?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘This morning? Where did you see her?’

  Aourken was puzzled at the sharp interest that Fidelma was displaying.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she countered.

  ‘Nothing that need cause you alarm,’ Fidelma replied with a tight smile.

  ‘Well, I went to get some oysters with a few other women of the village. There is a bay to the north of here.’

  ‘Facing the Little Sea, as you call it?’

  ‘On the north side of the peninsula, yes. It is not a long walk from here. And the oysters are good.’

  ‘And that is where you saw Iuna?’

  ‘Indeed it was. She was there, choosing oysters for Brilhag. She likes to choose them herself.’

  ‘At what part of the morning was this?’

  ‘When was it that I saw her…about mid-morning, I suppose.’

  Fidelma frowned, mentally calculating the time, and becoming aware that she had made a mistake. A bad one. Trifina had not been lying. Iuna could not have sailed to Govihan with Iarnbud, after all. However, she had no time to waste on rebuking herself.

  ‘That is most helpful, Aourken. And you will look after the cat for a while?’

  ‘I will. He is no trouble, but I think he is pining for his real owner.’

  Fidelma was about to leave when she turned back.

  ‘One more thing. You told me that you knew Abbot Maelcar when he was a young man here. Did he ever speak about his family?’

  Aourken was surprised by the question.

  ‘Not much. His parents had been killed in a Frankish raid when he was scarcely more than a baby. He was sent to be fostered at the abbey of Meven. Then he came here.’

  ‘The abbey of Meven — where is that?’

  ‘In the forests of Brekilien, north of here.’

  ‘Did he have any siblings?’

  The old woman frowned. ‘I do not think so. He always spoke of himself as an only child.’

  ‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘That is very
helpful. My thanks again.’

  The small party left the old woman at her cottage door and walked back towards the abbey. They found their horses where they had left them and bade farewell to Brother Metellus before mounting and heading back to Brilhag.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They had arrived back at Brilhag well after nightfall, and everyone was exhausted. Fidelma wanted to question Iuna immediately, but Eadulf persuaded her that the morning would be more appropriate. After a hurried evening meal, everyone went to their bedchamber.

  When Fidelma and Eadulf descended to the great hall the next morning they found only Bleidbara standing moodily before the fire.

  ‘Riwanon left the fortress early this morning,’ he stated with a bleak expression. ‘She decided that she wanted to pray at the oratory, just along the coast from here.’

  ‘She has gone to do what?’ demanded Fidelma in amazement. ‘Why was she allowed to go outside the fortress when there is such danger abroad?’

  ‘Who am I to dare question the decision of Riwanon?’ Bleidbara answered dourly. ‘Anyway, she has taken her maid Ceingar, and Budic with two of his men.’

  ‘Better than nothing,’ Fidelma replied but not with approval. ‘Even so, she ought to be aware of the dangers hereabouts. When did she leave?’

  ‘At first light.’

  ‘And what is this oratory? I hope that it is not the same one in which Macliau was found?’

  ‘No, it’s on this side of the peninsula — a little chapel where it is said that one of the saints stayed during some pilgrimage.’

  Fidelma shook her head in dissatisfaction. Then she glanced at the remains of the food on the table.

  ‘It looks as though everyone else has been up before us.’ Eadulf had sat down and was helping himself to bread and cold meats, but Fidelma excused herself. She did not feel at all hungry. Instead, she decided to go in search of Iuna. She found the girl in the kitchens.

  ‘I was told that you met old Aourken from the village yesterday,’ she opened immediately.

  Iuna regarded her in surprise for a moment.

  ‘You make that sound like an accusation of something,’ she countered defensively. ‘Yes, I did see her yesterday. We often meet when I go to buy oysters. She used to teach me when I was younger and when she was with the religious at the abbey. That was before-’