Fidelma could not resist a quick smile at his grumbling.
‘It seems that Abbot Maelcar is not the friendliest of people. There is something about his manner…’ She ended with a shrug.
‘He is convinced that the correct path to a communication with God is through vows of celibacy and in following the order of the Blessed Benedict. The rites and rituals of the churches of the Britons, and those in your own land, are anathema to him. You must make allowances.’
‘We are indebted to him, and to you, for all you have done for us, Brother Metellus,’ Eadulf said hurriedly, lest the man think they were ungrateful.
Brother Metellus did not reply except to indicate, with a movement of his head, the north of the quadrangle. ‘The village lies beyond these woodlands.’
There was a small area of woodland between the abbey buildings and the small hamlet beyond. They stood overlooking the same sandy bay in which they had landed. It was a practical village and not a picturesque one. The squat buildings were ugly, functional and no more.
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Fidelma, curiously.
‘To the Widow Aourken,’ he replied.
‘And she is…?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘An elderly widow woman. Her husband, I am told, was a fisherman. Now she lives alone and so has room in her house.’
‘We would not like to give her trouble.’
‘You will not. She often offers the hospitality of her home to wayfarers. I think you will like her for she is also a woman of strong opinions.’
If it were merely physical strength that he was referring to, then Brother Metellus’ description seemed an accurate one. Aourken was almost as wide as she was tall. The broad arms were muscular and her shoulders could, in Eadulf’s imagination, take a heavy sack on them without effort. Her hands were twice as big as his own and he felt that one of them could squeeze an apple into a pulp. Yet her face was kindly, the eyes slightly melancholy and of an indiscernible colour. The hair, which reached beyond her shoulders in ragged tails, was white, streaked here and there with dark grey. Her teeth were bad but she maintained a twisted smile that seemed to disguise them. She stood at the door of one of the single-storey stone buildings, hands on hips, watching their approach.
‘Greetings, Brother Metellus.’
These were the only words that Fidelma understood as the woman spoke rapidly in her own language. The words were so accented that she lost track.
There was a quick exchange and then, to Fidelma’s surprise, the woman turned to her and began to speak in Latin – hesitantly, it was true, but in a form that was quite literate.
‘You are welcome here. You are both welcome here.’
‘Thank you,’ returned Fidelma at once. ‘We do not wish to cause you any problems.’
‘Brother Metellus has informed me of your situation. God be praised, that you have survived the ravages of those pirates.’
Fidelma looked interested. ‘You have heard of them?’
The woman spread her large hands. ‘On this coast, there are always tales of sea-raiders. But in recent times, some of the farms on this coast have been attacked by brigands landing from the sea.’
‘You speak good Latin,’ interposed Eadulf.
Aourken smiled her crooked smile. ‘I served the Faith for many years. Then I met my late husband and he convinced me a better life was serving him. Well, we had a good time while it lasted. God’s blessing was on us. Brother Metellus has told me your story and I will do my best to make you comfortable until Biscam, the merchant, arrives. My house is your house.’
‘We are very grateful for your hospitality,’ Fidelma said again.
‘It is nothing. Come inside and I will show you where you will sleep, and perhaps you would care for something to eat and cider to drink? I am sure that Abbot Maelcar would not have offered you anything.’
‘You seem to know the Abbot well?’ Fidelma smiled.
‘In our youth, we studied together. We had decided to join the community of Gildas together. It was then, as other religious houses still are, a community of men and women serving the Faith and raising their children to do so. I knew Maelcar when he first arrived here from Brekilien, before he started to read the works about Martin of Tours and hear the stories of the dedication of those religious out in the eastern deserts and other inaccessible places who became hermits and vowed celibacy. That was when he decided to follow their example.’
‘The abbey is not exactly in an eastern desert,’ pointed out Fidelma dryly. ‘But I have heard of this place Brekilian. Where is it?’
‘It is north of here and still within the kingdom. Brekilian is a great expanse of forest where Maelcar was raised and which he oft-times returns to. In fact, he is not long returned from some such a visit. Not that visits to his home do anything to sweeten his temper, but rather make his disposition worse. I understand he returned muttering about the loose morality of King Alain’s court where a provincial servant could fornicate with the King’s offspring.’
‘So Abbot Maelcar likes the secluded religious life?’
Aourken gave her a knowing smile and shook her head.
‘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 o
f 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 h
iding-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.’
Chapter Five
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.
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