‘Obedience is never blind, Maelcar,’ the Brother said quietly. ‘Obedience requires the use of prudence in accepting rights and obligations. Decisions can only be made with knowledge, a free choice to do good and avoid evil. To ignore what has happened is to go down the path of evil and I will not tolerate it!’
‘Not tolerate…!’ exploded the Abbot, but Brother Metellus had turned to them and pointed the way.
‘It will not take us long to follow the path.’
They left the red-faced Abbot opening and closing his mouth like a floundering fish and not knowing what to do.
With Brother Metellus leading the way, Fidelma and Eadulf fell in step behind him. They said nothing, merely exchanged a glance as the monk strode before them, the hunching of his shoulders and bent head showing the angry tension in his body. For some time they walked on in silence until, finally, Fidelma remarked: ‘This will put you in bad standing in the Abbey.’
Brother Metellus looked sideways at her and his angry expression broadened into a smile.
‘It puts me in bad standing with Abbot Maelcar and those sycophants who obey him without question. I am not of their number. I believe in rules, that the religious life should be bound by constraints and authority, and I believe that the true path of the religious should be a celibate one, free from carnal desire…’ Then he shook his head. ‘But I do not believe in blind obedience – obedience for the sake of obedience. If we pursue that path then we are denying God’s greatest gift, denying what has made us in the image of Him – which is the right of making our own judgements.’
Fidelma regarded him with some approval.
‘I agree that we must reflect and make our own choices, for obedience without question leads to abuse of the power of the person giving the orders,’ she said gravely.
‘While commending you on your stand, Brother,’ Eadulf added, ‘it does mean that your time at the Abbey of Gildas will not be a prolonged one.’
Brother Metellus replied with a thin smile, ‘The best service that Abbot Maelcar did me was to send me to the little island of Hoedig. I shall return there and continue as before with or without that man’s blessing.’
‘You do not hold the Abbot in high esteem,’ observed Eadulf.
Brother Metellus grunted sardonically. ‘You have witnessed his fondness for exercising authority. If he were wise as well as authoritative, then his brethren would follow him more willingly.’
‘So you think his reluctance to let us go to confirm what Berran has reported is due merely to his desire to exercise his authority?’
Brother Metellus appeared puzzled. ‘What else could it be?’
‘I just found his attitude strange, that’s all,’ Eadulf replied, and then lapsed into silence.
Fidelma considered the implication of Eadulf’s comment. It was true that some people behaved in ways that were inexplicable to others because that was their character. Indeed, she found the Abbot to be a person who set her hackles rising. Could it be that there was more to it?
They moved on again in silence along a broad track away from the abbey. On both sides of the track, a thick forest of trees of various species stretched, making the route appear like a dark and sinister tunnel. It was quite warm and Fidelma and Eadulf spotted several plants and bushes that they were unfamiliar with. Brother Metellus saw Eadulf examining one of the flowering shrubs as they passed along.
‘I think my ancestors must have brought that into this country,’ he smiled. ‘They called it nardus and to buy that bunch there would cost a month’s income for a farm labourer.’
‘Buy them?’ Fidelma asked incredulously. ‘Do people actually buy flowers?’
‘Of course. Herbalists do,’ replied the monk. ‘And especially when the plants are rare.’
Eadulf sniffed at the fragrance of the plants, saying, ‘I thought so – it is what you would call labondur,’ he said to Fidelma. ‘It has good healing qualities.’
‘Lavender, indeed.’ Brother Metellus nodded appreciatively. ‘The local people use it to soothe and heal insect bites. The climate here is very warm, so that you will find an abundance of flowers and plants that I would not have expected to see so far north. I try to make notes of such things,’ he added.
‘You are a herbalist, an apothecary?’ queried Eadulf, who had studied the healing arts in the great medical school in Brefni, a petty kingdom north of Fidelma’s own country.
Brother Metellus denied any medical interest.
‘I used to collect and try to catalogue the plants, drawing their leaves and flowers as best I could and noting their healing qualities. But I have little time now to do so.’
‘Then tell me what those flowers are.’ Eadulf pointed to green shrubs with an amazing assortment of coloured flowers on them. ‘I have not seen the like of these before. Those ones with flowers that are red, pink and crimson.’
Brother Metellus’ smile was almost proprietorial.
‘I think those are a long way from home. Maybe they were brought here by the legions or by merchants. Even I don’t know their proper name. The various colours belong to different plants while the bushes they grow from remain evergreen. They are known as ruz, the local word for red.’
‘And isn’t that the name of this peninsula?’ queried Eadulf.
‘A similar sound, although I am not sure whether the name derives from the same word.’
They had proceeded some way down the track by this time and now Brother Metellus halted and turned, lowering his voice.
‘Perhaps we should tread carefully from here on, as I believe we are not far from the spot where this attack took place. If the thieves are still in the area, it is best not to give them warning of our approach.’
They moved on in silence.
They had gone no more than 100 paces before Fidelma caught at Eadulf’s arm and pointed while with her other hand she placed a finger to her lips. Eadulf saw at once what she meant and he similarly warned Brother Metellus. Ahead there were signs of bent grass and broken shrubbery, and then a man’s body, stretched on the path, became visible. He lay sprawled on his face, two arrows protruding from his back. There was no doubt that he was dead.
They walked on further.
There were three more bodies lying along the path. Arrows indicated how two of the others were killed while the third man was covered in congealing blood, the result of several sword cuts.
They halted and stood still, listening.
The sounds of the woodland were still all-pervasive. The warning call of a merlin, the soft cooing of wood pigeons and the collared dove high in the conifer trees, joined with others too numerous to distinguish, all in one background noise. There were several rustles in the undergrowth, though none so clumsy and loud that it would foretell the careless foot of man.
Fidelma relaxed a little and nodded to Eadulf.
Watched by his companions, Eadulf swiftly went to each body and, bending down, felt for a pulse in the neck. Then he stood up and shook his head.
‘They are all beyond help.’
Fidelma turned to Brother Metellus. ‘Do you recognise them?’
‘I do. The man with the arrows in his back is the merchant, Biscam. Those two are his brothers. I presume the other is the drover mentioned by Berran.’
Fidelma examined the trampled soil carefully. ‘There are certainly signs that heavily loaded animals have been halted here and were startled.’
Brother Metellus looked at her in surprise. ‘How do you tell, or is that deduced from Berran’s description?’
Fidelma gave him a pitying look. She had been brought up from childhood to be aware of the signs of nature and man’s disturbance of it. If one did not know such basic rules, one did not survive in the countryside for long.
‘You see the hoofmarks of the animals? Even in the dry earth they are deep. That means that they were heavily loaded. And at this point there is a confusion of prints, as if the animals did not know which way to go and were stamping and trying to
turn. There are signs of some horses, shod and quite clear.’
Fidelma walked carefully around the site looking at the marks on the ground.
‘A few imprints of human feet, tramping over the hoofs of the beasts,’ she said. Then she gave a soft exclamation. ‘They were led in that direction! North, I think, through there,’ she pointed. ‘The path is quite clear. Come on, let us see where it leads.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait?’ protested Eadulf nervously. ‘They might still be close by.’
‘I hope they are,’ replied Fidelma grimly, turning and striding along the small path, following the tracks of the donkeys.
Eadulf hurried after her with an appealing glance at Brother Metellus, who sighed, and followed.
After a while, they burst out of the trees and undergrowth and were confronted by a little stream that gushed frothy white over a bed of shingle and large stones. Fidelma was staring at it in disgust.
‘What is it?’ demanded Brother Metellus.
Fidelma pointed as if the explanation was self-evident. ‘They drove the animals into this stream.’
‘So?’
‘It means we cannot track them, for a stream with a stony bottom leaves no trace.’
‘They would have to turn downstream if they wanted to go any way,’ offered Brother Metellus. ‘I know that upstream from here is a rocky hill and no way to pass round it. Not for donkeys.’
‘And downstream? Where does that lead?’
‘I think it flows into some marshland. There is an area that the local people avoid for there are mudflats in which a man can be swallowed up before he has time to cry for help. There are one or two such areas here, even quicksand. However, if they know the way and can follow the stream, they could come to the shore of Morbihan.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘In that case, these robbers might know the country well, or they do not know it at all.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Brother Metellus replied with a frown.
It was Eadulf who answered him.
‘If they took the donkeys and headed downstream to these marshes, they either did so knowingly or out of ignorance. If in ignorance, in so short a distance they would be in trouble and have returned. We would have encountered some signs. If they had knowledge, they must have used it as a means to prevent any pursuit of them, using the marsh for protection. They could have reached the sea by now.’
Fidelma smiled her approval of his reasoning.
‘Whatever the explanation,’ she said, ‘we will follow. But first, I want to examine the bodies of the merchants, which I have neglected to do.’
‘What can you learn from them?’ demanded Brother Metellus.
Fidelma did not bother to respond. Again it fell to Eadulf to explain.
‘Much may be learned from a body, my friend,’ he said confidently. He knew that Fidelma was skilled in such matters.
Back at the site of the attack, Fidelma examined each body, not to see the manner of how they met their deaths but to study the arrows.
‘The arrows are practically all the same,’ she said, after a short while. ‘Now here is an interesting thing – the man who made these arrows uses goose feathers and cuts the three flights with a sharp knife. That is the sign of a fletcher who is an adept at his art. They are of a high standard and, indeed, the same hand made all these flights.’
‘But does it help us?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Not of itself, but it may well be useful later.’
She had risen to her feet when Eadulf noticed that the man whom Brother Metellus had identified as the merchant Biscam was lying face down, one arm flung out before him, while the other arm was hidden underneath his body. He had apparently fallen on it. But Eadulf had noticed a wisp of white cloth poking out from underneath the body. He bent down and turned the corpse over on its back. It was only then that he saw that the arrows had not been the immediate cause of death. There was a cut mark in Biscam’s chest, above the heart. Eadulf had seen enough sword wounds to know that the man had been stabbed with a broad-bladed weapon.
But it was not this that caused him to exclaim and Fidelma to follow his gaze to the body.
The man was clutching a strip of white silk in his hand. There were some marks on it as well as bloodstains.
He knelt down again and prised it loose from the dead hand.
‘Could it be that he tore it from his assailant?’ whispered Eadulf.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Fidelma. ‘There is a curious patterning on this silk.’
Brother Metellus had moved forward to peer over her shoulder at it. He was frowning and there was something in his expression that caused Eadulf to ask: ‘Do you recognise this?’
He held up the torn strip of silk in his hands. It was a curious outline of a dove. Brother Metellus gasped.
‘What does that symbol mean?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘The same symbol was carved on the ship that attacked us.’
Brother Metellus ran his tongue around his dry lips but he said nothing.
‘You recognise this image,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Just as you recognised it when Eadulf described what he had seen carved on the ship’s prow. The black pirate ship that attacked us.’
‘What does it mean?’ insisted Eadulf.
Brother Metellus blinked and said hoarsely, ‘It is the image of a dove in flight.’
‘We can see that,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And its meaning? To whom does it belong?’
The monk took a deep breath before turning to them both and saying, ‘That is the emblem of Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag.’
Chapter Six
Eadulf was staring in fascination at the image of the bird on the torn silk.
‘That is an odd emblem for a chieftain to have,’ Fidelma said.
Brother Metellus spread his hands in a strangely helpless gesture.
‘It is the Lord Brilhag’s standard,’ he replied.
‘Do the people here believe it is an oracular bird, as we do?’ queried Fidelma. ‘They made stone figures of doves and, before the coming of the Faith, they used to pray to them in healing shrines for good health. Our Church Fathers often associated themselves with the dove. Crimthann mac Fedilmid took the name Colmcille – Dove of the Church. It is a symbol of peace and harmony, but surely an odd image for a chieftain to carry as an emblem?’
Eadulf folded the silk into a tiny square and placed it in his leather marsupium. ‘Does this mean that this Lord Canao is the leader of thieves and murderers?’
Brother Metellus was shocked.
‘The mac’htiern of Brilhag is very respected,’ he said immediately. ‘He is a friend and adviser to the King Alain Hir, and would not demean himself by attacking unarmed merchants. Anyway, he is supposed to be in Naoned.’
‘But I hear he has a son who is not as worthy as his father?’ Fidelma said thoughtfully.
‘I have met Macliau several times,’ Brother Metellus admitted. ‘He is a young, vain man who likes wine and women. I cannot see him leading such an attack as this.’
Fidelma was silent for a while and Eadulf knew not to interrupt her thoughts. Finally she drew herself up and glanced at them.
‘Nevertheless, the emblem of this lord of Brilhag features both in the attack on the Barnacle Goose and now in this ambush of these poor merchants. I think we must go to Lord Canao’s fortress to see if there is more that we can learn.’
‘That might be dangerous,’ Brother Metellus said immediately, ‘especially if there is some involvement. Though I cannot believe it.’
‘Eadulf and I must follow this path as it is the only lead we have to finding the killer of my cousin and my friend – not least the killer of all these poor people,’ Fidelma said, and she gestured at the bodies around them. ‘You can return to the abbey and report this before you return to your island.’
Brother Metellus shook his head.
‘I cannot abandon you in this strange country. You will need someone to interpret and one who knows this land. If you go to Lord Cana
o’s fortress, then I will come with you. Besides, I am as much intrigued by this mystery as you are.’
‘You do not have to come with us,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘As you say, it may be a dangerous path.’
‘I have made my decision,’ the other replied stubbornly. ‘If we set off now, it is not a great distance and we should be there well before the day begins to close in.’
‘Then I thank you, Brother Metellus. Your help is appreciated. Let us go back to the stream and see if we can pick up the tracks again.’
They returned to the spot where the stolen pack animals had apparently entered the stream, and turned to follow its course. Indeed, it was not long before the woodland on either side thinned and they were in flat, muddy marshy grounds where walking was difficult. Several times they had to resort to using the stony bed of the stream itself as an easier way than along the marshy riverbanks. But after a while, even the stream turned into a boggy waste and they had to look for other areas of dry land to seek a passage.
Whatever path the thieves had taken, they could not find it and they lost all signs of the movement of the pack animals and the passage of those who had taken them. But by that time, Fidelma was aware of the salt tang of the sea in the air and the mournful cry of the gulls that meant they were near to the northern coast of the peninsula. Trees began to appear again as they left the low-lying marshes, and the land became firm underfoot once more. The woodland rose on hills that formed a ridge along the coast separating the sea from marshland. Beyond the trees they could hear the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
It did not take long to get through the woodland and then they emerged on a hill overlooking a deep inlet. On the top of a headland to their left rose a large sandstone fortress.
‘That is Brilhag,’ muttered Brother Metellus.
The outer walls rose about four times the height of a tall warrior and there was a tall tower to the seaward side. Fidelma realised that the great expanse of water before them was the Morbihan, or Little Sea. Brilhag looked very alien to the type of fortresses Fidelma was familiar with: it must have originally been of Roman construction. The complex was quite substantial. She could make out two warriors standing outside the tall wooden gates, their slouched postures showing they were bored with their duties. Their heads were turned towards the sea below them and not inland where Fidelma and her companions had emerged from the woodland.
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