Fidelma suggested they move back to the shelter of the treeline.
‘Well, there are no signs of the raiders’ ship anchored in this inlet.’ Eadulf pointed out the obvious. ‘It would certainly be an excellent place though, to keep a ship secure from prying eyes.’
‘There are other inlets and islands all along here,’ Brother Metellus said. ‘The ship could hide almost anywhere.’
‘I’d like to see inside this fortress first,’ Fidelma said.
‘Impossible,’ replied Brother Metellus. ‘If you think that the Lord of Brilhag is behind the attack on your ship, then the moment you approach the fortress, they will know why you have come.’
‘Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,’ replied Fidelma confidently. ‘I’ll either find a way or make one.’
It was only when a voice close by shouted harshly that they realised that they were being observed. They had been so closely engaged in examining the fortress of Brilhag that they had not seen the two men approaching until it was too late. They swung round to see two warriors, for such they proclaimed themselves by their long swords, which were sheathed, and shields, although they wore no war helmets or body armour. They were young and muscular men. One was short and stocky but with pleasant, even features, dark hair and eyes whose scrutiny seemed to indicate that he missed nothing. He spoke again, sharply. It was obviously an enquiry as to what they were doing in this place.
Brother Metellus took it on himself to answer and he was sparing with the full truth of the matter as he afterwards related the conversation in translation to his companions.
‘I am Brother Metellus, from the abbey. I am showing my companions, who are strangers to this place, our beautiful country.’
The two men glanced at one another but did not look reassured.
‘I do not recognise you,’ replied the spokesman suspiciously. ‘You have a foreign accent.’
‘One is not responsible for where one is born, my friend,’ replied Brother Metellus. ‘Merely for how we live our lives.’
‘Why are you spying on the mac’htiern’s fortress?’
‘I am showing my companions the amazing view.’
Fidelma and Eadulf, with their limited knowledge of the language of the Britons, had been trying to follow the conversation.
‘Tell him we are not spying on the fortress. We are simply strangers from the land of Hibernia,’ Fidelma instructed Brother Metellus.
‘We have never heard of it,’ replied the warrior, still suspicious.
‘It is the island called Iwerzhon,’ explained Brother Metellus, substituting the local name for the Latin one.
The warrior’s silent companion now spoke rapidly to him and he turned to Brother Metellus.
‘It may be that Macliau will desire to meet your companions,’ he announced. ‘You will accompany us to ascertain his wishes.’ And, as if in emphasis, he dropped a hand to his sword hilt.
Fidelma saw Eadulf tense and she surreptitiously shook her head.
‘Tell them that we shall be delighted to accompany them,’ she said to Brother Metellus, wondering if he was able to translate the humour correctly.
The warriors made no reply but the leader merely motioned with one arm in the direction of the fortress, indicating that they should precede him and his companion.
‘Óis carcre,’ muttered Eadulf in Fidelma’s own language. ‘We are prisoners.’
Fidelma smiled encouragingly at him.
‘Well, I wanted to examine the fortress,’ she said. ‘These warriors have made it easy for us to do so.’ She noticed that the warriors were regarding them suspiciously and she glanced at Brother Metellus’ gloomy features. As they walked along, she spoke to him loudly, wondering if the warriors knew Latin. ‘As you have told us, Brother, this is a magnificent view and this sea ahead of us is what you called the Morbihan?’
Realising she was speaking for the warriors’ benefit, the monk returned her smile, although with a little effort.
‘Exactly so. Beyond this headland of Brilhag are many islands. It is a beautiful area.’
They came to the gates in the sandstone walls. The sentinels, on observing their approach, had straightened up and assumed more rigid postures. One of their warrior companions shouted an order and the gates were immediately opened.
‘Inside!’ he commanded and, with Brother Metellus leading the way, they entered into a courtyard where they were called upon to halt. The great gates slammed shut behind them.
Then a voice called from somewhere above them.
A young man was leaning out of a window of a large building that towered over the courtyard. They could see that he was a slightly built youth, with a mop of fair hair, pale, sunken cheeks and watery eyes that might be light blue.
‘Why are these people here?’ His voice was a high, nasal drawl. Then he recognised the Roman. ‘Is that Brother Metellus?’
‘It is I, Macliau,’ confirmed the monk, stepping forward.
‘Then do not stand on ceremony. Enter.’ The young man glanced at the warriors. ‘There is no need for an escort, Boric,’ he said to the leading man and then disappeared from the window.
The dark warrior addressed as Boric stepped forward and opened the great door for the visitors with an apologetic look.
‘All strangers must be regarded with suspicion until they are shown to be friends,’ he said in Latin, which surprised them. So he had understood them the whole time.
‘Ad utrumque paratus,’ Fidelma smiled with the phrase given to one who is prepared for all eventualities.
The warrior actually grinned. ‘Semper paratus,’ he answered. Always prepared.
They entered into the great hall of the fortress. Logs blazed in the large fireplaces at both ends of the chamber in spite of the summer weather. Tapestries of bright colours and with fascinating imagery, presumably from the myths, hung on most of the walls, and in between, at regular paces, were displayed ornate shields. A great woven carpet, of matching bright colours, spread across the central area of the floor, which was of stone flags. On this was a stout, carved oak table set ready for feasting with bowls of fruit on it. Around the table were several wooden chairs. More comfortable chairs were placed in front of the fires while other chairs seemed dotted at haphazard in various parts of the hall. Here and there was a polished wooden chest or small table, and strange-looking earthenware pots and a giant amphora balanced on a stand in one corner. There were several doors leading off the hall and at the end, to one side of the great fireplace, was a wooden stairway that apparently led to the upper chambers.
In front of the fire a small dog had been stretched. It now arose and came trotting towards them. It had long hair, with a blue-grey coat and black ears and muzzle. The hair reached over the forehead and eyes, so that they were barely seen, and ended in a moderate beard below the muzzle. It was a hunting dog – Fidelma recognised the breed as one often used in the pursuit of badgers. The dog sniffed around them. The young man who had hailed them from the window was now descending the stairs with a smile of welcome on his face. The dog looked up at him with a soft whine, the tail wagged slightly and it trotted back to its place in front of the fire.
Eadulf muttered: ‘Well, this young lord seems friendly enough.’
‘This is Macliau, the son of Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag,’ replied Brother Metellus quietly.
‘It is good to see you again, Brother Metellus,’ greeted the young man slightly effusively. ‘You do not often grace us with your presence. I thought you had been exiled to the island of the duckling for arguing with our good friend Abbot Maelcar.’
Brother Metellus returned the youth’s cynical grin with a slight bow.
‘I think that you will know how easy it is to argue with Abbot Maelcar,’ he replied dryly. ‘My companions are the Lady Fidelma from Hibernia and her husband Brother Eadulf, a Saxon.’
‘You are all welcome to the house of Brilhag,’ announced the young man in fluent Latin. ‘I am Macliau and I greet you
in the absence of my father, Lord Canao.’
He bowed his head to Fidelma and then acknowledged Eadulf with a quick smile. Close up, Fidelma saw the flaw in the young man’s handsome features. There was something dissipated about them. A weak jawline perhaps, and the eyes were rheumy and cheeks too flushed.
A male attendant had entered and was now hovering discreetly in the background, ready to obey Macliau’s wishes.
‘First, we have to perform the protocol of our house,’ the young man announced in a bored fashion. ‘Do any of you carry weapons?’
Eadulf could not disguise his surprised expression.
Macliau laughed outright at it.
‘Do not be concerned. My father is a man of traditions. There is a custom, a very ancient custom here, that no one can enter the hall of the mac’htiern of Brilhag as a guest if he is bearing weapons.’ He moved to a door and, taking down a key from a hook beside it, unlocked it. He threw open the door and pointed inside. They saw a small armoury of swords, spears, daggers and other instruments of war. ‘All weapons must be discarded by visitors and placed here. They are returned when a person leaves the great hall.’
‘It is also an ancient custom in my land,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘When people sit down to feast, it is the custom that all weapons should be left outside the feasting hall. And perhaps it is a good custom, too, for when one is drinking and arguing, tempers can grow hot. In anger, one’s impulse might be to reach for a weapon.’
‘Just so,’ agreed the young man. ‘My father insists on the continuance of this custom and many have been the times that he has beaten me for not observing it. So, even in his absence, I follow the rule in case word gets back to him.’ He stared with apparent distaste at the array of weapons stored there. ‘Thankfully, I am no warrior. Fighting and bloodshed – I abhor them. There are better things to occupy one in life.’
Eadulf smiled in agreement, saying, ‘We of the religious do not carry weapons but only a knife to cut our meat.’
‘Then enter freely and receive the hospitality of the son of the mac’htiern of Brilhag,’ replied the young man, finishing what was obviously the ritual. He shut the door and motioned them towards the fire in the great hearth at the far end of the chamber. ‘May I offer you all refreshment?’
They chose cider, which was the main drink of the country, and Macliau relayed their wishes to the attendant who duly hurried away to fulfil them. He waved them to seats and, as he slouched into his own chair, the little dog rose and came forward to spread itself at his feet with a contented sigh.
‘So what brings you to our shores, lady?’ asked the young man, reaching down in an absent fashion to fondle the ears of the animal whose tail began to beat contentedly on the floor. ‘It is not often that we see wandering religious, especially one who is referred to by a noble form of address. I am sure Brother Metellus, who is a stickler for protocol in such matters, did not make a slip of the tongue when he introduced you.’
Fidelma had made up her mind to stick to the truth. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. She told their story briefly and without mentioning the dove emblem that had brought them to Brilhag.
The young man seemed to accept the news of the attack on the merchants with equanimity.
‘I knew Biscam,’ he said. ‘He often traded with us. You say that he and all his men are slain?’
Fidelma had neglected to mention the one survivor and did not enlighten him, merely saying: ‘Biscam is dead and all his pack animals and goods have been stolen.’
‘And the thieves? Do you know where they have gone?’ demanded the young man.
‘They have disappeared through the marshy area near here,’ Fidelma replied.
The young man was silent for a moment and then shook his head sadly.
‘I am afraid that during the last week we have begun to hear stories of several robberies, attacks on isolated farmsteads on this peninsula. It is said that the raiders come from a ship and each time grow bolder. My father is away at the court of King Alain and means to escort him and his entourage here. But he is not due to return for several days yet. I will send four of my men to retrieve the bodies and take them to the abbey. Doubtless, Abbot Maelcar will want to perform the obsequies over them.’
Brother Metellus expressed his approval.
‘Your men should have a care, for we do not know whether the cut-throats have entirely left the area,’ he advised.
‘I fear there is little we can do to trace the thieves at this late hour. However, I will order Boric to keep a special watch.’
Fidelma was regarding Macliau thoughtfully.
‘Did you say that your King is coming here?’ she queried.
‘King Alain,’ the young man confirmed.
‘Does he visit here often?’
Macliau shook his head. ‘He comes as my father’s guest to hunt. This area is famous for its deer and boar.’
‘It could be dangerous for the King and his entourage with such murderers and thieves about,’ Fidelma pointed out.
The young man gave a confident laugh.
‘I think not, lady. Rather it would be more dangerous for the thieves once the King and my father arrive here, for they will come in the company of their warriors. Meanwhile, my own men are on the watch for these brigands – and when they catch them…’He made a sharp gesture with his hand.
‘Even so, the Lady Fidelma is right. Forewarned is to be forearmed,’ Brother Metellus said cautiously. ‘Perhaps word should be sent to King Alain and your father?’
‘I take your point, Brother Metellus. But I assure you that they have nothing to fear here. If these thieves and warriors have managed to sneak into my father’s domain, then they will not like the reception my father shall give them.’
Just then, they heard voices beyond one of the doors. Macliau put his head to one side and grimaced. The dog raised his head and gave a little growl but did not move.
‘I think this is my sister, returning.’
As he spoke, the door was thrown open and a girl entered. Even from across the shadowy great hall, Fidelma and Eadulf could see that she was the twin of Macliau. Behind her came a tall young man with fair hair. The girl flung off her cape in an almost petulant gesture and was about to speak when she saw the group by the fire.
‘We have visitors who bring us worrying news,’ announced Macliau. ‘And we are in need of your skills, Bleidbara.’
He continued to speak in Latin and the girl responded in the same language.
‘Worrying news?’ she repeated, and her voice held the same high timbre as that of her brother. It was unattractive.
Fidelma and her companions rose from their chairs as the newcomers came forward. Macliau waved a hand in introduction.
‘This is the Lady Fidelma, who is sister to a King of Hibernia; her companion is Brother Eadulf and, of course, you will remember Brother Metellus from the abbey. This is my sister, the Lady Trifina. And this is Bleidbara, who is the commander of my…my father’s bodyguard.’
The young man inclined his head towards them in a brief gesture. He was quite handsome, Fidelma thought. His features were regular, and his bright blue eyes seemed to have a discerning and caring quality about them.
The girl regarded Fidelma with a suspicious gaze as she seated herself.
‘You are a long way from home, lady,’ she said. ‘We heard no word of a ship from Hibernia putting in around our coasts. What brings you here?’
‘Nothing that is of my choice,’ responded Fidelma, feeling hostility in her tone.
‘Indeed,’ interposed Macliau, and quickly outlined the situation as they had told him.
‘And this is the worrying news?’ drawled the girl.
Again it fell to Macliau to tell her about the attack on the merchant Biscam and his men. He turned to Bleidbara: ‘I was about to give orders to Boric to take some men and gather their bodies and transport them to the abbey.’
‘I will instruct him now,’ the young commander said griml
y. Then he glanced to Trifina. ‘Biscam, now. The attacks increase.’
‘We need fear no attack by brigands here,’ Trifina said. ‘We have enough warriors to protect us. And our father should return within a few days.’
‘I have already assured our friends of that.’ Macliau wore a thin smile. ‘And, indeed, I feel we should insist that they remain as our guests until he does, rather than face the hazards of a return to the abbey. These marauders may not be gone entirely,’ he added, ‘and we would not wish anything to happen to you.’
Eadulf felt an uncontrollable shiver on his spine. Was there some hidden meaning to the young man’s words? He glanced at Fidelma in expectation that she would make the excuse of returning, but Fidelma remained calmly smiling.
‘It is a tempting offer,’ she replied. ‘You may be aware that Abbot Maelcar seems to dislike the presence of women at the abbey and we have had to rely on the hospitality of a nearby village.’
Macliau chuckled. ‘Then it is settled. I will hear no protests. You are the guests of the house of Brilhag. I know that Brother Metellus here has little love for the Abbot and I am sure he will accept our invitation as well.’
Brother Metellus inclined his head in polite acquiescence, saying, ‘I have offered my services to my friends here as translator and guide until such time as they can find passage back to their own land of Hibernia.’
‘And I am sure that will not be long, once my father has returned,’ replied Macliau in good spirits.
‘One thing,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘We need to send a message back to Aourken, with whom we were staying, to inform her where we are.’
‘Aourken?’ Trifina frowned. ‘I know the name. She used to teach me Latin grammar when I was young.’
The Dove of Death Page 10