The Dove of Death

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘You have no worries about her safety in the circumstances?’

  ‘When you are home in your brother’s kingdom, does your brother come running after you, lady?’ replied Macliau.

  ‘If there were raiders wandering loose, he might well be worried,’ Fidelma replied sharply.

  ‘I think they will have fled back to their lair, having carried out such an attack. That might be anywhere.’

  Fidelma sniffed. ‘Perhaps. But it would be better to be certain.’

  ‘Well, lady, it is a matter of speculation. I have no evidence to the contrary. Speculation without knowledge is pointless,’ Macliau said glibly.

  Fidelma coloured as the young man used a phrase she was fond of declaiming.

  ‘Anyway, Argantken and I have arranged to go hunting,’ he continued, still with an amused expression. ‘So the hospitality of Brilhag is yours to do with as you see fit.’

  The statement surprised both Fidelma and Eadulf. After his late night and heavy consumption of wine, they were amazed that the young man had been able to rise before noon. Seeing their expressions, he interpreted them as concern for his safety under the present conditions.

  ‘You need have no care for me either,’ he told them smugly. ‘I shall have my warriors with me. I will return this evening but, meanwhile, this fortress may be considered your home. Ask of Iuna what you will, for she is in charge of the household.’

  ‘I look forward to your safe return, Macliau,’ Fidelma replied coolly.

  It was Eadulf who thanked him for his continuing hospitality, feeling that perhaps Fidelma had been a little too abrasive with the young lord. The latter merely nodded in acknowledgement, turned away and whistled – at which sound his little dog came bounding towards him.

  Fidelma and Eadulf looked from one of the windows of the great hall and saw that horses were already saddled in the courtyard outside. Argantken was mounted and waiting for Macliau. Two warriors and two others, huntsmen by their attire, were also in attendance. When Macliau had joined them, the party set off through the gates, with Albiorix the dog yelping and scampering behind them.

  After they had gone, Brother Metellus addressed Fidelma sternly.

  ‘You made your disapproval of the conduct of Macliau very obvious. I feel it my duty to point out that you are here under the laws of hospitality, and that although you are honoured in your country of Hibernia, being the sister of a king, here you are a stranger in a strange land. Macliau is the son of the mac’htiern of Brilhag, a descendant of the rulers of Bro-Waroch, and he should be treated with all respect.’

  Fidelma’s eyes flashed warningly, which only Eadulf interpreted, and he spoke quickly before she did.

  ‘You are right to point these things out, Brother Metellus, and we accept them. But these are trying circumstances and we should not have to repeat warnings of the dangers.’

  Brother Metellus was also serious. ‘I had some role in this matter, as I recall.’

  At once, Fidelma was contrite.

  ‘My apologies to you, Brother Metellus. You saved us from death. But do you not find it odd that the man we left, well on his way to recovery, was now said to be so ill that he did not survive the night?’

  Brother Metellus hesitated a moment. Then he spoke quietly.

  ‘I am not forgetting why we came to this fortress. I am not forgetting the banner that Biscam held in his lifeless hand – the banner that flies above this very place. But truly I cannot see what reason there would be for the family of Brilhag to be involved in either sea raiding or robbing merchants passing through their country. Having said that, I cannot deny the evidence of the banner.’

  ‘For the moment, what we know about that banner must remain between us,’ Eadulf advised.

  ‘Do not worry,’ returned Brother Melletus. ‘I am as concerned about the truth of this as you are.’

  ‘Then we are agreed,’ Fidelma said. ‘I will try to be more circumspect, but it is frustrating to feel that there is a mystery here and no path to follow to seek it out.’

  ‘Let us consider this logically,’ Brother Metellus invited. ‘Why would the mac’htiern of Brilhag be behind these actions? Why would he turn sea raider or thief when he is lord of all on this peninsula and indeed, can claim authority throughout all of Bro-Waroch?’

  ‘You ask good questions, Brother Metellus,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I cannot supply the answers to them yet. In those answers is the solution to the conundrum that faces us: whoever is behind these crimes does them under the banner of this fortress. Now you tell me why that is?’

  But Brother Metellus was unable to offer an explanation, and as he struggled to do so, a faint trumpet sounded from beyond the gates.

  ‘What does that signify?’ asked Eadulf, as he saw Brother Metellus raise his head with a puzzled expression. ‘Is Macliau in trouble?’

  ‘It is a call to alert the guards of the approach of someone of importance.’

  The trumpet sounded again, closer to the fortress, and they all went out together to watch the newcomers’ arrival.

  Several guards had now taken up positions. A line of horses was trotting along the track towards the open gates. Warriors rode the first two animals. The next carried a woman, who rode on her own. She was a tall, slim figure, richly clad. Behind her came another woman, then two more warriors, and finally two attendants who were holding the lead reins of two asses on which baggage was strapped.

  The cavalcade entered the fortress and came to a halt before the steps leading to the doors of the great hall where Fidelma’s little party stood.

  One of the warriors, a good-looking young man, immediately leaped down from his horse and went over to the tall woman’s mount, where he knelt, so that she could use his broad back as a step to alight. No one else moved as she did so. Then she walked slowly over to the steps where Fidelma, Eadulf and Brother Metellus stood. The young warrior came behind her, eyes narrowed as he held them in his keen gaze, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. They halted at the foot of the steps.

  The woman was as tall as Fidelma; her hair was a honey colour, glinting with slight touches of red. Her headdress was fastened around her forehead by a circlet of gold with a gleaming sapphire stone in its centre. Her clothes and jewellery were equally rich, for she had pushed back her blue riding cloak, displaying her costume and jewellery. But it was not these accoutrements that drew Fidelma’s attention. It was her unusual beauty.

  The woman was younger than Fidelma and her heart-shaped face had a curious ethereal quality. And yet the firm chin spoke of authority and purpose. Her eyes were soft grey in colour; her red lips owed nothing to artifice.

  At this moment of meeting, her grey eyes stared with curiosity into the fiery green of Fidelma’s eyes. Then she spoke in the language of the country.

  Brother Metellus coughed nervously, moved a step forward and said something quickly in response.

  The grey eyes widened a fraction. The woman did not respond to Brother Metellus but continued to gaze thoughtfully at Fidelma. After this close scrutiny she then addressed her in Latin.

  ‘I am Riwanon, wife to Alain, King of the Bretons. Why am I requested to speak to you in this language?’

  Chapter Nine

  Brother Metellus appeared to feel that he should make the explanations and introductions.

  ‘It is because these strangers do not speak the language of this country, lady. This is the lady Fidelma of Muman in the land of Hibernia. Her companion is Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk in the country of the Angles.’

  The young woman’s expression did not change, nor did her eyes drop from the steady gaze with which she held Fidelma’s eyes.

  ‘You and your companion are a long way from home, lady.’ The comment seemed to Fidelma to be a standard opening.

  There was an embarrassed cough from Riwanon’s female companion, who was still sitting patiently on horseback, apparently awaiting permission to dismount. Riwanon glanced over h
er shoulder and then turned back, with an apologetic expression that encompassed the three of them.

  ‘Until I am formally invited to enter, my attendants sit outside awaiting my pleasure. Are my hosts inside? Why are they not here to invite me to cross their threshold?’

  Fidelma immediately realised their bad manners in keeping the wife of the King standing on the steps. She stood back while Brother Metellus explained: ‘Forgive us,’ he said. ‘The mac’htiern is not here, nor is his son, Macliau or his daughter, Trifina. We are guests, but alone here for the time being. So allow me to presume to invite you to enter in their absence, lady.’

  ‘And your name?’ asked Riwanon.

  ‘Brother Metellus, lady.’

  Riwanon frowned slightly, opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind. She smiled quickly before passing inside, shadowed by the taciturn young warrior. The three followed her as the female attendant and the relieved escort began to dismount. The attendant hurried to her mistress’s side while the warriors of the escort stretched themselves and chatted with the stable boys who arrived to attend to their wants.

  Riwanon strode across the great hall, throwing off her riding cloak, which was deftly caught by her bodyguard, before she sank into a comfortable chair by the fire. The warrior took up a stand behind her.

  ‘This is the commander of my personal guard, Budic of Domnonia,’ Riwanon announced.

  The young man jerked his head forward in a brief acknowledgement. He was handsome, of that there was little doubt. He possessed well-chiselled features, blue eyes and fair hair – and a slight quality of vanity, as if he seemed to know the attraction of his physical qualities. Fidelma took in the gold necklet and ornaments on his arms, and the rich red cloak he sported. Budic was obviously no ordinary young warrior – and then she realised that the introduction ‘of Domnonia’ meant he was of a noble family of that place.

  Iuna had appeared and came forward to greet the newcomers. As she looked from Riwanon to the male warrior, Fidelma was sure that some form of recognition passed between Budic and Iuna, and a faint flush came to the girl’s cheeks. Then she bowed slightly towards the new arrivals and apparently greeted them in the language of the Bretons.

  Riwanon regarded her thoughtfully, as she had done Fidelma, before replying, and Fidelma heard her calling the girl by her name.

  ‘I presume that you were not warned to expect our arrival?’ Riwanon asked, lapsing back into Latin.

  ‘Lord Canao has not returned, lady,’ the stewardess said. ‘We were expecting him to arrive in the company of King Alain. However, as no word has come, Macliau has gone hunting and the lady Trifina has retired to her villa for today. There is no one to greet you, save I.’

  Riwanon’s lips parted in a disappointed smile.

  ‘Indeed? We have left my husband and Lord Canao of Brilhag about two or three days’ ride from here, pursuing wild boar in the forest. That is not to my taste and so I came on here before them.’

  Then, realising that they were all respectfully standing, she waved a hand indicating the chairs.

  ‘You do not have to stand in my presence,’ she conceded. Then she turned to Iuna. ‘I presume that you have rooms for my entourage and myself?’

  ‘Of course, lady. I shall order it done. Your escort can be accommodated among our own guards.’

  ‘Budic will be given accommodation close to mine – and my maid must have a room next to me.’

  ‘It shall be done, lady.’

  Riwanon turned to her female attendant. ‘Make yourself useful, Ceingar. Go with this servant and ensure that the rooms are properly prepared.’

  For an instant, Iuna stood still. Fidelma noticed an offended look on her face. Then she turned abruptly and, followed by the girl called Ceingar, went off. A moment later, when another attendant came in to serve refreshments, Riwanon noticed that the others had not accepted her invitation to be seated.

  ‘Sit you down,’ she repeated in Latin, seeming equally at home in that or her native language. ‘Now, Fidelma – is that your name? Tell me who you are and what you are doing in this country. The Saxon, I see by his tonsure, is a religious but you were described as Fidelma of some place that I cannot pronounce, a place in Hibernia. I would like to know more of you.’

  Brother Metellus stepped forward hurriedly. ‘Fidelma is also of the religious in Hibernia,’ he put in.

  Fidelma glanced at him in irritation and nearly said that she could speak for herself. Riwanon caught the glance and smiled as she interpreted it correctly.

  ‘Come, Sister Fidelma, and tell me what brings you to our part of the world.’

  Fidelma briefly explained, leaving out many of the details, such as their suspicions about Brilhag.

  During her recital, Budic stood behind Riwanon’s chair, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on Fidelma. She found his appraisal slightly embarrassing, while Eadulf clearly found it annoying, for he grew restless.

  ‘You must rank highly among the officials of the Hibernian churches to represent them at this Council of Autun,’ Riwanon commented, for Fidelma had begun with their return from the great Council.

  Fidelma corrected her.

  ‘I am only an advocate of the laws of my land, and my knowledge of such law was sought by the abbots and bishops attending the Council. I do not hold high ecclesiastical office.’

  It was then that Budic spoke for the first time, his Latin fluent. He had a pleasant baritone voice but it held a note of arrogance.

  ‘Brother Metellus refers to you as “lady”. That is an unusual title among members of the Faith, even in Hibernia, is it not?’

  ‘My brother, Colgú, is King of Muman, which is the south-west kingdom of Hibernia.’

  ‘Ah, then you are a princess of rank, Fidelma,’ mused Riwanon. Then she went on, ‘But those names…I seem to have heard of them somewhere before. And recently.’

  Just then, Iuna re-entered with refreshments.

  ‘Your attendant, Ceingar, has seen to the unpacking of your baggage and is preparing your bedchamber, lady. I presume that you and your entourage will be staying until the King arrives?’ Her words were deferential, not so her tone.

  ‘Your presumption is correct, Iuna.’ Riwanon smiled as she spoke, but Fidelma sensed the antagonism between the stewardess and the newcomers. It was curious, but Iuna’s attitude seemed to be less that of a servant and more that of someone of authority. However, she then proceeded to ensure that everyone had what refreshments were needed before leaving the hall.

  Riwanon returned her gaze to Fidelma with a bright smile as if nothing was amiss.

  ‘So, Fidelma of Hibernia, tell me something more of this curious adventure that has brought you here.’

  ‘There is little more to say, lady,’ Fidelma replied stiffly, ‘except that I am determined to find these pirates who attacked our ship and killed my cousin. Bressal was envoy from my brother to your husband and had negotiated a trade treaty between our kingdom and this one.’

  Riwanon suddenly started. Her eyes widened. ‘Your cousin? Bressal?’

  Fidelma, puzzled, affirmed it.

  ‘What must I have been thinking of?’ Riwanon sighed softly. ‘That is why the names seem familiar. You should have reminded me, Budic,’ she rebuked her bodyguard. ‘I met your cousin twice, Fidelma, when he came to present himself to my husband, the King, and indeed, sought a trading treaty between your brother’s kingdom and our land. He was given leave to take a cargo of salt from the salt marshes of Gwenrann. And, you say that it was his ship that was attacked and Bressal himself who was killed?’

  ‘And the ship’s captain, Murchad,’ added Fidelma grimly, ‘and at least two of his crew. All killed in cold blood, lady, by the leader of these sea raiders.’

  ‘We are sisters in rank, Fidelma,’ reproved the woman, in a friendly tone. ‘You do not have to call me anything but Riwanon.’

  ‘That I will do gladly,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘You have my condolences,’ Riwanon co
ntinued sadly. ‘I can assure you that my husband will leave no stone unturned in a search for the culprits.’

  ‘But it may be that they have fled from these waters,’ pointed out Budic, without enthusiasm. ‘Alas, we have a plague of sea raiders along these coasts. They are like buzzing insects feeding on our prosperous ports. The Franks not only press our eastern borders on land but they raid along our shores. And then there are Saxon pirates from the north…’

  Budic paused and glanced slyly at Eadulf; Fidelma could tell that the words had been deliberately chosen to provoke. Eadulf, a red dash on his cheeks, appeared to be studying the floor industriously and was not rising to the bait.

  ‘Eadulf is my husband and has long lived in my land and helped me with my duties,’ Fidelma felt moved to explain. ‘He is what is called a gerefa in his own land. A magistrate of the minor nobility of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

  Budic’s grin broadened. He made to speak, but Riwanon cut in sharply. ‘I hope Budic’s words do not cause you offence, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

  ‘Lady, I am well aware that we are not all angels,’ Eadulf replied. ‘There is good and bad in all peoples.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ Fidelma interrupted, wanting to return to the subject of the pirates, for she felt that she should solicit the help of the Queen and, if possible, the King, ‘I believe that these murderers may be of this country and not from elsewhere.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Riwanon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘I have some evidence which, alas, it might not be prudent for me to state publicly at this time. That is no disrespect to you, Riwanon, for you would be the first I should tell, were it discreet to do so. One piece of it I can state, and that is that we have cause to believe that the attack on those merchants carrying goods to the abbey of Gildas was carried out by the same brigands. The merchants were slain without mercy.’

  ‘You believe the attacks were committed by the same people?’ demanded Budic with a frown.

  ‘I do.’

  Riwanon suddenly smiled broadly, then confided, ‘I have been bored these last few days. Hunting is not a pastime that appeals to me, though it is my husband’s passion. But, good sister from Hibernia, I do think that you may stimulate my wits to wrestle with these mysteries. So you think these sea raiders are from Armorica? That they might even be in this territory?’