A memory came into Fidelma’s mind.
‘Are you the eldest daughter of the chieftain of Brilhag?’
‘I am the only daughter of my father, Lord Canao,’ replied Trifina sharply.
‘You have had no younger sister?’
‘Of course not. Why do you ask?’
‘Aourken said that she taught Latin grammar to you and—’
‘Oh, you mean Iuna – my foster sister.’
‘Ah,’ sighed Fidelma softly. Of course, that explained the reference to the younger sister. ‘And is there any reason why Iarnbud would arrive at your father’s fortress on the morning after Abbot Maelcar was murdered, seek out Iuna, why they were having an animated discussion and why they would leave without telling anyone, get in a boat and sail out in this direction?’
Trifina was silent, staring at the floor for a while.
‘I have told you, Fidelma, that I cannot give you an answer. I could not even begin to guess at an answer. But I will say this: I can only admire your foolhardiness at taking a small sailing craft and following Iarnbud into these waters.’
‘Foolhardiness?’ Fidelma echoed.
‘What else was it but foolish?’ reproved Trifina. ‘Do you realise how near death you and your Saxon friend came? You obviously took a sailboat without permission and blithely set out after them, sailing into waters you did not know. These are dangerous waters, dangerous rocks. Then you tried to land at the most perilous point of this island. If my men had not been watching you from the shore and reached you in time, you would both have drowned.’
Fidelma let the criticism pass over her with only a slight flush coming to her cheeks. She knew that the girl was right and she was aware that she had nearly been the instrument of Eadulf’s death. She tried to disguise the shiver that passed through her frame at the thought. Trifina saw the movement, however, and was able to sense the cause of it. She smiled humourlessly that her words had had that effect.
‘So long as you know and have learned the lesson,’ she said with harsh satisfaction. ‘But as for your question, I will reiterate once more…I cannot hazard a guess why Iuna and Iarnbud should behave in the manner you claim. Nor, indeed, has it been reported to me that they have arrived on this island.’
‘I assume that you would know if they had?’ Fidelma asked. ‘There is nowhere that they could have landed, unknown to you?’
For a moment the girl’s brows drew together in anger and then her face relaxed and she actually chuckled.
‘You obviously tried to land without me knowing. You see what good that did? There is no way they could land here without being spotted by my men. Of that I am sure.’
‘Where, then, would they be heading?’
‘There are countless islands in the Little Sea. Take your pick.’
Fidelma was disappointed. ‘There are no other islands that come to your mind where Iuna or Iarnbud might be making for – one in this direction?’
‘There are other islands, mostly inhabited by fishing folk. I would not be so foolish as to give you a boat to pursue the useless and dangerous quest that I think you have in mind,’ she added, correctly guessing the thought that had occurred to Fidelma.
Fidelma smiled tightly and rose.
‘Then there is little I can do here. I will, with your permission, go to see how Eadulf is faring.’
‘I am sending one of my men to Brilhag to inform them that you are both safe and well and with me. When your companion is recovered, then I will return you to Brilhag. In the meantime, accept the hospitality of this place.’ She suddenly gazed wistfully around. ‘It was my mother’s favourite residence.’
She also rose and accompanied Fidelma to the door where an attendant waited to guide her back to the chamber where she had left Eadulf.
Fidelma found Eadulf sitting up, leaning against the pillow and looking pale and drawn. He managed to form an expression that was meant as a rueful grin. Someone had brought him a bowl of hot broth, which lay on the bedside but it was untouched.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.
‘As if I had nearly drowned,’ responded Eadulf with dry humour.
‘I am sorry,’ she began contritely, but he reached out and caught her hand.
‘I know. I heard you on the shore when they pulled me out.’
‘I was doing what I thought was best.’
‘Audaces fortuna iuvat,’ he sighed. Fortune favours the daring. ‘Sometimes it works, sometimes…Are we now in trouble?’
If the truth were known, Fidelma was still horrified that her stubborn attitude had nearly been the instrument of Eadulf’s death. She discounted the fact that she, too, had nearly drowned. She had managed, however, to cling to a piece of intact boat until the warriors had effected their rescue. She tried to hide her emotions and turned to look at the broth. It was still warm.
‘We are not,’ she said shortly. ‘And you have not eaten,’ she accused, changing the subject and picking up the bowl and spoon. She held the bowl before him. He grimaced. So she took the spoon and held it to his mouth as one would coax a child. He obeyed her unspoken order and opened his mouth to allow the warm liquid to trickle into it. As she fed him, she told him the gist of her conversation with Trifina.
‘You believe that she is speaking the truth?’ asked Eadulf.
Fidelma put down the empty bowl and spoon.
‘As much as one can trust one’s instincts,’ she replied. ‘Her surprise when I told her about Iuna and Iarnbud seemed genuine enough. How do you feel?’
‘I can get up,’ he said. ‘The headache was the main thing and, thanks to the potions of a physician here, I feel much better.’
‘Are you sure you feel able?’
‘I hate lying abed, especially when there are things to be done,’ he replied.
‘Trifina has supplied us with dry clothes.’ Fidelma gave a short laugh. ‘This is getting to be a habit, borrowing clothes after being immersed in the sea.’
‘Let’s not make it a third time,’ replied Eadulf with grave humour. ‘My constitution will not stand it.’
Fidelma rose, went to the window of the chamber and peered out. From the position of the sun she concluded that she was looking eastward across a short sandy shoreline and a small stretch of water to another smaller island – and beyond that to various patches of rising land. This ‘Little Sea’, what the natives called the Morbihan, was filled with islands, and Iuna and Iarnbud could have gone to any one of them. But why? She sighed deeply in frustration.
Eadulf was pulling on the dry clothes, although not with the alacrity he usually displayed. He was still fairly weak.
‘Have we reached another dead-end?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly,’ she replied. ‘Iuna and Iarnbud left together. There is a link there, and we must find it. While there is still plenty of light, I am going to see if I can explore the island a little. I think Trifina was being truthful with me, but it is always a wise precaution to make certain. It shouldn’t take long to examine any bays and coves where Iuna and Iarnbud could hide.’
Eadulf gave a groan. ‘To be honest, while I am better, I don’t think I am up to exploring islands as yet.’
‘Stay in the villa,’ Fidelma suggested, looking sympathetic. ‘I shan’t go far on this small island.’ And she left him, sitting by the fire that had been lit in the chamber.
There was no one about outside and so Fidelma made her way down the stairs to the ground floor again, and along the corridor into the small courtyard, which led to the room where she had seen Trifina. As she neared the door, she saw that it was ajar and she heard voices raised. Familiar voices. Even though the speakers were conversing in the language of the Bretons, she recognised the commanding tones of Trifina. She would have entered, had it not been for the second voice. She was almost sure of the identity of the speaker before she peered through the crack between the door and the doorjamb – it was Bleidbara, looking serious. It was clear that Trifina wa
s giving him instructions. He seemed to be asking a question or two and nodding at the answers. Then, to Fidelma’s surprise, the young man ended the conversation by leaning forward and kissing Trifina in a manner that bespoke a deeper intimacy than she had been led to believe. And what was more, Trifina responded with no less fervour.
Bleidbara was turning for the door when Fidelma realised she had to act. The only place of concealment was a small recess not far away. It would be useless if the warrior turned in her direction. Thankfully, he chose the opposite direction and vanished through a door at the far end of the corridor. Fidelma waited a moment, her mind already made up, and hurried after him.
The door gave access to a small ante-room leading into a tiny yard and then a pathway that wound down to the eastern shore of the island, a long strip of white sand in a curving bay.
The warrior moved quickly down this path, oblivious to Fidelma coming up behind him. At the bottom, on the shore, two men were awaiting him. Fidelma spotted them just before they glanced up to see Bleidbara coming towards them. She had already crouched down behind a bush before they did so. She could hear a cheery greeting and the warrior answering. Then she peered carefully around the bush. All three were walking across the sandy beach towards a small rowing boat, by which another man stood. Bleidbara and one other man climbed in while the remaining two men pushed it out into the water and scrambled in as it rose on the waves.
It was only then that Fidelma realised there was a large ship at anchor in the bay to which the men were now heading, two of them hauling at the oars as the boat bobbed its way over the waters. The ship was a large wooden sailing vessel. It was painted black from bow to stern with the exception of the jutting spar and bow timber. These were a deep orange in colour that made the vessel appear very sinister. Fidelma’s eyes rose to the white flag flying from the masthead – a large white flag with the image of a bird on it…the image of a dove.
She gave a sharp intake of breath and was about to move forward to gain a better view when she was aware of a soft footfall behind her.
She pivoted round, rising automatically.
Trifina was standing regarding her with an amused expression. Behind her stood one of her guards, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Chapter Twelve
Eadulf was feeling better. The young apothecary had been accurate in his prognosis. The shock of near death by drowning must have caused the reaction of the stupor that had come over him. Even his headache had gone, thanks to the potion that he had been given. He rose from the chair in front of the fire and took a swallow of water from the mug left on the table. The cold liquid refreshed his mouth, although he felt a distinct soreness in his chest and an ache in his stomach as if he had eaten bad food.
He had begun to feel frustrated by his inaction and moved to the window and gazed out on the western coastline of the island. The day seemed pleasant enough. In fact, there was little need of a fire at all for it was quite warm. He walked up and down for a few moments, realising that he was now in complete control of all his senses and movements.
Eadulf knew enough about the practice of the apothecary’s art to be aware that a warming cordial would do better for his chest than sipping fresh water. Deciding to go in search of the young apothecary or of the kitchens of the villa where he could make his own soothing concoction, he left the room and walked down the corridor until he found the stairway to the floor below. A young girl was hard at work scrubbing the stairs. Her head was bent down to her work so she did not notice him until he reached the step above her.
When he asked where he might find the apothecary she started nervously.
He smiled reassuringly at her and asked again. It was clear that she did not understand Latin and he tried to drag from his memory a word from his sparse knowledge of the language of the Britons. No word came to mind.
‘Culina,’ he said again, using the Latin word for kitchen, and made motions implying drinking and eating.
The girl seemed to understand his mime and pointed down the stairs saying something in her language, repeating the word ‘kegin’ several times.
Eadulf thanked her and moved past her down the stairway to the lower corridor. The girl had pointed almost directly under the stairs and Eadulf saw a doorway which led into an ante-room lined with shelves. Immediately his senses were bombarded with a mixture of aromas, sweet-smelling herbs and spices combined with dried meats that hung from metal hooks from the ceiling. The room was like a narrow corridor through which he passed quickly and, opening a door at the far end, he entered into a courtyard. In the covered area on one side were three great clay brick ovens and places where a fire could be lit in such a manner that a pot could be placed on an iron arm over the flames. Pots and pans hung along the wall behind the ovens. In the centre of the courtyard was a well, obviously the source of the fresh water for cooking.
There seemed no one about but this was clearly the kitchen area. He thought it strange that there was no one attending to the preparation of food in such a large villa as this. The rooms along this side of the courtyard consisted of various storerooms and a few that were clearly occupied by the kitchen workers as their personal quarters. He walked along, peering into each but there was no one around.
At the far corner, another open door led into what was clearly the dispensary. He was surprised that this was not closed and locked, but saw a key hanging from a hook just inside the door and presumed that the young apothecary had forgotten to lock up. Eadulf went in, examining the shelves. At one end there was a pile of moss in water, but a moss smelling strongly of the sea. Eadulf recognised it at once for it was a red alga that he knew was found along the western shores of Éireann among the sea-bathed rocks. That was just what he was looking for.
He reached forward and picked up some, smelling it to make sure it was the same plant.
‘What do you want?’
The sharp voice caused him to start. The youthful apothecary, who had attended him, was standing in the doorway. He was tall, with curly blue-black hair and dark eyes, with a swarthy face and a permanent furrow over his brows as though in constant thought.
‘I am looking for something that will relieve the soreness in the back of my throat and chest and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach,’ replied Eadulf, trying to remember his name. ‘I think I have found it.’
The young man’s frown deepened as he glanced at the plant Eadulf held.
‘You appear to have a good knowledge of the healing qualities of plants and herbs,’ he observed suspiciously.
Eadulf confessed that he had studied the art in Tuaim Brecain, a great medical college of Éireann.
‘I have not heard of it. However, you have picked a wise choice in pioka ruz,’ the young man said, nodding to the moss he held. ‘It should settle your ailment.’
Eadulf tried to repeat the name and added: ‘It is called carraigin in the language of Hibernia.’
‘It is a good demulcent,’ confirmed the young man. ‘You know how to use it?’
‘If I can boil a little of the plant to produce a syrup…?’
‘There is no need. I was preparing such a mixture earlier this morning as it is also used to make sweet dishes. I make a jelly substance mixed with honey, which the lady Trifina especially likes. Come, I will give you some.’
The young man pointed to the bowl standing near to where Eadulf had picked up the moss. He took an empty dish and measured out several spoonfuls from the bowl.
‘There now, it is a syrupy taste that coats the throat and will also make its way to your stomach. Perhaps you would like a spoonful of honey to sweeten the taste more?’
Eadulf shook his head as he tried an experimental spoonful. As the familiar taste of what he knew as carraigin made contact with his tongue, he swallowed and felt its comforting contact with his throat.
‘What did you call this, my friend?’ he asked.
‘I know only the name in the language of the Bretons, which is pioka
ruz. I hear that it is known by several other names in various parts of this country. It is a plant that is unknown in my land.’
‘But it grows along these shores?’
‘It does, indeed.’
Eadulf nodded appreciatively as he finished the bowl. ‘Ah, that should settle my stomach.’
‘You feel better?’
‘Better than when I was lifted from the sea,’ smiled Eadulf, trying to regain his sense of humour.
The young man nodded. ‘It was the worst place on this island to attempt a landing.’
‘My name is Eadulf, by the way.’ Eadulf decided to change the subject and introduce himself.
‘That I know,’ responded the young man.
‘And your name is…? I think I heard it spoken but have forgotten.’
‘Heraclius of Constantinopolis.’
‘And you are Greek then?’ Eadulf said. ‘You are further from home than I am.’
‘Indeed, I am,’ Heraclius said dryly. ‘My father, Callinicus, was of Heliopolis in the land of Phoenice. He had to flee from there before my birth when our armies were defeated at Yarmouk by Abu Ubaida ibn al-Jarral over thirty years ago.’
‘Alas, I know nothing of these names nor of that part of the world.’
‘Abu Ubaida commanded the great Muslim army and after our defeat at Yarmouk most of our people fled from Heliopolis leaving behind much booty for him. My father went to Constantinopolis to take service with the emperors of Byzantium.’
‘I have vaguely heard of these Muslims. When I was in Rome, I was told about them raiding the coastal towns,’ Eadulf said. ‘Was your father also an apothecary?’
The young man shook his head quickly.
‘No. He was an architect. He built some of the great buildings for which Heliopolis had been famous.’
‘But you became an apothecary?’
‘I did.’
‘How did you come here? It is a long way from your home.’
‘I decided to leave Constantinopolis to seek my fortune for there is a surfeit of apothecaries at home. I took ship with a merchant and travelled through the Middle Sea to Massilia. Finally, a year ago, I came to this country, this land they called Bro-Waroch, and took service with the noble family here. They appreciated my skills and so I stayed here.’
The Dove of Death Page 20