Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘Don’t worry, we shall come into the west of that, where there is an open sandy beach,’ Brother Metellus said, correctly guessing the thoughts that were passing through their minds.

Indeed, Fidelma had already spotted the sandy strip stretching to the north-west towards another rising headland, which she estimated must be five kilometres away.

‘They call this the Great Mount and the one over there the Little Mount,’ explained Brother Metellus.

There was a tide with them now as well as the wind, and they came swiftly onto the sandy beach among several other craft that were pulled up there. Fishermen and some women sat in little groups, some mending nets, while others were simply talking and cooking fish over open fires. Two of the fishermen came trotting down into the surf to help draw the small craft up onto the dry sand, and one courteously helped Fidelma out. Greetings were exchanged in the local language and then Brother Metellus led the couple from the beach and up a winding path through a very green and fertile area, most of which appeared thickly forested. Fidelma noticed it was filled with broadleaf trees, mainly thick oaks and beeches, with a few conifers sprinkled here and there when a thinning of the woodland provided space.

‘There is good hunting here and the nobles of Bro-Waroch often come to hunt in this area. The peninsula is fertile with game and with wild boar,’ Brother Metellus explained. Fidelma had the impression they were crossing back towards the large headland overlooking the sea. ‘Beyond that rise to the north is the fortress of the mac’htiern of Brilhag.’

‘Mac Hiern?’ Fidelma tried to repeat the phonetics.

‘ Mac’htiern ,’ carefully repeated Brother Metellus. ‘It is the title of the Lord of Brilhag, who is the ruler of this area.’

‘Surely, then, he would be in a better position to help us than your Abbot?’ Fidelma suggested.

Brother Metellus disagreed. ‘Better that we firstly speak with Abbot Maelcar. He is strict about protocol and might take it amiss if we went directly to Lord Canao.’

While Fidelma had the impression that this was a hurried excuse, Eadulf saw nothing amiss.

‘Canao?’ queried Eadulf. ‘You have mentioned that name before.’

‘I did,’ agreed Brother Metellus easily. ‘The Lord of Brilhag is a descendant of the old rulers of Bro-Waroch, many of whom had that name.’

They emerged abruptly from the surrounding trees and bushes to find themselves faced with a stretch of cultivated fields. Fidelma and Eadulf saw that many of them contained vines. In the centre of these fields stood a group of low sandstone buildings that must constitute the Abbey of Gildas. The buildings were not impressive, even though the Abbey was, according to Brother Metellus, about one hundred years old. There were basically four separate buildings placed around a quadrangle. To one side was the chapel, identifiable by its architecture. It was fairly small, topped with the traditional cross of the churches of the western islands, a cross mainly contained within a circle. Two of the other buildings rose to three storeys in height while the fourth one on the last side of the square was a one-storey structure and quite ornate by comparison with its fellows. The square itself was given over to a herb garden, from which an assortment of scents assailed their nostrils. However, compared with those great buildings that Fidelma and Eadulf had seen in their travels, the whole complex of the abbey was modest.

There were a few religious about, some of whom greeted Brother Metellus by name, while others hurried by with faces averted from them as though shocked by the sight of Fidelma in their midst. Indeed, some stared, scandalised at a woman’s presence in the abbey precincts. Brother Metellus ignored them and they followed him through the small entrance between the buildings into the quadrangle gardens.

‘This is the Abbey of the Blessed Gildas,’ Brother Metellus announced, unnecessarily, with a slight gesture of his hand as if to encompass the buildings around them. ‘If you will wait here, in the herb garden, I will go and inform Abbot Maelcar of your presence.’ He hesitated a moment and then explained awkwardly: ‘As I have said, this abbey follows the celibacy rule and is for males only. It is not a mixed house.’

‘Do not worry,’ Fidelma replied, and Eadulf discerned her slightly mocking tone. ‘We will await your Abbot here so as not to outrage the abbey’s sense of propriety.’

There was a rough carved wooden bench nearby and Fidelma promptly seated herself on it. Brother Metellus hesitated a moment more before making his way to the single-storey building and disappearing inside. Eadulf gave a little sigh before going to sit by her.

‘This is certainly no port where ships from any of the Five Kingdoms will put in,’ he observed.

‘Our intention is to be directed to such a port,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But first, I want to ask some questions of the Abbot.’

‘You hope that he might have information about the ship that attacked us?’

‘He may know something. I would like to get some information as to the identity of that murderous captain and his vessel before we return home.’

‘Returning home is our main aim. Don’t forget that we are destitute,’ Eadulf reminded her.

‘We will hope that the charity of these brethren will help us. Also, I still have one emerald ear-clip left. Perhaps we can barter the stone for food or other things.’

Eadulf was sceptical. ‘I doubt that will take us far,’ he said. ‘I think it would be better to seek out this Lord Canao. He might be able to guide us to King Alain, who would surely help us as Bressal negotiated the treaty with him?’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But it is a long way back to Naoned, and that is where Bressal said he had last seen the King. Even so, I want to find out more about these pirates before we set out for Naoned again.’

Eadulf saw the set of Fidelma’s jaw and realised it was not worth arguing. Once she had made up her mind, the only way to change it was persuasion by example.

‘So far as I can see, we will have to go where the tide takes us at the moment until we can find a benefactor,’ he said dourly.

Fidelma glanced towards the building into which Brother Metellus had disappeared. Her impatience was obvious to Eadulf and he was about to urge calm when a ‘miaow’ at his feet caused him to look down. A large black cat had appeared, its nose in the air sniffing gently. It moved immediately towards Fidelma and rubbed itself against her legs. She stared down at it and then a frown formed on her features. She bent down and ran a hand across the sleek black fur at the back of its neck. The animal gave another ‘miaow’, then turned and stalked off without haste among the bushes of the herb garden.

Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a curious expression. ‘Did you see that?’

‘The abbey seems to have a pet,’ he replied with a smile.

‘You didn’t recognise it?’ she pressed.

‘Why should I?’ Eadulf did not understand.

Fidelma ran a tongue nervously over her lips and glanced quickly round, lowering her voice in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

‘Because that animal was Luchtigern. That was the ship’s cat, the cat from the Barnacle Goose .’

Eadulf regarded her in astonishment for a moment, not sure whether she was joking or not.

‘You must be wrong,’ he said eventually. ‘One black cat looks exactly like another.’

Fidelma shook her head determinedly. ‘That is not so. Cats have individual looks and personalities just as we have. That was Luchtigern — I know it. But how came the cat here?’