Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘There, that is Govihan,’ said Macliau, pointing to a stretch of land beyond the headland. They had elevation enough to see that it was shaped like a kidney bean with a long strip of white sand on its eastern side and a little stretch of sand on the west. It was thickly wooded at the southern end and they could also see a tall wooden tower beyond. ‘That is the watchtower which rises from the little fortified dwelling we have there. Rather, it is an ancient villa given by my father to Trifina as her own house. As you see, between this tower and that, there is little that can move in this part of Morbihan, without being noticed.’

Fidelma agreed that the towers did command a clear view of the area.

‘But how would you warn one another of danger?’ she asked.

‘Watchfires,’ replied the young man immediately. ‘And, on a clear day, we can use our banners.’ He pointed to the pole attached to the tower, from the top of which hung a large rectangle of white silk. Now and then the wind lifted it, fluttering in the breeze so that the image of it could be clearly seen. It was the same bird image as on the torn piece of silk that now reposed in Eadulf’s marsupium.

Fidelma regarded it innocently. ‘Surely that is a strange emblem to have on your banner? It looks like a dove.’

Macliau chuckled in amusement, which caused the little dog to glance up at his master and whine slightly.

‘It is a dove indeed, and when I am head of this family, I shall have it changed back.’

‘Changed back?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Our ancestors were of the Veneti, as I have said. We dominated the seas in all directions. Even the Romans praised our skills. Our emblem was the osprey, the great sea hunter, the eagle of the sea.’

His voice had risen with pride and for a moment or two Fidelma allowed him to contemplate some inner vision he seemed to be experiencing.

‘That doesn’t explain why your flag now bears a dove on it. It is a symbol of peace,’ she prompted.

A bitter expression appeared on the young man’s face.

‘It became a symbol of my family’s shame,’ he muttered.

‘Shame? I don’t understand.’

‘When my ancestor, Canao, who was the second of his name to rule as King of Bro-Erech, was killed, Judicael of Domnonia took over the kingdom. He claimed descent from another King of this land called Waroch, and from then on we were told the land would be called Bro-Waroch. It was Judicael who ordered my family to surrender their battle-flag to him and to cease using the image of the royal eagle of the seas. My family had no choice, but in protest they adopted the image of the dove…an image of humility and peace. One day, God willing, we will demand our ancient rights again and-’

Macliau suddenly caught himself and smiled quickly, saying in more moderate tones, ‘We are petitioning King Alain to allow us to claim some of our ancient rights again.’

‘This Alain is a descendant of King Judicael who forced your family to surrender, isn’t he?’ asked Eadulf.

‘He is the son of Judicael,’ replied Macliau quietly.

Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma.

‘Doesn’t that make this claim an…er…uncomfortable one for him?’ he asked tactfully.

The young man realised what he was implying and said immediately, ‘Oh no. Alain Hir is our friend, for he was brought up with my father and neither of them blames the enmity of the past on each other. You will see — Alain will finally return the rights that have been taken from us by the greed and avarice of others.’

‘It is good to hear you say so,’ Brother Metellus said; he had been silent until now. ‘But he has surely been many years as King. Why does the matter of rights arise now?’

Macliau glanced at him with irritation.

‘There was much to be done before he could turn his attention to righting past wrongs done to the house of Brilhag,’ he said defensively. ‘The Franks are always attacking our eastern borders, and some of the western chieftains have been in rebellion against him. Anyway, the matter will soon be resolved.’

The little group stood in silence for a while, looking out on the seascape with the lowering sun sending long shadows across the islands.

‘A beautiful spot,’ murmured Fidelma. ‘Strange that there can be evil and death in such a peaceful landscape.’

Macliau looked up at the sky. ‘It grows late. The evening meal will be prepared soon. Perhaps you would like to retire to your rooms and refresh yourselves?’

It was when Fidelma and Eadulf were alone in their chamber, to which a fussy middle-aged female servant had shown them, bobbing and wringing her hands and enquiring every few minutes if all was in order, that Fidelma finally relaxed, throwing herself on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Eadulf stood looking at her with a worried frown.

‘I know what you are thinking, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, not even looking at him.

‘I am thinking that I feel like a fly who has voluntarily walked into a spider’s web.’

She exhaled in a deep sigh.

‘Sometimes one has to put oneself in danger’s way, to discover the truth,’ she said philosophically.

‘I’d rather not do so. We should have-’

‘Should have done — what?’ Fidelma sat up, her voice tense. ‘Sat still, praying for a ship to take us home? That will not help us find these killers.’

‘But-’ protested Eadulf.

‘ Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet ,’ she countered. He who feared that he would not succeed sat still and did nothing.

‘That’s unfair!’ Eadulf said.

Fidelma had regretted her sharpness almost as soon as she uttered the phrase. She knew that her temper was never good at the best of times. She said contritely, ‘You are right, Eadulf. I was unfair. But I mean to find these killers.’

‘What I fear,’ Eadulf’s voice was low, ‘is that we might well have found them already. There is one other thing that worries me, apart from the emblem on their flag…’

Fidelma looked at him with an enquiry on her face.

‘Cast your mind back to the image of the commander of those sea-raiders. A lithe figure in white.’

‘And? He was masked so he could not be recognised.’

‘A lithe figure with a voice that was high-pitched. Our host, Macliau, fits that description.’

‘It has not escaped my attention,’ she said slowly. ‘Also, you saw the arrows stacked in the tower? Goose feathers in three sections, the work of an expert fletcher.’

‘And?’ asked Eadulf.

‘You forget so soon,’ she admonished. ‘I’d swear the hand that made them, also made the arrows that killed Biscam and his men.’

Eadulf was shocked. ‘Then what are we doing here, accepting the hospitality of these people?’ he wanted to know.

‘Because there is no better way to resolve this mystery than being at the centre of it. We shall proceed, but arrectis auribus …with ears pricked up,’ she smiled, adding the Latin expression to be on the alert.

Dusk was making their chamber gloomy by the time they had bathed and made themselves presentable for the evening meal. A servant — a slim, mournful-looking girl with dark hair and blue eyes — had been sent with a choice of more comfortable clothing for Fidelma and the compliments of Trifina. She had also brought candles of beeswax for illumination. Fidelma spent time putting the finishing touches to her toilette, for among her own people such matters were of importance, although Fidelma did not go so far as to paint her fingernails crimson, nor dye her eyebrows black or redden her cheeks with berries of the elder trees as many women of the Five Kingdoms did. She preferred to keep her long red hair flowing to her shoulders and not even plaited but simply well-combed.