Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘Well, I for one did not find Iarnbud’s conversation stimulating but rather insulting,’ he began, but Fidelma raised a finger to her lips.

‘You cannot change history and so you cannot stop people from giving their views on it, Eadulf,’ she admonished.

‘And what about those silly ghost stories of fishermen transporting souls at night?’

‘It is obvious that Iarnbud and, by logical deduction, Macliau and his sister do not want us investigating any strange lights along the shore at night. Their supernatural story was meant to frighten us. That is why I pretended to go along with it in the end, once I realised their intention.’

‘So you don’t believe in such phantoms as claimed by Iarnbud?’ queried Eadulf.

‘You should know me better by now,’ she rebuked him. ‘However, I have read Procopius.’

‘Procopius?’ Eadulf repeated.

‘The Byzantine historian who wrote about the Gothic Wars as part of his History of the Wars of Justinian . Just over a hundred years ago he recounted this story of the transportation of souls, the belief of the people of this very area of Gaul. I have heard the tale many times and yet we cannot go through life believing all the old folklore and legends.’

‘If it was a story purposely told to stop us investigating what was happening on the shore, what do you intend?’ Eadulf had gone to the window and was watching the area where they had previously seen the lights. There was no sign of any light or movement there now, although he could just make out pinpricks of light from the distant islands. The large ship was still a fairly discernible black shadow in the inlet below.

‘It is too late now but I think we should go to the shore tomorrow and see if we can discover anything,’ she said. ‘Particularly, I would like to examine that ship to see if it is painted black and has a dove engraved on its bow.’

‘I doubt we will see anything,’ Eadulf said in resignation, returning to the bed. ‘They have had plenty of warning to change things, having heard our story.’

‘Yet why do so at all when they could simply silence us? The captain had no compunction about slaughtering Bressal or Murchad.’ She was silent for a moment, and Eadulf knew she was mastering her emotions. Eventually she went on: ‘I was trying to work out the relationship between Macliau and the girl Argantken. She is without finesse.’

‘That one is easy enough,’ shrugged Eadulf indifferently. ‘She is his mistress.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘Would a chieftain’s son bring his mistress into his father’s house? She is lacking in grace and manners…’

‘ De gustibus et coloribus non est disputandum ,’ sighed Eadulf. About tastes and colours there is no disputing, meaning it was better not to argue about matters of personal preference.

He was about to get into bed when through the window came the sound of raised voices, as if in argument. They were speaking in the language of the Bretons but their tones sounded familiar.

‘There you are,’ grinned Eadulf. ‘I’ll wager that is Macliau and Argantken.’

Fidelma swung out of the bed and went swiftly to listen at the window. The voices continued for a few moments and then suddenly ceased. She told Eadulf, ‘If I took that wager, you would lose. That was Trifina, and I swear the second voice was that of Bleidbara.’

‘And if that were so, what of it?’ Eadulf enquired tiredly, lying down.

‘Did you notice that Bleidbara seems to be enamoured with the lady Trifina, who studiously ignores him, but the girl with the dark hair who was serving us was making cow’s eyes at him while he acted oblivious to her?’

Eadulf had not heard the expression ‘cow’s eyes’ before but he got the idea.

‘I wonder what they were arguing about?’ mused Fidelma as she returned to the bed.

‘Unrequited love?’ yawned Eadulf. ‘If the young man is enamoured of Trifina, then maybe he chose this moment to seek her out and make his protestation of love. And if she was not interested, she might well have stated it in strong terms. Is it really any of our concern?’

Fidelma pulled a face at him.

‘I am not concerned at all. Mysteries interest me, that is all. Anyway, we’ve had a long day. We will talk about these things tomorrow.’

Eadulf came awake with a start. The room was bathed in that cold light that marks the moments after an early-summer sunrise when the sun is still shrouded by cloud. He wondered what had disturbed him and then he heard a movement by the window. Fidelma was sitting there, wrapped in a cloak and staring out to sea. Eadulf eased himself up on the bed.

‘What’s wrong?’ He found himself speaking in a whisper.

Fidelma glanced at him without moving from her perch on the sill.

‘I’ve been sitting here watching since just before dawn. Sometimes, at that hour, people will move about thinking the world is asleep. I was hoping to see the ship and get some explanation for the lights last night.’

‘Is it the same ship?’ queried Eadulf, swinging from the bed.

Fidelma beckoned him. ‘See for yourself.’

Eadulf hastened across the cold boards and stared out. The ship had gone. There was no sign of it.

‘If you were here before dawn, then the ship sailed in the night,’ he gasped. ‘Bleidbara must have moved it immediately after the meal, warned by our conversation. Perhaps we should not have referred to it?’ he added in mild rebuke.

‘I feel that the answer to this mystery is out there — on one of those islands,’ Fidelma continued, ignoring his censure. ‘I can see no sign of the vessel at all.’

‘The banner of a dove flies above this castle,’ contradicted Eadulf. ‘The answer must be here .’

‘I was thinking that if the answer was that simple, then our presence should have concerned our hosts enough to attempt to be rid of us.’

Eadulf shivered a little and tried to put it down to the early-morning chill. He went to put on his sandals before returning to stare out at the seascape before him. There was a faint morning mist rising from the dark outlines of the islands dotting the waters of Morbihan. The sea was flat and calm, glinting now and then as the sun broke through the clouds. Visibility was fair but he could see no movement on the waters.

‘We are not even sure that Bleidbara’s ship is the sea-raider,’ he said reasonably.

‘It would be a coincidence if it were not,’ Fidelma mused. ‘It would explain how the ship’s cat reached the abbey.’ Observing her husband’s hesitation, she went on: ‘Let’s consider this: our ship is attacked and you observe a carving of a dove, which is a strange emblem for a warship to have. It sails off, having taken our ship as a prize. We escape and eventually land here, where we come across the ship’s cat, wandering wild. We find a merchant and his companions attacked, killed and robbed. One of the slain has a torn banner clutched in his hand that also bears the symbol of a dove. We are told that this symbol is the emblem of the lord of Brilhag. We are more or less taken prisoner by his warriors and brought inside this fortress where the same flag of these raiders flies above us. We see a warship anchored in the inlet below which is said to be in the service of this same lord and captained by the commander of his warriors, Bleidbara. There are strange lights along the shore and we are told some ancient legend which is meant to scare us from investigation. What is the logical deduction?’

Eadulf smiled wanly. ‘You have always taught me that there can be more than one answer,’ he pointed out.

A frown of irritation crossed Fidelma’s brow, since she immediately admitted to herself that he was right. The logic was tenuous — and it was only the mystery of how Luchtigern, the cat, had come to the abbey that made her determined to follow that logic.