Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘Can you see who is in that boat?’ she demanded.

‘It’s too far away.’

‘What was the island — the one where the boat is heading? Macliau or Trifina told us the name of it.’

‘Govihan, I think. The island of the smith’s forge, they said it meant.’

‘That’s it. It’s where there is a fortified dwelling and watchtower where Trifina prefers to spend her time. That’s where Iuna and Iarnbud are heading. Come on, I believe some answers will be there.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened in alarm. Fidelma was already descending the stone steps at a dangerous pace into the small harbour.

‘Wait a moment…’he began.

She ignored his protests and seemed to be examining the remaining boats moored there. Two were small boats with oars but a third one held a mast and single sail.

‘We’ll take that one,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on.’

‘But…but I hate sailing,’ protested Eadulf.

Fidelma’s brows drew together. ‘I’ll handle the sail. It doesn’t require more than one person in this tiny skiff.’

‘But we are stealing…’

‘Borrowing,’ she corrected.

‘We ought…’

‘Do I have to go alone?’ she threatened.

Eadulf knew when he was beaten and, with a shrug of his shoulders, moved down the steps to join her. She had clambered into the small skiff and was untying the sail.

‘Unfasten the rope there,’ she instructed, ‘and push us away from those other craft.’

He did so without further argument. There were two oars in the skiff as well, and while she made ready with the sail, he used one of them to push the boat away. He tried to guide them out into the mouth of the inlet. There was a wind blowing from shore which flapped at the sail, and now Fidelma hoisted it; it immediately filled with wind and a tremor went through the vessel as the offshore breeze caught it. It began to move, slowly at first.

‘Quickly, come and sit here by the mast,’ she instructed. ‘Mind the boom.’

Eadulf moved with alacrity as the vessel began to gather speed across the wavelets. Fidelma went to the stern and took the tiller. She steered the vessel out into the open water.

‘You do realise that we will be seen as soon we approach that island?’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Remember what Macliau said about the watchtower and having lookouts posted there?’

Fidelma had forgotten but did not say so.

‘We will be careful,’ she assured him. ‘If we can find one link in this mystery then we will ask Riwanon for assistance.’

‘Riwanon? So you think Macliau and his sister are involved?’

‘It is their symbol that these brigands are using. It is logical to believe that they are involved.’

‘This is true,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Except that if they were, why didn’t they make us prisoners or even kill us when we turned up at their fortress? The leader of the pirates certainly had no compunction about killing when he raided the Barnacle Goose .’

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

‘Yes. That is one thing that I cannot explain at the moment,’ she agreed.

Eadulf twisted round to glance at the island ahead of them. When he had viewed it from the tower at Brilhag, it appeared small and compact. Now it grew larger as they approached it. There seemed no sign of the other craft that Fidelma had presumed Iuna and Iarnbud were using. Indeed, they had probably made landfall on the island already. Eadulf hoped that Fidelma had thought matters through because, as soon as they approached the island, they would surely be spotted and if she were right, then they would have no excuse about disguising their suspicions of the guilt of the children of the Lord of Brilhag.

The island’s southern end rose, inhospitable. Eadulf knew from his observation from the tower that to the east was a long sloping sandy shore while to the west there was a small strip of sand. Both provided easy landing-places, but either would be easily observable.

‘Where are you going to land?’ he asked nervously.

It was something that had just begun to bother Fidelma. She did not want to land observed, if possible. She actually hoped their crossing from the peninsula had not been seen or, at least, mistaken as a normal fisherman crossing the waters. But to land on either beach was to invite inspection from the inhabitants of the fortified dwelling on the island.

‘The one place that won’t be watched is the southern end of the island,’ she said at last. ‘We could bring the boat in unobserved under the high banks there and climb up to the treeline. Then we could see the lie of the land before committing ourselves.’

Eadulf’s jaw tightened as he viewed the dark, high shoreline. ‘Land there ?’

‘It is not that forbidding,’ replied Fidelma calmly.

‘There’s white water there. Rocks.’

‘Get into the bow and tell me if I come near anything. Use one of the oars to stand us off.’

Muttering under his breath, he turned and scrambled forward, dragging an oar with him.

They were closing fast — too fast, thought Eadulf.

‘Left!’ he shouted, waving his hand in that direction. ‘Keep left!’

They were still a long way from the stony seashore when he realised that not only did the white water herald rocks poking above the sea, but there were also shadows of hidden rocks beneath the dark waters.

‘It’s too dangerous!’ he protested. ‘We should turn back.’

Even as he spoke he could see they had come in too close among these underwater rocks to turn with any degree of safety. There was a tidal current driving them towards the shore.

‘Right!’ he suddenly screamed. ‘Bear right!’

He felt the boat begin to respond.

Thoughts raced through his mind. They were going too fast. They ought to take down the sail. But he was needed as lookout to shout warnings of the rocks, and Fidelma was needed at the tiller. It was too late to take the sail down and no one to do so anyway. And now they could not turn out of danger. There was still 100 metres to go before they reached the shore. It was just a matter of time when…

The impact knocked Eadulf forward over the bows and into the water. He felt his head bang against a rock and, for a moment, he was confused and dizzy. For a split second, before he was thus precipitated, he had been conscious of a tearing sound, and had an image in his mind’s eye of a sharp rock ripping into the wooden planking of the boat. Then he was struggling in the water, struggling for his life for the second time in recent days. The currents and eddies among the rocks were strong and pulled him this way and that. He reached out, trying to grasp a rock but they were all covered with slimy weeds and he could get no purchase. The waves smashing down from the swirling currents drove the breath from his body, and when he opened his mouth to inhale, seawater gushed into it and he swallowed automatically. He was choking. He had no breath and then suddenly everything was black. He felt a brief moment of regret; regret that life had to end in such a fashion.

‘I am sorry…I am sorry…I am sorry…’

Fidelma’s voice echoed as if in a cave far, far away. Eadulf found himself fighting against the black oppressive current, swimming badly upwards towards the light and suddenly…His eyes snapped open. Fidelma was leaning over him, her hair and clothing soaked, water streaming down her face — mingling, it seemed, with tears. Her expression was tragic.

He started to cough and spit out seawater. The taste in his mouth was vile.

‘I am sorry.’ Her voice came again.

He sank back. ‘It seems that we are making a habit of trying to drown one another,’ he managed to croak, unable to control the timbre of his voice.