Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

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 was 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.

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.