Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

There was a muttering of discontent among the crowd.

Fidelma continued to speak directly to Barbatil through Brother Metellus.

‘You hold the decision, my friend. You lead these people. Your word may stop your friends from pursuing a misguided course. Your word may even stop them squandering their blood needlessly for, make no mistake, the warriors you see before you will defend this right of sanctuary. Not to defend Macliau, but to defend a higher principle — the right of the Church to offer sanctuary. They will sell their lives dearly in this cause. Are you prepared for this unnecessary effusion of blood? Death of many for the pursuit of vengeance? Do you believe your daughter would rest happy in the knowledge that such injustice was carried out in her name?’

She saw the man wavering and she prayed that Brother Metellus was translating her words with the same eloquence as she was trying to give them.

‘Send your friends away, so that they may not die this day. Remain here with me and hear the words of Macliau. Then you may see that I am not merely defending him for the sake of who he is, but rather to search for the truth. Out of this truth, justice will come to you.’

The farmer stood hesitantly. Then he sighed deeply and turned, handing his weapon to his companion Coric.

‘I will go with the foreigner from Hibernia,’ he said slowly. ‘Wait for me here, Coric.’ Then he turned to the rest and raised his voice. ‘Friends, I thank you for what you have done. I am a man who believes in the Church and in the law. And I believe the law is for everyone, not only for our lords. I am going to give this foreign Sister of the Faith a chance to demonstrate that her words are not mere sounds that vanish on the air. I will go with her to see and hear what she intends, and how she will conjure this justice for my family and me. Indeed, justice for all of us who have suffered from the raids of this Dove of Death.’

‘What do you want us to do, Barbatil?’ cried a voice from the crowd.

‘For the moment, disperse to your homes. Disperse, but hold yourselves ready, for if lies are being told here, then these lies must be met by a force that is born of our truth.’

There was a muttering among the crowd but then they slowly turned, in ones and twos, and began to remove from the buildings of the abbey, taking their weapons with them.

Brother Metellus had been sweating in his anxiety and now he almost physically collapsed.

Bleidbara moved in an aggressive manner towards Barbatil. Fidelma saw what was passing in his mind and spoke sharply.

‘Bleidbara, I was not amusing myself with false words. Barbatil is under my protection and will not be harmed, for no one can condemn his actions entirely, given what he has suffered. He will come into the chapel and sit unharmed while we question Macliau. Do I make myself clear?’

Bleidbara reddened a little and then he bowed his head stiffly.

‘You have made yourself clear, lady.’

Brother Metellus turned to her; the sweat stood out on his forehead and the relief was plain on his features.

‘I can only commend your action, for I have never seen a woman stand up to an angry mob and turn their anger to a peaceful solution before. I was afraid for all of us.’

‘Yet not so afraid that you were prevented from giving Macliau sanctuary and were prepared to defend your decision with your life,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘You did the right thing.’

‘From time immemorial the right of protection on a holy spot has been inviolable. Of course I could not contemplate giving in before an armed mob,’ replied Brother Metellus.

Fidelma glanced to where Coric had gone to sit on a stone wall nearby, still holding the weapons he and Barbatil had brought with them.

‘There seem to be some essential witnesses missing,’ she said, after a moment’s thought.

‘Essential witnesses?’ queried Bleidbara, puzzled.

‘Where are the companions of Macliau? He left Brilhag not only with Argantken but with two huntsmen and two warriors. Where are they?’ She turned to Barbatil. ‘Did you see any sign of the rest of Macliau’s hunting-party when you found him?’

When Brother Metellus had translated this, the farmer shook his head.

‘There was no sign of anyone else but the body of my daughter and her murderer.’

‘That is a cause of worry,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Bleidbara, I suggest that you send out a couple of your men in search of these lost souls. You can spare them now. It is of concern that they have deserted Macliau.’

Bleidbara turned to his warriors and relayed the orders to two men, who immediately left on horseback. Meanwhile, Fidelma led her companions into the chapel, leaving the guards and most of the religious outside.

Macliau was slumped on the floor against the altar. He was in a pitiful condition. The stench of stale drink and the excrement of pigs was nauseous. There was blood on his face and clothing, and he was shivering as if with some ague. Trifina was standing over him and her angry voice faded as they entered.

Brother Metellus, hearing Fidelma’s sharp intake of breath and the disgust on her face as she viewed Macliau, whispered: ‘We have had no time to cleanse him or give him clean clothes.’

‘At least give him a chair to sit on,’ she instructed. ‘By the altar, if he prefers not to leave it,’ she added, for she knew that it was in the area of the altar that most churches placed their zone of sanctuary.

Trifina had turned as they approached. Her expression was anxious, but Bleidbara quickly told her what Fidelma had done. Fidelma, by unspoken agreement, took total charge of the situation.

‘Barbatil shall sit there where he may observe,’ she instructed. ‘Brother Metellus, you will have to act as his interpreter for I shall speak to Macliau in Latin. Before you do so, Brother Metellus, send one of your brethren to bring water for Macliau to drink and a cloth to wipe the blood from his face. Bleidbara, help him into that chair.’

Someone had already brought a chair for the dishevelled young man and another for Fidelma. She seated herself opposite to him.

When Macliau, who had remained silent so far, had wiped his face and taken some water, he looked at her with a tearful expression, almost like a little boy lost.

‘Why did they have to kill Albiorix, lady?’ The words came out as a sob.

She stared, not understanding for a moment, and then she remembered his little terrier.

‘Who killed your dog?’

‘I don’t know. Whoever killed Argantken, I suppose. Such a little dog…yet they killed him.’

Fidelma turned to Barbatil. ‘You did not mention the dog.’

The farmer shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘What was there to mention? It was only a dog.’

‘It was Albiorix my dog!’ wept Macliau.

‘Did you kill it?’ queried Fidelma sharply of Barbatil.

‘Of course not, lady,’ replied the farmer. ‘We found the dog with its neck broken, lying at his feet. He must have killed it.’ He jerked his head at Macliau.

‘I did not kill him. I would never kill him,’ snivelled the son of the lord of Brilhag.

Fidelma turned back, her voice unemotional and commanding.

‘Pull yourself together, Macliau,’ she remonstrated. ‘You are the son of the Lord of Brilhag. Be a man and remember that your companion Argantken, this man’s daughter, has died a most bloody and terrible death!’

Macliau blinked rapidly and looked round, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. An apologetic expression crossed his face. He sniffed and wiped his face again.

‘I regret you see me in this position, lady,’ he muttered, licking his dry lips.

‘And I regret to see any man in such a plight,’ Fidelma replied, not unkindly. ‘Perhaps you will tell us now what happened. You should start from when you left Brilhag.’