Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘He needs little excuse for his likes and dislikes,’ the girl replied. ‘And now I think I have gossiped enough. Excuse me — I have my duties to perform.’

With a quick jerk of her head to indicate that the conversation had ended, she turned and walked away, leaving Fidelma gazing thoughtfully after her. Perhaps, she thought, the family relationships were entirely irrelevant to the matter, but they were certainly complicated.

On her return to the great hall, Fidelma found that some of the others had arrived and were sitting morosely around the fire. Macliau was seated on one side of the hearth apparently recovering from his travails, while Trifina sat opposite him, both their gazes seemed concentrated on the flames. Brother Metellus had apparently made the early-morning journey to the fortress to report on conditions at the abbey after the near-riot. He sat near them, drumming his fingers uneasily on the wooden arm of his carved chair. Bleidbara was standing before the fire, hands clasped behind him, while Eadulf remained at the table, having finished breaking his fast. He raised his eyes in a meaningful expression as Fidelma entered, as if to indicate the awkward atmosphere that permeated the room.

Fidelma was just walking across to join her husband when the now-familiar warning blast on a trumpet at the gates of the fortress caused them all to start.

Bleidbara’s head jerked up, his expression one of concern. He hurried to the doors and threw them open.

They could hear the sounds of horses arriving and Bleidbara’s voice raised in question. It was not long before he came back. His expression was grim and foretold bad news.

‘What is it?’ demanded Trifina.

‘My men have returned,’ Bleidbara announced hollowly. ‘They found the four men who accompanied Macliau.’

‘Well, what do these men say? Why are they not brought before me?’ snapped Trifina.

Bleidbara glanced at Macliau, who was waiting anxiously for his reply.

‘They say nothing, lady, for they are all dead. They seem to have been shot at close range with arrows.’

There was a silence, broken only by a long shuddering breath from Macliau.

‘I see,’ said Fidelma slowly. ‘And where were the bodies found? I mean, were they in the proximity of the ruined oratory?’

‘Not far from it, but not close enough for any warning cry to be heard.’

‘Did your men bring the arrows with them?’

Bleidbara gazed at her in surprise, then muttered something and disappeared. He had returned in a moment and held out one of the arrows to her.

She looked at it. ‘Goose feather and three flights. A professional fletched arrow,’ she said, glancing over at Eadulf.

He nodded slightly, to show he understood. Bleidbara opened his mouth as if to speak, but changed his mind.

Macliau raised his head again, his pleading eyes regarding them each in turn.

‘They were my only witnesses that what I say is the truth,’ he said. ‘What trial shall I get now?’

Brother Metellus looked at him sorrowfully, saying, ‘Dead men do not make good witnesses, Macliau.’

Macliau jumped up, his mouth working.

‘ I did not kill them!’ he cried. ‘Is that what you are implying. Brother Metellus? I did not kill anyone.’ He turned and almost ran from the hall in the manner of a petulant child.

‘This does not disprove Macliau’s story,’ Fidelma said. ‘It could have happened in the way he described. His men were killed and then the killers could have waited until Macliau and the girl were both asleep, entered the oratory, made him so drunk he passed out, and then stabbed the girl. The story is still feasible.’

Bleidbara glanced at Trifina, who had resumed her gaze at the fire. Her jaw was clenched.

‘There is one thing I should say,’ he said quietly. ‘Lady Trifina knows this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Our own fletcher made those arrows, which you remark on. There is a store of them in our armoury. Two weeks ago, the fletcher noticed that several bundles seemed to be missing. We could not account for their disappearance.’

‘Well, we need proof one way or the other, if we are to satisfy Barbatil and the local men,’ observed Brother Metellus.

Eadulf spoke up. ‘The attackers could well have stabbed the girl — but as Macliau woke, when they poured strong liquor into him to dull his senses, it would surely not have had such a rapid effect?’ he pointed out. ‘You cannot pour liquid down someone’s throat and expect them to become insensible with drink in so short a time.’

‘Are you saying that Macliau is lying?’ Trifina turned from the fireplace, her voice quiet but threatening.

‘No, I am not,’ Eadulf replied hurriedly. ‘What I am saying is that I think he would have had to have been drugged as well as having alcohol poured into him. If so, it would require someone with the skills of an apothecary.’

‘But why not simply kill him?’ Trifina demanded, and then added hastily, ‘Thanks be to God that they did not. But I do not understand the logic of this.’

‘I think the logic is easy to follow,’ Fidelma intervened. ‘Didn’t you tell us that you thought this Dove of Death, as you call him, was trying to disgrace your family? To follow your logic, we have your brother accused of murder and nearly strung up by a mob for something he didn’t do. Isn’t that precisely what you claim this Koulm ar Maro ’s purpose is?’

‘So you believe Macliau is innocent?’

‘I would add the word “probably” to “innocent”. Having been too long in dealing with such matters, I cannot be dogmatic about anything until it is proven one way or the other,’ Fidelma replied.

To their surprise, at that moment, another warning call of a trumpet was heard from the gates.

‘That is a signal of approaching danger from the lookouts!’ cried Trifina, her face white. ‘The mob are coming for Macliau!’

‘Calm yourself,’ replied Bleidbara. ‘The mob won’t get into this fortress. Anyway, Barbatil has given his word.’ The young warrior hurried from the great hall. He was back within minutes.

‘It is Riwanon and Budic. They looked distressed.’

Within a short time, the Queen had entered, followed by Budic. Riwanon made for a chair and slumped into it, breathing heavily. She was dishevelled and covered in dust. There was a tear in Budic’s cloak, blood on his face, although there did not seem to be an obvious wound. He, too, was covered in dust.

Fidelma immediately poured wine for them. All present waited in silence, no one asking the obvious question. Riwanon did not speak until she had gulped several mouthfuls of wine.

‘We were attacked,’ she announced flatly.

‘Attacked? What — by the mob?’ demanded Trifina.

‘Where and by whom?’ asked Fidelma more cautiously.

‘Make sure the gates of the fortress are secured,’ Budic, having recovered himself, ordered Bleidbara. ‘They were riding close after us.’

Bleidbara went to ensure that the gates were firmly shut and that a watch was kept on the highway.

By now, Riwanon had calmed down a little.

‘We were nearing the little oratory, which I wanted to visit. I was riding in front with Budic, going through a stretch of forest. All I knew was that there was a cry and glancing behind I saw two of our men had fallen with arrows in them. Dead, I think. I heard Ceingar give a scream. Budic whipped my horse and we bounded forward. Only Budic and I escaped. He saved my life, yelling for me to ride as I have never ridden before. I am sure that they are pursuing close behind.’ She shuddered, before asking, ‘Are the gates closed?’

‘You are safe now in the fortress of Brilhag,’ asserted Trifina coldly.