Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

Boric smiled patiently, then enlightened him. ‘The earth always tells the story. Some horses came here; the depth of their imprint measures their weight. When they left, in that direction,’ he pointed, ‘only four of the horses impressed the ground with the same weight. The others were light. Then we found marks of boots, heavy shod of the type warriors wear. The wearers of these went down to the embankment and seem to have boarded a boat drawn up on the shore.’

‘Probably they went to join their friends on the ship,’ Bleidbara explained grimly.

Eadulf had to admit that the tracker knew his business well.

‘And those that continued on?’ he asked. ‘Where would they go to?’

Boric shrugged. ‘The only way to know that would be to follow them.’

Bleidbara was now all in favour of pushing on. He pointed out that Fidelma had wanted the attackers followed to their lair.

‘What is the point of coming this far, only to turn back?’ he pressed.

‘But the sea raider, this Koulm ar Maro , is hiding somewhere out there.’ Eadulf pointed to the Morbihan.

‘It might be that in following those that continued on land, we will find out where their secret harbour is,’ Bleidbara said.

‘How so?’

‘Why wouldn’t they all try to escape to the sea, if escaping they were? I think they also have a camp on land and that is where they stable their horses for these attacks. In that place, we may also find the harbour that shelters their ship.’

Eadulf thought carefully. ‘There is something in that logic,’ he agreed.

‘You sound doubtful?’

‘It’s just that I am wondering why we have not found the bodies of the slain bodyguards of Riwanon and her maidservant Ceingar?’

‘Perhaps we missed them,’ Bleidbara replied.

‘Or they could have been made prisoners,’ suggested Boric.

‘The answer is to follow and find out for ourselves.’ Bleidbara’s tone was determined.

With a reluctant sigh, Eadulf conceded to the warrior. He still felt uneasy, however, and worse still, remained unsure what it was that Fidelma had expected him to see.

There was an air of nervous expectation in the fortress of Brilhag. A warrior had retrieved the carcass of Macliau’s little dog Albiorix from the pigpen at Barbatil’s farmstead. Macliau, clearly stricken with a grief that Fidelma found surprising, had insisted on personally digging a little grave in the gardens of the fortress, observed only by Trifina and Fidelma. He had said nothing to them or they to him. After Macliau had interred his dog, he had retired to his chamber with a flagon of wine, moody and uncommunicative.

‘Does Iuna know Budic?’ Fidelma asked, as Trifina accompanied her slowly back to the great hall.

The other woman glanced at her in surprise. ‘I don’t think so. What makes you ask?’

‘I just had a feeling,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Had Budic visited Brilhag before? I thought Riwanon said she had been to the Abbey of Gildas in the past. I thought they might have met then.’

Trifina shook her head. ‘That was a long time ago, before Riwanon married Alain. Budic has never been here. However…’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘However?’

‘Iuna has accompanied my father a few times to the court of Alain Hir in Brekilien.’

‘I thought Brekilien was a forest?’

‘So it is, but within it is the location of the royal court, near the Abbey Pempont, which King Judicael founded some years before his death. It is our great religious and royal centre.’

At this point, Trifina bade Fidelma farewell and retired to her own chamber. Fidelma herself went on to the great hall, but found only two occupants. At the far end of the hall, Riwanon and Budic were standing together before the fire locked in earnest conversation. What caused Fidelma to stop in surprise was the proximity of their bodies to one another; too close for the normal relationship between a Queen and the commander of her bodyguard. Budic was very close, staring down into the upturned face of Riwanon. Their voices were low and urgent.

Fidelma closed the door behind her, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, and the two sprang apart.

‘Fidelma.’ Riwanon forced a smile. ‘Any news?’

‘Bleidbara has not returned yet,’ Fidelma said, moving forward to the fire. Although it was summer, the great hall seemed cold. ‘And Macliau has just buried his dog.’

Budic sniffed disparagingly.

‘Do you still think him innocent?’ There was the familiar sneer in his voice.

‘It matters not what I think,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It is what the bretat will judge when he hears the evidence.’

‘It is no justice when one has to wait so long for it,’ replied Budic. ‘He should have been tried at once.’

‘I did not think it was your law to try someone without a qualified judge present? No one, surely, should be tried by an emotional mob.’

Budic was about to respond but then he merely shrugged and moved away to sink in a chair before the fire. Riwanon looked at her guard commander with irritation at his rudeness.

‘We are a little tense waiting for news…waiting for what might be an attack on this fortress by these brigands,’ she said, almost in apology.

‘Indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But we must all try to relax as best we can. From what I have seen of this fortress, we are well protected.’

‘I hope your Saxon friend and Bleidbara can say the same,’ muttered Budic from his chair.

Eadulf was seated on his horse, his heart pounding as Boric, the tracker and scout, came galloping back along the path to the clearing where he, Bleidbara and the others had halted.

‘A horseman is coming!’ He cried a warning in a low voice. ‘A single rider, coming at the gallop!’

With one motion of his arm, Bleidbara signalled his men to take cover on either side of the forest path, ensuring that Eadulf followed him into the cover of the thick undergrowth. Indeed, no time seemed to pass before they could hear the thudding of hooves along the muddy track. The rider was bent low over the straining neck of the beast. He was clearly in a hurry. Before he drew near, Eadulf saw that he was no ordinary warrior. He was well dressed with a multi-coloured cloak snapping in the air behind his shoulders. He had an ornate polished helmet, and a saffron-coloured tunic with designs that Eadulf could not clearly make out. The man wore a sword but carried neither shield nor spear.

As he drew near, Bleidbara urged his horse forward to block the rider’s path while his comrades came up behind him. For a second or two, the rider’s horse shied and kicked the air with its forehooves.

‘Out of the way!’ roared the rider angrily, his hand falling to his sword. ‘In the name of the King, out of the way !’

‘Who are you?’ Bleidbara demanded.

‘A messenger from King Alain on his business. Now move!’

‘I am commander of the guard at the fortress of Brilhag,’ replied Bleidbara. ‘You ride in dangerous country, my friend.’

‘Not if the mac’htiern of Brilhag is loyal to my King,’ the man declared haughtily.

‘Brilhag is loyal but there are enemies that lurk in these woods.’

‘You do not have to tell me that. I was nearly caught by a band of cut-throats not far back along this track. They loosed some arrows at me but my horse was faster than they were. Are you seeking them?’

‘You saw them?’

‘Three men were all I saw.’

‘We are in pursuit of them.’

‘Then follow this path. I came on them making camp in a small clearing near a stream.’

Bleidbara was puzzled at the news. ‘Camped already? But it is several hours until nightfall. Why, we could ride back to Brilhag from here and arrive before it grows dark.’