Peter Tremayne - The Dove of Death

‘Blame?’ enquired King Alain, showing bewilderment. ‘Blame for what?’

‘Your death.’

Fidelma waited until the wave of incredulous voices began to recede.

‘These attacks started and built up so that people would already be in the frame of mind to hate and mistrust Brilhag. Who else would they blame if the King of the Bretons, arriving on a visit to Brilhag, were to be assassinated? Assassinated in such a way that the Dove of Death was blamed? The family are descended from the kings of Bro-Waroch, and some believe that they have long had a grudge against the house of Judicael, whose son is Alain Hir. Who would question their motive? Macliau, himself, bemoaned the loss of the kingship of Bro-Waroch to Domnonia, and boasted that he wanted to retrieve the ancient rights of his family.’

Lord Canao cast a look of dismay at his son. Macliau sat white-faced, staring unseeingly at his feet. It was as if he had withdrawn into himself.

‘So he is guilty! He is the Dove of Death!’ shouted Barbatil.

Alain Hir was grave and thoughtful.

‘You seem to have gathered a lot of information in your investigation, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ he said.

‘My old mentor in law in Hibernia, the Brehon Morann, used to say that once you have a motive you will be led to the culprit. I am afraid that in this instance he was wrong. The motive was to kill you and place the blame on the family who might have claimed this kingdom on your death. But if that family were not guilty of the assassination…who else could possibly benefit from such events as have occurred here?’

‘You mean, a beneficiary other than the house of Brilhag?’

‘Exactly. As a Roman lawyer, Cicero, once argued before a judge — cui bono ? Who stands to gain? That is the basis of this matter. Curiously enough, a short time before his death, my Cousin Bressal and I were speaking of the very motivation behind the assassination of a king or chieftain, and of our concerns for the wellbeing of our own High King. From the attack on our ship, we have made a long journey through many dark minds, but now all shall be revealed.’

‘Let us confine ourselves to the accusation that Macliau killed his mistress Argantken and is, in fact, the Dove of Death,’ demanded the bretat Kaourentin. ‘That is why this hearing has been called and that should be the first thing we do.’

An expectant murmur ran through the audience.

‘We cannot confine ourselves to that alone,’ retorted Fidelma. ‘However, let us put Macliau out of his misery. He was not guilty of Argantken’s murder any more than he was responsible for the outrages that have been committed under the flag of Brilhag. He was a victim of the Dove of Death, a victim of another outrage which would make people think that Brilhag was responsible. And when the last of these actions, the assassination of the King and his replacement, would occur, everyone would blame the family of Brilhag, so that the person responsible could be swept to the kingship on an hysterical wave of support.’

It was some moments before the hubbub died away.

For the first time Macliau raised his head and an expression of hope crossed his features.

Fidelma glanced at him with a satisfied smile.

‘I discounted Macliau’s involvement on several grounds. Primarily, while, with the right motive, we are probably all capable of killing someone, what motive did he have for killing Argantken? Macliau loves the good life. He loves wine and women. He is no warrior. He confessed as much to us when we arrived here. Importantly, he would never have killed his dog Albiorix. I think he loved that dog perhaps more than he did the women in his life. No, it is impossible to see Macliau in the role of the Koulm ar Maro . The Dove of Death is vicious, a ruthless killer with a fixed ambition — not the sort of person who would fall into a drunken stupor next to their newly killed victim and their pet dog. Finally, how would Macliau have succeeded as King? Even his sister, Trifina, and others have pointed out that he did not have the support to succeed as lord of Brilhag, let alone King. I am told the Bretons still adhere to choosing the most capable member of the bloodline, male or even female.’

‘If not Macliau then who…?’ began Lord Canao.

‘I can now name the person who gave direct orders to Taran: the pirate who, dressed all in white and wearing a mask, even went on some of their murderous raids and enjoyed the killing as much as those they led. The person who killed my Cousin Bressal and the captain of the Barnacle Goose was — Iuna.’

There was a thunderous noise of incredulity and surprise through the hall. Trifina turned from her seat with shocked features.

‘You must be jesting! Iuna, our stewardess?’ she cried over the hubbub.

Fidelma was calm.

‘Iuna was the person who actually led some of the raids. She is a ruthless and ambitious young woman. It was Aourken who first told me about that ambition. Her parents had been killed and she had been fostered by the lord of Brilhag.’

‘But she was content simply to be our domestic…’ began Lord Canao. ‘She was my foster-daughter. She had no ambition.’

‘On the contrary, she had great ambition,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Iuna came from a noble family that dwelt in Brekilian. Iuna’s parents had been slain. You knew that when you took her into your household.’

Lord Canao raised his arms in a helpless gesture. It was King Alain who, sitting back, was shaking his head with a sad smile.

‘Unfortunately, Fidelma of Hibernia, in your accusation of Iuna, you are forgetting one thing. I knew Iuna’s father, since he fought at my side against the Frankish incursions. He was a great noble and a great warrior. But he was not of the bloodline of Domnonia or Bro-Waroch. If the motive was to assassinate me and blame it on Lord Canao’s family, in order that she could claim my throne, that would have been impossible.’

‘True,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘But I did not say that she was aiming to be the direct beneficiary of these murderous acts. She was acting for someone else, someone who would be the beneficiary — in the mistaken belief that she would then join him as his Queen .’

‘But,’ replied King Alain, ‘if I died now, there is only…’

There was a sudden silence and then Fidelma spoke slowly and distinctly.

‘Yes. There is only your son by your first wife who is of the bloodline and would come to the throne without challenge. Budic would succeed you.’

Once again the rest of her words were drowned in the cacophony of voices throughout the great hall. Budic sat with a broad grin spreading over his features, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Finally, Fidelma made herself heard again, speaking directly to King Alain.

‘I did not know that Budic was your son and possible heir until you confirmed it last night. I should have realised it before, when Abbot Maelcar arrived in answer to what he believed was a command from you as King. Abbot Maelcar asked Budic if he had sent the message on behalf of his father. Of course, Abbot Maelcar knew you were Budic’s father. Not picking up on that was a serious error on my behalf.’

Budic was actually laughing now.

‘And not the only one. You are accusing me of attempting to murder my own father?’ He turned to King Alain. ‘The woman is mad. When these attacks started to occur I can prove I was not even in this province.’

‘I am sure you can because you were working with Iuna, the Dove of Death.’

Budic gazed at Fidelma with a cynical smile. ‘You still have to prove all these accusations, and foreigner or not, a King’s sister or not, you will have to account for them.’ The vehemence in his voice belied the smile.