The Dove of Death (31 page)

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Where is Boric, who commands the guard here?’

‘You will precede me to the fortress,’ snapped the man, his hand resting lightly on his sword.

With a sinking heart she suddenly realised that these were not the guards that had been left behind by Bleidbara. And now there was no way to warn Bleidbara. With her thoughts racing, she was forced to walk on, the warrior two paces behind her, his hand ready on his sword. She followed the path up to the gate in the outer wall and through the door that eventually led into the kitchen area of the fortress. Guards were placed at all the entrances.

Fidelma asked herself how the fortress of Brilhag had managed to fall into the hands of these men. They were well-clothed, well-armed and seemed highly disciplined. They were not as she had imagined the brigands of the
Koulm ar Maro
.

She was pushed firmly through the kitchens and finally into the familiar great hall.

Two men were standing before the fire, their features distorted by the flickering light. They looked up in surprise as Fidelma was ushered roughly into the room.

One of them – a tall, well-built man of over fifty, with long reddish hair and a beard, whose features seemed quite pleasant and handsome, took a step forward. His face seemed oddly familiar to Fidelma. His eyes were pale and she was not sure whether they were blue or grey. He was richly attired and wore a golden necklet and armbands.

‘Who are you, lady?’ he began.

Fidelma, angry with herself at being thus caught, replied angrily, ‘Who are
you
? And by what right do your men hold me prisoner?’

The man’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment at her fearless attitude. His companion, an elderly man with grey hair, chuckled as if witnessing a joke.

‘Lady,’ replied the tall man solemnly, ‘I am called Alain of Domnonia and am King of the Bretons. By this right, do I do all things. And now, please answer me: who are you?’

Another figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall, saying, ‘It is the stranger I told you of, Father. She is Fidelma of Hibernia.’

King Alain took a few rapid paces towards Fidelma with hands outstretched.

‘Fidelma of Hibernia – welcome! Riwanon and Budic have told me all about you, and how you came to be here. So I welcome you, but at the same time ask you to accept my sorrow for the suffering that you have been put through. Your Cousin Bressal had been an honoured guest at my court when we agreed a treaty between my people and your brother, the King of Muman. It grieves my heart to hear of his death and your distress. Where is your companion, Eadulf the Saxon?’

Instead of replying, Fidelma glanced towards Budic, who had perched himself with a grin on the table, with one leg swinging. It seemed his favourite posture. Then her eyes turned to the elderly man by the fire. His features, too, seemed familiar. Alain noticed her examination and smiled.

‘I crave your indulgence for not making the introduction. This is the
mac’htiern
of Brilhag, Lord Canao.’

The elderly man came forward, and Fidelma now realised why his features were familiar. There was the reflection of Macliau and of Trifina on them. Whereas Macliau’s features
were weak, those of Canao, his father, were strong and held a quality of wisdom and maturity that seemed lacking in his son.

The lord of Brilhag held out his hand.

‘I have heard how you saved my son from the mob that would have killed him, and how you set off to find my missing daughter. What news of her?’

‘Alas, we have not found her,’ admitted Fidelma. ‘But we have some knowledge which might lead us to her.’

The warrior who had accompanied her now broke into a quick speech to the King. King Alain turned to Fidelma: ‘The captain of my guard says there is a ship in the inlet below and he is worried for our safety.’

‘You need not worry. The ship is the
Morvran
. Bleidbara is the commander of it. I have just landed from her. My companion Eadulf is still on board and they expect to continue the search for Lord Canao’s daughter at dawn. I also hope that they will be led to the survivors of the
Barnacle Goose
.’

Lord Canao nodded slowly in approval.

‘Bleidbara is a good man. That’s why I appointed him commander of my warriors. I am content, if he is in command still.’

Budic rose from his perch, saying, ‘You must tell us all the details, lady. But I would like to be in at the kill, to take revenge for the deaths that have taken place here. I will get a man to row me out to the
Morvran
.’

King Alain glanced at the young man and held up his hand to stay him. ‘Let us rather talk of the visitation of justice, my son, than of revenge.’

‘Budic of Domnonia,’ Fidelma whispered, gazing at the young man. ‘Then he is the son of your first wife who died from the Yellow Plague?’

A pained expression crossed the King’s features.

‘You are well informed, lady. Budic is my only offspring. His mother was my great companion and partner. I thought that I would never survive the grief when she died of the Yellow Plague. Thanks be to God, I found solace with Riwanon. It is beyond man’s expectation to find two great loves in one lifetime. But I have been truly blessed.’

‘With your permission, father, I will join Bleidbara,’ the young warrior requested.

King Alain shook his head. ‘I need you here, Budic. Bleidbara and his men are capable enough. I must have my guard commander at my side.’

Budic looked unhappy, but then acknowledged his father’s wish. King Alain spoke to Fidelma’s escort and the warrior saluted and left. The King turned back to her with a smile.

‘I have told him not to interfere with the
Morvran
.’

‘So, tell us, Fidelma, what is the plan of Bleidbara?’ Budic wanted to know.

Until her suspicions were confirmed, Fidelma felt it was best to say as little as possible. She chose her words carefully.

‘Bleidbara believes he knows where the raider, the
Koulm ar Maro
, might be. I am not sure where, as I do not know these waters you call the Morbihan. I believe it might be some eastern islet.’ She was deliberately misleading them.

‘Well, let us provide you with refreshments,’ announced King Alain. ‘And you may give us an account of your adventures. It sounds as if this will be a story told by our bards for many years.’

‘I would do so with pleasure, Alain. But the saga is not ended and I would advise you not to relax your guard too much.’ Fidelma spoke in a serious tone. ‘It is my belief that this mystery is quickly coming to its planned conclusion.’

‘Its
planned conclusion
?’ King Alain looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘All I can say is that I will be able to tell you more tomorrow.’

‘The lady is being dramatic,’ Budic observed cynically. ‘What mystery are we talking of?’

The King held her eyes in a thoughtful gaze.

‘I have no need to ask if you are jesting, Fidelma. The gravity of what you say is in your expression. You suspect some conspiracy here?’

‘I do. I suggest that you should continue to take a special care. As I said, I am hoping that by the end of tomorrow, we shall know enough to present you with all the facts. But tonight, with Lord Canao’s permission – for I know of the proscription against weapons in this house – we should sleep
arrectis auribus
, with our bedchamber doors locked, and with trustworthy guards outside.’

‘Fidelma!’ At that moment, Riwanon came down the stairs and moved quickly towards her with a smile and both hands held out in welcome.

‘I was so worried for you when you disappeared earlier today. After Ceingar’s death and the disappearance of Trifina and Iuna, why, I was in great agitation. It is good to see you alive and safe. And now that Alain is here, all is well, is that not so?’ Riwanon turned round as if searching for someone. ‘But where are Eadulf and Bleidbara? Did you have any success in finding Trifina and the girl Iuna?’

Fidelma shook her head with a sad expression.

‘No – but we have not given up,’ she replied. ‘We hope to have some news soon. Bleidbara is continuing the search. All we can do is get some rest tonight and await the coming of tomorrow.’

Lord Canao was looking glum.

‘This is a strange homecoming for me. My son, Macliau, is accused of murder. My daughter, Trifina, and my foster-daughter, Iuna, are both missing. Abbot Maelcar and the queen’s maid have been murdered under my roof. My people are now accusing me and mine of untold crimes. God alone knows what
conspiracy is underway. I even find that a
bretat
from Bro-Gernev named Kaourentin has arrived here to judge my son.’

Fidelma was surprised at the news.

‘Brother Metellus told me that it took at least four days to travel to Bro-Gernev and back,’ she said. ‘You mean the
bretat
is here already?’

‘Apparently, Kaourentin was travelling from Bro-Gernev to Naoned and had arrived by chance at the Abbey of Gildas seeking hospitality,’ replied Canao. ‘Brother Metellus told me that it had been suggested a judge from Bro-Gernev should sit to hear my son’s defence rather than my own
bretat
. Apparently, the people would not respect a judgement given by the
bretat
of Brilhag.’

‘Is Brother Metellus here?’ asked Fidelma.

‘He came in company of this man Kaourentin. I would have preferred my
bretat
, Iarnbud, to be here to advise me.’

Fidelma looked at him levelly for a moment.

‘I regret that Iarnbud is also dead,’ she said. ‘I will explain in a moment.’

‘More deaths? Are we threatened in any way, Fidelma?’ asked King Alain in a shocked voice.

Fidelma could not resist answering with dry humour.

‘I think that we are threatened in every way,’ she replied solemnly. ‘As I said, we must be alert tonight.’

‘But no one would dare break into this fortress.’ Budic’s chuckle was dismissive. ‘We have guards enough.’

‘Perhaps they don’t have to break in,’ replied Fidelma softly.

Riwanon shivered slightly, saying, ‘You frighten me, Fidelma. What do you mean?’

‘I simply mean that we all need to be vigilant, for tomorrow will be an important day.’

‘Tomorrow?’ queried King Alain. ‘You keep saying that. Why tomorrow?’

‘Because that is when this mystery will finally be unravelled.’

Like a swan gliding across the dark waters, the
Morvran
slid forward, her sails stirring at the first breaths of the pre-dawn breeze. Her rigging began to shake and whisper like the soft movement of fingers over the taut strings of a lyre. Bleidbara seemed relaxed as he instructed the man at the tiller, guiding the vessel into the westerly darkness with the first glimmerings of the light heralding a new day behind them. Not for the first time Eadulf reminded himself that these people were essentially a seagoing community whose ancestors, with their large ships and maritime dexterity, had nearly brought disaster to Julius Caesar’s fleet centuries before.

Eadulf and Heraclius stood to one side of the raised deck at the stern of the vessel, near the tiller, where Bleidbara had planted himself, feet wide apart and hands before him, thumbs stuck into his belt. He glanced up at the moon that was still low in the western sky but so pale that it was almost indiscernible. The dawn atmosphere was chill.

‘Do you think we will catch them?’ Eadulf asked quietly, breaking the silence that had descended since the order had been given to hoist sail. ‘There are so many islands for them to hide behind in order to evade us, and once they are through the channel into the great sea beyond…’

‘You forget, Eadulf,’ replied Bleidbara, ‘the tide is now flowing into Morbihan with a powerful surge. No ship can move against that current in the channel. They are stuck here until the tide turns and that will be well after dawn. It’s a very dangerous tide to face: the sea can rise up to four metres here.’

Eadulf remembered what old Aourken had told them about the passage into the Morbihan. As little as he knew the sea and ships, he could still appreciate the dextrous way that Bleidbara’s crew handled the large vessel.

‘What do you intend?’ Heraclius asked Bleidbara.

‘I intend to go to Er Lannig, an island called the Little Heath, which guards the entrance to the channel. We won’t feel the strong pull of the incoming tide there. That would be the closest point where the
Koulm ar Maro
can wait for the turn of the tide. If they are not there, I’ll start to weather up to Gavrinis, the Isle of Goats, and then move up the channel, keeping the Isle of Monks to our starboard. Unless I am a bad sailor, we’ll find our sea-raider somewhere in those waters.’

Bleidbara sounded confident enough.

‘And when we do meet up with them, what then? What if they want to fight?’ asked Eadulf. ‘I’ve never been in a real sea battle before.’

Bleidbara smiled grimly in the semi-darkness and looked towards Heraclius.

‘We have the wild ass already in place at our bow. Then we will see if that little invention is what it claims to be. If it is not, it will be a contest to see if our bows are stronger than their bows, our arrows more powerful than their arrows.’

‘The wild ass?’ Eadulf peered at the bow, but in the darkness all he could see was the curious canvas-covered wooden frames that had been brought aboard the previous afternoon.

Heraclius touched him on the arm and pointed at the covering.

‘The onager is a form of catapult used by the Roman legions.
They called it the wild ass because, when the projectile is released, the engine that fires it kicks back like a mule,’ he explained. ‘I have trained some men to use it, and I’m hoping that we don’t have to come to close quarters to fight the enemy ship. The range of the weapon is about three hundred to three hundred and fifty metres.’

‘You hope to hole the ship by throwing rocks at it?’ Eadulf had heard that the Romans had used such engines in siege war, but never on shipboard.

Heraclius just smiled mysteriously and shook his head.

Eadulf, during the period that followed, had cause to feel regret that he had come on such a voyage. He was not the best of sailors and now the excitement of the first part of the chase began to wear off, he realised the stark truth: he was on a vessel, ploughing across dark waters, en route to engage a ship that would obviously fight back. He was anxious but knew that showing anxiety would not be advisable; at this time he must feign the same indifference that Bleidbara and Heraclius appeared to be displaying. He had never seen two ships engage one another on the sea before, and he anticipated that it would be fierce and bloody. His calling as a religious would not protect him in this battle. He wondered whether he should ask Bleidbara what he should do when the attack began, but them compelled himself to refrain from comment.

The vessel was moving along at a fast pace now as a south-westerly wind, coming off the land, caught the sails. A white ribbon of sea foam was spreading on either side of its bows, almost phosphorescent and clearly visible in spite of the darkness. But the darkness was now vanishing. The moon was still well above the horizon but had become a pallid white orb, a wispy blob of sheep’s wool in the pale sky. The coastline of the peninsula was close to their portside, a dark, impenetrable line of trees and hills. To the starboard, the humps of islands
were now rising out of the early-morning mist that hung across the Little Sea. The helmsman appeared to know the waters well even in the darkness, skilfully moving the helm a point or two to avoid submerged rocks, judging his distance from points Eadulf could not even see.

Bleidbara suddenly shouted an order and one of the men leaped agilely to the rigging and went up to the top of the main mast. After a few moments he called down and Bleidbara’s mouth tightened a little at his words.

‘The trouble is,’ he confided to Eadulf, ‘we have the dawn rising at our backs. They will see us coming if they are directly ahead of us – and before we ourselves get close enough to see their sails. I have put a man up there to see if he can spot any sign of them.’

Eadulf knew enough to realise that the height of the mast gave an advantage in sighting a vessel across the water that would otherwise be hidden from those on the deck.

They sailed on in silence for a while, the tension growing among the crew. There was a cry from the masthead.

‘There’s Er Lannig now,’ grunted Bleidbara. ‘We’ll keep it to port and come north-west of it.’ He gave a sharp order to the helmsman. ‘We have to steer clear of the southern tip – there are submerged standing stones there.’

As the ship swung further north, Heraclius explained: ‘The island seems to have been a centre of pagan worship. I have come exploring here before. There are the remains of two stone circles. Do you see them?’

Eadulf could just see the silhouettes of jagged stones, curving into the sea.

‘One circle is entirely submerged, but one of the stones remains very dangerous. Local fishermen call it the blacksmith’s stone,’ Bleidbara went on. ‘It could tear the bottom out of a ship like this.’

Now the dawn had become a reality, not with rich reds and golds but with a pale watery hue that seemed to foretell rain to come. The sun was well hidden behind a growing pack of pale clouds, but it was now clear enough to see for some distance – and all eyes swept the sea around them.

‘We’ll turn for the Island of Goats,’ called Bleidbara, pointing ahead.

Another shout from the masthead made them all look up.

Eadulf did not understand what the lookout was saying but his arm was thrust out more to the north of them. He looked but couldn’t see anything.

Bleidbara slapped his thigh with a grin.

‘There she is, just where I expected her to be. She is heading south towards us.’ He glanced up at the sails. ‘But we should have the wind with us. Take a care for yourselves, my friends, as we will soon be upon them.’

There was now a shout from the maindeck and Eadulf turned and saw a ship materialising across the water. Her sails were fully rigged but they hung almost useless in the prevailing wind. The ship was pitching and moving without elegance as it sought to make headway.

It seemed that they had been spotted, for there was movement on the oncoming ship. Its bows seemed to move as if it were trying to turn away.

‘They are wearing ship,’ muttered Heraclius. ‘Trying to turn,’ he added for Eadulf’s sake.

Indeed, the ship was jerking idly backwards and forwards. It seemed that those on board had been surprised by the appearance of Bleidbara’s vessel moving rapidly towards them, heaving and plunging as the wind grew stronger. The water was gushing under her bows; the plumes of white froth spreading more widely as she raced across the gap towards the sea-raider.

‘Time to get ready!’ Bleidbara shouted to Heraclius.

The young man nodded, and with a quick, ‘Good luck,’ to both Bleidbara and Eadulf, he made his way for’ard to where the wild ass was being uncovered by some of the crew.

Eadulf had never seen a machine like it before. At first it seemed to consist of a triangular frame of dark oak whose base was fixed firmly on the deck. At the front end was a vertical frame of solid timber; through this frame, Eadulf noticed an axle that had a single stout upright spoke inserted through a skein of twisted rope. At the end of the spoke was a leather thong or sling. The axle or horizontal barrel was rotated by a crank which forced the vertical spoke backwards almost to a horizontal position. He had heard something about these Ancient Roman engines. A stone would be inserted into the sling and the vertical arm released, usually by the person in control, using a mallet to knock out the securing pin, which held the arm. Thus released, with such pressure provided by the tension of twisted rope, the arm went up and would throw the stone or rock for a considerable distance.

He could see Heraclius examining and checking the engine. Then he said something to one of his men. Two of them disappeared below decks and came back carrying the wooden box carefully between them. It was obviously heavy and they placed it cautiously by the engine. Heraclius bent down and opened it and extracted one of the large clay balls that Eadulf had seen in the apothecary’s stone hut.

Bleidbara gave a warning shout to Heraclius and pointed to the oncoming ship.

Now, in the early-morning light, Eadulf could see archers lining the decks near the bows. He saw the familiar lines of the ship, the carved figure of the dove on its prow. It was, indeed, the
Koulm ar Maro
, The Dove of Death, that had attacked the
Barnacle Goose
. There was no disputing its lines as it turned for the attack. But Bleidbara was in charge of no
undefended merchantman. His warriors were already lined up at the side with their own bows ready.

Nervously, Eadulf edged towards a position where a spar might afford him some protection from the onslaught of arrows that would undoubtedly fall on them. He had presumed that Bleidbara would run the ship alongside the
Koulm ar Maro
. Now he realised that Bleidbara was heading bow first towards the vessel as if to ram her. Heraclius and his companions had lifted one of the large clay balls into the sling and the young man seemed to be sighting his curious weapon as if measuring the decreasing distance between the two vessels.

‘Heraclius won’t knock a hole in that vessel with those clay balls,’ Eadulf called to Bleidbara. ‘Hasn’t he got some heavy stones to inflict more damage?’

Bleidbara glanced at him and smiled reassuringly.

‘Keep your head down, Brother Eadulf. We shall open the battle when we are three hundred metres from her.’

The
Koulm ar Maro
was no longer trying to turn but also coming bow first towards them in spite of the wind being entirely with Bleidbara’s vessel. It was only now that Eadulf realised that the enemy’s main deck was higher than their own, so the archers on the
Koulm ar Maro
had the advantage of shooting down while Bleidbara’s men would have to shoot upwards. Eadulf knew enough about warfare to be aware that this was not the best position. With a dry mouth he watched the dark strip of water closing between the two vessels.

Suddenly Bleidbara shouted to Heraclius.

The young man bent forward. Eadulf saw the mallet in his hand and heard it strike on the wooden peg. He could feel the vibration through the entire vessel as the pole with its sling released the projectile under extreme pressure. The clay ball arched upwards across the space between the two vessels, and Eadulf was bitterly disappointed to see it hit a jutting spar on
the
Koulm ar Maro
and fall back into the sea, breaking into pieces as it did so. Then he gasped in astonishment, for even as it fragmented he saw a glint of fire – and next thing there was a patch of blazing water where the pieces of the ball had fallen in the sea. He could not believe his eyes. The seawater was on fire!

Heraclius and his team were already winching the pole back into position and another of the curious clay balls was being placed into the sling.

Bleidbara was grinning at him. ‘Heraclius calls it
pyr thalassion
in his own language. He translates it as liquid fire. He says that his father Callinicus was developing it in Byzantium. It gives us more advantage against these sea-raiders now.’

Eadulf was speechless. Fire that could not be put out by water? It was terrifying. Barbaric. No wonder Heraclius had been guarding the secret so closely.

There was a strange whistling sound through the air as the enemy archers released their first salvo. The range was closing and several arrows embedded themselves into the ship.

Once more Eadulf heard the bang of the hammer striking the pin and felt the slight shudder of the ship beneath him as Heraclius’ infernal weapon was released.

This time the clay ball fragmented on the forward deck of the oncoming vessel, and it erupted in flame. He could hear the cries of alarm from the enemy, saw men running forward with buckets of water. But even as he watched, he saw how the water merely pushed the flame here and there, and made no impact on dousing it.

Bleidbara’s crew let out a cheer. A sharp word from Bleidbara and they fell silent; another command and the archers lining the portside of the vessel took aim and, as one man, released their flight of arrows. Screams echoed across the water, showing that some of them had found targets.

For a third time Heraclius and his men made ready their onager and released it. This time, the terrible contents of the clay ball fell in the centre of the main deck and that was soon ablaze.