The Dove of Death (9 page)

‘I suggest that we leave poor Berran in peace and continue this discussion outside. It is too important a matter to argue over the dogma of rules when lives are at stake.’ He turned to the worried-looking physician attending him and smiled to indicate his thanks, although Eadulf felt that his anxiety was more for the wrath of the Abbot than care for his patient.

The Abbot turned on his heel. He was waiting for them outside, his expression angry.

‘I defer only to the sick man,’ he said, his tone harsh.

‘That is all we were asking you to do,’ replied Eadulf. Fidelma was surprised by his tone. He did not usually assume a belligerent
manner. ‘As to the matter in hand, this man had important information about the people who attacked and killed the merchant’s company. From his description, it was the same thieves who attacked our ship and killed the Prince of Cashel, the cousin of the Lady Fidelma here.’ For the first time Eadulf had abandoned the religious title to emphasise that she was sister of the King of Muman. Before Abbot Maelcar could reply, Eadulf continued: ‘That means these murderers and robbers are based in this vicinity. And
that
means your abbey might be in danger from them.’

But Abbot Maelcar did not seem concerned.

‘Nonsense. Why would they, whoever they are, attack this abbey?’

‘There are many reasons why an abbey is attacked,’ pointed out Brother Metellus. ‘For the precious icons, the riches of the goods bestowed on them and offered in praise of the Christ.’

‘No robber would dare attack the Abbey of Gildas,’ snapped the Abbot.

‘If they would dare attack and kill merchants bringing goods to the abbey and within proximity to the abbey, then why not attack the abbey itself?’ Fidelma’s voice was still soft but her delivery was studied. ‘If they would dare attack a ship sailing under the protection of a King’s envoy, why bother about a remote abbey? This matter should be brought to the attention of your lord, or his deputy, so that he may extend his hand in protection here in case of attack.’

‘Nonsense!’ Maelcar said irritably. ‘How do we know that what this man,’ he gestured to the infirmary, ‘says is the truth? A wounded man comes to the abbey with a story that starts a panic – who knows what his motivations are?’

Fidelma considered him with surprise.

‘I presume that you have already sent someone to the spot
where this attack took place to ascertain the facts and see if there were other survivors too badly wounded to move?’

The Abbot raised his chin stubbornly.

‘I am not to be panicked into any course of action until I know the facts.’

‘You will not learn the facts by sitting here and quoting rules!’ Fidelma admonished him. ‘There might be wounded men out there dying for lack of attention. We must go to where this attack took place and discover the facts.’

‘I know the place that Berran was speaking about,’ said Brother Metellus. ‘It’s less than a kilometre east from here in a wooded area. It would be ideal for the sort of ambush that Berran spoke of.’

Abbot Maelcar was staring angrily at Brother Metellus.

‘I forbid you to leave this abbey,’ he said.

‘You may forbid Brother Metellus but you will certainly not forbid us from proceeding,’ Fidelma rapped out. ‘As sister to the King of my land, whose cousin, his envoy, was murdered, I invoke my right to claim the hazel wand of office from him and track down his murderer.’ As she spoke, Fidelma drew forth the hazel wand that she had been carrying in her girdle since she had picked it up from the deck where Bressal’s lifeless hand had dropped it. ‘I will appeal to the King of this land, who recognised the embassy of my cousin, and who was duty bound to protect him. I will assert my right. Now, if Brother Metellus will point us along the right path…?’

Brother Metellus was gazing defiantly at the Abbot.

‘Not only will I give you directions but I will take you there myself,’ he said, addressing Fidelma while continuing to gaze at the Abbot.

Abbot Maelcar seemed shocked.

‘Have you not learned humility yet, Brother Metellus?’ he asked. ‘Were you not sent to Hoedig to reflect and learn humility?’

‘Humility has nothing to do with this matter,’ Brother Metellus said.

‘The first degree of humility is obedience without question,’ returned the Abbot in a voice like thunder. ‘Does not the Rule of the Blessed Benedict say that as soon as anything has been commanded by the Superior of the abbey, no delay in the execution of that order is permitted. The order must be obeyed as if God Himself had commanded it. You will obey me without question.’

‘Obedience is never blind, Maelcar,’ the Brother said quietly. ‘Obedience requires the use of prudence in accepting rights and obligations. Decisions can only be made with knowledge, a free choice to do good and avoid evil. To ignore what has happened is to go down the path of evil and I will not tolerate it!’

‘Not tolerate…!’ exploded the Abbot, but Brother Metellus had turned to them and pointed the way.

‘It will not take us long to follow the path.’

They left the red-faced Abbot opening and closing his mouth like a floundering fish and not knowing what to do.

With Brother Metellus leading the way, Fidelma and Eadulf fell in step behind him. They said nothing, merely exchanged a glance as the monk strode before them, the hunching of his shoulders and bent head showing the angry tension in his body. For some time they walked on in silence until, finally, Fidelma remarked: ‘This will put you in bad standing in the Abbey.’

Brother Metellus looked sideways at her and his angry expression broadened into a smile.

‘It puts me in bad standing with Abbot Maelcar and those sycophants who obey him without question. I am not of their number. I believe in rules, that the religious life should be bound by constraints and authority, and I believe that the true path of the religious should be a celibate one, free from carnal desire…’ Then he shook his head. ‘But I do not believe in
blind obedience – obedience for the sake of obedience. If we pursue that path then we are denying God’s greatest gift, denying what has made us in the image of Him – which is the right of making our own judgements.’

Fidelma regarded him with some approval.

‘I agree that we must reflect and make our own choices, for obedience without question leads to abuse of the power of the person giving the orders,’ she said gravely.

‘While commending you on your stand, Brother,’ Eadulf added, ‘it does mean that your time at the Abbey of Gildas will not be a prolonged one.’

Brother Metellus replied with a thin smile, ‘The best service that Abbot Maelcar did me was to send me to the little island of Hoedig. I shall return there and continue as before with or without that man’s blessing.’

‘You do not hold the Abbot in high esteem,’ observed Eadulf.

Brother Metellus grunted sardonically. ‘You have witnessed his fondness for exercising authority. If he were wise as well as authoritative, then his brethren would follow him more willingly.’

‘So you think his reluctance to let us go to confirm what Berran has reported is due merely to his desire to exercise his authority?’

Brother Metellus appeared puzzled. ‘What else could it be?’

‘I just found his attitude strange, that’s all,’ Eadulf replied, and then lapsed into silence.

Fidelma considered the implication of Eadulf’s comment. It was true that some people behaved in ways that were inexplicable to others because that was their character. Indeed, she found the Abbot to be a person who set her hackles rising. Could it be that there was more to it?

They moved on again in silence along a broad track away from the abbey. On both sides of the track, a thick forest of
trees of various species stretched, making the route appear like a dark and sinister tunnel. It was quite warm and Fidelma and Eadulf spotted several plants and bushes that they were unfamiliar with. Brother Metellus saw Eadulf examining one of the flowering shrubs as they passed along.

‘I think my ancestors must have brought that into this country,’ he smiled. ‘They called it
nardus
and to buy that bunch there would cost a month’s income for a farm labourer.’

‘Buy them?’ Fidelma asked incredulously. ‘Do people actually buy flowers?’

‘Of course. Herbalists do,’ replied the monk. ‘And especially when the plants are rare.’

Eadulf sniffed at the fragrance of the plants, saying, ‘I thought so – it is what you would call
labondur
,’ he said to Fidelma. ‘It has good healing qualities.’

‘Lavender, indeed.’ Brother Metellus nodded appreciatively. ‘The local people use it to soothe and heal insect bites. The climate here is very warm, so that you will find an abundance of flowers and plants that I would not have expected to see so far north. I try to make notes of such things,’ he added.

‘You are a herbalist, an apothecary?’ queried Eadulf, who had studied the healing arts in the great medical school in Brefni, a petty kingdom north of Fidelma’s own country.

Brother Metellus denied any medical interest.

‘I used to collect and try to catalogue the plants, drawing their leaves and flowers as best I could and noting their healing qualities. But I have little time now to do so.’

‘Then tell me what those flowers are.’ Eadulf pointed to green shrubs with an amazing assortment of coloured flowers on them. ‘I have not seen the like of these before. Those ones with flowers that are red, pink and crimson.’

Brother Metellus’ smile was almost proprietorial.

‘I think those are a long way from home. Maybe they were
brought here by the legions or by merchants. Even I don’t know their proper name. The various colours belong to different plants while the bushes they grow from remain evergreen. They are known as
ruz
, the local word for red.’

‘And isn’t that the name of this peninsula?’ queried Eadulf.

‘A similar sound, although I am not sure whether the name derives from the same word.’

They had proceeded some way down the track by this time and now Brother Metellus halted and turned, lowering his voice.

‘Perhaps we should tread carefully from here on, as I believe we are not far from the spot where this attack took place. If the thieves are still in the area, it is best not to give them warning of our approach.’

They moved on in silence.

They had gone no more than 100 paces before Fidelma caught at Eadulf’s arm and pointed while with her other hand she placed a finger to her lips. Eadulf saw at once what she meant and he similarly warned Brother Metellus. Ahead there were signs of bent grass and broken shrubbery, and then a man’s body, stretched on the path, became visible. He lay sprawled on his face, two arrows protruding from his back. There was no doubt that he was dead.

They walked on further.

There were three more bodies lying along the path. Arrows indicated how two of the others were killed while the third man was covered in congealing blood, the result of several sword cuts.

They halted and stood still, listening.

The sounds of the woodland were still all-pervasive. The warning call of a merlin, the soft cooing of wood pigeons and the collared dove high in the conifer trees, joined with others too numerous to distinguish, all in one background noise. There were several rustles in the undergrowth, though none so clumsy and loud that it would foretell the careless foot of man.

Fidelma relaxed a little and nodded to Eadulf.

Watched by his companions, Eadulf swiftly went to each body and, bending down, felt for a pulse in the neck. Then he stood up and shook his head.

‘They are all beyond help.’

Fidelma turned to Brother Metellus. ‘Do you recognise them?’

‘I do. The man with the arrows in his back is the merchant, Biscam. Those two are his brothers. I presume the other is the drover mentioned by Berran.’

Fidelma examined the trampled soil carefully. ‘There are certainly signs that heavily loaded animals have been halted here and were startled.’

Brother Metellus looked at her in surprise. ‘How do you tell, or is that deduced from Berran’s description?’

Fidelma gave him a pitying look. She had been brought up from childhood to be aware of the signs of nature and man’s disturbance of it. If one did not know such basic rules, one did not survive in the countryside for long.

‘You see the hoofmarks of the animals? Even in the dry earth they are deep. That means that they were heavily loaded. And at this point there is a confusion of prints, as if the animals did not know which way to go and were stamping and trying to turn. There are signs of some horses, shod and quite clear.’

Fidelma walked carefully around the site looking at the marks on the ground.

‘A few imprints of human feet, tramping over the hoofs of the beasts,’ she said. Then she gave a soft exclamation. ‘They were led in that direction! North, I think, through there,’ she pointed. ‘The path is quite clear. Come on, let us see where it leads.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait?’ protested Eadulf nervously. ‘They might still be close by.’

‘I hope they are,’ replied Fidelma grimly, turning and striding along the small path, following the tracks of the donkeys.

Eadulf hurried after her with an appealing glance at Brother Metellus, who sighed, and followed.

After a while, they burst out of the trees and undergrowth and were confronted by a little stream that gushed frothy white over a bed of shingle and large stones. Fidelma was staring at it in disgust.

‘What is it?’ demanded Brother Metellus.

Fidelma pointed as if the explanation was self-evident. ‘They drove the animals into this stream.’

‘So?’

‘It means we cannot track them, for a stream with a stony bottom leaves no trace.’

‘They would have to turn downstream if they wanted to go any way,’ offered Brother Metellus. ‘I know that upstream from here is a rocky hill and no way to pass round it. Not for donkeys.’

‘And downstream? Where does that lead?’

‘I think it flows into some marshland. There is an area that the local people avoid for there are mudflats in which a man can be swallowed up before he has time to cry for help. There are one or two such areas here, even quicksand. However, if they know the way and can follow the stream, they could come to the shore of Morbihan.’