‘I agree,’ Brother Metellus said heavily. ‘I have seen the extent of Morbihan, the Little Sea. Even if you were given months and a fast sail boat, you could not hope to search it thoroughly.’
‘I still intend to examine this place tomorrow morning from the mound you inform me of,’ Fidelma set her features stubbornly.
‘I told her of the grave of Tumieg,’ explained Aourken.
Brother Metellus actually smiled.
‘In that case, once you have seen the extent of the Morbihan, you will realise that what I say is correct. And by tomorrow evening, Biscam will be here and you will soon be able to start your journey home.’
Chapter Five
Fidelma had risen early the next day and, with Eadulf, set off on the path that Aourken had pointed out. The journey had not been profitable other than providing them with some breathtaking views of the sea and countryside that surrounded them. They had seen no more of the black cat that Fidelma had identified as Luchtigern — the Mouse Lord — from the Barnacle Goose. Eadulf was still unsure whether Fidelma had correctly identified the animal or not. It seemed incredible that it had escaped from the ship. The fruitless walk to the grave of Tumieg and back had not put him in a good mood.
It was true that the walk around the sandy bay, keeping to the high ground above it, and then climbing to the ancient stone barrow, was pleasant enough in the sun. However, Eadulf was concerned at Fidelma’s lack of interest at securing their immediate homeward passage and her idea that she could track down their attackers. Reaching the spot to which they had been directed, the highest point so far as they could see, they had been met with a spectacular view to the north of an inland sea dotted with a myriad of islands. So many that they seemed to merge into one another as if they were one mass of land. Only now and then did the passage of a small boat show the channels between the islands.
The main movement was the circling birds above — mallards, plovers and even teals — all combining the cacophony of their cries into a noisy concert of protest at human presence around the mound. Fidelma and Eadulf saw no sign of anyone on their journey there, nor as they stood looking across the strange seascape before them.
Fidelma stared hard at the islands, but there were no anchored ships that resembled either the Barnacle Goose or the sleek black ship that had attacked them. She was reluctant to drag herself away from the scene and it was Eadulf who finally voiced the conclusion.
‘The old woman was right. Aourken told us that this Little Sea was so vast and thick with islands that, even if the Barnacle Goose had been brought there, we might not be able to find it if we scoured the area for months in a small boat.’
Fidelma sighed; the slump of her shoulders indicating resignation.
‘Yet where did that cat come from?’ she demanded.
Eadulf decided to take the question as rhetorical and refrained from answering.
She delayed a moment longer, sweeping the horizon with her keen eyes, before turning and suggesting that they begin their return journey. In other circumstances, Eadulf might have enjoyed the warmth and smells of the countryside, the gentle whispering of the nearby sea as it teased the coast. Even the crying birds, the multi-species, should have provided a distracting interest but failed in the circumstances.
The sun was past its zenith when they reached Aourken’s stone cabin and found the woman taking fresh bread from her clay oven. She smiled at their arrival and immediately bustled about to provide them with bowls of fish soup and fresh bread.
‘You saw the Little Sea?’ asked the woman, after they were seated.
‘It was everything you said it was,’ Eadulf answered philosophically.
Aourken looked at Fidelma keenly. ‘But you did not see what you were hoping to see?’
‘I saw what you told me that I would see,’ Fidelma admitted quietly. ‘I saw little else.’
Aourken nodded thoughtfully. ‘It is a beautiful place. But, I am thinking that you were not looking at the beauty.’
‘You are right.’
‘The sea and sadness go together,’ reflected the old woman. ‘Come, sit you down and eat. You have had a long walk.’
Fidelma sat down, feeling depressed. She had been hoping against hope that she would have been able to discover something that would lead her to an explanation of Luchtigern’s strange appearance at the abbey. The only way that the animal could have arrived there was if the ship itself had put into some harbour close by. But why would he desert the ship which had always been his home? She knew a male cat was more likely to wander than a female, but a ship’s cat was usually very territorial.
‘If the pirates were hiding somewhere in Morbihan,’ volunteered Aourken, ‘as Brother Metellus said, there is hardly a chance at all of spotting them…’ She paused as she was placing bread on the table and suddenly looked thoughtful. Fidelma caught her change of expression.
‘You have thought of something?’ she asked hopefully.
‘If there is a sea-raider in these waters then perhaps our mac’htiern might have word of it.’
‘The lord of this territory?’ enquired Eadulf. ‘This Lord Canao who has been mentioned?’
‘Our chieftain, he occupies the curule magistracies.’
‘But we were told he was not here but at Naoned,’ Fidelma pointed out.
Aourken shrugged at the news. ‘So he has not returned? I did not know. A pity. He is a good man and is patron of the abbey. I taught his daughters Latin grammar when they were young.’ She sighed with nostalgic remembrance. ‘That I do miss, although they were a handful. The younger daughter — well, she was his foster-daughter — was very ambitious and, alas, very arrogant.’ The old woman smiled wistfully. ‘She once told me that when she grew up, she would rule not only this peninsula but all of Bro-Waroch and every kingdom of the Bretons…’
Eadulf had been listening patiently. ‘A shame if this Lord of Brilhag is in Naoned.’
‘If anyone had knowledge it would have been him,’ Aourken agreed. ‘But perhaps his son, Macliau, might help. However, he is not half the man his father is. He indulges himself too much with wine and…well, with women.’
‘We were not told he had a son. Where would we find him?’
‘You would go to see him?’ She was a little surprised.
‘It is the only way to acquire information,’ affirmed Fidelma.
‘He dwells at his father’s fortress of Brilhag, which is on the north coast of this peninsula. It, too, overlooks the Morbihan.’
‘Perhaps we could start now and-’
But Fidelma did not have time to end her sentence before the sound of hurrying footfalls came to their ears. A moment later Brother Metellus appeared. He was breathing rapidly from his exertion and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead. Something had clearly put him in a state of distress.
‘What is it, Brother?’ asked Aourken, rising to greet him.
Brother Metellus halted before them and tried to recover himself.
‘I have news of Biscam and his brothers,’ he said between gasps.
‘He has arrived at the abbey?’ Eadulf asked.
‘He has not,’ Brother Metellus replied hollowly, turning with a tragic face towards him. ‘The news is terrible.’
‘Perhaps you will be good enough to tell us what this news is. Where is this man Biscam?’ Fidelma demanded.
‘Dead, Sister,’ replied Brother Metellus, turning back to her. ‘He and his brothers were attacked and their donkeys and goods were stolen. It happened only a mile from the abbey.’
Brother Eadulf grimaced and said: ‘That is indeed terrible.’
‘I think,’ intervened Fidelma gently, ‘that Brother Metellus would not be telling us this news unless it held a deeper meaning for us.’
The monk nodded. ‘One of Biscam’s drivers managed to survive. He is badly wounded but somehow he was able to crawl to the abbey. I think it better if you come with me and hear what he has to say.’