But it was not this that caused him to exclaim and Fidelma to follow his gaze to the body.
The man was clutching a strip of white silk in his hand. There were some marks on it as well as bloodstains.
He knelt down again and prised it loose from the dead hand.
‘Could it be that he tore it from his assailant?’ whispered Eadulf.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Fidelma. ‘There is a curious patterning on this silk.’
Brother Metellus had moved forward to peer over her shoulder at it. He was frowning and there was something in his expression that caused Eadulf to ask: ‘Do you recognise this?’
He held up the torn strip of silk in his hands. It was a curious outline of a dove. Brother Metellus gasped.
‘What does that symbol mean?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘The same symbol was carved on the ship that attacked us.’
Brother Metellus ran his tongue around his dry lips but he said nothing.
‘You recognise this image,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Just as you recognised it when Eadulf described what he had seen carved on the ship’s prow. The black pirate ship that attacked us.’
‘What does it mean?’ insisted Eadulf.
Brother Metellus blinked and said hoarsely, ‘It is the image of a dove in flight.’
‘We can see that,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And its meaning? To whom does it belong?’
The monk took a deep breath before turning to them both and saying, ‘That is the emblem of Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag.’
Chapter Six
Eadulf was staring in fascination at the image of the bird on the torn silk.
‘That is an odd emblem for a chieftain to have,’ Fidelma said.
Brother Metellus spread his hands in a strangely helpless gesture.
‘It is the Lord Brilhag’s standard,’ he replied.
‘Do the people here believe it is an oracular bird, as we do?’ queried Fidelma. ‘They made stone figures of doves and, before the coming of the Faith, they used to pray to them in healing shrines for good health. Our Church Fathers often associated themselves with the dove. Crimthann mac Fedilmid took the name Colmcille — Dove of the Church. It is a symbol of peace and harmony, but surely an odd image for a chieftain to carry as an emblem?’
Eadulf folded the silk into a tiny square and placed it in his leather marsupium. ‘Does this mean that this Lord Canao is the leader of thieves and murderers?’
Brother Metellus was shocked.
‘The mac’htiern of Brilhag is very respected,’ he said immediately. ‘He is a friend and adviser to the King Alain Hir, and would not demean himself by attacking unarmed merchants. Anyway, he is supposed to be in Naoned.’
‘But I hear he has a son who is not as worthy as his father?’ Fidelma said thoughtfully.
‘I have met Macliau several times,’ Brother Metellus admitted. ‘He is a young, vain man who likes wine and women. I cannot see him leading such an attack as this.’
Fidelma was silent for a while and Eadulf knew not to interrupt her thoughts. Finally she drew herself up and glanced at them.
‘Nevertheless, the emblem of this lord of Brilhag features both in the attack on the Barnacle Goose and now in this ambush of these poor merchants. I think we must go to Lord Canao’s fortress to see if there is more that we can learn.’
‘That might be dangerous,’ Brother Metellus said immediately, ‘especially if there is some involvement. Though I cannot believe it.’
‘Eadulf and I must follow this path as it is the only lead we have to finding the killer of my cousin and my friend — not least the killer of all these poor people,’ Fidelma said, and she gestured at the bodies around them. ‘You can return to the abbey and report this before you return to your island.’
Brother Metellus shook his head.
‘I cannot abandon you in this strange country. You will need someone to interpret and one who knows this land. If you go to Lord Canao’s fortress, then I will come with you. Besides, I am as much intrigued by this mystery as you are.’
‘You do not have to come with us,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘As you say, it may be a dangerous path.’
‘I have made my decision,’ the other replied stubbornly. ‘If we set off now, it is not a great distance and we should be there well before the day begins to close in.’
‘Then I thank you, Brother Metellus. Your help is appreciated. Let us go back to the stream and see if we can pick up the tracks again.’
They returned to the spot where the stolen pack animals had apparently entered the stream, and turned to follow its course. Indeed, it was not long before the woodland on either side thinned and they were in flat, muddy marshy grounds where walking was difficult. Several times they had to resort to using the stony bed of the stream itself as an easier way than along the marshy riverbanks. But after a while, even the stream turned into a boggy waste and they had to look for other areas of dry land to seek a passage.
Whatever path the thieves had taken, they could not find it and they lost all signs of the movement of the pack animals and the passage of those who had taken them. But by that time, Fidelma was aware of the salt tang of the sea in the air and the mournful cry of the gulls that meant they were near to the northern coast of the peninsula. Trees began to appear again as they left the low-lying marshes, and the land became firm underfoot once more. The woodland rose on hills that formed a ridge along the coast separating the sea from marshland. Beyond the trees they could hear the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
It did not take long to get through the woodland and then they emerged on a hill overlooking a deep inlet. On the top of a headland to their left rose a large sandstone fortress.
‘That is Brilhag,’ muttered Brother Metellus.
The outer walls rose about four times the height of a tall warrior and there was a tall tower to the seaward side. Fidelma realised that the great expanse of water before them was the Morbihan, or Little Sea. Brilhag looked very alien to the type of fortresses Fidelma was familiar with: it must have originally been of Roman construction. The complex was quite substantial. She could make out two warriors standing outside the tall wooden gates, their slouched postures showing they were bored with their duties. Their heads were turned towards the sea below them and not inland where Fidelma and her companions had emerged from the woodland.
Fidelma suggested they move back to the shelter of the treeline.
‘Well, there are no signs of the raiders’ ship anchored in this inlet.’ Eadulf pointed out the obvious. ‘It would certainly be an excellent place though, to keep a ship secure from prying eyes.’
‘There are other inlets and islands all along here,’ Brother Metellus said. ‘The ship could hide almost anywhere.’
‘I’d like to see inside this fortress first,’ Fidelma said.
‘Impossible,’ replied Brother Metellus. ‘If you think that the Lord of Brilhag is behind the attack on your ship, then the moment you approach the fortress, they will know why you have come.’
‘Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,’ replied Fidelma confidently. ‘I’ll either find a way or make one.’
It was only when a voice close by shouted harshly that they realised that they were being observed. They had been so closely engaged in examining the fortress of Brilhag that they had not seen the two men approaching until it was too late. They swung round to see two warriors, for such they proclaimed themselves by their long swords, which were sheathed, and shields, although they wore no war helmets or body armour. They were young and muscular men. One was short and stocky but with pleasant, even features, dark hair and eyes whose scrutiny seemed to indicate that he missed nothing. He spoke again, sharply. It was obviously an enquiry as to what they were doing in this place.