‘Trifina has persuaded them to take her ashore already,’ she remarked. As Bleidbara stirred uncomfortably, she added: ‘Don’t worry. She will not be going anywhere other than Brilhag.’
‘But I believe she is involved in this,’ pointed out Bleidbara sadly. ‘Nothing else makes sense. Yet I do not want to believe it, lady. However, she did not appear to be a prisoner on the ship. And she has always felt that she should be the successor to her father. It all seems to fit together and yet…and yet…’
‘Yet you are in love with her,’ Fidelma finished for him. ‘Did she mention Iuna?’
‘Only to claim that it was Iuna herself who had abducted her. Trifina says that once she was placed in the boat, Iuna returned to the fortress. She also claims that she knew nothing about Ceingar being killed.’
‘How is Iuna — do we know?’ Fidelma asked.
‘When we passed Govihan, Heraclius went ashore to find out how she is, and promised to bring the news to Brilhag later.’
Fidelma stretched almost languidly, murmuring, ‘Well, I think all falls into place.’
Bleidbara frowned, puzzled, but his anxiety overcame the questions that rose to his lips.
‘We should be away soon, lady. We have to catch the tide to take us out into the Great Sea. We must get to the rendezvous at dusk to pick up the leader of the Koulm ar Maro — they will find the Morvran waiting for them instead.’
To their surprise, Fidelma gave a negative sign with her hand.
‘They will not be at that rendezvous. So there is no need for you to go.’
‘I don’t understand, lady,’ Bleidbara said. ‘How do you know this? Do you mean that because we have captured Trifina…?’
Fidelma rose and walked to the rail of the Morvran; she leaned forward, watching the dinghy bobbing on the waters away from the Barnacle Goose, making for the quayside below the fortress. They followed her gaze and could see the figure of Trifina in the stern.
‘The leaders of this intricate plot are now at Brilhag,’ Fidelma told them. ‘The culmination of the plan was due to happen here, before dusk, before they left to escape on their ship.’
‘Then you do know who they are?’ demanded Eadulf in astonishment.
There was a smile at the corner of Fidelma’s mouth.
‘Patientia vincit,’ she reproved with good humour. ‘We will have patience and allow our conspirators a little more slack rope. Don’t you agree, Bleidbara?’
The young warrior looked perplexed. ‘Whatever you say, lady. I will follow your orders.’
‘We will hold our investigation in the great hall at dusk. I have already asked permission of King Alain, who has now arrived. Also, the bretat that Brother Metellus sent for is here. Word has been delivered to those who need to attend, such as Barbatil. But now that the Dove of Death already realises that the plan is thwarted, that the ship is sunk and there is no escape, the next step is an uncertain one. Will they, at this late stage, attempt to carry out the final act to which these last two weeks have been leading?’
Bleidbara looked startled and Eadulf was just as bewildered.
‘The final act? What is that?’ he asked.
Her good humour banished, Fidelma looked grimly at each of them in turn.
‘Why, the assassination of the King, Alain Hir, by the family of the mac’htiern of Bilhag. An attempt to put a new ruler on the throne of the Bretons.’
Chapter Twenty
The great hall of Brilhag was crowded. Dusk was gathering outside and numerous oil lamps, unglazed earthenware receptacles with a snout to support the wicks, had already been lit in the main body of the hall. Their flickering flames caused a smoky atmosphere to permeate the interior of the building, sending out a pungent aroma. With the people crowding into the hall, the place was warm, uncomfortably so. The ornate tables had been carried to one side, and chairs and benches placed for people to sit. Facing the main body of the hall, a small platform had been raised by the servants in front of the large fireplace. It was a wooden construction on which four wooden chairs had been placed. Behind each was a tall, wrought-metal candleholder in which beeswax candles were lit.
King Alain and Riwanon had seated themselves on the centre chairs. The red-haired ruler of the Bretons had a sombre expression. The attractive Riwanon was colourfully dressed, so that many an eye focused in her direction. On the King’s right sat Lord Canao, the mac’htiern of Brilhag, Alain’s close friend. He looked anxious, his forehead creased in a permanent frown. When he appeared, there had been many angry mutterings from the local people now pressed onto the benches to hear the judgement of Macliau by the King and his bretat. To Riwanon’s left sat Budic, the handsome son of the King and commander of the bodyguard.
An elderly man with slightly stooped shoulders sat just in front and below King Alain. He was the bretat Kaourentin of Bro-Gernev who had arrived to be the impartial judge of the proceedings. He did not inspire confidence in Fidelma. He was a thin-faced man, with a pale complexion, a beak of a nose and a look of permanent disapproval on his features. His long, once-fair hair was a dirty white, tied at the back of his neck with a ribbon. Fidelma sat directly opposite him, with Brother Metellus at her side as translator. On Metellus’ other side was Eadulf, then Bleidbara and Heraclius, their bench being slightly to the right of the elderly judge and thus opposite Riwanon and Budic. Facing Alain and Lord Canao, on the first bench sat Macliau, stubborn-looking, his chin held aggressively high, like a child about to be censured by its father. By his side was his sister Trifina, slouched on her seat with melancholy eyes downcast.
Behind them, all the other benches were filled. Among the people crowded there Fidelma had spotted Barbatil, the farmer and father of Argantken, Coric his friend, and the elderly Aourken. At the back was Hoel, now elevated to captain of the Barnacle Goose, with Wenbrit the cabin boy and other members of the crew. Fidelma presumed that the rest of the crowd consisted of local people and members of the community of the abbey. At strategic points around the hall were warriors of the King’s bodyguard, together with some of the warriors of Brilhag led by Boric.
There was a suppressed excitement in the great hall. The murmurs rose and then gradually died as Alain Hir cleared his throat. He opened with a few words in his native language, phrasing them in a rich baritone that commanded people’s immediate attention. Then he switched easily into Latin.
‘My friends, since the language common to most of us is Latin then I enjoin you to use it. For those who do not possess knowledge of it, your friends will know who you are. Please will those friends go and sit beside you now — in order to translate, so that you may understand what is being said. I make this special concession in this hearing due to the fact that we have a foreigner among us who will make a plea before us, and, not being proficient in our language, will do so in Latin.’
Fidelma was about to rise when the old judge, Kaourentin, did so quickly and half-turned to acknowledge the King.
‘I have to speak for the law we share among our kingdoms and over which you, Alain Hir, preside.’ His voice was dry and rasping. ‘It is a custom and has been observed from time immemorial that no foreign person, especially one unable to speak our language, may plead before our judges, let alone in the capacity of a prosecutor. I raised this matter with you last night when, after my arrival, the nature of this case was explained,’ he added reproachfully.
Alain the Tall gazed down at him.
‘You made your point eloquently last night and I have weighed your words most carefully. However, I have decided, in the exceptional circumstances which face us, to allow Fidelma of Hibernia to state why she should be allowed to speak here.’ He raised a hand to silence the judge, who was clearly about to make further objections.