The Dove of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

again. The breeze now carried the small craft along, like a feather across the little waves, the bow wave rippling behind it like a silvery furrow.
    Fidelma and Eadulf had managed to struggle into sitting positions and glance towards the disappearing outline of the Barnacle Goose and the ship that had attacked her.
    ‘I presume from the manner of your dress you are religious?’ the man at the tiller said in Latin.
    Fidelma spoke in affirmation in the same language. Their rescuer was middle-aged, his face weather-beaten, and he had black hair, dark eyes and a suntanned skin. He looked more like a sailor than the religious his robes and the crucifix, hanging around his neck, proclaimed him to be. He wore the tonsure of St Peter. While his tone was light, his expression was anxious and he kept turning to look at the ships behind them.
    ‘We thank you for your timely rescue, Brother,’ Eadulf said, coughing a little to clear the tang of brine from his throat.
    The man grimaced. ‘Your thanks may be a little premature. You are not out of danger yet – we are still being followed.If the black ship decides to send more warriors after you, then we may be in trouble, for we are simple fisherfolk and our little island is not large enough to hide you in for any length of time.’
    Fidelma raised her head to gaze behind them. The rowing boat from the Barnacle Goose was still coming in their direction.
    ‘What do you intend to do?’ she asked their rescuer.
    ‘I intend to offer you what assistance I can. I was on the headland when I saw that your vessel was being attacked. Then I saw two figures leap overboard and the flurry of arrows being loosed. I put out in my own small craft to see what I could do. Who are you?’
    ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, and this is Brother Eadulf.’
    The man noted the manner of her introduction, as he replied, ‘I am Metellus, Brother Metellus of the community of Lokentaz, the abbey of Gildas of Rhuis. It is on the mainland, but I am serving the little fishing community on Hoedig, which is the island to which we are now heading.’
    ‘Is there a strong community there?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Men who can help us against these pirates?’
    Metellus shook his head. ‘I told you, my friend, we are simple fisherfolk. We have no warriors, just stout fishermen, their wives and children. Enough for three men, if that is all they send after you, but against armed men from a warship…well. However, we’ll do our best. I know a spot near the Menhir of the Virgin where you may hide.’
    ‘Menhir?’ queried Eadulf.
    ‘A tall standing stone set up by the ancients which has been consecrated for the faith, for it was an old custom to go and offer prayers by it.’
    They turned to the approaching island, growing large before them. It was mainly low-lying with little sandy beaches, and the waters had turned almost turquoise as they came close inshore. They could see the stretches of green growth on land, sprinkledwith little yellow flowers, and here and there were tiny habitations of grey granite.
    ‘It looks fairly large to me,’ offered Eadulf.
    ‘No more than a kilometre across and twice that or a little more long, my friend. If those on that ship yonder really want to make a search for you – then, as I say, there is hardly anywhere to hide.’
    They were pulling into a bay and Brother Metellus stood up to lower the sail. A small crowd of men, women and children of every age, were crowding curiously on the wooden quay to greet them. They had apparently seen what had taken place.
    An elderly man addressed Brother Metellus by name from the shore and an exchange of words followed which was too rapid for Fidelma or Eadulf to understand. Willing hands helped them out as Brother Metellus secured the boat.
    ‘Come – we must not delay,’ he said urgently. ‘Let us find you a safe place to hide.’
    ‘But what of our pursuers? Can’t we make a defence now?’ demanded Fidelma, glancing seaward to where the