The Dove of Death Read Online Free PDF

rowers were still some distance out to sea.
    ‘And bring the crew of that raider down on us? No, we’ll have to find some other way of dealing with them,’ Brother Metellus replied grimly, as he began to usher them through the collection of buildings that formed the main dwelling-places of the islanders near the harbour.
    They had not proceeded far when they were halted by sounds echoing across the water.
    It was a series of blasts on a trumpet or horn of some type.
    Brother Metellus halted, turning with a frown. Then with astonishing dexterity, he scrambled onto a granite wall to give him a higher elevation and looked seaward.
    ‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf.
    ‘Your pursuers have halted, and…yes, they are turning backto the ships. The horn must have sounded some signal to recall them.’ He raised his face to the sky and let the wind blow across his features. ‘The wind is changing, and the tide. I think the captain must be calling the men back for the vessels to take advantage of it.’
    ‘Is there a place where we can see what is happening?’ asked Fidelma, her voice quiet and without emotion, although Eadulf could see that her features were still filled with shock from the experience of seeing the callous murder of her cousin and Murchad the captain.
    ‘Come with me,’ Brother Metellus said, jumping lightly down from the stone wall. ‘The island is pretty low-lying, therefore it is hard to get a good elevation from which to see. However…’ He pointed to a small building, which had a second storey and looked out of place among the other buildings of the island. ‘We use it as a chapel and we are trying to construct a little tower on top,’ he explained.
    They entered and followed Brother Metellus, scrambling up a rough wooden ladder to the top of the unfinished tower. It did not give them a great commanding view of the sea. However, they could make out the bay and beyond it, just visible to the naked eye, the black dot on the waters that was the rowing boat, heading back to the dark outlines of the ships. There was the familiar shape of the Barnacle Goose and the darker silhouette behind of the ship that had attacked it. They still seemed to be linked together. Then, as they watched, it seemed the attacking vessel shuddered. It was an optical illusion produced as the sails were being set and the ship began to move slowly away from the side of its victim. The rowers had reached the side of the Barnacle Goose . Fidelma presumed that they had boarded and the rowing boat was being hauled up. Then the sails were billowing and the ship was turning after the sleek lines of its attacker.
    ‘They are leaving,’ muttered Brother Metellus, in satisfaction. ‘Heading north-west. You are safe for the time being.’
    ‘Safe!’ The word was uttered by Fidelma with bitter irony.
    At Brother Metellus’ raised eyebrows, Eadulf explained: ‘The captain of our vessel and some of her crew were slaughtered, and Fidelma’s own cousin, Bressal of Cashel, and envoy to your King, Alain Hir, was slain – even showing his wand of office. This is bad, indeed.’
    For a moment, Brother Metellus contemplated this. Then he gave a deep sigh.
    ‘Before anything else, I suggest you come with me so that we may provide you with dry clothes and something to drink to get the taste of seawater out of your mouths. Then we will talk more of this. As you say, it is a grievous crime to kill the envoy of a king.’
    Outside the chapel they found one of the fishermen who spoke rapidly in the local dialect. Brother Metellus replied and the man turned and hurried off.
    ‘Our friend had come to report that the men had given up the pursuit and the ships had sailed,’ he explained. Then he pointed to a nearby building. ‘This is where I make my simple home. Come in and welcome. I will try to find some dry clothing for you.’
    It was a while before they were dried, and changed into comfortable clothing, brought to them by a homely woman called