The Dove of Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

Onenn. Fidelma would have liked to wash the salt water from her hair, but that would have been too much to ask their host.
    They now sat with Brother Metellus in his small stone cabin, together with an elderly man called Lowenen, who was introduced as the chieftain of the island community. Lowenen had a craggy seaman’s face, almost as if it were carved from the granite rock of the island. The sea-green eyes were piercingunder heavy eyebrows, but his face was compassionate, expressing sympathy and gentle humour.
    As they told their story, Brother Metellus acted as interpreter for Lowenen who spoke no other language than the island dialect. Although Fidelma and Eadulf had some knowledge of the language of the Britons, this local dialect was difficult to follow. Words they thought they knew from their time among the Britons apparently did not mean the same.
    ‘This is a crime indeed,’ Brother Metellus muttered after a moment’s reflection when they had finished telling the full story of the attack. ‘You have no idea of the identity of this vessel that attacked you? The captain of it did not identify himself?’
    Fidelma shook her head. ‘There was no name on the ship that we could see but then, I suppose, we weren’t looking for a name in the moment of attack. I seem to recall it had a white flag at its mast.’
    ‘I noticed that there was an emblem on the white flag,’ Eadulf put in, ‘but I could not make it out. However, there was a small carving on the bow of the vessel. A bird of some sort. I thought it was a dove.’
    Only Fidelma noticed a curious expression cross Brother Metellus’ face but it was gone in an instant.
    ‘You must be mistaken, my friend,’ he said quickly. ‘If a warship carves a bird on it as a symbol, it is usually a bird of prey.’
    Eadulf reluctantly agreed, but said, ‘It is strange, on reflection. It looked like a dove to me. But perhaps the person who carved the bird was not so talented as he thought.’
    ‘And did you notice anything about the captain of this vessel?’
    ‘Only that he appeared to be a young man,’ Fidelma replied thoughtfully. ‘But he was shrouded from head to foot in white so that his face was not to be seen.’
    ‘White!’ exclaimed Brother Metellus. ‘A curious choice fora sea captain and a pirate. White is the colour of light and sanctity, and yet you say this man was a ruthless killer and hid himself under this shroud of white? And he was a young man?’
    ‘He was slightly built with a high-pitched voice. But for all his apparent youth he was vicious, nonetheless. It was he who killed my cousin as well as Murchad the captain,’ Fidelma confirmed. Then she paused and added quietly, ‘And he shall answer for those crimes.’
    ‘Is anything known of piracy in these waters?’ Eadulf asked hurriedly, to cover the uneasy silence that followed Fidelma’s statement, which had been delivered in a tone of cold hatred. He had never heard her speak in such chilling tones.
    Brother Metellus interpreted Lowenen’s response to the question.
    ‘Alas, these waters have often seen bloodshed. It is not far from here that the galleys of the Romans did battle with our fleet.’
    ‘Your fleet?’ queried Eadulf in surprise, envisaging a battle between Roman galleys and the fishing boats of the island.
    ‘The fleet of the Veneti who were the greatest mariners of this land,’ the old man replied proudly. ‘They sailed with over two hundred ships against the Roman commander. The battle lasted a full day before a disappearing wind becalmed our ships and allowed the Romans to destroy them. After that all Gaul fell to the Romans. A sad day when the Veneti were defeated.’
    The old man sighed deeply, as if contemplating something that had occurred but yesterday. Fidelma noticed there was an air of embarrassment as Brother Metellus interpreted these words; some reluctance in his delivery.
    ‘That was many centuries ago, my friend,’ Eadulf pointed out to the