The Dove of Death: A Mystery of Ancient Ireland (Mysteries of Ancient Ireland featuring Sister Fidelma of Cashel)
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Once safely ashore, Fidelma—sister to the King of Muman and an advocate of the Brehon law courts—is determined to bring the killers to justice, not only because her training demands it but also because one of the victims was her cousin. The only clue to the killer’s identity is the symbol of the dove on the attacking ship’s sails, a clue that leads her on a dangerous quest to confront the man known as The Dove of Death.
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,
life? Yet establishing such friendships also makes parting a sad experience when the time comes that we must travel on. Leaving such new friends behind is always a matter of regret. I hope things work out with Trifina and Bleidbara.’ ‘I am sure they will. Bleidbara’s suspicion was natural. She will forgive him.’ ‘But he should have had more trust in her if he truly loved her,’ Fidelma objected. ‘It’s hard to say. He is a man much concerned with duty. With some people, duty is often paramount
disapproving?’ ‘I am a Roman. It matters not to me the machinations of these kings. I care only for the souls of the people. Meanwhile I am content with the simple life I lead. Alain Hir is a good King, so far as kings go.’ Fidelma smiled slightly. ‘If you have so little time for kings, perhaps you have little time for authority – hence your problem with your Abbot?’ ‘Not so.’ Brother Metellus grimaced sourly. ‘Kings are, perhaps, a necessary evil. Before my own people sank into the stupidity
before them was a great mass called Houad, the duck, towards which the ship tacked its way. The passage would bring them between these southern islands and the thrusting headland called Beg Kongell. As Gurvan was explaining all this to Fidelma, his eyes suddenly narrowed. Almost at the same time, a voice called down from the masthead. ‘Sail ho! Dead ahead!’ Fidelma turned to see what had been spotted beyond the rising and falling of the high bow of the Barnacle Goose. She could only just make
‘Just so. Abbot Maelcar changed so many good things.’ ‘I gather you did not like him?’ ‘How could anyone like him? He would insult me by calling me a provincial servant, when my family…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maelcar was a lecherous old man who shrouded prurience in piety. He preferred to look at women from cracks in curtains. When I was at Brekilian recently, he—’ ‘Go on,’ Fidelma invited when the girl suddenly stopped and a flush came to her cheeks. ‘I hear stories, that’s all,’ Iuna