Free The Dove of Death by Peter Tremayne Page B

doubtless meet again before you leave our community,’ the Abbot said, before turning and walking back towards the single-storey building.
    Brother Metellus had been standing in silence, his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him. He sighed and stirred as the Abbot left them.
    ‘He has told me to look after you until the arrival of Biscam,’ he explained in a resigned voice. ‘I had been hoping to use this fair weather to get back to the island.’
    Fidelma could not resist a quick smile at his grumbling.
    ‘It seems that Abbot Maelcar is not the friendliest of people. There is something about his manner…’ She ended with a shrug.
    ‘He is convinced that the correct path to a communication with God is through vows of celibacy and in following the order of the Blessed Benedict. The rites and rituals of the churches of the Britons, and those in your own land, are anathema to him. You must make allowances.’
    ‘We are indebted to him, and to you, for all you have done for us, Brother Metellus,’ Eadulf said hurriedly, lest the man think they were ungrateful.
    Brother Metellus did not reply except to indicate, with a movement of his head, the north of the quadrangle. ‘The village lies beyond these woodlands.’
    There was a small area of woodland between the abbey buildings and the small hamlet beyond. They stood overlooking the same sandy bay in which they had landed. It was a practical village and not a picturesque one. The squat buildings were ugly, functional and no more.
    ‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Fidelma, curiously.
    ‘To the Widow Aourken,’ he replied.
    ‘And she is…?’ prompted Fidelma.
    ‘An elderly widow woman. Her husband, I am told, was a fisherman. Now she lives alone and so has room in her house.’
    ‘We would not like to give her trouble.’
    ‘You will not. She often offers the hospitality of her home to wayfarers. I think you will like her for she is also a woman of strong opinions.’
    If it were merely physical strength that he was referring to, then Brother Metellus’ description seemed an accurate one. Aourken was almost as wide as she was tall. The broad arms were muscular and her shoulders could, in Eadulf’s imagination, take a heavy sack on them without effort. Her hands were twice as big as his own and he felt that one of them could squeeze an apple into a pulp. Yet her face was kindly, the eyes slightly melancholy and of an indiscernible colour. The hair, which reached beyond her shoulders in ragged tails, was white, streaked here and there with dark grey. Her teeth were bad but she maintained a twisted smile that seemed to disguise them. She stood at the door of one of the single-storey stone buildings, hands on hips, watching their approach.
    ‘Greetings, Brother Metellus.’
    These were the only words that Fidelma understood as the woman spoke rapidly in her own language. The words were so accented that she lost track.
    There was a quick exchange and then, to Fidelma’s surprise,the woman turned to her and began to speak in Latin – hesitantly, it was true, but in a form that was quite literate.
    ‘You are welcome here. You are both welcome here.’
    ‘Thank you,’ returned Fidelma at once. ‘We do not wish to cause you any problems.’
    ‘Brother Metellus has informed me of your situation. God be praised, that you have survived the ravages of those pirates.’
    Fidelma looked interested. ‘You have heard of them?’
    The woman spread her large hands. ‘On this coast, there are always tales of sea-raiders. But in recent times, some of the farms on this coast have been attacked by brigands landing from the sea.’
    ‘You speak good Latin,’ interposed Eadulf.
    Aourken smiled her crooked smile. ‘I served the Faith for many years. Then I met my late husband and he convinced me a better life was serving him. Well, we had a good time while it lasted. God’s blessing was on us. Brother Metellus has told me your story and I will do my best to make