Brother Meurig regarded him in annoyance for a moment and then realised that he was being logical. ‘You are right. Such legal arguments can be more usefully aired at a later time. Let us hear the circumstances of the actual killing, if you please, Gwnda.’
The lord of Pen Caer rubbed the bridge of his nose as if the action aided his thoughts. ‘Little to relate. It was two days ago. As I said, young Idwal came to the township and told Buddog that the community had abandoned Llanpadern. That was not long after dawn. It was about then that Iorwerth sent Mair on an errand to her cousin’s place at Cilau. About an hour later Iestyn, who is a friend of Mair’s father, arrived at Iorwerth’s forge and told him that he had seen Mair and Idwal arguing on the forest path. He came straight away to tell Iorweth as he knew that Iorwerth had forbidden them to meet.’
‘Why didn’t Iestyn intervene in this argument he witnessed? He was a friend of her father,’ Brother Meurig pointed out.
‘That is something that you would have to ask Iestyn himself,’ replied Gwnda.
‘Continue,’ pressed the barnwr. ‘What happened then?’
‘Iorwerth fell into a rage. He, Iestyn and a few other men from the township went off swearing that they would give Idwal such a beating that he would never molest another girl again.’
‘Molest?’ queried Fidelma. ‘I thought Iestyn only said he had witnessed an argument? How would Iorwerth interpret this as molestation?’
Gwnda turned to her. ‘Again, you have to ask him, Sister. I only report what I have heard.’
‘When did you hear that Iorwerth and his friends had set off in search of Idwal?’ asked Brother Meurig.
‘By chance, I was in the forest that morning. That was how I came upon Idwal standing over the body of Mair. He did not see me but it was clear what had happened. For the boy still had his fists clenched in anger and he was shouting out her name in a shrill voice.
‘I was making my way towards him when there came the sound of Iorwerth and Iestyn coming through the woods. Idwal heard them also and he turned to run. By coincidence, he came running straight for where I was hidden behind a tree. As he passed me, I hit him across the shoulders with my cudgel and knocked him down. Then Iorwerth and his companions arrived. When they saw what he had done they wanted to kill him there and then. I prevailed on them, at that time, telling them that a judge should be sent for.’
‘Let’s get this straight,’ Brother Meurig said slowly. ‘Do you claim that you saw the boy in the act of . . . ?’
Fidelma cleared her throat and was about to speak when Gwnda pre-empted her obvious comment. ‘I saw the boy standing over the body. That is all. But it does not take a sharp mind to understand what had happened.’
‘In my country, the laws of evidence are strict. You cannot swear to what you did not see,’ Fidelma observed dryly.
‘The same laws apply here, Sister,’ agreed Brother Meurig. ‘Opinions or interpretations of witnesses do not constitute evidence. Gwnda knows this well. A judge will draw his own conclusions from the evidence. How was the girl killed?’
‘Strangled after she was raped. There was bruising on the neck. The body was seen by Elisse, the local apothecary. He says that heavy pressure was applied and the girl was prevented from breathing long enough to kill her.’
‘How did this apothecary deduce that the girl was a virgin but had been raped before death?’ queried Fidelma.
Gwnda appeared momentarily embarrassed by the subject. ‘There was a great deal of blood . . . you know, on her nether clothing.’
‘Was the body warm when you came upon it?’ asked Eadulf, once again trying to phrase his question in an intelligible form.
Gwnda stared at him as if he were a half-wit.
‘Brother Eadulf means, did you examine the body yourself?’ interpreted Brother Meurig.
‘I did not touch it. I saw that the girl was dead. That was obvious without an examination.’
‘But you cannot say if she had been dead for some time by the time you came on her and Idwal?’ Fidelma asked, having seen the point that Eadulf was making.
‘The boy was still standing over her. It was obvious that the killing had only just happened.’
‘It is not obvious to us,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘You did not see the killing and there are many ways to interpret what you saw. Has Idwal actually admitted that he killed the girl?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Of course?’
‘I have not known anyone to voluntarily admit to murder.’
‘So he has denied that he killed her?’ Brother Meurig did not sound happy. ‘Did he admit that he raped her?’
‘The boy denied that as well.’
‘Has he consistently denied being responsible for Mair’s death?’ pressed Fidelma.
Gwnda nodded slowly.
‘Has he volunteered any explanation?’ asked Eadulf. ‘What does he say happened?’
Gwnda was nonplussed.
‘Was he ever asked for his explanation of events?’ Brother Meurig was worried.
Gwnda saw the disapproving expressions on their faces. ‘He was not,’ he admitted. ‘I am no lawyer.’
There was a short silence which Fidelma broke by observing: ‘A pity that you did not touch the body to see how long she had been dead. We might have learnt something from that.’
Gwnda chuckled grimly. ‘Only the boy’s guilt.’
‘At least that would have been something, wouldn’t it?’ returned Fidelma icily.
Brother Meurig rubbed his chin, his face creased into a frown of irritation. ‘Everyone seems to have condemned the boy without asking his story. What motive is he accused of having? Why had he killed the girl?’
‘Easy to answer,’ replied Gwnda. ‘The girl rejected his advances. He raped her in uncontrollable passion and then, realising his crime, he killed her. I would have thought that much was obvious.’
Fidelma had expected his answer. ‘Are we sure that Mair, as a dutiful daughter, which you assure us was the case, rejected the advances made by Idwal, if, indeed, he made any?’
Gwnda stared at her in distaste. ‘You will not be welcome in this community if you impute things about those who cannot now defend themselves.’
Fidelma’s expression did not change. ‘I am sorry if you think I am doing so, Gwnda of Pen Caer. I do not speak frivolously and I thought the purpose of Brother Meurig’s inquiry was to ascertain the truth. In pursuit of truth, questions have to be asked and answers given. Sometimes the questions might imply things that are distasteful. It is not the questions that are distasteful but occasionally the answers.’
Brother Meurig rose from his seat, shaking his head sadly. ‘In this matter, I agree with Sister Fidelma. It appears that we have arrived just in time to guide this matter into the proper legal strictures. We must question the boy, Idwal. However, the hour grows late and we must find hospitality for the night.’
‘You are welcome to the hospitality of my hall, of course,’ Gwnda said, trying to exude courtesy once he saw Meurig supported Fidelma.
‘Then we shall accept it,’ Brother Meurig replied, speaking for all of them.
‘Should you need anything, please inform Buddog. I am without a wife and my daughter is still too young to take on the duties of running this household. Buddog will see to your wants. I myself must go to have a word with Iorwerth about the disgrace that he has brought on Pen Caer this night.’
‘We would like to question the boy Idwal before we retire for the night,’ Fidelma said quickly.
‘Then Buddog will show you to the stables where he is held. It is a dark night.’
Chapter Six
Buddog met them at the door with a lantern. She held the light high in strong, capable hands as she conducted them across the yard to the dark stables. Fidelma had a passing thought that the hands did not go with the handsome features of the woman, for they seemed hard and callused by manual work. Buddog did not seem relaxed or friendly towards them. She spoke only when spoken t
o and then was monosyllabic, holding her head with jaw jutting upwards slightly aggressively.
‘Have you run this household for a long time, Buddog?’ Fidelma asked pleasantly as they began to cross the yard.
‘Not long.’
‘A few weeks?’ There was a tone of mockery in Fidelma’s voice. She disliked imprecise answers.
She noticed the servant’s lips tighten a little.
‘I have been in this household for twenty years.’
‘That is a long time. So you came here to work when you were a young girl, then?’
‘I came here as a hostage,’ replied the woman shortly. ‘I am of Ceredigion.’
They had reached the stable door. Buddog paused with her hand on the latch and turned to Brother Meurig.
‘You will need this lantern, Brother. I know the yard in the darkness so I can find my own way back.’
Brother Meurig took the lantern.
The woman hesitated and then said with a quiet intensity to the barnwr: ‘If the boy did kill Mair, then she was deserving of death!’
With that, she turned and became a shadow in the darkness.
Fidelma broke the surprised silence. ‘I think, Brother, you will have to ask Buddog to explain her views.’
Brother Meurig sighed softly. ‘Undoubtedly, Sister. She seemed rather vehement.’
The boy, Idwal, was chained in an empty stall. He strained away from them as they entered, moving into the furthest corner like some frightened animal. He could not move far for he was still bound with his hands behind him and had the chain around one ankle. Fidelma wrinkled her nose in disgust.
‘Does he have to be contained in this fashion?’ she demanded.
Brother Meurig did not support the idea of loosening his bonds. ‘If the boy is a killer, then there is no cause to release him in case he does further harm.’
‘If? And if he is not a killer?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘The evidence we have heard hardly supports that contention, ’ replied Brother Meurig in annoyance at having his opinion challenged.
‘We have only heard part of the evidence, so far,’ Fidelma reminded him.
Brother Meurig was impatient. They had been travelling all that day and he was tired. ‘Very well. I will have a word with Gwnda after we have finished.’
He moved forward but Idwal gave another animal-like cry and cowered back, turning his head away as if expecting a blow.
Fidelma laid a hand on Brother Meurig’s arm. ‘I would like, with your permission, to question him, Brother Meurig. I know I am here only to observe and this is stretching your generosity, but the boy might respond better to questions from me.’
Brother Meurig was about to object. He was beginning to feel that Fidelma might be interfering too much in his office, but he was also an intelligent man and realised that the boy might be more forthcoming to a woman. He indicated by a gesture that she might do so and seated himself on a nearby bale of hay. Eadulf took up a similar position. There was a three-legged stool, used for milking cows, nearby. Fidelma picked this up and went to sit near the boy.
‘Your name is Idwal, isn’t it?’ she began gently.
The boy started back, staring at her with large frightened eyes. It soon became obvious to Fidelma that Idwal was not the brightest of youths. He was a slow-wit. Above all, he was very frightened.
‘I am not going to harm you, Idwal. There are just a few questions that I must ask you.’
The youth searched her features as if seeking reassurance. ‘They have hurt me,’ he whispered. ‘They tried to kill me.’
‘We are not going to hurt you, Idwal.’
The youth was undecided. ‘You are not one of us, the Cymry - the compatriots?’
‘I am a Gwyddel.’ She used the word which denoted an Irish person in the language of the Cymry.
Idwal glanced beyond her to Brother Meurig and Eadulf. Fidelma saw his swift examination of them.
‘Brother Meurig there is the barnwr come to hear the charges against you. He has asked me to put a few questions to you. You see, we want to help you. Brother Eadulf is my companion. We all want to help you.’
The youth gave a long sobbing cry. ‘They tried to kill me. Iorwerth and Iestyn and the others. They were angry with me. They tried to hang me on a tree.’
‘They were angry but they were very wrong to do what they did,’ said Fidelma. ‘However, we came along and stopped them. Do you remember that?’
Idwal cast a glance at Meurig and Eadulf from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to her. ‘I remember,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘Yes. I remember.’
‘Good. Now, you do understand that they are saying that you killed a girl called Mair? That you raped her and killed her. Do you understand that?’
Idwal began to shake his head rapidly. ‘No, no, no! I did not do it. I loved Mair. I would do anything for her . . .’
‘Mair’s father, Iorwerth, told you to keep away from her, didn’t he?’
The youth hung his head. ‘He did. He did not like me. None of them here in Llanwnda liked me.’ Idwal’s voice was suddenly flat, without emotion. He made a simple statement of fact.
‘Why wouldn’t they like you?’ Fidelma pressed.
‘Because I am poor, I suppose. Because I never knew my parents. Because they think that I am stupid.’
‘But you were born in this territory?’ Fidelma asked the question because in her society the community always looked after its weakest members and it was unusual that resentment was ever demonstrated against those without ability or means.
Idwal responded with a frown. ‘I don’t know where I was born. I was raised in Iolo’s house over at Garn Fechan. Iolo was a shepherd. He wasn’t my father. He never told me who my father was. When he was killed, his brother, Iestyn, kicked me off the land and I had to fend for myself.’
‘Iestyn?’ The interjection came from Eadulf. ‘Where have we heard that name?’
Fidelma glanced warningly at him. ‘Is Iestyn the same person who was one of those trying to punish you this evening?’
Idwal nodded quickly. ‘Iestyn has always hated me.’
‘You said Iolo was killed. How was that?’
‘Sea-raiders.’
‘Who were they?’
Idwal shrugged and shook his head.
‘Tell me what happened between you and Mair,’ went on Fidelma. ‘Why did you come to be accused of killing her?’
‘Mair didn’t treat me like the others. She was friendly towards me. She was nice.’
‘And you liked her?’
‘Of course.’
‘In what way did you like her?’
The youth looked puzzled by her question.
‘She was my friend,’ he asserted.
‘Nothing more?’
‘What more is there?’ The youth was ingenuous.
Fidelma compressed her lips as she gazed into the boy’s guileless eyes. ‘You were seen having a row with her a short time before her body was found.’
Idwal flushed and he dropped his gaze. ‘That’s my secret.’
‘It is not a secret, Idwal,’ she said sharply. ‘You were seen arguing with her and a short time later she was found dead. People might say that you could have killed her because of that argument.’
‘I promised her that I would not say.’
‘But she is dead,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘My promise still holds. It was a personal thing between us.’
‘So personal that she is now dead?’
‘I did not kill her.’
‘What happened, then?’
The youth’s reply was guarded. ‘After I had said that I would not do what she wanted me to . . .’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed quickly. ‘That was what the row was about? She asked you to do something and you refused?’
Idwal blinked in confusion. ‘Are you trying to trick me? I will not say what the row was about.’
‘I am trying to get to the truth of the matter. I
f you tell me the truth, then you have nothing to fear.’
‘I am telling the truth. I did not kill her.’
‘What did she ask you to do?’ pressed Fidelma relentlessly.
The youth hesitated. Then he gave a little sigh. ‘She wanted me to take a message for her, that’s all. And that’s all I can tell for I swore an oath not to tell anything more. I swore an oath to her; an oath to Mair. I will not break it.’
Fidelma sat back in contemplation. ‘It must have been some terrible secret that you would swear such an oath about taking a message. Why would your refusal create an argument?’
‘Because I did not want to take her message. I thought it was wrong,’ blurted Idwal.
‘Why was it wrong?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘I will not tell any more.’ Idwal was certainly a stubborn youth.
‘Tell me how you came to be standing over her dead body if you did not kill her?’ Fidelma decided to change tack. ‘Come on, Idwal, speak sharply now.’
The youth gestured helplessly with his shoulders, a difficult motion with his hands still bound behind him. ‘After the argument, I left her. It upset me. She was my friend and treated me nicely. But I could not do what she asked. I went to sit by myself and thought for a while. I felt that I should go to find her and apologise . . .’
‘How long did you sit on your own?’
‘I do not know. It seemed a long time.’
‘So you went back to find her. Did you?’
‘It was near to the very place where I had left her. She looked as though she was sleeping. At first, I thought she was.’ Idwal gave a sob.
‘Then you saw that she had blood on her?’ Brother Meurig suddenly intervened, causing Fidelma a moment of irritation.
‘She had no blood on her,’ replied the boy. ‘That’s why I thought she was asleep.’
Brother Meurig leant forward from his hay bale. ‘Yet the apothecary, according to Gwnda, said the girl had blood on her clothes,’ he pointed out, more to Fidelma than the boy.
‘Are you sure that there was no blood on her clothes, Idwal?’
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