‘As I recall, we were inside for well over an hour before going to the barn. That is a long time for him to wait, if he had been watching before deciding to entrap us there.’
‘You obviously have a theory,’ Eadulf said in resignation.
To his surprise she gave a negative shake of her head. ‘At this stage, I have only questions.’
‘But what makes you think there is some connection? The fact that he surprised us in the barn is hardly reason to think he was connected with the Saxon raid.’
‘You said that he did not know about the Saxon in the crypt.’
‘Yes. Otherwise he would have made some remark when he knew I was a Saxon.’
‘He did.’
Eadulf stared at her in the darkness, although he could see nothing but the deeper blackness of her head against his chest. ‘Well, I did not hear it,’ he said defensively.
‘His first words when I told him who we were. Don’t you remember?’
‘He simply made some remark like “A Gwyddel and a Saxon.” ’
‘He did not. What he said was “A Gwyddel and another Saxon.” Who was the other Saxon if not--’
‘The Hwicce?’ supplied Eadulf quickly.
‘Who-wicca.’ Fidelma struggled again with the pronunciation. ‘Why do you Saxons have such unpronounceable names?’
‘Because,’ Eadulf snapped testily, ‘we are a different people. Every language is easy to pronounce to those who speak it. Every language is phonetic once you know the phonetics!’
‘Absit invidia,’ Fidelma murmured pacifyingly. ‘There is no offence intended. I simply make a statement as it appears from my own viewpoint.’
‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘A curse on languages, anyway. They are twisty things, words upon words, with sly meaning and never any precision.’
‘On the contrary, Eadulf, the only thing that creates an enemy of language is insincerity. Language can only be our friend if it is in accordance with the truth of the speaker.’
Eadulf groaned softly. ‘Is this the time and place for philosophy?’
‘All times and all places are conducive. Language has betrayed Clydog’s knowledge. Clydog knew the Hwicce was in the tomb. When he heard that you were a Saxon, unconsciously it slipped out - another Saxon.’
Eadulf was silent as he considered the matter. Then he said: ‘So he must have known that the body was in the tomb?’ Suddenly he gave an audible groan. ‘What a fool I am. Sualda!’
‘Exactly. I think that the Hwicce was cornered by Sualda in the refectory. He picked up that meat knife and stabbed Sualda, who in turn killed him.’
‘But why hide the body in the sarcophagus?’
‘That is a question that we cannot answer yet.’ Eadulf clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘I would place a wager that Clydog knows something about this mystery. If only I had tried to make sense of Sualda’s ramblings.’
He heard Fidelma yawn sleepily, and glanced towards the cave mouth. It was still dark and raining outside.
‘We’d better try to sleep a while,’ he advised. ‘At first light we must try to pick up the road to Llanferran and hope we don’t encounter our friend Clydog again.’
There was no sound except the regular rise and fall of his companion’s breathing. Fidelma was already asleep.
The noisy chorus of birds woke Eadulf. It was still dark but one could feel the onset of the dawn. He was surprised that he had even fallen asleep. It seemed only a few moments ago that he had been thinking that sleep would be impossible as he half lay, uncomfortable in his damp clothes, against the hard rock on the cave floor with Fidelma nestled in the crook of his left arm.
He tried not to make too sudden a movement but turned his head slightly and looked down at her still sleeping form. She seemed so vulnerable, so unlike the Fidelma he was used to seeing; the face so confident and, perhaps, a little arrogant.
He moved his gaze back to the cave mouth and saw the sky was not really dark but getting lighter all the time. The cacophony from the birds increased. It was time to be moving.
He stirred, moving his muscles gently. Fidelma moaned a little in protest. He reached over with his free arm and shook her gently on the shoulder.
‘Time to be going,’ he said quietly.
She moaned again and then blinked. In a moment she was sitting up staring about her. She shivered in the chill.
‘Have we overslept?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes.
‘No,’ Eadulf assured her. ‘But it will be dawn in a moment or two.’
Fidelma looked at the cave entrance and saw the sky. ‘We’d better make a start then,’ she said, rising to her feet and stretching. She felt chilly and her damp clothes were uncomfortable. The horses were standing patiently, blowing and snorting in the cool air, their breath like little puffs of steam.
‘At least it seems to have stopped raining,’ Eadulf observed as he walked to the cave mouth and looked out. ‘But it is still cold.’
The ground outside had been saturated by the rain and the sky was still filled with menacing heavy clouds. He muttered something in Saxon which sounded like a curse. Fidelma raised an eyebrow in disapproval. Eadulf shrugged and indicated the wet ground with a jerk of his head.
‘It will make our tracks easy to follow, if Clydog is still out looking for us.’
Fidelma began to saddle her horse. ‘He will be,’ she assured him. ‘With luck we can find some rocky trail or perhaps a stream to follow.’
‘I’d give anything for a drink and something to eat,’ Eadulf sighed, following her example and putting the saddle blanket on his mount.
Fidelma was abruptly reminded that they had not eaten since the previous morning. She wished she had eaten the plate of venison she had been offered on the previous night. Eadulf was in the same position, having forsaken his meal to effect his escape.
‘Let’s hope we can find somewhere to refresh ourselves on the journey. We need to find our way to Llanferran,’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t forget our horses are just as miserable as we are. They haven’t been rubbed down or watered and fed either.’
Eadulf led the way out of the cave and back along the small twisting mud path towards the main track from which they had departed on the previous evening. It was a chilly, grey-stone morning. Even the bird song seemed desultory now.
They mounted and began to proceed along the trail. Although they seemed to sit at ease on their horses a close observer would have noticed that their muscles were tensed and now and then they turned their heads as if in expectation of pursuit.
Fidelma wondered how long it had been before Clydog had overtaken the riderless horse and realised how he had been tricked. How long before he had returned to the camp and found that she was gone as well?
They came to a spongy turf clearing among holly and sessile oaks. On one side was a clump of wild pear, leaning together, with their narrow outlines and sparse branches. A few months earlier and they could have eased their hunger with its fruits.
Eadulf was sitting on his horse peering about him. He let out a low exclamation and turned his horse towards a group of trees. Among them he had noticed some tall specimens with deeply furrowed bark. He dismounted and was soon cutting away with his knife.
‘What is it?’ Fidelma called.
‘Hopefully, breakfast,’ he replied. ‘I noticed these elder trees and hoped we might be lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ She was perplexed. She came closer and peered down at what he was cutting away from the tree. ‘Ugh!’ she grunted in repulsion. ‘It looks like a human ear.’
Eadulf grinned up at her. ‘It’s actually called Judas’s Ear.’
Fidelma realised it was a fungus; liver-brown, with translucent flabby flesh.
‘Is it edible?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘It is not a delicacy but I have known people who eat it both cooked and raw. It might take the edge off our hunger.’
‘Or give us indigestion,’ observed Fidelma, examining with distaste the piece
he handed her. ‘Why is it called Judas’s Ear?’
‘There is a tradition that Judas Iscariot, who betrayed the Christ for thirty pieces of silver, hanged himself on an elder tree. This fungus only grows on the elder.’
Fidelma nibbled experimentally. The taste was not too unpleasant, and she was hungry. A short time later, they found a small spring and slaked their thirst. Here they were also able to pause and let their horses drink and graze for a while on the wet grasses that surrounded the spring. Then they were on their way again, directed westward by the sun rising against their backs.
Soon the woods began to thin and they found themselves in a small twisting valley through which a small stream gushed, widening occasionally into moderately sized pools. At Fidelma’s suggestion they walked their horses through the shallow waters, whose swirling eddies hid their passing.
After a while the wooded cover ended and low plains of marshy ground stretched before them. They were aware of the plaintive crying of gulls and the noticeable tang of salt in the air.
‘The sea can’t be far away,’ Eadulf observed unnecessarily.
‘So we have to turn north now,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I can see some buildings . . .’
‘Maybe we can get a proper meal there.’
Fidelma smiled ruefully at her companion. ‘I confess that if it were a choice between going hungry or having another meal of your Judas’s Ear, I would prefer starvation.’
They rode to some rocky high ground that, to the west, swept down towards a deceptive cliff edge. Below was a broad bay with a sandy beach, backed by shingle. Further up was a deep inlet through which a river came tumbling to the sea. They had to ride around this cleft, with cliffs on one side and marshy land on the other, to find a place to cross.
The buildings appeared to be a small hamlet with a hill rising behind it. Fidelma had noticed several ancient stones including a stone circle not far off. Smoke rose from the hamlet and they could see people moving about.
Eadulf sighed in relief. ‘Civilisation and food.’
‘Let’s find out where we are first.’
As they came closer, Fidelma realised that the place was not even large enough to be called a hamlet. There was only a large smith’s forge and outbuildings and what looked like the sort of hostel that was common in her own land, where people gathered to drink, eat or stay for the night.
An old man carrying a large stack of twigs on his back was approaching them from a path on the inland side of the track along which they were proceeding.
Eadulf decided to try out his improved knowledge of the language.
‘Shw mae! Pa un yw’r fford i . . .?’
The old man stopped and stared at him. His eyes widened. ‘Saeson?’
‘I am a Saxon,’ admitted Eadulf.
To their surprise, the old man dropped his bundle of sticks and went scuttling away towards the buildings shouting at the top of his voice.
Fidelma looked grim. ‘It seems that they do not like Saxons in this part of the world.’
Before Eadulf could protest, Fidelma was moving on resolutely in the wake of the old man, who had now halted, waving his arms and still shouting. A broad-shouldered man, who was clearly the smith, and a couple of other men had grabbed what appeared to be weapons and watched them with caution as they approached. There were no expressions of welcome on their faces.
‘What do you want here?’ called the broad-shouldered man as they drew within speaking range.
Fidelma halted, Eadulf by her side. ‘Pax vobiscum, my brothers. I am Sister Fidelma of Cashel.’
‘A Gwyddel?’ The smith frowned. ‘The old man said that you were Saxons come to rob and kill us.’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly and slid from her horse, motioning Eadulf to dismount also. ‘My companion is a Saxon. Brother Eadulf. We have come neither to rob nor to kill. We are of the Faith.’
The tension of the group relaxed a little but the smith still stood regarding her mistrustfully.
‘It is unusual to find a Saxon travelling in this country as a religious. Saxons are more likely to travel in raiding parties as we, on this coast, know to our cost. We have lost many loved ones in raids.’
‘We mean no harm here. We are seeking a place called Llanferran.’
‘And so?’
Fidelma was bewildered for a moment. ‘We would also like refreshment and fodder for our horses for they are exhausted. Then if you would direct us to this place, Llanferran, we will be on our way.’
The smith stared at her for a second or two and then shrugged, putting down his weapon.
‘You have found Llanferran. My name is Goff.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Now, what is it you seek here apart from hospitality? It is not often that strangers come here merely to seek food and shelter, least of all Saxons.’ Goff the smith looked suspiciously at Eadulf.
‘We hold a commission from your king, Gwlyddien, to investigate the disappearance of the community of Llanpadern . . .’
The smith scowled suddenly. A young man who stood at his side, white-faced and anxious, let out a nervous gasp.
‘We were told by Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer, that someone called Dewi had information on this matter.’
The smith reluctantly indicated the youth. ‘This is my son, Dewi. I named him after the blessed founder of our church.’
Fidelma smiled at the apprehensive boy. ‘Then we have much to discuss. However, can we beg some food and the warmth of your fire while we talk of this matter?’
The smith hesitated before making up his mind. ‘If you are true religious then you are welcome at my hearth. We will go up to the house.’
He turned to one of his companions standing in the sullen, suspicious group about the old man they had first encountered, who was glaring at them with hatred.
‘Take charge of the forge,’ instructed Goff. He was about to turn away when Fidelma stayed him.
‘Can the wants of our horses also be met? They need a good rub down, also water and feed.’
‘See to it,’ Goff ordered.
With murmured thanks, Fidelma and Eadulf followed Goff and Dewi across a yard and up a small rise to the large building which, as Fidelma had guessed, bore all the hallmarks of the hostels kept in her own land, where food, drink and a bed could be purchased.
A round-faced woman was standing before a cooking pot hanging over a roaring fire.
‘Rhonwen!’ called the smith. ‘We have guests. Religious on their travels.’
The round-faced woman came forward, wiping her hands on an apron that hung around her ample girth.
‘This is Rhonwen, my wife,’ Goff said.
‘Have you broken your fast this morning, Sister?’ the pleasant-faced woman asked. ‘Can I get you something to eat and drink?’
Soon fresh-baked bread and dishes of cold meats and cheeses were set before them. The smith and his son, Dewi, joined them in beakers of good mead.
Fidelma had reached into her marsupium and pushed the vellum bearing King Gwlyddien’s seal in front of the smith. He glanced at it and handed it to his son with a shrug.
‘Dewi has been taught to read,’ he muttered apologetically.
‘It is a commission from the king, father. The Gwyddel is a lawyer, like our barnwr.’
‘Very well. What can we tell you about Llanpadern, Sister?’ asked the smith. ‘We know that it was raided.’
‘So Dewi told Gwnda.’ Eadulf entered the conversation for the first time. ‘Tell us about this raid.’
The youth glanced at his father who nodded.
‘We heard that there was a Saxon warship anchored off Penmorfa nearly a week ago,’ Dewi began. ‘Then seven religious were found near the cliffs there. They had all been killed. It was obvious who had caused their deaths.’
Fidelma looked at him inquisitively. ‘Why obvious?’ she demanded.
‘One moment, Sister.’ The smith rose and went to a cupboard at the back of the room. A moment later he had returned bearing a ro
und warrior’s shield, a broken sword and a knife. ‘These were found with the bodies of the religious. Do you need me to identify their markings and their origin?’
Fidelma turned to Eadulf, who was looking at the markings with an uncomfortable expression. She knew what he would answer before she asked the question.
‘They are Hwicce,’ he confirmed.
‘Can you be sure?’ she pressed.
Eadulf nodded. ‘Observe the double lightning stroke on the shield, the symbol of Thunor, god of lightning? If that is not enough, one can see the riveting and construction . . .’
‘Indeed!’ interrupted the smith, smiling maliciously. ‘No Briton would do this work. This is a Saxon shield and weapons.’
‘And you say that these were found by the bodies of the religious? Who discovered them?’ The questions came sharply from Fidelma.
‘Some travelling merchants brought us word. Dewi with two companions went down to Penmorfa to confirm their story.’
‘Did you see any Saxons, Dewi?’
The youth shook his head. ‘There were only the bodies of the slain religious.’
‘Did you see any sign of the Saxon ship?’ she asked.
His father, Goff, laughed sourly. ‘Saxons raid swiftly. They come and then are gone. Once they have attacked, they do not wait for retribution.’
‘Tell me more about the bodies you found, Dewi,’ invited Fidelma.
‘What more is there to say?’ The youth frowned uncertainly.
‘Did you recognise them as being religious from Llanpadern? How were they lying? How were they killed?’ Fidelma shot the questions in rapid succession.
Dewi gave the questions some consideration before replying. ‘I have frequently been at Llanpadern, so I was able to recognise two or three of the brothers.’
‘Did you know Brother Rhun?’
‘The son of the king? He served as the steward of the abbey at Llanpadern. He conducted the business of the abbey with traders and merchants. I met him often.’
‘My son drives our cart, transporting the goods I make to those who cannot come to the forge to collect them,’ explained his father.
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