‘I remember a forge at the abbey,’ Eadulf said reflectively. ‘By the barn.’
‘They had their own smith, but now and then he needed help or materials. Is that not so, father?’
Goff nodded slowly.
‘From what you say, I presume that Brother Rhun was not one of those slain?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I can name only two of the brothers who were. He was not one of them.’
‘And you are sure they were all of the community?’
‘Positive.’
‘And there were seven bodies?’
‘Seven,’ the young man confirmed.
‘And you were going to tell me how they were killed.’
‘Sword strokes mainly.’
‘In what manner?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘Mostly from behind, across the back of the neck.’ The young man apparently understood what was wanted of him. ‘One was stabbed from the front, through the heart, while another had an upward stroke to the stomach. They lay in a small group, as if they had been huddled together for the purpose.’
Fidelma’s brows were drawn together. ‘In a group, you say? Where were the shield and weapons found?’
‘Just by them.’
‘Just by them?’ She turned and took the broken sword. Its blade had been snapped off. ‘This was where, exactly, in relation to the bodies?’
‘It lay at the feet of one religieux.’
‘Did you wipe the blood off?’ The weapon she held was clean and almost shining.
‘It was like that when we found it,’ Goff the smith put in.
‘And where was the other part of the weapon? In one of the corpses?’
‘No, the wounds were clean and--’ Dewi stopped abruptly as he suddenly realised the significance of the question.
‘And the knife and the shield? Were they just lying close by?’
The young man considered. ‘The shield was on top of one of the bodies and the knife alongside another.’
‘So what happened after this discovery?’
It was Goff who answered.
‘Dewi came back to fetch some more of us down to Penmorfa. I retrieved the weapons and searched the bodies in case there was a means of identification. There was none. No jewellery or crucifixes - nothing. So we buried them by the cliffs where they had fallen.’
‘Are you sure that they were killed at that spot?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Oh yes. There was a great deal of blood on the ground around the bodies.’
‘And then?’
‘When we had ensured that we were safe, I told my boy, Dewi, to ride to Llanwnda and tell Gwnda, the lord of Pen Caer, what we had found; the slaughter and the sighting of the Saxon warship along the coast. It does not need much imagination to work out what happened.’
‘That Saxon raiders attacked the community at Llanpadern? Are you sure of that?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Are you sure that they carried off the community and, for some reason, slaughtered seven of them on the cliffs before they went back onto their warship?’
‘Of course. This is what must have occurred.’
‘Do you know that there is no sign of an attack at Llanpadern? No building is burnt or destroyed. Nor are there signs of any religious slaughtered there.’
Goff grimaced.
‘That’s easily answered, Sister. The Saxons came at night and surprised the brethren so that there was no opportunity to defend themselves. They were rounded up like lambs for the slaughter.’
‘But--’ began Eadulf. Fidelma silenced him with a sharp look.
‘And has there been any further sign of this Saxon ship, either before or since?’ she asked.
‘We keep a special watch along the coast for such raids. There has been no further sign of it.’
Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘You have been most helpful, Goff. You, also, Dewi.’
‘Where do you go now?’ asked Goff, offering them more mead.
‘Back to Llanwnda. We will rejoin our companion from the abbey of Dewi Sant there.’
‘I hear there is also trouble at Llanwnda.’
‘That is so,’ confirmed Eadulf, now tucking into some bread with relish. ‘Our companion, Brother Meurig, is investigating--’
‘Meurig the barnwr?’ Rhonwen moved to the table, her round face suddenly serious. ‘Is he investigating the death of poor Mair?’
‘Did you know Mair?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Here, under the shelter of Pen Caer, Sister,’ Goff nodded towards the distant peak, ‘we are a close community. Besides, Iorwerth is a fellow smith and news travels quickly from forge to forge.’
‘So you know Iorwerth as well?’
‘We were apprentices together at the same forge when we were young. For two years I slept cheek by jowl with him before our smith-master drove him out.’
Fidelma was immediately interested. ‘Drove him out? Can you be more precise?’
Goff looked sombre at the memory and glanced towards the serious face of his wife.
‘That I can, Sister. Our smith-master had a daughter. Some nights I would awaken to find that the bed of my fellow apprentice was empty. You understand?’
‘I think I follow you,’ agreed Fidelma.
The broad-shouldered man scowled in disapproval. ‘With Iorwerth, it was more a question of lust than love. I don’t think Iorwerth really cared for anyone. Maybe not even his daughter. I know his wife died some years ago and his mourning was brief.’
‘Indeed it was.’ Rhonwen sat down suddenly at the table. She looked at Goff and some hidden message passed between them.
‘I don’t think we need you any more, Dewi,’ he said. ‘Best get down to the forge and see all is well.’
Reluctantly, the youth rose and left them. After he had gone, Rhonwen leant forward.
‘Iorwerth’s wife was a friend of mine. Esyllt was a beautiful girl. How she was ever persuaded to marry Iorwerth, only God would know. It was not a marriage that I would have said was favoured in heaven. Her death was almost predictable.’
‘What happened?’ asked Fidelma.
‘She simply took ill and died one day. You know how it is? Some ague. The fever carried her off, poor dear. One thing, she went to a better place than she had occupied with the living. Iorwerth is a petty and vengeful man. I often wondered why poor Esyllt stayed with him. I asked her once if she would like to come away and stay with us, when we knew Iorwerth was beating her. After all, Esyllt was my closest and dearest friend.’
‘Tell me, Goff, where was this master-smith under whom you and Iorwerth were apprentices?’
‘He was smith of Dinas. Gurgust of Dinas. Poor man.’
Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘Poor man?’
‘His daughter, you see.’
‘Poor man from the point of view that his daughter was having an affair with Iorwerth?’
Goff shook his head. ‘From what happened afterwards. It was a few weeks after Iorwerth was chased out of Dinas, after Gurgust had discovered that his daughter - Efa was her name - had succumbed to Iorwerth’s attentions, if you understand me? Gurgust was in such a rage that he threw his daughter out of his house as well.’
‘Did she go off with Iorwerth?’
‘She did not. Iorwerth had vanished and the girl was on her own. It seems that poor Efa took up with an itinerant warrior and had a child by him. Then Efa died.’
‘Did she die in childbirth?’
‘She was found in nearby woods, strangled, when her child was a few months old.’
‘Strangled?’ Fidelma was not often overtly startled but she set down her mead carefully.
‘It was very sad. Poor Gurgust gave up the forge after that. I did hear that he tried to find and claim custody of Efa’s child.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘Not that I know of. The warrior had already given up the child and vanished in a host that marched on Ceredigion. I left Dinas and moved to the smithy here in Llanferran. It was only some years later that I heard that Gurgust had been killed in one of the bor
der raids. In spite of his actions, he loved his daughter, Efa, and when she was murdered . . .’ He ended with a shrug.
‘Did they ever find out who was responsible for Efa’s death?’ asked Fidelma when he paused.
Goff shook his head. ‘There was speculation that the warrior who had befriended her was the murderer. But no one knew who he was nor was he ever caught. There was even some argument that it was none other than Iorwerth himself.’
‘Was Iorwerth ever questioned about it?’
Goff was not surprised at her query. It had doubtless been asked many times over the years.
‘Of course. But Iorwerth had left Dinas as soon as Gurgust had thrown him out. At least no one could find him. It was thought that he had been in one of the hosts which marched on Ceredigion. Then, some years later, it was found that he had set up his own smithy at Llanwnda. Then he married Esyllt, my wife’s friend, and Mair was born. There was nothing to connect him with the death of Efa except rumour. Some felt that a wandering beggar had killed her, because the golden chain that she always wore - a chain of red gold which Gurgust had fashioned for her and which she had prized - was missing. It carried a strangely shaped gold pendant with jewels ending in the likeness of a hare. It was the symbol of Andrasta, the old pagan goddess of my people.’
‘Andrasta?’ queried Fidelma. ‘I have not heard of this goddess.’
‘They say the great queen, Boudicca, invoked her before she drove the Romans out of her kingdom,’ explained Goff.
‘And this gold chain and pendant was missing?’
‘It was. The conclusion was that she had simply been robbed and killed.’
‘Nevertheless, Iorwerth was suspected?’
‘He is an evil man, Sister,’ interrupted Rhonwen. ‘I would not put anything past him.’
Fidelma sat awhile, frowning. ‘Is Dinas far from here?’
‘It is a long way around the coastline. But if you went to the coast a few kilometres north-west of Llanwnda, then took a boat across the great bay there, Dinas is the island on the far side of the bay: a distance of perhaps five kilometres. Often the island is the object of attacks from Ceredigion just along the coast. But Gurgust and his daughter Efa are long forgotten. This happened twenty or more years ago. There is nothing there now.’
‘It seems a curious coincidence that both the daughter of Gurgust and the daughter of Iorwerth should meet their deaths in similar circumstances.’ Fidelma was reflective.
‘How can there be any connection?’ demanded Goff.
‘You said that Gurgust was killed in some border war?’
‘I did.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It is what I heard.’ The smith’s eyes suddenly lightened and he smiled. ‘If Gurgust lived, and believed that Iorwerth had killed his daughter, then he would have sought revenge long ago. Gurgust is long dead.’
Rhonwen leant forward across the table and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Even so, husband, the good sister must have a reason for asking the question. Are you saying that you believe Idwal to be innocent of young Mair’s death? Does Brother Meurig also believe this?’
Goff interrupted before Fidelma could respond.
‘You told us that you had come here to investigate the raid at Llanpadern. What is your interest in the death of Mair of Llanwnda?’ he demanded suspiciously.
Fidelma reassured him. ‘We journeyed to Llanwnda with Brother Meurig. He is there to investigate the killing. It is natural that our curiosity is piqued by the affair, and what help we can render to Brother Meurig we are willing to give.’
‘So you do believe that Idwal is innocent,’ Rhonwen said shrewdly. ‘No barnwr would waste their time on such questions unless they suspected that all was not as it seemed.’
‘How well do you know Idwal?’
Rhonwen answered with a smile. ‘As Goff said, we are a small community.’
‘What do you make of him?’
‘Make of him?’ Rhonwen was puzzled.
‘Do you think him capable of murder?’
‘Who is and who is not capable of taking a life given the circumstances?’ countered Goff. ‘We are all capable of doing so, I should imagine.’
‘I think Sister Fidelma means, what is your assessment of Idwal? Is he a likeable boy? Would he kill without justification?’
Goff rubbed his nose. ‘He is a half-wit.’
Rhonwen made a tutting sound and shook her head. Fidelma turned to her.
‘You disagree with that assessment?’
‘He isn’t a half-wit. He is merely slow. Almost child-like. He did not have a pleasant childhood after Iolo the shepherd died. Iolo fostered the boy as a baby. He was still a boy when Iolo’s brother, Iestyn, drove him out. Since then Idwal has had to earn a living as an itinerant shepherd.’
‘I’ll not deny that the boy has a fairly gentle nature,’ agreed Goff. ‘There is no denying that. He would weep every time one of his lambs died. But who knows what provoked him? We all have the instinct to kill when presented with the right circumstances, and the boy was deep. He kept his thoughts to himself. Who knew what angers lay beneath his quiet exterior?’
‘So you believe that he is guilty?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I believe what I am told by men whose opinions I respect.’
‘And who is it that you respect who told you Idwal was guilty?’ Fidelma asked sharply.
‘Why, Iestyn of Llanwnda, of course.’
Fidelma saw Rhonwen screw her features into a brief expression of dislike.
‘You do not think much of Iestyn, do you?’
Goff’s wife made her views clear. ‘When I think of him throwing that young boy out to fend for himself . . . and now he has the gall to level the finger of blame.’
Goff tried to defend his opinion. ‘Iestyn has been a good friend to me. And perhaps he was right to throw the boy out years ago. Perhaps he saw what was coming.’
‘I know this is a small community, but when did you speak with Iestyn on this matter?’ Fidelma probed.
‘A day or so ago. He came by with a cart that needed a repair.’
‘I thought he was a friend of Iorwerth. Surely Iorwerth was closer at hand and would have been able to mend his cart?’
‘What my husband means,’ sniffed Rhonwen, ‘is that Iestyn was delivering a cartload of hides to a trader near here when his cart broke. Easier to call here than drag it all the way back to Llanwnda.’
‘I understand. So Iestyn was the one who told you what had happened and said that Idwal was guilty.’
‘He was,’ said Goff, rising abruptly. ‘And now, pleasant though it is to gossip, I have my forge to get back to.’
Fidelma stood up and Eadulf followed reluctantly. She knew when she had been dismissed.
‘We have a journey to complete. But let me ask one more question before we depart.’
Goff made a gesture which seemed to indicate the invitation to put the question.
‘You say that this is a small community and everyone knows one another?’
Rhonwen was beginning to clear the remains of the meal from the table. She smiled. ‘Are you seeking information about someone?’
‘I am. What can you tell me about a man who calls himself Clydog Cacynen or another who goes by the name of Corryn?’
The jug which Rhonwen had been holding fell to the floor and shattered into a number of pieces, allowing the little remaining mead to splash over the wooden boards. Goff moved forward, frowning, as Rhonwen began to apologise nervously and start picking up the pieces.
‘How did you come across the name of Clydog?’ he demanded.
‘We heard that there was an outlaw in this area and were warned to be careful of him,’ she lied easily. ‘I simply wanted to know who he was.’
‘If you want to ask about him, ask Father Clidro. He once tried to negotiate a peace with him.’
‘But Father Clidro--’ began Eadulf.
‘Father Clidro, as you will recall, is no longer at Llanpadern nor is
any of his community,’ interrupted Fidelma quickly, with a warning glance at Eadulf.
‘Then we can answer no more questions,’ Goff said firmly. ‘I would merely add my voice to those you have heard already and urge you to avoid meeting with Clydog. He is a scourge on our people. He has sharp ears and punishes swiftly. We will say no more. I give you God’s speed on your journey.’
His expression was resolute. It was clear that his wife was upset at the mention of Clydog but also clear that Fidelma and Eadulf had outstayed their welcome at Llanferran.
Goff refused payment for the hospitality that he had provided, muttering the usual formula that prayers offered up by the religious on behalf of his wife and himself were worth more than gold or silver. Fidelma and Eadulf responded with the usual blessing. But there was an emptiness about the ritual; it was performed without feeling.
As soon as it was over, Fidelma and Eadulf retrieved their horses from Dewi at the forge and took the trail which the youth indicated as leading to Llanwnda.
‘Curious,’ observed Eadulf, after they had travelled without speaking for a while.
Fidelma, immersed in her own thoughts, glanced absently at him. ‘What?’
‘Remember Rhonwen’s reaction when you asked about Clydog? The smith also seem scared to death of the man.’
‘With cause, no doubt,’ she agreed. ‘Unfortunately, we can no longer ask Father Clidro about him. From the look on Rhonwen’s face, I suspect that Clydog is not beyond rape as well as pillage.’
‘Short of being able to ask Clydog, which I do not propose doing,’ responded Eadulf in grim amusement, ‘I think we will not be able to resolve that mystery. However, so far as the disappearance of the brethren of Llanpadern is concerned, I think we may now offer an explanation to Gwlyddien, as much as I am embarrassed by it.’
Fidelma answered with a short laugh. ‘We may offer an explanation, but is it the right one? Come, let me hear your version.’
Eadulf look slightly pained at her sceptical response. ‘My explanation is the same as I offered before.’
Fidelma was still smiling softly. ‘And that is . . . ?’
‘I do not make excuses for my people, but you know that many Saxon ships raid the coast for plunder and slaves. A Hwicce ship landed here, raided the community at Llanpadern. In the raid, one of them was killed . . . the man we found in the tomb. The raiders then marched their captives back to their ship. Something happened when they reached the cliff overlooking the ship. Perhaps an attempt to escape. Seven were cut down. The evidence of Hwicce weapons and a shield shows who did it.’
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