Smoke in the Wind

by Peter Tremayne

  Gwnda nodded in confirmation. ‘That is so, Sister. Several people have been killed as Clydog’s raids have become more reckless. King Gwlyddien once sent a band of warriors to scour the woods to destroy Clydog, but without success. Clydog knows the forests of Ffynnon Druidion like the back of his hand.’

  ‘Gwlyddien had to send warriors? You are lord of Pen Caer. Why couldn’t you raise your own band of warriors to flush him out?’

  Gwnda chuckled without humour. ‘If I searched all Pen Caer I doubt whether I could find a dozen trained warriors. Most of the young menfolk are already serving with the Lord Rhodri to protect our borders with Ceredigion.’

  ‘So, apart from this one attempt, nothing has been done about Clydog since?’

  ‘So long as Clydog does not strike at any of the major settlements of Pen Caer and confines himself to the highways, he is no great threat to the peace of the area.’

  ‘So your policy is to let Clydog alone and hope he lets you alone?’ Fidelma was disapproving. ‘What if he were responsible for Llanpadern?’

  Gwnda started in astonishment. ‘Are you saying that it was not a Saxon raid? Are you saying Clydog was responsible for killing Father Clidro and the others? That is nonsense. What purpose would it serve?’

  ‘I am asking, what if he were responsible?’ she pressed.

  ‘Then I suppose that King Gwlyddien would have to raise men to go against him. Send warriors in such numbers that he would be flushed out. But it would take a fair number to comb the woods of Ffynnon Druidion, and the kingdom cannot spare many trained warriors. Not at this time.’

  ‘Cannot?’ Fidelma emphasised the word.

  ‘Artglys, the king of Ceredigion, is pressing on our borders, searching for weaknesses in the hope of taking over this land. Our borders are long and our warriors stretched to maintain the peace along them.’

  Fidelma sat for a moment considering the information. ‘We know what Clydog is, but I would like to know who he is.’

  Gwnda was puzzled. ‘Who?’

  ‘Surely this outlaw did not suddenly appear from nowhere?’

  The lord of Pen Caer surprised them by nodding slowly. ‘That is precisely what he did.’

  ‘You mean that he is not a local man?’

  ‘Not so far as we know.’

  ‘If he is not from the area, how does he have such a good local knowledge that he can avoid the warriors of the king when they search for him?’ Eadulf asked.

  Gwnda sniffed deprecatingly. ‘A good point, Brother Saxon. A good point. But no one who has seen Clydog has been able to identify him as being related to anyone in this area. Perhaps it is one of his men who has the local knowledge.’

  Fidelma was disappointed. She had been sure that Clydog must have some local connection; a connection which she was hoping would link him to the mystery.

  Buddog re-entered. ‘The baths are ready for our guests, lord,’ she announced. ‘Alas, we have no robes suitable for religious. However, if the sister and the brother will consent to put on ordinary garments for a day, we will wash their own robes and return them.’

  Fidelma slowly rose. ‘That will be acceptable. Your hospitality is most welcome, Gwnda.’

  As Buddog left the chieftain also rose, along with Eadulf. ‘It is my earnest hope that the affairs that have brought you here are speedily resolved,’ he said.

  ‘It is our hope also, Gwnda,’ Fidelma replied with the same solemnity. ‘However, it may take some time. You see . . . Brother Meurig has been murdered.’

  Eadulf had been waiting to see what dramatic moment Fidelma would choose to reveal the find in the forest.

  The expression on Gwnda’s face changed only slowly. Then he shook himself like a shaggy dog. ‘Are you saying that Brother Meurig is dead?’

  ‘His body lies in the forest,’ confirmed Fidelma.

  Gwnda let out a long, whistling sigh. ‘Murdered, you say? Why did you not tell me immediately?’

  ‘You said that you did not know where Brother Meurig had gone or when he would return. What could you have told me if you had known before?’

  ‘Nothing, but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Only that his death hangs heavily on my conscience. Perhaps I should have warned him more insistently before he left. I might have prevented this catastrophe.’

  Fidelma exchanged a quick glance with Eadulf. ‘Warned him? Prevented his murder? It sounds as though you knew far more than you have revealed to us about where Brother Meurig’s investigation was leading?’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Not that? You maintain that you did not know where he was going but that you could have warned him not to go and thus prevented his murder?’ There was a cynical tone in Fidelma’s voice.

  Gwnda’s expression was defensive. ‘I might have prevented it,’ he insisted. ‘I’d better take some men to the woodsman’s hut and retrieve Brother Meurig’s body.’

  ‘Before you go, I think that you should explain,’ Fidelma said quietly.

  ‘Explain? When Brother Meurig left here, I could have demanded that he go alone, that’s all.’

  ‘Go alone?’ Fidelma frowned quickly. ‘You mean he left here in the company of someone else?’

  ‘Isn’t that what I am telling you?’

  Fidelma let out a sharp breath of exasperation. ‘In the name of the Holy Saints, man, tell us in whose company Brother Meurig left and why you think that person was responsible for his death?’

  ‘He left with Mair’s killer, that’s who.’

  ‘Mair’s killer?’ echoed Eadulf.

  ‘The young boy, Idwal. He left with Idwal.’

  An hour later Fidelma and Eadulf had emerged from their baths both refreshed and wearing more comfortable clothing. Buddog informed them that Gwnda was waiting in the main hall and a meal had been prepared for them.

  It was gloomy and dark now and Fidelma realised that it would soon be evening, for autumnal darkness descended early.

  Gwnda was, indeed, waiting for them.

  ‘I have sent two of my best huntsmen and trackers to see if they can pick up signs of Idwal,’ he reported. ‘But he will have most of this day’s start on us and we will not be able to set out in pursuit before tomorrow’s first light. In death, it seems, Brother Meurig has proved the guilt of the boy, at least.’

  Fidelma admonished him with a look. ‘That the boy left with Brother Meurig is not certain proof of his guilt either in Mair’s case or in the death of Meurig.’

  Gwnda stared at her for a moment and then chuckled grimly. ‘Surely, Sister, you can entertain no doubt about the boy’s guilt now?’

  ‘There are questions to be asked still. But you are right, Idwal must be found. I hope that the men you sent out are instructed not to harm him but to bring him back here if they find him?’

  ‘They know that they are tracking a killer. They will act accordingly,’ replied Gwnda.

  ‘Brother Meurig was a barnwr. I am a dálaigh holding an equivalent legal rank,’ announced Fidelma. ‘Therefore I am going to take charge of this case.’

  Gwnda was silent for a moment. The corners of his mouth turned down as he pressed his mouth tight shut for a moment. ‘By the Holy Cross, you are not!’ he finally responded with firmness.

  Fidelma returned his look without flinching. ‘Do you challenge my authority?’ Her voice was soft. Eadulf knew that it was when she spoke softly that she was at her most dangerous.

  ‘You have no authority here. Not in this matter, anyway. ’

  Fidelma stiffened. ‘I have the authority of King Gwlyddien of Dyfed,’ she retorted.

  ‘No you do not.’

  Fidelma’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Brother Meurig told you so when we arrived. You accepted it then.’

  Gwnda shook his head. ‘King Gwlyddien authorised you only to investigate the disappearance of the community of Llanpadern. He sent Brother Meurig here to judge the case against Idwal. You have no right to intervene in this matter. I am lord of Pen Cae
r and I shall be magistrate in this affair.’

  Fidelma swallowed sharply. It was true. Gwnda was right under the absolute letter of the law. She had no jurisdiction here. She thought for a moment and then realised that she could do nothing but back away.

  ‘Then I must plead with you, Gwnda. I believe that an injustice is happening. I should investigate this matter further if justice is to be served.’

  ‘You have authority to investigate at Llanpadern. That is all.’ Gwnda’s expression was determined. ‘You are welcome to the hospitality of my hall for this night. I presume that you will want to return to the abbey of Dewi Sant tomorrow. Until then I suggest that you do not wander far from the protection of my roof.’

  Fidelma’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Gwnda?’ Once more Eadulf heard a dangerously quiet quality to her voice.

  Gwnda’s expression was impassive. ‘There is no threat at all in what I say, Sister. I am but warning you for your own safety and the safety of your Saxon companion.’

  ‘That certainly sounds like a threat to me,’ observed Eadulf sourly.

  ‘When the news of Brother Meurig’s death has spread, there will be many who will be angered. The fact that Idwal was obviously responsible for Mair’s death was acknowledged by most people in Llanwnda. Now it appears that Brother Meurig has been killed by him. The people will be reminded that you stopped them taking their revenge on Idwal. Had they done so, Meurig would be alive now.’

  ‘It was not we who prevented the mob from murder,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘Brother Meurig was the one who stopped their foolhardiness.’

  Gwnda smiled thinly. ‘Brother Meurig has paid the price for his mistake. However, if you start wandering around Llanwnda, the people might recall that you were with him and bear collectively the responsibility for a further death here.’

  ‘That is a totally illogical way of thinking,’ snapped Fidelma.

  ‘I speak not for myself, of course, but for the people,’ Gwnda said evasively. ‘They are notoriously illogical when it comes to curbing feelings of vengeance against any who have wronged them.’ He turned to the door. ‘If you need anything further just ring that hand bell. Buddog will come to attend to your wants.’

  They heard his steps retreating outside and a short time later a horse left the stable.

  Eadulf was resigned. ‘So that is that! We return to the abbey of Dewi Sant tomorrow. At least we can--’

  He was brought up short by Fidelma’s scornful expression. ‘Do you think I would run away now?’

  Eadulf gazed into her fiery green eyes and suppressed a sigh of resignation. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Precisely so.’

  ‘Then what do you intend?’

  ‘I have never retreated from a mystery that I was pledged to resolve. Nor will I now.’

  ‘Then you will need to get the authority of King Gwlyddien to overrule the lord of Pen Caer.’

  She glanced at him and smiled. As usual, Eadulf had that ability of getting right down to the practicality. Her smile broadened. Eadulf read what was in her mind and groaned inwardly.

  ‘You want me to ride to the abbey of Dewi Sant and seek authority of King Gwlyddien?’

  She nodded affirmatively and added: ‘It is the only way.’

  ‘Do I have time to eat first?’ he asked petulantly.

  ‘Naturally. And to sleep as well. The best way to do this is for both of us to pretend that we are leaving tomorrow at first light. Then I shall find somewhere to stay outside Llanwnda while you go on to the abbey. If you ride fast, and the abbot provides you with a fresh horse, you could be back within twenty-four hours.’

  ‘What will you do for twenty-four hours?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘You will not be able to move around asking questions and there is the additional danger of our friend Clydog and his men to be avoided.’

  Fidelma looked rueful. ‘I will do what I can. But you are right, I will be very restricted until you return.’

  ‘I think that it is better we rethink this plan,’ Eadulf went on. ‘There is no way you are going to be able to ask questions about Idwal. Besides, Gwnda is right, you know.’

  She looked at him belligerently. ‘Right? In what way?’

  ‘This matter of Idwal is not really our affair. Our task was to--’

  She held up her hand to stop him. ‘Spare me what I have heard a thousand times,’ she snapped waspishly. Then, almost at once, she smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, Eadulf, but you have pointed this out before - several times.’

  He agreed gloomily. ‘Facts are facts no matter how many times they are stated,’ he added in self-justification.

  ‘The fact is that I am coming to the belief that there is some common factor in all these events. I want to know what that connection is.

  ‘This is not the first time you have implied there is a connection. How can you say so? I have seen no evidence of any connection.’

  ‘I feel it.’

  ‘It is not like you to rely only on intuition.’

  ‘I do not rely on it, as well you know. But Brehon Morann once said that often the heart and emotions will see before the head does.’

  ‘And often the heart and emotions will be blind while logic shows the way,’ grunted Eadulf.

  ‘I thought we could work together,’ Fidelma found herself protesting. ‘Instead we seem to be arguing all the time. What has happened to us, Eadulf?’

  Eadulf considered the matter.

  He realised that it was true. Since they had come to this accursed country of Dyfed there had been a growing friction. It was not that argument was new to them. Indeed, they had often argued but each had retained their respect for the other; both had retained their sense of humour. Eadulf knew that Fidelma always teased him over their conflicting opinions on the Faith, over their differing philosophies. But the arguments were always good-natured and there was no enmity between them. Yet now, now . . . what was wrong? There seemed a growing bitterness behind their words.

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘I think it is this atmosphere, Fidelma,’ he answered weakly. ‘I feel it is oppressive.’

  ‘You have been gloomy ever since we came on this shore. Perhaps I should have taken notice of what you said. Maybe we should have waited in Porth Clais and found another boat.’

  Eadulf knew that she did not believe what she was saying. She was in her element here, studying this mystery. To deny her that would be to totally misunderstand what made her function.

  ‘The fault lies with me,’ he said, after a moment or two. ‘I am the one who is the cause of the problem.’

  Fidelma looked quickly at him to check whether he was being sincere. Then she shook her head. ‘I think the fault might lie with the decision I took at Loch Garman.’ Her voice was without emotion.

  Eadulf compressed his lips. He said nothing.

  Fidelma waited a moment or two and when he made no other comment she added: ‘The sages say ne cede malis, but that is precisely what we seem to be doing. We are yielding to misfortune. We have never done so before.’

  ‘There is a curse on this land,’ growled Eadulf angrily.

  ‘A curse?’ Fidelma actually smiled, a swift glimpse of her old urchin grin of mischief. ‘I have never seen you retreating back into the superstition of your people, Eadulf.’

  Eadulf’s face reddened. He was well aware that most Christians from other lands did not regard the newly converted Angles and Saxons as truly Christian. He had not forgotten the body of the Hwicce in the tomb at Llanpadern and the talk of a Saxon raiding ship. He knew just how much the Britons of these kingdoms hated Saxons. He had always felt himself above the misdeeds of his people in their centuries-old struggle to drive the Britons ever westward and take over their lands. The Saxon wars were nothing to do with him. They were a matter to be condemned by the Church and he was no part of them. To have Fidelma associating him with . . .

  He paused in his misery. Someone had entered the room and cr
ossed to the table where they were sitting. It was Buddog.

  ‘I have come to set the table,’ she announced quietly, and suited the action to the word, beginning to place the plates from a wooden tray.

  Fidelma regarded the dour, taciturn woman with a speculative eye. ‘Have you heard the news?’

  The blonde servant did not pause. ‘Concerning Brother Meurig? I have.’

  ‘Gwnda is claiming that he was killed by Idwal.’

  ‘That is not my concern.’

  ‘I thought you were anxious to point out to Brother Meurig, when we were last here, that Idwal was deserving of some sympathy.’

  ‘I did not say that,’ the woman said brusquely.

  ‘Then what did you say?’

  ‘I said that if Idwal killed Mair then she deserved it.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘So you did. You felt that she was flirtatious and led men astray. Why was that, now? Remind me of your reason for saying so.’

  ‘Because Mair was sly. Capricious. She twisted men around her little finger. She could make them do whatever she wanted.’

  ‘Ah, so I remember. But what you are saying is that she was hardly the virgin depicted by her father Iorwerth.’

  ‘What did Iorwerth know of what she was up to? A virgin, indeed,’ sneered the woman. ‘She used men’s lust as a weapon against them.’

  ‘You seem to have known her pretty well? More so than her father,’ pointed out Eadulf.

  ‘I knew her. She was around here enough times.’

  ‘Ah, yes. She was Elen’s friend, wasn’t she? But as for using men’s lust against them - who do you say were her victims? Are you speaking of Idwal?’

  ‘And others.’

  ‘What others?’

  The door opened abruptly. They looked up and saw a dark, attractive young girl enter the room. It took Eadulf a few moments to remember that she was Elen, the daughter of Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer. She hesitated when she saw Buddog. But the blonde servant took the opportunity to leave, her eyes lowered.

  ‘Is it true?’ The girl’s first words were a breathless gasp as she faced Fidelma. ‘Is it true that Brother Meurig has been killed and that you are looking for Idwal to kill him in revenge?’