‘I am not sure that we have even the framework, let alone sufficient pieces to make a pattern.’
They had reached Gwnda’s hall, but before entering Fidelma laid a hand on Eadulf ’s arm.
‘You must ride for the abbey of Dewi Sant immediately. I need that authority of Gwlyddien to set aside this blockage by Gwnda.’
Eadulf grinned smugly. ‘There is no need for me to leave you alone here and unprotected.’
Fidelma stood uncertainly. ‘Of course there is need.’
Eadulf shook his head firmly. ‘While you went in to question Iorwerth, I had a word with young Dewi. He is a bright lad. I asked him if he would be willing to ride to the abbey of Dewi Sant and deliver our message to Abbot Tryffin.’
Fidelma received the news with a moment’s silence. ‘Do you trust him to do so? After all, until we know what is happening in this place, we should be wary of whom we trust.’
‘You are a wise counsellor. But I trust the boy and I trust the silver piece which he will receive from me when he returns.’
‘I see. And the message you sent?’
‘That Brother Meurig was dead. That we were being prevented from investigating and that there was an armed band in the area from whom we had a narrow escape. That we needed the authority of Gwlyddien to negate Gwnda’s objections to our presence.’
Fidelma gave her reluctant approval. ‘You really feel that you can trust the boy?’
‘I have backed my trust with our lives,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘There is danger here and I think it wise not to leave you alone.’
Fidelma quickly reached forward and squeezed his arm. ‘Faithful Eadulf,’ she said in an unexpected moment of tenderness. Then she added: ‘You are sure about the boy?’
Eadulf nodded. ‘He also told me why his parents, Rhonwen and Goff, became scared when you mentioned the name of Clydog. Clydog had called at their forge and treated them both harshly, robbing them and promising to return and do something worse if they spoke about him.’
‘That would explain the fear,’ agreed Fidelma. She suddenly became silent and Eadulf followed her gaze.
Down the street came Iestyn, the dour-looking farmer, seated on a two-wheeled farm cart pulled by a sturdy little donkey. He glanced towards them, his features forming in an expression of dislike, then quickly returned his concentration to guiding the cart along the track.
‘This is luck,’ Fidelma said in a quick aside to Eadulf before stepping forward and raising a hand. ‘Iestyn! Hold a moment. I need a word with you.’
In spite of himself, Iestyn felt compelled by her commanding tone. He pulled on the reins and sat glowering expectantly down as she approached the cart.
‘What do you want of me, Sister?’ he demanded gruffly.
Fidelma returned his sullen look with a faint smile. ‘Answers,’ she replied brightly. ‘Answers to a few questions. ’
‘What questions?’ came his suspicious response.
Eadulf had joined Fidelma. ‘If you alight from your cart for a moment, we will tell you.’
‘I am busy,’ replied the farmer, but in spite of his unwillingness he twirled the reins around the brake which he had applied and climbed down to join them.
Fidelma, who was tall anyway, seemed to tower over him and he stared defiantly up at her.
‘Well? What questions? I did not say I had the rest of the evening to waste time in.’
‘Do not be concerned, Iestyn.’ Fidelma ignored his pugnacious rudeness. ‘We do not suspect you of anything. We merely need to clarify a few matters with you.’
Iestyn was perplexed by her reply. ‘Suspect me? Of what? Anyway, you are no branwr, but a Gwyddel. You have no right to stop me.’
‘We have every right,’ Fidelma assured him, with such conviction that she surprised even Eadulf, who groaned inwardly. It only needed Gwnda to arrive again and denounce her authority to cause more trouble.
‘What do you want?’
‘Let us talk about the death of Mair.’
‘What of her death? She was the daughter of my good friend, Iorwerth.’
‘We have been talking with Iorwerth. He tells us that on the morning Mair was killed, it was you who came to his forge and told him that you had seen Mair and Idwal arguing with one another.’
Iestyn sniffed defensively. ‘So?’
‘Tell us about it.’
The farmer was suspicious. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I was coming through the woods . . .’
‘What took you there in the first place?’ asked Eadulf innocently.
‘My farm is by the stream that runs through the woods. I was coming on foot to the township, having delivered some fruit to a neighbour of mine. In fact, I was coming to call on Iorwerth.’
‘Go on,’ Fidelma said when he paused.
‘I heard voices raised. I recognised Mair’s voice at once. Then I saw Idwal. They both seemed upset and Idwal was quite violent.’
‘Violent? In what manner did that violence manifest itself ?’
‘His voice was raised. His expression and attitude seemed threatening.’
‘What then?’
‘I knew that Iorwerth had forbidden Mair to see Idwal and Idwal to see Mair. I hurried on to Iorwerth’s forge to tell him.’
‘Did you like Mair?’ asked Eadulf, causing Fidelma to wonder what had prompted the question. ‘I mean, did you find her attractive?’
Iestyn coloured. ‘I am her father’s friend and old enough to be her father myself,’ he snapped.
‘Just so,’ agreed Eadulf cheerfully. ‘But she was an attractive young girl. Didn’t she have lovers, or men who would have liked to have been her lovers?’
‘Her father had arranged a marriage for her to--’
‘I know. But you must have found her attractive?’ Fidelma saw the anger gathering in Iestyn’s eyes and, not wanting to lose him, decided to interrupt Eadulf’s line of questioning.
‘We were wondering why you left them in the middle of such a terrible quarrel, Iestyn. Why didn’t you intercede in this argument?’
‘I had no right to interfere. It did not occur to me that the boy was about to kill the girl, or I would have done so.’
‘Ah, so you did not think the argument was that serious?’ Eadulf observed quickly.
The farmer looked at him, a frown on his face as he tried to understand the implication of the remark.
‘The argument was serious,’ he said slowly. ‘Otherwise Mair would still be alive.’
‘It is easy to be knowledgeable in retrospect,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘But at the time you did not think that the argument was so serious that physical danger for the girl might result? Otherwise you would have stayed to help Mair, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course I would!’ snapped the farmer.
‘Instead you hurried to Iorwerth’s forge and told him that you had seen Mair and Idwal quarrelling in the woods?’
‘I did.’
‘Did you see anyone else as you came through the woods? Did you see Gwnda there, or pass anyone else?’
Iestyn shook his head. ‘Not that I recall . . . oh, I saw Buddog on the path gathering mushrooms.’
‘There is something which worries me,’ Fidelma commented. ‘You reported that Idwal was meeting Mair in spite of Iorwerth’s instruction not to do so. You observed them quarrelling. Not seriously enough for you to intervene. Nor seriously enough for you to be concerned for the immediate safety of Mair. But this news is enough to set Iorwerth, yourself and several others racing into the woods to punish Idwal. Why was there this hatred of the boy?’
‘The boy needed to be taught to obey, needed to be taught respect. That’s all,’ replied Iestyn defiantly. ‘We were all friends of Iorwerth and we thought that we should help him.’
‘So what happened when you went into the wood?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I led them to the spot where I had seen Mair and Idwal. There was Mair, dead. Almost at the same moment we saw Gwnda, and Idwal stretched unconscious on the ground, a
little further on. Iorwerth and the others . . .’ He paused, and gave them a stubborn look. ‘We were for hanging the boy there and then. Gwnda stopped us, insisting that the law must be upheld.’
‘As a matter of interest, did Gwnda tell you what he was doing in the woods that morning?’ asked Eadulf.
Iestyn shook his head. ‘The path behind the woodsman’s hut is frequently used by the villagers. It goes to Cilau.’
‘I see. So you brought the boy back to the township? Knowing that a barnwr from the abbey would be arriving, why did you take it into your heads to imprison Gwnda, take Idwal from the stables, where he was being held, and attempt to hang him before we reached here?’
‘There were many people involved. It was the will of the people. Vox . . . vox . . . the voice of the people is the voice of God!’
‘Vox populi vox Dei,’ supplied Fidelma in amusement. ‘Yes, we’ve heard that justification before.’
Iestyn did not answer.
‘I remember that you were brandishing a cudgel on the night we arrived. Was that to ensure the voice of the people was heard?’
‘Had you not interfered then, Brother Meurig would still be alive.’
‘Are you saying that you had no responsibility for Idwal’s death?’
‘The boy killed Mair. We have a way of dealing with killers in our township, Gwyddel.’ For the first time Iestyn’s bitterness broke through the barrier of restraint he had put up.
‘It is a way that is denounced by your own law. Brother Meurig pointed that out to you in no uncertain terms.’
‘The entire township was behind us.’
‘Does that make it right? Morality is not often defined by the will of the majority.’
Iestyn scowled.
‘I suppose,’ Eadulf commented sarcastically, ‘that it is the will of the majority which absolves you from responsibility for Idwal’s death?’
The farmer was equally derisive. ‘Are you saying that was wrong? Brother Meurig was a barnwr and a religieux. Are you saying that you do not want his killer punished? I thought you religious protected your own?’
‘How did you know it was Idwal who killed Meurig?’
The farmer regarded him as if he were mad. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Simple enough. Who said that it was Idwal who killed Brother Meurig?’
‘Why . . . everyone knew it.’
‘Everyone stood as witnesses to Idwal’s killing of Brother Meurig?’ Fidelma was scornful.
‘I did not mean that. If it was not Idwal who slew the barnwr, who did so?’
‘A good question,’ said Fidelma. ‘One that should have been considered before Idwal was killed.’
‘Who else was it but Idwal? He was taken to the wood in the custody of the barnwr. That was a stupid thing for Brother Meurig to do. He should have taken someone else to guard the boy. Idwal must have waited for the moment when he could kill the barnwr and escape.’
‘He did not escape far, did he?’ Fidelma put in quickly. ‘In fact, he was waiting in a fairly obvious place only a short distance away.’
‘The boy was simple-minded.’
‘Simple-minded but an evil killer whom you had to hang immediately?’
‘As I would do with a dog turned wild,’ agreed Iestyn sourly.
‘So you murdered the boy without giving him a chance?’ Eadulf was moved to retort.
‘Murdered?’ The farmer was angry. ‘Don’t you dare to talk to me of murder, Saxon. Your people have enough murder on your hands. My grandfather was a wise and learned man who could read Latin. He studied at the school of Illtyd when Gildas the Wise was also a student there. He kept a copy of a book which Gildas wrote . . .’
‘De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae,’ muttered Eadulf softly. ‘I have read it.’
Iestyn was disconcerted for a moment. Then he said: ‘I only know the name as it was translated to me. It was Concerning the Ruin and Conquest of Britain. My grandfather used to read it to me and translate it. I learnt enough of Saxon perfidy from that work. Alas, that I have no Latin that I can read it now.’
‘Had you been able to, then you might have recalled that Gildas kept his harshest criticism for the kings of the Britons whom he denounced for their iniquities,’ replied Fidelma. ‘His conclusion was that the conquest by the Saxons was a just punishment inflicted by God for the sins of your fathers.’
Iestyn clamped his jaw so tight that it seemed positively painful. Then, without a further word, he turned and swung back up onto his cart, unwound the reins and flicked the patient donkey into movement.
‘What now?’ Eadulf asked after a moment, as they watched the angry farmer moving away.
‘Now,’ Fidelma said decisively, ‘we have upset enough people. Perhaps the stone we have cast into the pool will cause the ripples to come back to where we are standing. Why did you ask if Iestyn had seen anyone else on the path the morning he saw Mair and Idwal quarrelling?’
‘Don’t you remember that Buddog said she had seen him coming through the woods that morning?’
Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise and then she made a small hooting sound in her throat and her face dissolved into that mischievous grin which seemed so at odds with her calling.
‘I’d forgotten, Eadulf. You are a treasure!’
Eadulf was bewildered and said so.
Fidelma tucked her arm under his and smiled confidently. ‘I have a feeling those ripples may soon reach us,’ she observed.
Chapter Fifteen
The evening meal was being served to Eadulf by a surly Buddog when Fidelma joined him. The blonde servant barely acknowledged her before leaving the room. Fidelma looked disappointed at finding Eadulf eating alone.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, helping himself to a plate of stew.
‘I was hoping that Elen would be here so that we could finish our fascinating conversation with her.’
Eadulf looked chagrined. He had almost forgotten the claim that Elen had made. They ate their meal in companionable silence. It was a young girl, nervous and gawky, who entered to clear away the remains.
‘Everyone seems to be away this evening. Do you know where the lady Elen is?’ Fidelma asked her.
‘She’s gone, Sister.’ The girl glanced anxiously around, apparently to ensure they were alone.
‘Gone?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.
‘She left shortly after you came back.’ Suddenly the girl cast a frightened glance towards the door and pulled out a small rolled parchment from beneath her blouse. ‘She asked me to give you this when you were alone. There’s writing on it, but I can’t read and she would not tell me what it was about.’
Fidelma glanced at it. The goatskin square contained a note written in Latin. She turned to the girl and smiled encouragingly at her. ‘You will forget all about this, won’t you?’
‘Of course, Sister. Elen is good to me. One day I hope . . .’
‘Hope what?’
‘I am a hostage, Sister. Two years ago I was taken in a raid on the kingdom of Gwent by lord Gwnda. I don’t want to end up like Buddog. She has been a servant here for a lifetime. Elen promised me that one day I may be set free.’
‘Deo volente,’ Fidelma sighed solemnly, adding, as the girl did not understand Latin, ‘God willing.’
The young servant bobbed a sketchy curtsy and hurried from the room.
Eadulf, who had been waiting impatiently for Fidelma to reveal the contents of the parchment, asked: ‘What is it?’
‘A message from Elen, in Latin.’ Fidelma waved the parchment. ‘It simply says, “Meet me at the woodsman’s hut if you can after the evening meal. Tell no one.” ’
Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically. ‘Rather dramatic,’ he observed. ‘Do we go?’
‘Of course we do,’ replied Fidelma.
It was very dark by the time they reached the clearing in the woods where earlier that day they had found the body of Brother Meurig. It was still only early evening but the sky was pitch; black
rain clouds had swept in abruptly from the west and a fine drizzle had started to fall, so that the skies were starless and oppressive, without even the relief of moonlight. It was quite chilly.
‘A curious place to request a meeting,’ muttered Eadulf as they approached, walking their horses quietly. The hut was only half an hour’s ride from the township. They had debated whether to leave their horses behind so as not to be noticed; it was easier to avoid unwelcome scrutiny on foot than on horseback. But they realised it would make their journey longer and more unpleasant. ‘Clearly the young woman is not troubled by thoughts of spirits. After all, a religieux was murdered here barely twelve hours ago.’
‘Mortui non mordent,’ Fidelma reassured him as they negotiated the track.
‘Dead men may not bite but . . .’ Eadulf paused and shuddered. ‘Absit omen!’
A light moved at the entrance of the hut: a figure holding a lantern.
‘Sister Fidelma? Is that you?’
It was Elen’s anxious voice.
‘It is I and Brother Eadulf,’ Fidelma called as they moved forward into the light and dismounted. Eadulf took their horses to the side of the hut where Elen’s own mount was tethered.
They followed the girl inside. The interior had been cleared apart from the dark telltale stain on the floor which marked where Brother Meurig had met his death. Elen placed the lantern on the table, and seated herself on a bench in one corner. Fidelma sat on a small wooden stool opposite Elen while Eadulf looked about and then positioned himself awkwardly on the end of the bench which the girl had occupied.
‘A curious place to meet,’ Eadulf reiterated. ‘And cold,’ he added with a shiver.
The girl agreed, but added: ‘It is better to be uncomfortable but secure from prying eyes and ears than warm where we can be overheard.’
‘Do you want to explain that remark now,’ Fidelma asked, ‘or shall we take up at the point where your father interrupted us?’
The girl was suddenly hesitant.
‘Did you really mean it when you said that you thought Mair was killed in mistake for you?’ pressed Fidelma.
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