Smoke in the Wind

by Peter Tremayne

  Eadulf leant forward in his saddle, straining his eyes to see ahead. It was really dark. The heavy rain clouds still hung low and oppressive, shutting out all light. There was no moon, no stars, to light the path. In such circumstances, Eadulf acknowledged Fidelma’s better horsemanship by not attempting to guide his animal but allowing it its head, and freedom to choose its own safe path along the river behind Fidelma’s mount.

  It was a longer trek than Fidelma had estimated. Eventually she saw a light ahead and realised that the dark looming shapes were buildings: Iestyn’s farm. She turned to Eadulf, just a dark shape in the blackness behind her.

  ‘Let us not announce our arrival yet,’ she called quietly. She guided her horse round one of the farm buildings, which looked like a barn, and halted in its shade before dismounting. They found a bush on which to hitch their horses’ reins and then moved towards the edge of the barn. A faint light was issuing through the windows of the farmhouse, sending a gloomy ray across the stable yard.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, struggling to peer forward into the semi-darkness.

  ‘Quiet!’ hissed Fidelma. ‘There are a couple of horses in the yard before the house.’

  ‘Why does that cause you alarm?’ replied Eadulf, dropping his voice to match hers.

  ‘They are not farm horses.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered, stepping in the cloying mud and groaning in irritation.

  ‘Those are war horses, not farm horses. And what warriors would call at a farmhouse at night?’

  ‘Clydog?’ whispered Eadulf, suddenly anxious.

  ‘They could be anyone. Friends. Even relatives. But it is best to be prepared.’

  Eadulf screwed up his face in distaste in the darkness. He could feel the chill of the wet mud sticking to his sandals. He wanted to protest but then shrugged. He just uttered a prayer of thanks that the storm had passed and the rain had ceased.

  Their horses were out of sight. Fidelma led the way cautiously forward round the farmyard, coming to the side of the farmhouse. She eased her way silently to a window and took a quick peek through, but could see nothing through the rough opaque glass. She glanced back to Eadulf and shook her head.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ she whispered, ‘nor hear anything clearly. But I think Iestyn and his visitors are inside.’

  ‘What now?’ asked Eadulf ruefully. ‘Do we wait out here in the damp or should we simply knock on the door?’

  Fidelma pursed her lips in temper.

  Directly in front of the house, on the opposite side of the farmyard, was the big barn behind which they had tethered their horses. Fidelma touched Eadulf’s arm and pointed across to it. Keeping low she led the way back across the yard and had almost reached the black gaping door, with Eadulf close behind, when a shadow moved.

  A menacing growl, ending in a string of high-pitched yelps, gave them a second’s warning before a large, muscular dog leapt out from the barn at them. The great dog was a matter of a metre from Fidelma when its barking ceased in a yelp of pain and it seemed to Eadulf that the giant beast hung suspended for a moment in its mid-air leap. Then it fell to the ground, whining and yapping in pain and frustration.

  In the gloom Eadulf realised that the dog had been tethered. Had they been nearer to the barn or had the lead been longer then the story would have ended otherwise.

  The horses in front of the farmhouse started to whinny and grow restless. The dog continued to snarl and bark in frustration. Eadulf looked desperately around and then, grabbing Fidelma’s arm, he took off towards a small building, surrounded by a low wall. He jumped the wall, helped Fidelma over it and dragged her down behind it. Shapes began moving around them. Eadulf realised by the stench that he had leapt into a pig pen. Pigs snuffled inquisitively at them before settling down with total indifference to their presence.

  Cautiously, Fidelma and Eadulf raised their heads. Across the yard, the door of the farmhouse had swung open. A man stood holding a lantern high. The dog was still barking furiously.

  ‘Shut up, Ci!’ the man snapped. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’

  They recognised Iestyn. He was joined by another man. Fidelma gave a sharp intake of breath, and moved her lips to Eadulf’s ear to whisper, ‘It’s Corryn.’

  The dog was whining petulantly now in the presence of its master.

  ‘What set the dog off?’ Corryn was demanding.

  ‘There’s nothing out here,’ replied Iestyn. ‘The horses are skittish. Maybe they spooked the dog.’

  ‘Maybe,’ agreed Corryn reluctantly, peering round into the blackness.

  A third man had joined them. ‘You are well away from the township,’ he said. ‘Surely no one would pass by here? It would be awkward if they did so at this time.’

  Iestyn chuckled sourly.

  ‘No one is likely to come by on a night like this. There is only the one track between here and the township. You know that. Anyway, why be worried now? I would have been more worried about riding into the township in broad daylight. You might have been recognised.’

  The third man chuckled in reassurance. ‘I don’t think so. I recognised the girl but I am certain that she didn’t recognise me. Anyway, I know who she is now. Gwnda’s daughter.’

  ‘Exactly,’ intervened Corryn. ‘What if she had raised some alarm? It was a dangerous thing to do. It could upset all our plans.’

  ‘Only if she overheard anything. She probably did not hear anything at all about the plan. Anyway, it is progressing too slowly. Ceredigion is not prepared to wait for ever.’

  ‘If Artglys wants Dyfed to be allied with him, then he must wait,’ snapped Corryn. ‘We have spent too much time bringing this plan towards fruition to abandon it now. And what is Artglys’s alternative? He has none.’

  The third man shrugged. ‘The warriors of Ceredigion are trained and ready. We can move immediately.’

  Corryn’s tone held a bantering note. ‘And do you think that Dyfed has bred weaklings? How many times has Ceredigion come in battle array into Dyfed? Since the time of Ceredig you have looked enviously upon this kingdom. Many times you have attempted to seize it but it has withstood you. It will not fall because Ceredigion comes in battle array: it will fall only by subterfuge. So let us hear no more about Artglys and his impatience. Let us stick to the plan which we have so carefully constructed.’

  The third man’s jaw rose angrily. ‘The plan will be followed so long as my lord Artglys says it must be followed.’

  ‘Then you had better consult your king as to whether he wants an alliance or not.’ Corryn began to turn away.

  ‘And you had best consult Clydog as to his intentions,’ the warrior called.

  Corryn spun round. ‘Clydog’s intentions are not my intentions!’ he snapped. ‘Go and tell Artglys’s jackal, Morgan, that he best proceed with the next stage. We must ensure that Gwlyddien starts his action soon and he obviously needs more bodies to stir his rage. A few more religious slaughtered on the beach will help to increase his temper. Do you understand?’

  The third man stood hesitantly. Then he seemed to shrug indifferently. ‘Very well. Now I understand why they call you the spider, my friend. Waiting, plotting, watching, and then . . . Let us hope we do not get impatient. I shall tell Artglys what you require.’

  Without further ado, he left his companions and went to his horse, mounted and vanished into the gloom without a backward glance.

  Iestyn remained holding his lantern with Corryn by his side, as if watching the vanishing figure.

  ‘The man is arrogant, my lord,’ came the farmer’s disapproving tone.

  ‘Truly said,’ agreed Corryn. ‘And in the days ahead, it might be appropriate to take the measure of him. Remember that this is not a foedus amorum but a treaty of convenience which, when its aim is accomplished, can be severed.’

  ‘Do you trust Clydog, lord?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Corryn laughed sharply. ‘Nor, I doubt, does his father. That is why he
has sent Clydog here to create trouble in Dyfed rather than allowing him to remain at home. Which reminds me, I must rejoin him. Is there any further word of that woman . . . the Gwyddel and her Saxon friend?’

  ‘They have returned, and have even questioned me and Iorwerth. The stupid woman is more concerned about finding out who killed Mair than anything we may do.’

  ‘Could Iorwerth have told them anything that can be traced to us? That Ceredigion idiot should not have taken his horse to Iorwerth’s forge.’

  Iestyn shook his head quickly. ‘What can they learn? Information requires informants. Iorwerth knows nothing; there is no means by which they can discover our plan before it is too late.’

  Corryn was silent for a moment. ‘You may well be right, my friend. Yet the Sister is no fool. I have heard that these advocates of the courts of Éireann are clever and resourceful. She certainly is. So is the Saxon. I could not believe how simply they tricked Clydog and escaped from his camp. But seeing is believing. ’

  ‘When the time comes, you will be able to deal with them, lord,’ Iestyn said. ‘Anyway, they cannot know anything.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Iestyn, I do not like the fact that they are here asking questions.’

  Iestyn chuckled reassuringly. ‘I am ready for them, lord. Have no fear. The plan is safe. It is Mair’s death that seems to concern them.’

  ‘I shall rely on you, Iestyn,’ replied the other evenly, ‘for you know what betrayal merits.’ There was a sudden silence between them. Then Corryn turned to his horse and mounted it.

  ‘Keep me informed through the usual sources, Iestyn. If Morgan obeys his orders, then we should expect some action from Gwlyddien soon. Once he begins to move . . . the kingdom is ours!’ He raised his hand in farewell, and set off into the night.

  Iestyn stood watching him vanish in the darkness and then turned back to his dog. It had been lying down outside the barn, head between its paws, watching. It now uttered a faint whine.

  ‘Get back, Ci, you stupid animal.’

  The dog rose and barked.

  Iestyn hesitated and glanced round. Fidelma and Eadulf sank lower behind the pig pen wall.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ came Iestyn’s voice. ‘I forgot to feed you. Don’t worry. I have a bone for you.’ He turned back into the house.

  Fidelma grabbed Eadulf’s arm and was up over the wall in a moment. The dog saw their movement and began to bark again. They heard Iestyn’s irritable voice faintly.

  ‘Shut up, stupid! I’ll bring your bone in a moment!’

  In the darkness, Fidelma led the way as hurriedly as she could to the horses. ‘Come on, let’s be away from here,’ she whispered.

  They turned their mounts away from the barn, and the moon suddenly emerged from between the cloud banks. It was pale and low down on the horizon and did not really illuminate the darkness.

  ‘We can’t go back on the track,’ said Fidelma. ‘If Iestyn unleashes the dog it will overtake us, and Corryn’s already on that path. He might turn back.’

  Eadulf examined the stream. ‘We can cross here. It appears shallow enough. Lead on, Fidelma.’

  Obediently, she entered the water and urged her horse across. The sound of her passage was muted by the fact that a little way upstream, the stream gushed and cascaded through a barrier of boulders and rocks, almost like a waterfall. Eadulf followed swiftly behind. He could still hear the dog’s frenetic barking behind them.

  The horses mounted the bank with ease and were soon immersed in the mass of dark trees growing along that side of the river. Finding a path was difficult but eventually they came across a very narrow track which allowed them to proceed in single file. It seemed to lead in the direction of the township.

  It was when they had moved quite a distance along it that Eadulf, who had been suppressing a number of questions which had come to his mind, finally allowed them to bubble over. He broke the silence.

  ‘Why didn’t we remain and question Iestyn as we intended?’

  They came to a clearing and Fidelma halted her horse to allow it to rest. ‘It would not have been a good time,’ she said.

  ‘Corryn had gone,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘Our appearance might have surprised Iestyn. Made him confess.’

  She shook her head. ‘On the contrary, I think that even Iestyn might have realised why his dog had been making such a fuss. As it is, we now have an opportunity to go back armed with knowledge which Iestyn does not realise we possess.’

  ‘I must admit that I am totally confused,’ confessed Eadulf. ‘Every time I think matters make sense they get even more obscure.’

  Fidelma patted the neck of her horse absently. ‘I am beginning to see a faint light for the first time, Eadulf,’ she said confidently.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘What we have stumbled on is a conspiracy to overthrow Gwlyddien and take over the kingdom of Dyfed. I think that what happened at Llanpadern is connected with the conspiracy.’

  Eadulf thought for a moment. ‘A conspiracy from this neighbouring kingdom of Ceredigion?’

  ‘Ceredigion plays a central role.’

  ‘Are you saying that the Hwicce are involved with Ceredigion in this affair? I cannot believe that. The Hwicce of all people would not interest themselves in the ambitions of a Welisc ruler.’

  ‘Doesn’t it depend on the incentives, Eadulf?’

  ‘You might have a point if you spoke about any of the other Saxon kingdoms, but the Hwicce are a frontier people. They simply would not involve themselves in the affairs of the Welisc.’

  ‘Are you so sure?’

  ‘I would wager money on it. Having learnt of this conspiracy,’ Eadulf went on, ‘don’t you feel that we have outstayed our welcome in these parts? Should we not get back to the abbey to tell Gwlyddien that his kingdom is under threat?’

  ‘We will certainly warn him,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘but this is not the time to desert our investigation. There are too many unanswered questions here to simply leave and then let Gwlyddien attempt to sort out who is behind this conspiracy against him.’

  Eadulf groaned inwardly. Deep down he had known this would be Fidelma’s reaction. For the first time, however, he was driven primarily by apprehension; a desire to leave this place of his blood enemies and return to the land of his fellow countrymen: to get back to Canterbury. He had had enough of the dangers of being among the Welisc.

  ‘What else is there to know?’ he demanded. ‘We know that Clydog and Corryn are involved and this man Iestyn is in on their secret. We know that an Hwicce ship is sailing round the coast and you claim that it is somehow involved in a conspiracy.’

  ‘Knowing these things hardly helps,’ pointed out Fidelma patiently. ‘Knowing exactly how they interrelate would be more useful. Perhaps knowing the answers to the myriad questions that arise . . . that would be useful as well. Did Clydog murder Mair? If so, who killed Brother Meurig and why? Why was Idwal so conveniently killed? What is Gwnda’s involvement in this? Why is Iestyn so respectful to Corryn? You heard the manner in which he addressed him. You see the many questions that pile up one after another?’

  Eadulf held up a hand as if to still the stream of her remorseless queries. ‘I concede that there is much that we do not know. Why doesn’t Gwlyddien send some of his own barnwrs here to find out? Why us?’

  ‘Because you may remember that we accepted his commission.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Eadulf in resignation.

  ‘It is not in my nature to leave a task half finished,’ added Fidelma. ‘Finis coronat opus!’

  ‘In other circumstances I would agree,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘But I cannot help a feeling of fear while in this kingdom.’

  ‘You do not have to tell me that, Eadulf.’ Fidelma’s voice was grim. ‘I have never seen you so nervous of your surroundings before. Not in Rome, nor in my own land, nor, indeed, when you faced death in Fearna. What is it about this land, this people, that makes you so apprehensive?’

  Eadulf’s lips were a tight thin li
ne as he contemplated the matter. ‘I have told you before that there is enmity between my people and the Britons. The Welisc are enemies of my blood.’

  ‘Come, Eadulf. You are a Christian. You are an enemy to no one.’

  ‘Not so. An enemy can be perceived as well as real. Just the very name Saxon is enough for some people to want to encompass my early death.’

  ‘I feel that is more in your perception than in others’. Perhaps if you did not fear these people, they might not hate you in return?’

  Eadulf was intelligent enough to realise that she was talking logic, but centuries of attitude were hard to cast aside.

  ‘There are other things to consider apart from my fears and hates,’ he said sulkily. ‘What are your plans now?’

  He did not see the look of sad sympathy with which Fidelma regarded him in the darkness. ‘You are right. We are wasting time. I think we should return to Gwnda’s hall. It is no use going to see Iorwerth now. I want, however, to question him about what we have learnt from Elen this evening. I also want to see what we can draw out of Iestyn.’

  ‘What about warning Gwlyddien of this plot?’

  ‘If young Dewi is to be trusted, he or someone from the abbey of Dewi Sant will be back here by tomorrow afternoon. We can send a message back by them.’

  They had reached the township and were riding by the great unlit bonfire. On top of it, they noticed, the straw man from Iorwerth’s forge had been placed. Fidelma halted her horse, staring at it, and then, to Eadulf’s surprise, she broke into a low chuckle.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘What a fool I am. I could have answered one of our questions some time ago.’

  Eadulf waited impatiently.

  ‘I’ve just realised what tomorrow is . . . the bonfires and straw man.’

  ‘What?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘It is the Samhain festival.’

  Eadulf frowned, recognising the name of the native Irish festival: ‘You mean the eve of All Hallows Day?’

  ‘The one night of the year when the Otherworld becomes visible to this one and when the souls of those we have harmed in this life can come back and exact retribution from us,’ confirmed Fidelma.