Smoke in the Wind sf-11

by Peter Tremayne

  There came a chorus of frightened whinnies from the horses and a thud as one of the animals reared up and caught its front hooves against the side of the woodsman’s hut.

  The girl had sprung up in panic.

  ‘Be calm. It is just the storm breaking,’ Fidelma said. Unruffled, she went to the door of the hut. The rain was a torrent, pouring straight down, churning the ground around them into a river of mud. It cascaded on the roof of the hut like a shower of stones, cracking and hissing. As she looked up at the sky, another bright flash caused her to blink rapidly. This time there was a more discernible pause between the flash and the accompanying crack of thunder. ‘I’d better attend to the horses.’

  Eadulf moved forward. ‘You can’t go out there,’ he protested. ‘I’ll do it.’

  He was met by an amused look. ‘Eadulf, you are the first to confess that you are not the best of horsemen. I know the beasts. I will go and calm them.’

  As she turned back to the door, another flash came and Eadulf mentally counted the seconds between it and the crack of thunder.

  ‘It is moving away,’ he announced, more in hope than certainty.

  Fidelma drew her heavy woollen cloak around her head and went out to where the horses were tethered. It was difficult to hear in the pounding rain but Elen thought she could make out her voice calming the beasts. It was some time before she returned, thoroughly drenched. Eadulf had examined the hut and found some bundles of dry wood. With the aid of the tinderbox he carried, he had started a fire. Fidelma shook off her cloak and stood before the leaping flames to dry her clothing. The thunder was distant now, the rain easing to a fine trickle. The storm had raced in from the sea to the west and was rapidly heading inland.

  ‘Now,’ Fidelma said, after a few moments, as the steam began to rise from her sodden clothing, ‘perhaps we can get back to our discussion.’

  ‘I was asking why Elen had decided to tell us at this point when she could have remained silent about the matter and no one the wiser,’ Eadulf prompted.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Fidelma said, turning to the girl, who had now reseated herself on the bench. ‘And why tell the story to us when you could have told it to your father?’

  ‘I did tell my father.’ Elen’s voice was soft.

  ‘Does he know that you are now telling us?’

  She gave an affirmative gesture. ‘I told him so.’

  ‘So Gwnda knows that you are meeting us and telling us these facts?’ Eadulf could not keep the incredulous note from his voice.

  ‘I have said so.’

  ‘You have not answered the question as to why you have now decided to tell your story when you might have remained silent,’ Fidelma insisted.

  Elen turned frightened eyes upon her. ‘I have seen the warrior again, the one who was with Clydog. I think he recognised me.’

  ‘When?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘This afternoon, when I returned from Cilau.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Llanwnda. Don’t you understand?’ Her voice rose desperately. ‘He was in Llanwnda. I am sure, sure that he recognised me. My life is in danger. He will tell Clydog and Clydog will realise that he killed the wrong person.’ She ended with a gasping sob.

  ‘Very well, Elen,’ Fidelma said calmly. ‘But where in Llanwnda did you see this warrior?’

  ‘It was at Iorwerth’s forge.’

  Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf. ‘Iorwerth’s forge, you say?’

  ‘I was passing by, returning from Cilau as I said. The warrior was there, seated near the forge drinking mead. Iorwerth was examining his horse. He saw me passing by and I am sure he recognised me. I hurried on by but glanced briefly back and I saw that he had risen from his seat and was speaking to Iorwerth. They were both gazing after me.’

  ‘And all this you told your father?’

  ‘He said that I should go away for a few days while he tried to sort things out.’

  ‘Did he?’ murmured Fidelma.

  ‘I said that I ought to tell you.’

  ‘And he did not protest?’ demanded Eadulf in astonishment.

  ‘He thought it the best course of action.’

  ‘I see,’ mused Fidelma.

  ‘Do you?’ Elen seemed agitated. Her voice suddenly had an hysterical note. ‘Don’t you realise that Iorwerth is somehow linked to this, to the very people that killed his own daughter? He even allowed himself to be used to cover up the fact by being part of the mob who killed poor Idwal.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You are only surmising that Iorwerth is involved,’ Fidelma said, seeking to calm her.

  Elen shook her head stubbornly.

  ‘Be logical,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘This warrior could have been there merely having his horse shoed at Iorwerth’s forge. Why do you believe that he and Iorwerth were connected?’

  ‘Because they were laughing and drinking together when I passed by. What else could that mean other than that they were plotting together? I know he recognised me and asked Iorwerth who I was.’ The girl seemed adamant.

  ‘Do you know what your father has done about this matter? Is he challenging Iorwerth about it?’

  ‘I do not know what his plan was. He told me to leave until it was sorted out.’

  ‘He did not raise any objection at all when you insisted on telling us?’ mused Fidelma. She turned to Eadulf. ‘It is strange that he said nothing to us when we spoke at Iorwerth’s forge.’

  ‘Perhaps he did not want to alert Iorwerth about the matter,’ Eadulf suggested.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma unwillingly agreed. ‘Tell me, Elen, do you think that Iestyn is also involved in this matter?’

  ‘He is Iorwerth’s friend.’

  ‘But what manner of man is he?’

  The girl was impatient. ‘He is a farmer today but he fought as a warrior in many campaigns. He is old now. Old and bitter because he says the young ones do not pay him enough respect.’

  ‘Where exactly is his farm?’ Fidelma asked with interest.

  ‘You know the bridge over the stream into the township. . where Iorwerth’s forge is?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Before you cross that bridge, you turn right along the track. Follow it for a kilometre or so along the side of the stream. At the end of the track you will come to his farm.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘All killed fighting for Gwlyddien in the wars to protect the boundaries of Dyfed. That also is a cause of his bitterness.’ Elen paused and looked from one to another. ‘Time is passing. Have you learnt enough from me?’

  Fidelma told her that they had.

  ‘What do you plan to do, then?’ Eadulf asked as the girl stood up and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders.

  ‘I mean to leave here. I have told my father’s servants that I am going back to Cilau to stay with my cousin. But I shall not go there.’

  ‘Where then?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Do not worry, you may trust us completely. But if I resolve this mystery, which I fully intend to do, then I shall need to know where you are in case you are needed as a witness.’

  ‘You will not tell anyone?’ the girl pleaded.

  ‘I will not.’

  Elen glanced at Eadulf, who nodded his agreement.

  ‘To the south-west of here is a community called Llanrhian. I have a friend there. I shall be there.’

  ‘Do you mean to ride there tonight? In this weather?’

  ‘Better at night. I know the road well enough and no one will see my passing.’

  There was a distant clap of thunder. The girl started nervously. Suddenly she plunged her hand into the folds of her skirt and came out with an object which she handed to Fidelma.

  ‘I want you to keep this. Idwal gave it to me for safe keeping. It was the only valuable thing that he possessed. He felt that it would be stolen by his gaolers.’

  Fidelma took the object. It was a red gold chain from which dangled a bejewelled
pendant on which was an image of a hare.

  ‘When did Idwal give you this?’ asked Fidelma, turning it over in her hands.

  ‘On the day he was brought back to the hall as a prisoner.’

  ‘On the day Mair was killed?’

  ‘The same day. He had not been searched then and he felt that it would be stolen if discovered upon him. You see, he trusted me. He told me that it had belonged to his mother. Iolo, the shepherd who raised him, had given it to him.’

  Elen turned to the door and looked out into the darkening night.

  ‘I have told you what I know. I must be gone. Pray for me, for I realise what wrong I have done by keeping quiet for so long and by actually feeling relief at poor Mair’s death.’

  ‘We will pray that you come safely to your destination, Elen,’ Fidelma agreed gravely. ‘You alone must come to terms with your conscience about Mair. You may be right, but you may also be wrong. Whether you be right or wrong, there is no blame on you, believe me.’

  The girl smiled quickly and left the hut. They heard her mount her horse and ride away.

  Eadulf looked at Fidelma as she still stood before the fire drying herself.

  ‘Well, it seems that the mysteries are being cleared up one by one. You were right about Idwal’s innocence. It was obviously Clydog who killed Mair.’

  Fidelma frowned and shook her head. She held up the chain with its glittering piece of jewellery.

  ‘On the contrary, Eadulf. I think that the mystery is deepening and we can take nothing for granted. I would certainly not accept the idea that Clydog killed Mair in mistake for Elen without more evidence.’

  ‘But you heard what the girl said? Surely it all fits?’

  ‘What about the role of Gwnda? You suspected him. He was an accessory to the killing of Idwal. Why? To stop him from speaking? About what? If Gwnda really believed Idwal was guilty, why now agree to his daughter telling us her story? It is all very confusing. Or is it?’

  ‘Would Gwnda be an accomplice in some plot in which the murder of his own daughter was envisaged? What was that plot? Why prevent her speaking about some chance meeting in a wood about a matter she clearly did not understand? Surely not? I don’t know what path we can take from here.’

  ‘One obvious place,’ rejoined Fidelma, glancing out of the hut door and observing that the rain was easing still further.

  Eadulf raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We will have to have another word with Iestyn,’ Fidelma said. ‘After that, we’ll go back to Iorwerth and see what he has to say about the strange warrior.’

  Eadulf sighed deeply. ‘I had wondered why you were so keen to learn more about Iestyn.’

  Fidelma picked up her still sodden cloak and flung it around her shoulders before going out to the horses. Eadulf kicked out the remains of the fire and followed her outside. The drizzle had stopped, but it was still a cold, damp evening.

  They rode back towards the bridge in silence, letting their horses walk casually with a loose rein. Just before the bridge, Fidelma turned along the path which Elen had indicated, following the track along the bank of the stream. The dark waters were running on the left side while the trees and undergrowth presented an almost impregnable wall to the right.

  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?’