Smoke in the Wind

by Peter Tremayne

  The Irish of Fidelma’s period is classed as Old Irish which, after 950 AD, entered a period known as Middle Irish. Therefore, in the Fidelma books, Old Irish forms are generally adhered to, whenever possible, in both names and words. This is like using Chaucer’s English compared to modern English. For example, a word such as aidche (‘night’) in Old Irish is now rendered oiche in Modern Irish.

  There are only eighteen letters in the Irish alphabet. From earliest times there has been a literary standard but today four distinct spoken dialects are recognised. For our purposes, we will keep to Fidelma’s dialect of Munster.

  It is a general rule that stress is placed on the first syllable but, as in all languages, there are exceptions. In Munster the exceptions to the rule of initial stress are a) if the second syllable is long then it bears the stress; b) if the first two syllables are short and the third is long then the third syllable is stressed - such as in the word for fool, amadán = amad-awn; or c) where the second syllable contains ach and there is no long syllable, the second syllable bears the stress.

  There are five short vowels - a, e, i, o, u - and five long vowels - á, é, í, ó, ú. On the long vowels note the accent, like the French acute, which is called a fada (lit. long), and this is the only accent in Irish. It occurs on capitals as well as lower case.

  The accent is important for, depending on where it is placed, it changes the entire word. Seán (Shawn) = John. But sean (shan) = old and séan (she-an) = an omen. By leaving out the accent on the name of the famous film actor, Sean Connery, he has become ‘Old’ Connery!

  These short and long vowels are either ‘broad’ or ‘slender’. The six broad vowels are:

  a pronounced ‘o’ as in cot

  á pronounced ‘aw’ as in law

  o pronounced ‘u’ as in cut

  ó pronounced ‘o’ as in low

  u pronounced ‘u’ as in run

  ú pronounced ‘u’ as in rule

  The four slender vowels are:

  i pronounced ‘i’ as in hit

  í pronounced ‘ee’ as in see

  e pronounced ‘e’ as in let

  é pronounced ‘ay’ as in say

  There are double vowels, some of which are fairly easy because they compare to English pronunciation - such as ‘ae’ as in say or ui as in quit. However, some double and even triple vowels in Irish need to be learnt.

  ái pronounced like ‘aw’ as in law (dálaigh =

  daw’lee)

  ia pronounced like ‘ea’ as in near

  io pronounced like ‘o’ as in come

  éa pronounced like ‘ea’ as in bear

  ei pronounced like ‘e’ as in let

  aoi pronounced like the ‘ea’ as in mean

  uai pronounced like the ‘ue’ as in blue

  eoi pronounced like the ‘eo’ as in yeoman

  iai pronounced like the ‘ee’ as in see

  Hidden vowels

  Most people will have noticed that many Irish people pronounce the word film as fil’um. This is actually a transference of Irish pronunciation rules. When l, n or r are followed by b, bh, ch, g (not after n), m, or mh, and are preceded by a short stressed vowel, an additional vowel is heard between them: ie bolg (stomach) is pronounced bol’ag; garbh (rough) is gar’ev; dorcha (dark) is dor’ach’a; gorm (blue) is gor’um and ainm (name) is an’im.

  The consonants

  b, d, f, h, l, m, n, p, r, and t are said more or less as in English.

  g is always hard like ‘g’ as in gate

  c is always hard like the ‘c’ as in cat

  s is pronounced like the ‘s’ as in said except

  before a slender vowel when it is pronounced ‘sh’

  as in shin

  In Irish the letters j, k, q, w, x, y and z do not exist and v is formed by the combination of ‘bh’.

  Consonants can change their sound by aspiration or eclipse. Aspiration is caused by using the letter ‘h’ after them.

  bh is the ‘v’ as in voice

  ch is a soft breath as in loch (not pronounced as

  lock!) or as in Bach.

  dh before a broad vowel is like the ‘g’ as in gap

  dh before a slender vowel is like the ‘y’ as in year

  fh is totally silent

  gh before a slender vowel can sound like ‘y’ as in

  yet

  mh is pronounced like the ‘w’ as in wall

  ph is like the ‘f’ as in fall

  th is like the ‘h’ as in ham

  sh is also like the ‘h’ as in ham

  Consonants can also change their sound by being eclipsed, or silenced, by another consonant placed before them. For example na mBan (of women) = nah m’on; or i bpaipéar (in the paper) i b’ap’er; or i gcathair (in the city) i g’a’har.

  p can be eclipsed by b, t

  t can be eclipsed by d

  c can be eclipsed by g

  f can be eclipsed by bh

  b by m

  d and g by n

  For those interested in learning more about the language, it is worth remembering that, after centuries of suppression during the colonial period, Irish became the first official language of the Irish State on independence in 1922. The last published Census of 1991 showed one third of the population returning themselves as Irish-speaking. In Northern Ireland, where the language continued to be openly discouraged after Partition in 1922, only ten-and-a-half per cent of the population were able to speak the language in 1991, the first time an enumeration of speakers was allowed since Partition.

  Language courses are now available on video and audio-cassette from a range of producers from Lingua-phone to RTÉ and BBC. There are some sixty summer schools and special intensive courses available. Teilifís na Gaeilge is the television station broadcasting entirely in Irish and there are several Irish language radio stations and newspapers. Information can be obtained from Comhdháil Náisiúnta na Gaeilge, 46 Sráid Chill Dara, Baile Atha Cliath 2, Éire.

  Readers might also like to know that Valley of the Shadow, in the Fidelma series, was produced on audio-cassette, read by Mary McCarthy, from Magna Story Sound (SS391 - ISBN 1-85903-313-X).

  Principal Characters

  Sister Fidelma, of Cashel, a dálaigh or advocate of the law courts of seventh-century Ireland

  Brother Eadulf, of Seaxmund’s Ham, a Saxon monk from the land of the South Folk

  At Porth Clais

  Brother Rhodri, of Porth Clais

  At the Abbey of Dewi Sant, Menevia

  Abbot Tryffin

  Gwlyddien, king of Dyfed

  Cathen, son of Gwlyddien

  Brother Meurig, a barnwr or judge of Dyfed

  Brother Cyngar, of Menevia

  Cadell, a warrior

  At Pen Caer and environs

  Mair, a victim

  Iorwerth the smith, father of Mair

  Iestyn, his friend, a farmer

  Idwal, a youthful itinerant shepherd

  Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer

  Elen, Gwnda’s daughter

  Buddog, a servant in Gwnda’s hall

  Clydog Cacynen, an outlaw

  Corryn, one of his band

  Sualda, another of his band

  Goff, a smith

  Rhonwen, his wife

  Dewi, his son

  Elisse, the apothecary

  Osric, thane of the Hwicce

  Chapter One

  The girl looked as if she were merely resting among the bracken, lying with one arm thrown carelessly behind her head, the other extended at her side. Her pale, attractive features seemed relaxed; the eyes, with their dark lashes, were closed; the lips were partially opened showing fine, white teeth. Her dark hair formed a sharp contrast to the pallid texture of the skin.

  It was only by the thin line of blood, which had trickled from the corner of her mouth before congealing, and the fact that her facial skin seemed discoloured, mottled with red fading into blue, that one could see she was not resting naturally. From that,
together with her torn, bloodstained, dirty clothing, a discerning observer might realise that something was clearly wrong.

  The youth stood before the body, gazing down at it without expression. He was thin, wiry, with ginger hair and a freckled face, but carrying a tan which seemed to indicate that he was used to being outside in most weathers. His lips were too red and full, making his features slightly ugly by the imbalance. His pale eyes were fixed on the body of the girl. He was dressed in a sleeveless sheepskin jacket, fastened by a leather belt. Thick homespun trousers and leather leggings gave him the appearance of a shepherd.

  A deep, long sigh came from his parted lips; a soft whistling sound.

  ‘Ah, Mair, why? Why, Mair?’

  The words came like a curious sob yet his expression did not alter.

  He stayed there with fixed gaze for a few more moments until the sound of shouting came to his ears. He raised his head sharply, tilting it slightly to one side in a listening attitude, and his features changed. A wild, hunted expression came on his face. People were moving in his direction. Their cries came clearly to his ears, moving closer and closer through the surrounding trees. He could hear them beating through the gorse and bracken.

  The youth glanced once more at the body of the girl and then turned quickly away from the approaching sounds.

  He had gone barely ten or twenty metres when a blow across the shoulders felled him to the ground. The momentum of the blow caused him to pitch forward. He dropped on his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

  A burly man had emerged from concealment behind a tree, still holding the thick wood cudgel in his hand. He was dark, thickset and full-bearded. He stood, feet apart, above the youth, the cudgel in his hands, ready and threatening.

  ‘On your feet, Idwal,’ the man growled. ‘Or I shall strike you while you are still on your knees.’

  The boy looked up, still smarting from the pain of the blow. ‘What do you want with me, lord Gwnda?’ he wailed. ‘I have done you no harm.’

  The dark-haired man frowned angrily. ‘Don’t play games with me, boy!’

  He gestured back along the path, towards the body of the girl. As he did so a group of men came bursting through the trees onto the forest path behind them. Some of them saw the body of the girl and howls of rage erupted from them.

  ‘Here!’ yelled the dark-haired man, his eyes not leaving the youth, his cudgel still ready. ‘Here, boys! I have him. I have the murderer.’

  The newcomers, voices raised with fresh anger and violence, came running towards the kneeling youth who now started to sob as he saw his death in their expressions.

  ‘I swear, by the Holy Virgin I swear I did not--’

  A sharp kick from one of the leading men landed on the side of the boy’s head. It sent him sprawling and, mercifully, into unconsciousness because several others among the new arrivals started to kick viciously at his body.

  ‘Enough!’ shouted the dark-haired man called Gwnda. ‘I know you are full of grief and anger, but this must be done according to the law. We will take him back to the township and send for the barnwr.’

  ‘What need have we of a judge, Gwnda?’ cried one of the men. ‘Don’t we have the evidence of our own eyes? Didn’t I see Idwal and poor Mair with voices raised in fierce argument only a short time ago? There was violence in Idwal, if ever I saw it.’

  The black-bearded man shook his head. ‘It shall be done according to law, Iestyn. We will send for the barnwr, a learned judge from the abbey of Dewi Sant.’

  The monk was young and walked with that confident, rapid stride of youth along the pathway through the encompassing forest. He wore his winter cloak wrapped tight against the early morning chill and his thick black-thorn staff was carried not so much as an aid to walking but to be turned, at a moment’s notice, into a weapon of defence. The woods of Ffynnon Druidion, the Druid’s well, were notorious for the highway thieves who lurked within their gloomy recesses.

  Brother Cyngar was not really worried, merely cautious in spite of his confident gait. Early dawn on this bright autumnal day was, he felt, a time when all self-respecting thieves would still be sleeping off the excessive alcohol of the previous evening. Surely no thief would be abroad and looking for victims at such an hour? Not even the infamous Clydog Cacynen who haunted the woods; Clydog the Wasp, he was called, for he stung when least expected. A notorious outlaw. It was fear of meeting Clydog Cacynen that caused Brother Cyngar to choose this hour to make his way through the wood, having spent the previous night at a woodsman’s cottage by the old standing stone.

  There was frost lying like a white carpet across the woodland. Behind the soft white clouds, a weak winter’s sun was obviously trying to extend its rays. The woodland seemed colourless. The leaves had fallen early for there had been several cold spells in spite of its not being late in the season. Only here and there were clumps of evergreens such as the dark holly trees with the females carrying their bright red berries. There were also some common alders with their brown, woody cones which had, only a short time before, been ripened catkins, and a few silver birch. But everything was dominated by the tall, bare and gaunt sessile oaks.

  Now and again, along the track that he was following, Brother Cyngar espied crampball clinging to fallen trunks of ash; curious black and inedible fungi which he had once heard prevented night cramp if placed in one’s bed before sleeping. Cyngar had the cynicism of youth and smiled at the thought of such a thing.

  The woods were stirring with life now. He saw a common shrew, a tiny brown creature, race out of a bush in front of him, skid to a halt and sniff. Its poor eyesight was made up for by its keen sense of smell. It caught his scent at once, gave a squeak, and then disappeared within a split second.

  As it did so, high above came the regretful call of a circling red kite who must have spotted the tiny, elusive creature even through the canopy of bare branches and, had it not been for Brother Cyngar’s appearance, might have taken it as its breakfast.

  Only once did Brother Cyngar start and raise his stick defensively at a nearby ominous rustling. He relaxed almost immediately as he caught sight of the orange-brown fur coat with white spots and broad blade antlers that denoted a solitary fallow deer which turned and bounded away through the undergrowth to safety.

  Finally, Brother Cyngar could see, along the path ahead of him, the trees gradually giving way to an open stretch of bracken-strewn hillside. He began to sense a feeling of relief that the major dark portions of the wood were now behind him. He even paused, laid down his stick and took out his knife as he spotted an array of orange at the edge of the footpath. He bent down and carefully inspected the fungus with its white, downy underside. It was not difficult to recognise this edible species which many ate raw or soaked in honey-mead. The little harvest was too good to miss and Brother Cyngar gathered it into the small marsupium he wore on his belt.

  He rose, picked up his stick again and began to walk on with the renewed energy which comes with knowing one’s objective is almost in sight.

  On the far side of the next hill lay the community of Llanpadern, the sacred enclosure of the Blessed Padern, where nearly thirty brothers of the faith lived and worked in devotion to the service of God. It was to this community that Brother Cyngar was travelling. He planned to seek hospitality there, an opportunity to break his fast, before continuing his journey on to the famous abbey of Dewi Sant on Moniu, which some Latinised as Menevia. The abbey was the authority over all the religious communities of the kingdom of Dyfed. Brother Cyngar had been entrusted with messages for Abbot Tryffin by his own Father Superior. He had left on his journey shortly after noon on the previous day and hence his overnight stop at the woodsman’s cottage, after completing nearly twenty kilometres of his journey, before venturing through the notorious woods of Ffynnon Druidion. He had left the woodsman’s cottage too early for breakfast but, knowing that the hospitality of Llanpadern was a byword among pilgrims journeying south to Moniu, he did not mind delaying his morn
ing meal.

  Brother Cyngar walked entirely at ease now. The sun, while not exactly breaking through the clouds, was warm enough to dispel the early morning frost. Birds wheeled and darted about the skies on their many food-gathering tasks and the air was filled with their cacophony; plaintive, angry, argumentative, depending on their natures.

  He came over the shoulder of the bare rocky hill called Carn Gelli. On its height stood a heap of stones, one raised upon another, to denote an ancient grave, which gave the place its name. Brother Cyngar halted and, from the vantage point, peered down into the valley beyond. A short distance below him was the grey stone complex of buildings. Smoke drifted reassuringly from a central chimney. He walked down the pathway, his speed increasing, his body propelled more by the steepness of the path than a desire to reach the gates in a hurry.

  As he followed the path to the main gates of the community he noticed, surprisingly, that they stood open and deserted. This fact made him frown. It was unusual, even at this early hour, for it was the custom of the brethren of Llanpadern to be out in the surrounding fields, beginning their work at first light even on such a cold autumnal day as this one. There was usually some activity about the gates and the fields.

  He came to a halt at the gates, compelled by a sudden feeling of unease. No one stood in attendance. After a moment’s delay, he went to the wooden pole to ring the bronze bell which hung there. The chime echoed eerily but there was no movement in answer; no responding sound followed the dying peal; there was no sign of anyone beyond.

  Brother Cyngar waited a few moments and then caused the bell to send out its clanging demand again, this time ensuring that its peal was long and insistent. Still there was no response.

  He moved slowly inside the deserted courtyard and looked round.

  Everywhere was as quiet as a tomb.