‘None the worse,’ affirmed Eadulf solemnly.
‘And I suppose, as you informed me yesterday, Sister, that you are still both anxious to continue your journey to Canterbury? Is that so?’
‘We are,’ replied Fidelma. ‘As soon as we can find a ship sailing there, of course.’
The abbot nodded absently, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair without apparently being aware of his action. It was obvious that some matter of importance was distracting him and he was having difficulty in articulating it.
‘However . . .’ he began.
‘However,’ interposed Fidelma, ‘there is some problem which you require our help with.’
The abbot glanced at her in surprise. His eyes quickly narrowed. ‘How did you know? Has someone told you?’
‘Your concern is quite obvious,’ replied Fidelma.
Abbot Tryffin gave the answer some thought, relaxed and shrugged. ‘I suppose it is. It is true that we are confronted by a mystery which needs the advice of such an expert as yourself to explain it.’
Irritated, Eadulf looked up from contemplating the goblet of mulled wine.
‘Before I say more about this matter, may I ask you a question, Sister?’ asked the abbot.
Fidelma glanced towards Eadulf and replied with solemn humour: ‘Not every question deserves an answer.’
The abbot shifted uncomfortably. ‘That is truly said, Sister. I will ask, anyway. If I were to show you a mystery which intrigued you, would you remain a few days in this kingdom seeking an explanation of it?’
Fidelma indicated Eadulf, making it clear that the answer lay with him. ‘I am here merely accompanying the emissary of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury. Your question is best put to him.’
Eadulf set down his wine, considering the matter. It was true that he had delayed in Muman for nearly a year before finally deciding to return to Canterbury. What difference would a delay of a few more days in the kingdom of Dyfed make on this return journey? It would probably take a few days before they could find a ship anyway. But what mystery was there to so distract the abbot that he would invite strangers to solve it, and a Saxon at that? Eadulf was still acutely mindful that he was in the land of the Britons. He became aware of the abbot’s close scrutiny as the latter waited with barely concealed impatience for the answer.
‘There would be a remuneration for your services,’ the abbot said quickly, as if payment were Eadulf’s concern.
‘Why would you seek our help? Surely there are enough wise heads in the kingdom of Dyfed to resolve the problem without calling in strangers?’ Eadulf’s tone indicated his vexation.
There was a movement beyond a screen at the far end of the room, and a tall, elderly man emerged from behind it. He had the build of a warrior, despite his age, and his features still retained the handsome mould of his youth. His white hair was tightly curled and beset by a gold circlet. His eyes were a striking, vivid blue, almost violet, with, at first glance, no discernible pupils. He wore clothes of rich satin and woven linen and wool. It was clear that he was a man of rank.
Eadulf noticed that Fidelma was rising from her seat and so he rose reluctantly as well.
The abbot coughed nervously. ‘You stand in the presence of--’
‘Of Gwlyddien, king of Dyfed,’ interrupted Fidelma, bowing her head in acknowledgment.
The elderly king came forward, smiling broadly, his hand held out in greeting. ‘You have a discerning eye, Fidelma of Cashel, and a quick wit, for I am sure that we have not met before.’
‘We have not, but the son of Nowy has been spoken of with respect among the religious of these islands. Was not your father also famed for the support he gave to the Church?’
Gwlyddien inclined his head. ‘Yet such as my reputation is, it provides little enough information by which to recognise me.’
‘True enough.’ Fidelma’s eyes held a twinkle. ‘It was by the royal symbol of Dyfed which you have embroidered on your cloak and by the gold signet on your finger that I inferred your identity. It was an elementary deduction.’
Gwlyddien slapped his thigh in appreciation and chuckled. ‘All I have heard of you seems true, Fidelma of Cashel.’ He turned with outstretched hand to Eadulf, who stood slightly alienated by this exchange. ‘And, of course, where Fidelma goes, one hears of her companion, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Our bards tell us that two centuries ago the land of the South Folk, the very place from where you come, was once the kingdom of those Britons called the Trinovantes. From that tribe came one of the greatest of our kings - Cunobelinos, the Hound of Belinos, against whom not even the Roman emperors would dare to wage war.’
Eadulf shifted his weight nervously. ‘Tempus edax rerum,’ he muttered, remembering the line from Ovid.
Gwlyddien stared disapprovingly at him for a moment. Then he sighed and bowed his head as though accepting the inevitable.
‘Indeed, time does devour all things. Yet does not Virgil say that the Fates will find a way? What was once may yet be again.’
Eadulf restrained a shiver. He had heard that the Britons had not lost hope that one day they would drive the Saxons back again into the sea. He wondered how to respond but the moment had passed. Gwlyddien had seated himself in the chair vacated by the abbot, who took another.
‘Sit down,’ the king instructed with an impatient gesture. Fidelma and Eadulf resumed their seats. ‘The answer to our Saxon friend’s previous question is simple. Among the stories that we hear from travellers passing through this kingdom from Éireann, and the many brothers and sisters from your country who come to study here at this abbey, are tales of how Fidelma of Cashel has solved this riddle or unravelled that mystery. Having discussed the matter with Abbot Tryffin, I believe that God himself put you on a course to this place so that you may help us.’
Eadulf tried to suppress his feeling of annoyance that the king did not include him. It was clear that it was only Fidelma’s reputation that had prompted this summons to the abbey of Dewi Sant. The Britons barely tolerated him. He tried to keep his features impassive.
Fidelma was sitting back, regarding Gwlyddien with a studied expression. ‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann, used to say that compliments cost nothing, yet many pay dear for them. What cost follows these compliments you now bestow on me and on Brother Eadulf?’ The slight emphasis on Eadulf’s name implied a rebuke at their exclusion of him.
Gwlyddien was obviously not accustomed to being questioned so directly and the abbot was looking anxious. However, Gwlyddien kept his humour.
‘Believe me, Fidelma of Cashel, I am not an idle flatterer.’
‘Of that I am sure,’ Fidelma replied quickly. ‘So let us get down to what it is that you want of us rather than proceed with the inconsequential matters.’
At a gesture from the king, Abbot Tryffin took charge of the narrative.
‘Some twenty or more kilometres to the north of here is one of our sub-houses, the abbey of Llanpadern. Abbey is, perhaps, too important a title to give the little community that dwells there.’
When he paused, Gwlyddien exhaled in exasperation. The abbot continued hurriedly.
‘One of our brethren, Brother Cyngar, was journeying here from his community. His route took him to Llanpadern where he had planned to ask for hospitality on his way. Brother Cyngar arrived here yesterday in a state of great consternation and anxiety. He is young and impressionable. It appears, from what he tells us, that when he arrived at Llanpadern it was deserted. Completely deserted.’
He sat back as if expecting some reaction to his statement.
After a pause, Fidelma asked casually: ‘How many normally live in this abbey of Llanpadern?’
‘It is a male house of twenty-seven brothers. They work the land and run a small farm and are thus self-sustaining. ’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘Twenty-seven? Was that figure chosen deliberately?’
Abbot Tryffin was puzzled and said so.
‘Then it is of no consequence if it needs to be exp
lained,’ Fidelma said dismissively. In her culture, the number had a mystic symbolism. ‘So Brother Cyngar found the abbey deserted and, presumably, could discover no explanation which accounted for its being abandoned?’
‘He could not.’
‘Did he examine all the buildings thoroughly?’
‘He did. He found that candles were lit, food was on the tables, half eaten, but the place had been deserted for some hours. The rats were quite noticeable. But even the livestock were all gone.’
Fidelma turned to Gwlyddien with a sharp look of interrogation. ‘And why is it that this case particularly interests you?’
The elderly king blinked in surprise. ‘What makes you say that it does?’ he demanded.
‘I am interested in why the king of Dyfed is so concerned with this small religious community and its fate. Such inquiries could easily be left to your abbot here. But you seem overly concerned in soliciting our help.’
The king sat back, blinking a little at her directness. ‘You have a sharp mind; a keen perception. It is true, Fidelma of Cashel, that I am particularly interested in the fate of this community.’ He hesitated, as if trying to organise his thoughts into an articulate form.
‘I have a son, my eldest son, Rhun. Rhun decided to enter the community of Llanpadern about six months ago. He was a bright lad. I once thought him ambitious for this kingdom, ambitious to succeed me one day. But then he became frustrated with his life and decided to join the religious.’
Fidelma leant forward a little in her chair. ‘And your son, Rhun, is among the brethren who are now missing from Llanpadern?’
‘That is so.’
There was a brief silence and then Fidelma asked: ‘Do you have any thoughts on this matter, Gwlyddien?’
The elderly man shook his head. ‘I do not believe in sorcery, Sister Fidelma. I have to ask the question: other than sorcery, how else can an entire community vanish into thin air?’
Fidelma smiled wryly. ‘And do you think you have an answer to that question?’
‘There is an answer.’
They all turned at the strange commanding voice that interrupted. A young man stood at the door, which he had opened unobserved. He was tall, with fair hair fixed in place by a silver circlet. The handsome features echoed those of Gwlyddien, the eyes reflected the striking colour of those of the king. Gwlyddien indicated him with impatience as the young man entered.
‘This is my younger son, Cathen.’
Abbot Tryffin completed the formalities by introducing Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘You say that there is an answer to the question which your father posed?’ Fidelma queried.
‘Do you know anything of the politics of this land?’ Cathen replied with a question, as he sprawled into a chair.
‘Little enough,’ conceded Fidelma.
‘During the last decade this kingdom had been under constant attack from the ambitions of our northern neighbours, the kings of Ceredigion. Their current king, Artglys, is an ambitious and ruthless man. His son and heir is hardly any better. The pair of them are evil. Once Ceredigion was ruled by the kings of Gwynedd but there was an internal struggle among its ruling dynasty. A generation or so ago King Artbodgu managed to unite Ceredigion as an independent kingdom. Since the rise of Artglys, the son of Artbodgu, Ceredigion have endeavoured to expand by raiding the territories of their neighbours. To annex the kingdom of Dyfed to Ceredigion is Artglys’s dearest ambition.’
‘How does that explain the disappearance of the community at Llanpadern?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Ceredigion have raided our territory before and taken hostages.’
‘So you are saying that Artglys of Ceredigion is somehow responsible for what has happened? That the entire community were seized in a raid?’
‘I do not know for certain. I merely say that it is possible that the Ceredigion raided Llanpadern in order to take my brother, Rhun, as a hostage.’
‘Possible but not likely,’ his father added. ‘When Rhun went into the religious, he gave up all claim to the kingship. Why take him hostage? To use as an emotional lever against me? My enemies know that I am not so weak. My oath of kingship and the good of my people come first. As for Ceredigion raids, why, Saxon ships have also been known to raid along our shores.’
‘What is it that you expect of us?’ Fidelma asked quickly to hide Eadulf’s embarrassment at the mention of Saxon raids. ‘Solving the politics of warfare is not what we are best at.’
Abbot Tryffin appeared uncomfortable. He also did not seem to agree with Prince Cathen’s views.
‘I believe that this affair has absolutely nothing to do with Ceredigion nor with Artglys’s raids across the border . . .’ He glanced at Cathen and his voice trailed off.
Fidelma intervened, seeing Cathen tensing himself for an argument. ‘You say that this place - Llanpadern - is north of here? How far from the border with Artglys’s kingdom of Ceredigion?’
‘At least another twenty kilometres or more.’
‘A raid coming some forty kilometres into your territory is a long distance for an enemy host to move unnoticed,’ Fidelma observed.
‘This might be a raid by sea; they could have come ashore on the coast which is only a few kilometres away from Llanpadern,’ Cathen insisted.
‘There is much power in the word “could”,’ Fidelma said reflectively.
The abbot had compressed his lips as if wishing to say something but uncertain whether to contradict his prince. Fidelma noticed his expression.
‘I am sure that your contribution to this matter would be welcomed, Abbot Tryffin. What point do you wish to make?’
The abbot looked even more uncomfortable but seemed to summon his courage. ‘The abbey is situated at the foot of the western slopes of Carn Gelli. If the warriors of Ceredigion made a raid on the abbey by sea, there are only a couple of places they could land. They would still have to march three kilometres from either landing place to the abbey. There are two townships on these routes and such a force would have raised some alarm. Indeed, Father Clidro and his community would have been warned of the arrival of hostile raiders in the territory long before they could reach the abbey. From the way Brother Cyngar describes the orderly way in which the abbey buildings were left, I cannot believe it was the work of warriors carrying off protesting prisoners. There was no sign of an attack, no bodies, nothing to indicate violence.’
Cathen gave a grunt of derision only to be silenced by a gesture from his father.
Fidelma waited for a moment, but as the king said nothing further she asked the abbot: ‘Then to what do you ascribe this disappearance?’
The abbot of Dewi Sant was clearly worried. His eyes were slightly haunted as he stared at her. ‘As Christ is my witness, Sister, I cannot think of any explanation in keeping with natural law that would account for it.’
Cathen let out a derisive hoot. ‘Sorcery! Are you saying that it comes back to magic? I will not have that, Abbot Tryffin. There is no such thing as supernatural forces. You are as bad as that young Brother Cyngar! Evil forces do not exist.’
‘I would disagree.’
They all looked at Fidelma in surprise at her softly spoken interjection. Her glance embraced them all.
‘The supernatural is the natural which is not yet understood. And what of the mysteries of our faith? Are they not supernatural to us? If we recognise that there is good then we must accept that there is evil.’
‘They are mysteries ordained by God!’ pointed out Cathen defensively.
‘And are you the judge of what is ordained by God and what is not?’ Fidelma said quietly.
Cathen opened his mouth as if to disagree but snapped it shut as he found no ready answer would come. He stood flushed-faced for a moment and then said stiffly: ‘Your pardon. I have duties to attend to.’ He turned and left the room.
Gwlyddien stirred uncomfortably as the door slammed.
‘I beg your pardon, I appear to have upset Prince Cathen,’ Fidelma said
, although her tone was far from apologetic.
‘He is my youngest son and is inclined to be hot-headed, ’ muttered the elderly king. ‘He means no disrespect. ’
‘There is none taken,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But, considering what has been said, I am intrigued by this mystery. It seems that we have a few days before the likely appearance of a ship by which to continue our journey to Canterbury, so perhaps we may usefully occupy our time.’
King Gwlyddien’s face brightened. ‘Then you will undertake the task?’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf. He had already realised that Fidelma would not refuse; almost as soon as he heard the nature of the mystery and the conflict of interpretation between Prince Cathen, his father and the abbot. Mysteries to Fidelma were like the addiction of wine to another person. He grimaced with resignation, hoping that she could not read the resentment and jealous anger in his eye.
‘We will,’ Fidelma confirmed, apparently not observing anything amiss.
‘Then it is a commission of the king,’ Gwlyddien said with relief in his voice. ‘All your expenses shall be met and whatever fee you demand shall be paid in gold or silver, as you wish.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But we must have some token to show we act on your authority, something bearing your seal; plus a sufficient sum to cover our expenses during our stay in this kingdom. If we succeed in finding a solution, we will accept ten gold pieces. If we do not succeed, we will accept five gold pieces. Agreed?’
‘It is agreed.’
‘Then we shall want to speak with Brother Cyngar. We would also need a guide to take us to this abbey of Llanpadern.’
Eadulf suppressed a groan at the enthusiasm in her voice.
‘That presents no problem,’ Abbot Tryffin agreed. ‘Would you be able to leave for Llanpadern tomorrow morning?’
‘Why so soon?’ queried Eadulf, not wishing to be rushed into decisions.
Abbot Tryffin was apologetic. ‘I mentioned two townships that might have raised the alarm had warriors of Ceredigion landed on the shores near Llanpadern. It so happens that one of these townships has asked me to send them a barnwr, a judge. Tomorrow morning, Brother Meurig, who holds that position, is setting out to the township. You could go with him and he could act as your guide.’
Smoke in the Wind Page 5
