Fidelma glanced at Eadulf without approval. ‘It is a good theory,’ she admitted.
Eadulf frowned in annoyance. ‘Theory? You do not accept it?’
She smiled softly. ‘Not in the form in which you give it. You forget that Father Clidro was not killed at the time of this attack. His blood was freshly spilt when we found him.’
‘I had forgotten.’ Eadulf looked disappointed.
‘I think you may well be right in certain matters. A Saxon ship . . . I would not know whether it was from this strange kingdom you mention - the Who-ekka?’ She forced her tongue over the unfamiliar syllables. ‘But if, as Goff said, a Saxon ship did anchor off shore here, then I suspect they did play a part in whatever happened at Llanpadern.’
‘But the rest must follow,’ protested Eadulf.
‘The facts do not support what you have said. Forget that you are a Saxon.’
Momentarily Eadulf’s features broke into a humorous grin. ‘That is a difficult thing to do in this land where I am constantly reminded of it,’ he observed wryly.
‘In any raid by Saxons on a community - and we have had many such raids in Laigin and Muman so we know of them at first hand - what usually happens?’
Eadulf pursed his lips to give her question some thought.
‘What happens is that Saxons burn and destroy, carrying off plunder,’ went on Fidelma, without waiting for him to answer. ‘They take young men and girls as slaves, and kill the rest. Where is the evidence that such a raid was carried out at Llanpadern?’
‘Father Clidro was--’
‘Father Clidro was flogged, taken to the barn and hanged. He was not struck down by sword or spear. But his body does not appear there until well after the Saxon ship has left. Where has he been during the last few days?’
Eadulf had considered the anomaly. Her reasoning had not been entirely lost on him. He had been worrying about it but had no logical explanation.
‘But what of the slaughter of the seven brothers on the foreshore? What of that?’ he protested.
‘That is a singular event, Eadulf. Consider it. Most of them were killed by a sword blow from behind. A blow to the neck. They were all killed in the same spot, which does not indicate that they were attempting to escape their captors, does it? And, having killed the seven, what warriors do you know who would cast down a shield, a knife and a broken sword by the bodies and leave them?’
Eadulf compressed his lips as he remembered the questions that Fidelma had asked about the broken sword. There had been no blood on it and the broken end was not in any of the bodies.
‘Are you saying that this was deliberately done in order to make people think that Saxons were responsible?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘Are you saying that there is no Saxon connection?’
Fidelma shook her head immediately. ‘The Saxon in the tomb and the Saxon ship anchored off the coast are somehow connected with this mystery. But I am not sure how.’
He regarded her in surprise. ‘But if it was not a Saxon raid, what else would bring a Saxon ship here?’
‘That is the mystery which must be solved. All I know is that the facts are complicated and inexplicable based on the knowledge we currently have.’
Eadulf remained silent for a moment. ‘Then I doubt that we shall produce an answer.’
Fidelma turned a disapproving eye on him. ‘Tempus omnia revelat,’ she said reprovingly.
‘Time may well reveal all things but can we afford to wait?’ he replied sharply.
‘Wait we must,’ she replied calmly. ‘We must be patient.’
‘Have you forgotten the threat from Clydog and his men?’
‘I have not. As I have told you, I think he also provides a key which may unravel this mystery.’
The countryside in which they were riding fell away on their left to a coastline consisting of dramatic cliffs and deep rocky coves. Here and there they could see seal pups cavorting in the water, while mingling with the sea birds were a few buzzards emitting their mewing ‘kiew’ as they scanned the ground for small mammals. Buzzards preferred these open hillsides over which they were now travelling, for it was ideal territory for catching rabbits. The track was now leading by another hill, turning inland. They could see the deserted walls of an ancient hill fortress standing some two hundred metres from them. They followed the contours of the south side of the hill towards the east where Llanwnda lay across the main hill of Pen Caer. Eadulf knew that ‘pen’ meant a head while ‘caer’ was a fort.
‘I’ll be glad of a bath and fresh, dry clothes,’ observed Eadulf cheerfully as he realised they could not be far away from Llanwnda.
Their clothes had dried on them before they reached Llanferran and left them with an uncomfortable sensation, the linen and wool rough and irritating to the skin. Eadulf, after such a long time in the five kingdoms of Éireann, had grown accustomed to Irish ways. There the people bathed every day, generally in the evening, while in the morning they only washed their face and hands. Eadulf had always considered this toilet rather excessive. In his own land, bathing was often confined to a swim in a nearby river and then only infrequently. But the Irish made a ritual of cleanliness, and used a cake of a fatty substance called sléic to create a lather which washed away the dirt.
Now Eadulf missed the heated bath water, the immersion in the tub called a debach in which were placed sweet-smelling herbs, the vigorous towelling with a linen cloth. He had to admit, after his initial caution, that the ritual made him feel refreshed and invigorated.
Fidelma shared his longing for a bath and clean clothes. The previous night’s adventure, such as it was, had left her with a feeling of besmirchment that she felt it would take many baths to eradicate. But there was another anticipation with which Fidelma was returning to Llanwnda. She had not been able to rid herself of concern for young Idwal. Nor could she shake off the belief, albeit based on pure emotion rather than deduction, that the boy was innocent of the death of Mair. She was looking forward to hearing how Brother Meurig’s inquiry had developed. Perhaps the information she had gathered about Mair’s father, Iorwerth, might be useful.
The track was now leading them down into a thickly wooded valley beyond which the settlement of Llanwnda was situated. Fidelma realised that this was probably the very wood in which the girl had been strangled. She wished that she knew for certain. She would have liked to have examined the spot, even though she knew that no clues would remain there after so long an interval. Fidelma, however, liked to see the places where victims met their deaths, insofar as she was able. It helped her envisage the scene more clearly in her own mind.
She mentioned this fact to Eadulf, and he looked glum.
‘Isn’t it best not to interfere in Brother Meurig’s investigation?’
Fidelma was vexed by his attitude and showed it. ‘Interference? Eadulf, you know that as a dálaigh I cannot stand aside and ignore crime.’
‘But this is not your--’
‘Not my country? You have not stood aside in our adventures before and claimed that you should not be involved in them because you were a Saxon! Crime is crime in any land. Justitia omnibus - justice for all.’
Eadulf blinked at the sharpness of her tone. ‘I meant--’ he began.
She made a cutting motion with her hand. ‘I know what you meant.’
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
Fidelma often regretted her outbursts of irritation. She knew that her quick temper and sharpness of tongue were faults. Then she remembered that her mentor, Brehon Morann, was fond of saying that the person without a fault is without life. Even so, perhaps she should try to curb her moods.
‘I am sorry,’ she suddenly said, surprising Eadulf. ‘Since we came to this place, I have had a curious feeling that there is much evil here. A mystery which is like a complex of threads of which we have been given several. We follow the thread a distance and find another and another but none of them lead to any centre. I think it is important that the mysteries of the de
ath of Mair and the disappearance of the community of Llanpadern are resolved.’
Eadulf did not respond for a moment.
Fidelma decided to continue. ‘I know you want to proceed to Canterbury as soon as possible but I could not be at ease with myself if I did not pursue these matters to a conclusion.’
Eadulf was forced to respond with a resigned smile. ‘I really expected no less. It is just that I am worried for your safety . . .’ He hesitated and raised a shoulder, letting it fall eloquently. ‘For our safety,’ he corrected. ‘I have felt danger before but never the hostility that I have encountered here. And the threat from such a person as Clydog is something that causes me concern. If you or I should fall into his hands again . . .’ He did not finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear enough.
‘Then we must ensure that we do not fall into the hands of that outlaw,’ Fidelma replied brightly, with more assurance than she felt.
They were entering a small clearing in the wood and saw that it was occupied by a woodsman’s hut.
‘Best check that we are on the right track to Llanwnda,’ Eadulf advised.
They noticed that the door stood partially open and Fidelma drew rein and called a hello. There was no answer.
The small hut was a tiny affair and outside it was a pile of wood in the process of being cut, for a large-handled axe stood embedded in one of the logs, as if abandoned by the woodsman in the middle of his attempts to sever it.
It was Eadulf who noticed it and he turned to Fidelma and silently pointed to the axe.
Fresh blood was dripping from its blade onto the wood.
Perhaps the woodsman had cut himself while swinging his sharp-bladed axe at the log.
‘Hello!’ cried Fidelma again. ‘Are you hurt? Can we help?’
There was no sound; no movement.
Eadulf swung down from his horse and moved to the door of the hut. For a moment he stood on the threshold staring in and then he let out an exclamation.
‘The man is here and unconscious, so it seems,’ he called to Fidelma, before moving into the dark interior. Fidelma was in the act of dismounting to join him when she heard his voice upraised in surprise.
‘What is it?’ she demanded, starting forward.
Eadulf had emerged and was leaning against the door jamb, his face pale. He stared at her for a moment as if unable to form words. ‘He’s in there . . .’
Fidelma frowned. ‘The woodsman?’ she demanded, surprised at his attitude. After all, Eadulf had studied to be an apothecary at Tuam Brecain. He was surely used to injury and violent death. ‘Is it a bad wound? Come on, Eadulf, let us help the poor man. I’ve not known you to be so squeamish before.’
‘It’s too late,’ Eadulf breathed.
Frustrated, Fidelma pushed him aside and entered the small hut. The light from the door spread over the figure on the floor. She bent towards the body which was stretched just inside.
Three facts came to her in quick succession.
Firstly, the man’s neck was nearly severed. This had been no accident. Someone had taken the axe and swung its sharp blade with the intention of killing the man. Then, leaving him dead or dying on the floor, the assailant had returned the axe to the woodpile outside, embedding it in the log before departing.
Secondly, the man was not a woodsman. He was wearing the robes of a religieux.
Thirdly, she recognised the twisted, agonised features of the victim. It was Brother Meurig.
Chapter Twelve
They rode into Llanwnda in silence. Fidelma had spoken little on the journey from the woodsman’s hut. As they crossed the bridge over the stream into the township, they heard the clang of metal on metal from the smith’s forge, heard the rasp of the bellows and saw Iorwerth the smith at work, swinging his hammer with his muscular arm. He barely glanced in their direction as they rode by. In the square beyond the bridge, where two nights before they had watched the abortive attempt to hang Idwal, there now stood a tall stack of wood, piled high and obviously ready to be ignited into a gigantic bonfire. Children were playing here and there in groups, unconcerned, riotous, normal. There were a few groups of people in the single street. Some stood gossiping, a few cast glances filled with curiosity in their direction.
Eadulf looked at Fidelma. He could see that she was perturbed. Indeed, the murder of a religieux was a heinous crime. When he had tried to speculate on who might have done this terrible thing, she had simply replied with her customary advice: ‘It is no use speculating without facts.’ She had refused to engage further with him, although he felt that she must be examining possibilities in her own mind as they rode along. That irritated him.
Fidelma was not immune to Eadulf’s frustration but she was in no mood to speculate aloud. She was too busy turning matters over in her head. She had spent some time carefully examining Brother Meurig’s body. She had also inspected the hut, the axe and the surrounding area. She had found nothing at all which could be called a clue. What had Brother Meurig been doing in the woods? Had he been searching for the spot where Mair had been killed? If so, what had he stumbled on to cause him to be killed in such a vicious and maniacal fashion?
It was no use sharing these questions with Eadulf. He would know the questions well enough but it was answers that were needed and there were none - yet. Without further information, questions remained simply questions.
The tranquillity of Llanwnda was in sharp contrast to what they had seen in the woodsman’s hut and their experience at Llanpadern. No one seemed surprised to see them again. No one appeared to be interested in their arrival.
‘We’ll go directly to Gwnda,’ Fidelma said to Eadulf as they walked their horses slowly down the street towards the hall of the lord of Pen Caer.
It was only when they had dismounted and were hitching their mounts to the posts in front of his hall that Gwnda himself appeared. He seemed ill at ease to see them.
‘What news from Llanpadern? You are soon back from there,’ he said in greeting. It was clear that there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
Fidelma examined his features closely. ‘What do you know of Brother Meurig’s whereabouts?’ she asked.
Gwnda’s mouth tightened a little at her response. ‘I don’t know where he is. He left here this morning.’
‘Going where?’
Gwnda shook his head. ‘He did not tell me.’
‘When did he say that he would return?’
‘He did not say.’
Fidelma tried to control her exasperation.
‘Did he tell anyone where he was going?’ Eadulf decided to enter the questioning.
‘A secret man, is the barnwr.’ Gwnda smiled without humour. Then he noticed the condition of their clothes and their tired and dishevelled appearance. ‘You appear to have slept rough. Could you not find shelter at Llanpadern? There was a bad storm last night.’
‘We had to shelter in a cave,’ Eadulf explained shortly. ‘Baths and the possibility of finding some fresh clothing would be a welcome thing.’
‘You are my guests until you depart again for the abbey of Dewi Sant,’ the chieftain acknowledged without enthusiasm.
‘Then we . . .’ began Eadulf, and then paused, suddenly catching sight of Fidelma’s warning look. She was not sure what he was about to say but the look expressed her alarm in case he mentioned the finding of Meurig before she was ready. ‘. . . we accept,’ he finished lamely.
They followed Gwnda into the hall and he clapped his hands for attention. The tall blonde woman entered and her eyes narrowed a little as she beheld them.
‘Buddog, Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf are once more our guests. See that baths are prepared and refreshment brought. Also see that their horses are cared for and fed.’
The woman inclined her head slightly. ‘It shall be done.’
While Gwnda was issuing his instructions, Fidelma managed to whisper to Eadulf: ‘Let me do the talking about Meurig.’
They were seated before the fire when Bud
dog brought in their drinks and announced that the bathing preparations were being made. When Gwnda had seated himself and taken his drink, Fidelma said quietly: ‘Father Clidro is dead.’
The lord of Pen Caer stared at her for a moment. ‘So it was a Saxon raid, after all? How many of the brethren have died?’ There was a note of triumph in his voice.
‘Some seven others, so far as we can deduce, and then there is Father Clidro. He was hanged in a barn at Llanpadern while the others were, as was reported to you, slain on the beach near Llanferran.’
Gwnda sighed deeply. ‘Our coastline is vulnerable to Saxon raids.’
‘Do you know of an outlaw called Clydog?’
Gwnda actually started so much that some of his drink spilled on his hand.
Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘It is obvious that you do know of him,’ she observed before the chieftain could compose himself.
‘Most people around Pen Caer know that name and many are acquainted with him to their cost,’ conceded the chieftain, recovering his poise.
‘What do you know of him?’
Gwnda examined them both thoughtfully. ‘Why bring Clydog into this?’ he said slowly.
‘I merely want you to share with me what you know of this Clydog the Wasp.’
Gwnda paused thoughtfully. ‘Clydog Cacynen.’ He almost sneered the name. ‘Six months ago we had reports of wayfarers being robbed in the forests around Ffynnon Druidion. At first, none of them were killed, merely robbed and sent on their way. They spoke of an outlaw named Clydog, who seemed quite cultured and who robbed them with a laugh. He had a small band of warriors, presumably adventurers, thieves and murderers escaping justice. A dozen or so men who took to the forests with Clydog.’
Fidelma was a little impatient. She felt that he was not telling her anything that she did not know. ‘You said that none of his victims were killed at first. That implies that others were killed later.’
Smoke in the Wind Page 17
