Smoke in the Wind sf-11

by Peter Tremayne

  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 explained,’ 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 ar
e 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.’

  ‘An excellent idea!’ agreed Gwlyddien.

  Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘Why did this township. .?’

  ‘The township of Llanwnda,’ supplied the abbot.

  ‘Why did this township of Llanwnda,’ she stumbled a little over the pronunciation, ‘ask for a judge? I presume that a barnwr occupies the same position as a dálaigh in my country? Is there any connection between that request and the disappearance of the religious community?’

  Abbot Tryffin shook his head firmly. ‘The lord of Pen Caer, whose township it is, sent for a judge on an entirely unrelated matter. A young girl was raped and murdered by her boyfriend. She was a virgin. In such rural townships this is a most serious crime. The boy was apparently lucky not to be beaten to death by the outraged locals. No, there is definitely no connection between the two matters.’

  ‘Then I see no reason to delay. We can be ready to depart for Llanpadern with Brother. .?’

  ‘Brother Meurig.’

  ‘. . with Brother Meurig in the morning. However, you have said that it is a journey of over twenty kilometres and Brother Eadulf has not been well. .’

  ‘I shall be coming too,’ interrupted Eadulf coldly. ‘I am not so infirm or without talent that I cannot be useful in this matter.’

  ‘Horses can be supplied for the journey,’ Gwlyddien offered, ignoring the ill-temper of Eadulf’s tone.

  ‘Then we are agreed.’ Eadulf looked defiantly at Fidelma, who was wondering why he seemed upset at her attempt to make matters easy for him.

  ‘We are agreed,’ she echoed.

  ‘Excellent. It is well beyond midday and our meal awaits.’ Abbot Tryffin rose from his place. ‘After you have both eaten and rested, we will go in search of Brother Cyngar. Brother Meurig is also in the abbey. Ah. .’ He turned to look at Fidelma and Eadulf as a thought suddenly struck him. ‘I forgot. Among the nobles and the religious, we can speak the language of Éireann and, indeed, Greek, Latin, and some Hebrew, but the ordinary people speak only the language of the Cymry. You will need an interpreter.’

  ‘Your language presents no problem to me,’ Fidelma replied, lapsing into Cymraeg. ‘I served my novitiate with several sisters from the kingdom of Gwynedd and learnt from them. However, there will be much in the way of your legal language that I might not be able to understand, although I shall try my best.’

  Eadulf was not asked if he understood, nor did he volunteer that he had any knowledge.

  ‘Then there seems no impediment to your progress,’ Abbot Tryffin said in approval. ‘Brother Meurig will be able to advise you if you have difficulties.’

  ‘We should be grateful for that,’ agreed Fidelma.

  ‘Then let us adjourn to our meal.’

  Chapter Four

  It was cold but no frost lay on the ground when the three horses moved out of the gates of the abbey of Dewi Sant. The horses moved in line, led by a tall figure on a grey mare. Brother Meurig rode at a steady walking pace, while behind him came Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf on two spirited cobs, short-legged, strong beasts. Meurig was wrapped against the early morning chill in a great cloak that was almost the colour of the horse he rode. His companions were also enveloped in heavy woollen mantles.

  Abbot Tryffin had sent a man to fetch the travelling bags of Fidelma and Eadulf from Brother Rhodri’s hospice at Porth Clais. This gave them the time to question Brother Cyngar about his visit to Llanpadern and be ready to depart with the barnwr, Brother Meurig, as soon as the early morning light began to appear over the easterly hills.

  Fidelma and Eadulf had both been impressed with the serious and practical attitude of Brother Cyngar. However, the young monk was unable to add much more than they had already been told by Abbot Tryffin. Fidelma had questioned him closely on the detail of what he had observed. He was certainly pragmatic, and showed his eye for detail as he patiently went through a description of the abandoned buildings and their condition.

  The young monk, far from being overwhelmed by the idea of sorcery and evil, simply accepted the idea that what could not be explained by natural means must, therefore, be attributable to supernatural ones.

  After leaving Brother Cyngar, Fidelma and Eadulf had been conducted to the abbey’s scriptorum where Brother Meurig was checking some books of law. Brother Meurig was a tall man, towering even over Fidelma who was considered to be of more than average height. He was gaunt, with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones. His hair was greying and his dark eyes were sunken, the right eye carrying a cast which gave him a slightly sinister appearance. His mournful features were not reflected by the bright friendliness of his greeting.

  He spoke to Fidelma in her own language, turned to Eadulf and spoke an equally fluent Saxon to him. In fact, it app
eared that Brother Meurig spoke several languages and all fairly fluently.

  ‘How do you speak Saxon so well?’ queried Eadulf, surprised by the man’s ability.

  ‘I was a prisoner among the Mercians for several years.’ Brother Meurig pointed to a scar which ran round his throat and had been disguised by the cowled robe he wore. ‘See here, the mark of the Saxon slave collar. That was over ten years ago when Penda ruled that kingdom. He was an evil man, that one. Penda was born a pagan and died a pagan, serving none other than his god Woden.’

  ‘But you escaped?’ Eadulf asked, trying not to feel embarrassed, although Meurig spoke without rancour.

  ‘After Oswy of Northumbria defeated Penda and slew him at Winwaed Field, when Mercia was thrown into disarray, that was when many of the slaves he had taken, particularly Christian monks such as I, were released and allowed to return to their own lands.’

  ‘And now you are a barnwr. . a judge of the courts of Dyfed,’ Fidelma concluded.

  Brother Meurig smiled in satisfaction. ‘Even as you are a judge, Sister Fidelma,’ he said. ‘A dálaigh is the equivalent of a barnwr. We have much in common.’

  ‘I have heard that many of your laws are similar to the laws of the Brehons of Éireann. I am sure that I will have much to learn from you, Brother Meurig.’

  ‘Your reputation precedes you, Sister. I doubt whether I shall be able to teach you much,’ pointed out the barnwr affably.

  ‘Have you have been told what has happened at Llanpadern?’ Eadulf asked.

  Brother Meurig nodded swiftly. ‘But the matter is not in my hands.’

  ‘Do you have an opinion about it?’ Eadulf pressed.

  ‘An opinion?’ Brother Meurig sniffed deprecatingly. ‘I have heard that Prince Cathen believes that it might be a raid by Ceredigion for hostages. My opinion is that the idea is possible although unlikely.

  ‘Is there another logical explanation?’

  Brother Meurig shook his head.