Smoke in the Wind sf-11

by Peter Tremayne

  Eadulf was sitting on his horse peering about him. He let out a low exclamation and turned his horse towards a group of trees. Among them he had noticed some tall specimens with deeply furrowed bark. He dismounted and was soon cutting away with his knife.

  ‘What is it?’ Fidelma called.

  ‘Hopefully, breakfast,’ he replied. ‘I noticed these elder trees and hoped we might be lucky.’

  ‘Lucky?’ She was perplexed. She came closer and peered down at what he was cutting away from the tree. ‘Ugh!’ she grunted in repulsion. ‘It looks like a human ear.’

  Eadulf grinned up at her. ‘It’s actually called Judas’s Ear.’

  Fidelma realised it was a fungus; liver-brown, with translucent flabby flesh.

  ‘Is it edible?’ she asked uncertainly.

  ‘It is not a delicacy but I have known people who eat it both cooked and raw. It might take the edge off our hunger.’

  ‘Or give us indigestion,’ observed Fidelma, examining with distaste the piece he handed her. ‘Why is it called Judas’s Ear?’

  ‘There is a tradition that Judas Iscariot, who betrayed the Christ for thirty pieces of silver, hanged himself on an elder tree. This fungus only grows on the elder.’

  Fidelma nibbled experimentally. The taste was not too unpleasant, and she was hungry. A short time later, they found a small spring and slaked their thirst. Here they were also able to pause and let their horses drink and graze for a while on the wet grasses that surrounded the spring. Then they were on their way again, directed westward by the sun rising against their backs.

  Soon the woods began to thin and they found themselves in a small twisting valley through which a small stream gushed, widening occasionally into moderately sized pools. At Fidelma’s suggestion they walked their horses through the shallow waters, whose swirling eddies hid their passing.

  After a while the wooded cover ended and low plains of marshy ground stretched before them. They were aware of the plaintive crying of gulls and the noticeable tang of salt in the air.

  ‘The sea can’t be far away,’ Eadulf observed unnecessarily.

  ‘So we have to turn north now,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I can see some buildings. .’

  ‘Maybe we can get a proper meal there.’

  Fidelma smiled ruefully at her companion. ‘I confess that if it were a choice between going hungry or having another meal of your Judas’s Ear, I would prefer starvation.’

  They rode to some rocky high ground that, to the west, swept down towards a deceptive cliff edge. Below was a broad bay with a sandy beach, backed by shingle. Further up was a deep inlet through which a river came tumbling to the sea. They had to ride around this cleft, with cliffs on one side and marshy land on the other, to find a place to cross.

  The buildings appeared to be a small hamlet with a hill rising behind it. Fidelma had noticed several ancient stones including a stone circle not far off. Smoke rose from the hamlet and they could see people moving about.

  Eadulf sighed in relief. ‘Civilisation and food.’

  ‘Let’s find out where we are first.’

  As they came closer, Fidelma realised that the place was not even large enough to be called a hamlet. There was only a large smith’s forge and outbuildings and what looked like the sort of hostel that was common in her own land, where people gathered to drink, eat or stay for the night.

  An old man carrying a large stack of twigs on his back was approaching them from a path on the inland side of the track along which they were proceeding.

  Eadulf decided to try out his improved knowledge of the language.

  ‘Shw mae! Pa un yw’r fford i. .?’

  The old man stopped and stared at him. His eyes widened. ‘Saeson?’

  ‘I am a Saxon,’ admitted Eadulf.

  To their surprise, the old man dropped his bundle of sticks and went scuttling away towards the buildings shouting at the top of his voice.

  Fidelma looked grim. ‘It seems that they do not like Saxons in this part of the world.’

  Before Eadulf could protest, Fidelma was moving on resolutely in the wake of the old man, who had now halted, waving his arms and still shouting. A broad-shouldered man, who was clearly the smith, and a couple of other men had grabbed what appeared to be weapons and watched them with caution as they approached. There were no expressions of welcome on their faces.

  ‘What do you want here?’ called the broad-shouldered man as they drew within speaking range.

  Fidelma halted, Eadulf by her side. ‘Pax vobiscum, my brothers. I am Sister Fidelma of Cashel.’

  ‘A Gwyddel?’ The smith frowned. ‘The old man said that you were Saxons come to rob and kill us.’

  Fidelma smiled reassuringly and slid from her horse, motioning Eadulf to dismount also. ‘My companion is a Saxon. Brother Eadulf. We have come neither to rob nor to kill. We are of the Faith.’

  The tension of the group relaxed a little but the smith still stood regarding her mistrustfully.

  ‘It is unusual to find a Saxon travelling in this country as a religious. Saxons are more likely to travel in raiding parties as we, on this coast, know to our cost. We have lost many loved ones in raids.’

  ‘We mean no harm here. We are seeking a place called Llanferran.’

  ‘And so?’

  Fidelma was bewildered for a moment. ‘We would also like refreshment and fodder for our horses for they are exhausted. Then if you would direct us to this place, Llanferran, we will be on our way.’

  The smith stared at her for a second or two and then shrugged, putting down his weapon.

  ‘You have found Llanferran. My name is Goff.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Now, what is it you seek here apart from hospitality? It is not often that strangers come here merely to seek food and shelter, least of all Saxons.’ Goff the smith looked suspiciously at Eadulf.

  ‘We hold a commission from your king, Gwlyddien, to investigate the disappearance of the community of Llanpadern. .’

  The smith scowled suddenly. A young man who stood at his side, white-faced and anxious, let out a nervous gasp.

  ‘We were told by Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer, that someone called Dewi had information on this matter.’

  The smith reluctantly indicated the youth. ‘This is my son, Dewi. I named him after the blessed founder of our church.’

  Fidelma smiled at the apprehensive boy. ‘Then we have much to discuss. However, can we beg some food and the warmth of your fire while we talk of this matter?’

  The smith hesitated before making up his mind. ‘If you are true religious then you are welcome at my hearth. We will go up to the house.’

  He turned to one of his companions standing in the sullen, suspicious group about the old man they had first encountered, who was glaring at them with hatred.

  ‘Take charge of the forge,’ instructed Goff. He was about to turn away when Fidelma stayed him.

  ‘Can the wants of our horses also be met? They need a good rub down, also water and feed.’

  ‘See to it,’ Goff ordered.

  With murmured thanks, Fidelma and Eadulf followed Goff and Dewi across a yard and up a small rise to the large building which, as Fidelma had guessed, bore all the hallmarks of the hostels kept in her own land, where food, drink and a bed could be purchased.

  A round-faced woman was standing before a cooking pot hanging over a roaring fire.

  ‘Rhonwen!’ called the smith. ‘We have guests. Religious on their travels.’

  The round-faced woman came forward, wiping her hands on an apron that hung around her ample girth.

  ‘This is Rhonwen, my wife,’ Goff said.

  ‘Have you broken your fast this morning, Sister?’ the pleasant-faced woman asked. ‘Can I get you something to eat and drink?’

  Soon fresh-baked bread and dishes of cold meats and cheeses were set before them. The smith and his son, Dewi, joined them in beakers of good mead.

  Fidelma had reached into her marsupium and pushed
the vellum bearing King Gwlyddien’s seal in front of the smith. He glanced at it and handed it to his son with a shrug.

  ‘Dewi has been taught to read,’ he muttered apologetically.

  ‘It is a commission from the king, father. The Gwyddel is a lawyer, like our barnwr.’

  ‘Very well. What can we tell you about Llanpadern, Sister?’ asked the smith. ‘We know that it was raided.’

  ‘So Dewi told Gwnda.’ Eadulf entered the conversation for the first time. ‘Tell us about this raid.’

  The youth glanced at his father who nodded.

  ‘We heard that there was a Saxon warship anchored off Penmorfa nearly a week ago,’ Dewi began. ‘Then seven religious were found near the cliffs there. They had all been killed. It was obvious who had caused their deaths.’

  Fidelma looked at him inquisitively. ‘Why obvious?’ she demanded.

  ‘One moment, Sister.’ The smith rose and went to a cupboard at the back of the room. A moment later he had returned bearing a round warrior’s shield, a broken sword and a knife. ‘These were found with the bodies of the religious. Do you need me to identify their markings and their origin?’

  Fidelma turned to Eadulf, who was looking at the markings with an uncomfortable expression. She knew what he would answer before she asked the question.

  ‘They are Hwicce,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Can you be sure?’ she pressed.

  Eadulf nodded. ‘Observe the double lightning stroke on the shield, the symbol of Thunor, god of lightning? If that is not enough, one can see the riveting and construction. .’

  ‘Indeed!’ interrupted the smith, smiling maliciously. ‘No Briton would do this work. This is a Saxon shield and weapons.’

  ‘And you say that these were found by the bodies of the religious? Who discovered them?’ The questions came sharply from Fidelma.

  ‘Some travelling merchants brought us word. Dewi with two companions went down to Penmorfa to confirm their story.’

  ‘Did you see any Saxons, Dewi?’

  The youth shook his head. ‘There were only the bodies of the slain religious.’

  ‘Did you see any sign of the Saxon ship?’ she asked.

  His father, Goff, laughed sourly. ‘Saxons raid swiftly. They come and then are gone. Once they have attacked, they do not wait for retribution.’

  ‘Tell me more about the bodies you found, Dewi,’ invited Fidelma.

  ‘What more is there to say?’ The youth frowned uncertainly.

  ‘Did you recognise them as being religious from Llanpadern? How were they lying? How were they killed?’ Fidelma shot the questions in rapid succession.

  Dewi gave the questions some consideration before replying. ‘I have frequently been at Llanpadern, so I was able to recognise two or three of the brothers.’

  ‘Did you know Brother Rhun?’

  ‘The son of the king? He served as the steward of the abbey at Llanpadern. He conducted the business of the abbey with traders and merchants. I met him often.’

  ‘My son drives our cart, transporting the goods I make to those who cannot come to the forge to collect them,’ explained his father.

  ‘I remember a forge at the abbey,’ Eadulf said reflectively. ‘By the barn.’

  ‘They had their own smith, but now and then he needed help or materials. Is that not so, father?’

  Goff nodded slowly.

  ‘From what you say, I presume that Brother Rhun was not one of those slain?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘I can name only two of the brothers who were. He was not one of them.’

  ‘And you are sure they were all of the community?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘And there were seven bodies?’

  ‘Seven,’ the young man confirmed.

  ‘And you were going to tell me how they were killed.’

  ‘Sword strokes mainly.’

  ‘In what manner?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Mostly from behind, across the back of the neck.’ The young man apparently understood what was wanted of him. ‘One was stabbed from the front, through the heart, while another had an upward stroke to the stomach. They lay in a small group, as if they had been huddled together for the purpose.’

  Fidelma’s brows were drawn together. ‘In a group, you say? Where were the shield and weapons found?’

  ‘Just by them.’

  ‘Just by them?’ She turned and took the broken sword. Its blade had been snapped off. ‘This was where, exactly, in relation to the bodies?’

  ‘It lay at the feet of one religieux.’

  ‘Did you wipe the blood off?’ The weapon she held was clean and almost shining.

  ‘It was like that when we found it,’ Goff the smith put in.

  ‘And where was the other part of the weapon? In one of the corpses?’

  ‘No, the wounds were clean and-’ Dewi stopped abruptly as he suddenly realised the significance of the question.

  ‘And the knife and the shield? Were they just lying close by?’

  The young man considered. ‘The shield was on top of one of the bodies and the knife alongside another.’

  ‘So what happened after this discovery?’

  It was Goff who answered.

  ‘Dewi came back to fetch some more of us down to Penmorfa. I retrieved the weapons and searched the bodies in case there was a means of identification. There was none. No jewellery or crucifixes — nothing. So we buried them by the cliffs where they had fallen.’

  ‘Are you sure that they were killed at that spot?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Oh yes. There was a great deal of blood on the ground around the bodies.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘When we had ensured that we were safe, I told my boy, Dewi, to ride to Llanwnda and tell Gwnda, the lord of Pen Caer, what we had found; the slaughter and the sighting of the Saxon warship along the coast. It does not need much imagination to work out what happened.’

  ‘That Saxon raiders attacked the community at Llanpadern? Are you sure of that?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Are you sure that they carried off the community and, for some reason, slaughtered seven of them on the cliffs before they went back onto their warship?’

  ‘Of course. This is what must have occurred.’

  ‘Do you know that there is no sign of an attack at Llanpadern? No building is burnt or destroyed. Nor are there signs of any religious slaughtered there.’

  Goff grimaced.

  ‘That’s easily answered, Sister. The Saxons came at night and surprised the brethren so that there was no opportunity to defend themselves. They were rounded up like lambs for the slaughter.’

  ‘But-’ began Eadulf. Fidelma silenced him with a sharp look.

  ‘And has there been any further sign of this Saxon ship, either before or since?’ she asked.

  ‘We keep a special watch along the coast for such raids. There has been no further sign of it.’

  Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘You have been most helpful, Goff. You, also, Dewi.’

  ‘Where do you go now?’ asked Goff, offering them more mead.

  ‘Back to Llanwnda. We will rejoin our companion from the abbey of Dewi Sant there.’

  ‘I hear there is also trouble at Llanwnda.’

  ‘That is so,’ confirmed Eadulf, now tucking into some bread with relish. ‘Our companion, Brother Meurig, is investigating-’

  ‘Meurig the barnwr?’ Rhonwen moved to the table, her round face suddenly serious. ‘Is he investigating the death of poor Mair?’

  ‘Did you know Mair?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Here, under the shelter of Pen Caer, Sister,’ Goff nodded towards the distant peak, ‘we are a close community. Besides, Iorwerth is a fellow smith and news travels quickly from forge to forge.’

  ‘So you know Iorwerth as well?’

  ‘We were apprentices together at the same forge when we were young. For two years I slept cheek by jowl with him before our smith-master drove him out.’

  Fidelma was immediately interested. �
�Drove him out? Can you be more precise?’

  Goff looked sombre at the memory and glanced towards the serious face of his wife.

  ‘That I can, Sister. Our smith-master had a daughter. Some nights I would awaken to find that the bed of my fellow apprentice was empty. You understand?’

  ‘I think I follow you,’ agreed Fidelma.

  The broad-shouldered man scowled in disapproval. ‘With Iorwerth, it was more a question of lust than love. I don’t think Iorwerth really cared for anyone. Maybe not even his daughter. I know his wife died some years ago and his mourning was brief.’

  ‘Indeed it was.’ Rhonwen sat down suddenly at the table. She looked at Goff and some hidden message passed between them.

  ‘I don’t think we need you any more, Dewi,’ he said. ‘Best get down to the forge and see all is well.’

  Reluctantly, the youth rose and left them. After he had gone, Rhonwen leant forward.

  ‘Iorwerth’s wife was a friend of mine. Esyllt was a beautiful girl. How she was ever persuaded to marry Iorwerth, only God would know. It was not a marriage that I would have said was favoured in heaven. Her death was almost predictable.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘She simply took ill and died one day. You know how it is? Some ague. The fever carried her off, poor dear. One thing, she went to a better place than she had occupied with the living. Iorwerth is a petty and vengeful man. I often wondered why poor Esyllt stayed with him. I asked her once if she would like to come away and stay with us, when we knew Iorwerth was beating her. After all, Esyllt was my closest and dearest friend.’

  ‘Tell me, Goff, where was this master-smith under whom you and Iorwerth were apprentices?’

  ‘He was smith of Dinas. Gurgust of Dinas. Poor man.’

  Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘Poor man?’

  ‘His daughter, you see.’

  ‘Poor man from the point of view that his daughter was having an affair with Iorwerth?’

  Goff shook his head. ‘From what happened afterwards. It was a few weeks after Iorwerth was chased out of Dinas, after Gurgust had discovered that his daughter — Efa was her name — had succumbed to Iorwerth’s attentions, if you understand me? Gurgust was in such a rage that he threw his daughter out of his house as well.’