Smoke in the Wind sf-11

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else as you came through the woods? Did you see Gwnda there, or pass anyone else?’

  Iestyn shook his head. ‘Not that I recall. . oh, I saw Buddog on the path gathering mushrooms.’

  ‘There is something which worries me,’ Fidelma commented. ‘You reported that Idwal was meeting Mair in spite of Iorwerth’s instruction not to do so. You observed them quarrelling. Not seriously enough for you to intervene. Nor seriously enough for you to be concerned for the immediate safety of Mair. But this news is enough to set Iorwerth, yourself and several others racing into the woods to punish Idwal. Why was there this hatred of the boy?’

  ‘The boy needed to be taught to obey, needed to be taught respect. That’s all,’ replied Iestyn defiantly. ‘We were all friends of Iorwerth and we thought that we should help him.’

  ‘So what happened when you went into the wood?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘I led them to the spot where I had seen Mair and Idwal. There was Mair, dead. Almost at the same moment we saw Gwnda, and Idwal stretched unconscious on the ground, a little further on. Iorwerth and the others. .’ He paused, and gave them a stubborn look. ‘We were for hanging the boy there and then. Gwnda stopped us, insisting that the law must be upheld.’

  ‘As a matter of interest, did Gwnda tell you what he was doing in the woods that morning?’ asked Eadulf.

  Iestyn shook his head. ‘The path behind the woodsman’s hut is frequently used by the villagers. It goes to Cilau.’

  ‘I see. So you brought the boy back to the township? Knowing that a barnwr from the abbey would be arriving, why did you take it into your heads to imprison Gwnda, take Idwal from the stables, where he was being held, and attempt to hang him before we reached here?’

  ‘There were many people involved. It was the will of the people. Vox. . vox. . the voice of the people is the voice of God!’

  ‘Vox populi vox Dei,’ supplied Fidelma in amusement. ‘Yes, we’ve heard that justification before.’

  Iestyn did not answer.

  ‘I remember that you were brandishing a cudgel on the night we arrived. Was that to ensure the voice of the people was heard?’

  ‘Had you not interfered then, Brother Meurig would still be alive.’

  ‘Are you saying that you had no responsibility for Idwal’s death?’

  ‘The boy killed Mair. We have a way of dealing with killers in our township, Gwyddel.’ For the first time Iestyn’s bitterness broke through the barrier of restraint he had put up.

  ‘It is a way that is denounced by your own law. Brother Meurig pointed that out to you in no uncertain terms.’

  ‘The entire township was behind us.’

  ‘Does that make it right? Morality is not often defined by the will of the majority.’

  Iestyn scowled.

  ‘I suppose,’ Eadulf commented sarcastically, ‘that it is the will of the majority which absolves you from responsibility for Idwal’s death?’

  The farmer was equally derisive. ‘Are you saying that was wrong? Brother Meurig was a barnwr and a religieux. Are you saying that you do not want his killer punished? I thought you religious protected your own?’

  ‘How did you know it was Idwal who killed Meurig?’

  The farmer regarded him as if he were mad. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Simple enough. Who said that it was Idwal who killed Brother Meurig?’

  ‘Why. . everyone knew it.’

  ‘Everyone stood as witnesses to Idwal’s killing of Brother Meurig?’ Fidelma was scornful.

  ‘I did not mean that. If it was not Idwal who slew the barnwr, who did so?’

  ‘A good question,’ said Fidelma. ‘One that should have been considered before Idwal was killed.’

  ‘Who else was it but Idwal? He was taken to the wood in the custody of the barnwr. That was a stupid thing for Brother Meurig to do. He should have taken someone else to guard the boy. Idwal must have waited for the moment when he could kill the barnwr and escape.’

  ‘He did not escape far, did he?’ Fidelma put in quickly. ‘In fact, he was waiting in a fairly obvious place only a short distance away.’

  ‘The boy was simple-minded.’

  ‘Simple-minded but an evil killer whom you had to hang immediately?’

  ‘As I would do with a dog turned wild,’ agreed Iestyn sourly.

  ‘So you murdered the boy without giving him a chance?’ Eadulf was moved to retort.

  ‘Murdered?’ The farmer was angry. ‘Don’t you dare to talk to me of murder, Saxon. Your people have enough murder on your hands. My grandfather was a wise and learned man who could read Latin. He studied at the school of Illtyd when Gildas the Wise was also a student there. He kept a copy of a book which Gildas wrote. .’

  ‘De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae,’ muttered Eadulf softly. ‘I have read it.’

  Iestyn was disconcerted for a moment. Then he said: ‘I only know the name as it was translated to me. It was Concerning the Ruin and Conquest of Britain. My grandfather used to read it to me and translate it. I learnt enough of Saxon perfidy from that work. Alas, that I have no Latin that I can read it now.’

  ‘Had you been able to, then you might have recalled that Gildas kept his harshest criticism for the kings of the Britons whom he denounced for their iniquities,’ replied Fidelma. ‘His conclusion was that the conquest by the Saxons was a just punishment inflicted by God for the sins of your fathers.’

  Iestyn clamped his jaw so tight that it seemed positively painful. Then, without a further word, he turned and swung back up onto his cart, unwound the reins and flicked the patient donkey into movement.

  ‘What now?’ Eadulf asked after a moment, as they watched the angry farmer moving away.

  ‘Now,’ Fidelma said decisively, ‘we have upset enough people. Perhaps the stone we have cast into the pool will cause the ripples to come back to where we are standing. Why did you ask if Iestyn had seen anyone else on the path the morning he saw Mair and Idwal quarrelling?’

  ‘Don’t you remember that Buddog said she had seen him coming through the woods that morning?’

  Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise and then she made a small hooting sound in her throat and her face dissolved into that mischievous grin which seemed so at odds with her calling.

  ‘I’d forgotten, Eadulf. You are a treasure!’

  Eadulf was bewildered and said so.

  Fidelma tucked her arm under his and smiled confidently. ‘I have a feeling those ripples may soon reach us,’ she observed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The evening meal was being served to Eadulf by a surly Buddog when Fidelma joined him. The blonde servant barely acknowledged her before leaving the room. Fidelma looked disappointed at finding Eadulf eating alone.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, helping himself to a plate of stew.

  ‘I was hoping that Elen would be here so that we could finish our fascinating conversation with her.’

  Eadulf looked chagrined. He had almost forgotten the claim that Elen had made. They ate their meal in companionable silence. It was a young girl, nervous and gawky, who entered to clear away the remains.

  ‘Everyone seems to be away this evening. Do you know where the lady Elen is?’ Fidelma asked her.

  ‘She’s gone, Sister.’ The girl glanced anxiously around, apparently to ensure they were alone.

  ‘Gone?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.

  ‘She left shortly after you came back.’ Suddenly the girl cast a frightened glance towards the door and pulled out a small rolled parchment from beneath her blouse. ‘She asked me to give you this when you were alone. There’s writing on it, but I can’t read and she would not tell me what it was about.’

  Fidelma glanced at it. The goatskin square contained a note written in Latin. She turned to the girl and smiled encouragingly at her. ‘You will forget all about this, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Sister. Elen is good to me. One day I hope. .�
��

  ‘Hope what?’

  ‘I am a hostage, Sister. Two years ago I was taken in a raid on the kingdom of Gwent by lord Gwnda. I don’t want to end up like Buddog. She has been a servant here for a lifetime. Elen promised me that one day I may be set free.’

  ‘Deo volente,’ Fidelma sighed solemnly, adding, as the girl did not understand Latin, ‘God willing.’

  The young servant bobbed a sketchy curtsy and hurried from the room.

  Eadulf, who had been waiting impatiently for Fidelma to reveal the contents of the parchment, asked: ‘What is it?’

  ‘A message from Elen, in Latin.’ Fidelma waved the parchment. ‘It simply says, “Meet me at the woodsman’s hut if you can after the evening meal. Tell no one.” ’

  Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically. ‘Rather dramatic,’ he observed. ‘Do we go?’

  ‘Of course we do,’ replied Fidelma.

  It was very dark by the time they reached the clearing in the woods where earlier that day they had found the body of Brother Meurig. It was still only early evening but the sky was pitch; black rain clouds had swept in abruptly from the west and a fine drizzle had started to fall, so that the skies were starless and oppressive, without even the relief of moonlight. It was quite chilly.

  ‘A curious place to request a meeting,’ muttered Eadulf as they approached, walking their horses quietly. The hut was only half an hour’s ride from the township. They had debated whether to leave their horses behind so as not to be noticed; it was easier to avoid unwelcome scrutiny on foot than on horseback. But they realised it would make their journey longer and more unpleasant. ‘Clearly the young woman is not troubled by thoughts of spirits. After all, a religieux was murdered here barely twelve hours ago.’

  ‘Mortui non mordent,’ Fidelma reassured him as they negotiated the track.

  ‘Dead men may not bite but. .’ Eadulf paused and shuddered. ‘Absit omen!’

  A light moved at the entrance of the hut: a figure holding a lantern.

  ‘Sister Fidelma? Is that you?’

  It was Elen’s anxious voice.

  ‘It is I and Brother Eadulf,’ Fidelma called as they moved forward into the light and dismounted. Eadulf took their horses to the side of the hut where Elen’s own mount was tethered.

  They followed the girl inside. The interior had been cleared apart from the dark telltale stain on the floor which marked where Brother Meurig had met his death. Elen placed the lantern on the table, and seated herself on a bench in one corner. Fidelma sat on a small wooden stool opposite Elen while Eadulf looked about and then positioned himself awkwardly on the end of the bench which the girl had occupied.

  ‘A curious place to meet,’ Eadulf reiterated. ‘And cold,’ he added with a shiver.

  The girl agreed, but added: ‘It is better to be uncomfortable but secure from prying eyes and ears than warm where we can be overheard.’

  ‘Do you want to explain that remark now,’ Fidelma asked, ‘or shall we take up at the point where your father interrupted us?’

  The girl was suddenly hesitant.

  ‘Did you really mean it when you said that you thought Mair was killed in mistake for you?’ pressed Fidelma.

  Elen nodded unhappily.

  ‘Who do you think would want to kill you and why?’

  ‘There is an outlaw in these parts called-’

  ‘Clydog?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘Clydog Cacynen?’

  ‘You know of him?’ asked the girl in wonder.

  Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘We have had the pleasure of his company. Why would he kill you?’

  ‘Last week I was riding in those woods to the south of here. My horse picked up a stone in his hoof and I dismounted to remove it. As I was bending down, I heard voices raised in anger not far away. I left my horse and moved closer. I. .’ She paused and then gestured slightly defensively. ‘I am of a curious nature and wondered what the argument was about.’

  There was a brief silence while she gathered her thoughts.

  ‘There were three men in a small clearing away from the track which I was following. They were so busy with their argument that I was able to come up behind some bushes to observe them closely. One of them was a religieux, a broad-shouldered man. I felt that he was somehow familiar, but I could not recognise him.’

  ‘Why did you think that he was familiar?’ interrupted Eadulf with interest.

  The girl pouted as she gave the question some consideration. ‘I can’t say. Perhaps I was mistaken. It was simply a feeling.’

  ‘Continue,’ invited Fidelma. ‘Did you recognise the others?’

  ‘I knew only one of them. That was Clydog Cacynen.’

  ‘How did you know him?’

  ‘Because once, some months ago, I was returning with a companion to Llanwnda and we had stopped for refreshment at the hostel of Goff the smith.’

  ‘I know the place,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘While we were there, Clydog and his men rode in and demanded that Goff shoe one of their horses. They were in too much of a hurry to notice two young girls. I saw Clydog then. That’s how I recognised him in the forest.’

  ‘What about the third man?’ asked Eadulf.

  Elen shook her head. ‘I did not know him at all. He was a warrior.’

  ‘One of Clydog’s men?’

  She gave a negative movement of her head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Was he wearing a war helmet, blue-eyed?’

  ‘He was not wearing a helmet. I think that he had sandy hair but as for the colour of his eyes. . I am not sure.’

  ‘And this argument, what was it about?’

  ‘Little that made sense. The curious thing. .’ She hesitated. ‘The curious thing was that the religieux seemed to be issuing orders to Clydog and to the other man.’

  ‘Can you recall exactly what was said?’

  ‘Not really. I remember Clydog was saying something about the plan being. . what was the word?. . convoluted, that’s it. Convoluted and without guarantee of success.’

  ‘What plan?’ demanded Eadulf.

  Elen shrugged. ‘That I do not know. The religieux turned to Clydog and said something like he must obey his instructions or it would not go well with him. Something like that, anyway.’

  Fidelma looked thoughtful. ‘What did Clydog say to that?’

  ‘He was defiant, but he seemed to show some deference to the religieux.’

  ‘That does not sound like the Clydog we saw,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘He seemed to have no respect for members of the Faith.’

  Elen smiled wanly at him. ‘You are right, Saxon. Clydog is no respecter of the Faith. The stories about him are legion. . he is said to be a very cruel and evil man. The king himself sent warriors to flush him out of the woods, but without success.’

  ‘But he was deferential to this religieux?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Well, continue, Elen. What then?’

  ‘The other man, the warrior, seemed to be siding with the religieux. He said something like “The king has worked out this plan himself” — I remember that. And that it would succeed if it were followed to the letter.’

  Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. ‘The king? Gwlyddien?’

  Elen shrugged. ‘He just said “the king”. Gwlyddien is certainly king of Dyfed. Clydog was dismissive. He said something about seizing power at the point of a sword. The religieux said that it would put all the kingdoms against them unless it was seen to be a legal claim. It was then that my horse became fretful, snorted and stamped.

  ‘Clydog and the warrior rose, startled. They looked directly towards me. I turned and ran. I heard them shouting and running after me. I leapt for my horse and galloped away down the track. They must have left their horses elsewhere for they did not pursue me.’

  Fidelma sat back thoughtfully. ‘So what brings you to the conclusion that you were the intended victim of the murder and not Mair?’

  ‘Mair and I were of the same age, build and colouring. We were sometimes taken for sisters, looking much alike. It was o
nly after I began to think about Mair’s death, and knowing that poor Idwal was incapable of it, that I began to realise.’

  ‘Realise what?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘That Clydog must have had a glimpse of me as I fled. He must have thought that I had overheard something that was important; something secret which they had been discussing. I think that Clydog came upon Mair in the woods and mistook her for me. I think Clydog killed her.’

  Fidelma digested the claim in silence before asking her next question. ‘Did you tell anyone about overhearing this conversation?’

  Elen shook her head slowly.

  ‘Surely, you told your father? As lord of Pen Caer he is the local authority. He should know of any conspiracy within his lands.’

  The girl shook her head defensively. ‘I thought it was best to keep this to myself. I was fearful of Clydog’s vengeance and, as it later proved, with good reason.’

  ‘But after Mair was killed,’ Eadulf suggested, ‘did you not think it wise to tell your father?’

  ‘I did not. Perhaps I was being selfish, perhaps callous. I felt. .’ She suddenly gave a sob and her face creased in anguish. It took a few moments for her to regain control. ‘I could only feel relief. When I realised that Mair might have been killed instead of me. I thought that there was an end to it. That Clydog would not come after me. That I was safe. That was all I thought. May God forgive me.’

  Fidelma leant forward and patted the girl on the arm. ‘It was a natural reaction, Elen. So you have kept your secret until now?’

  Elen wiped her eyes and nodded.

  ‘Why now?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Why do you feel that you can tell us now?’

  The girl looked disconcerted for a moment, and Fidelma smiled encouragingly at her.

  ‘It is a good point,’ she said. ‘You could have continued to remain silent about this. You did not have to tell anyone.’

  Elen was silent, lips compressed, head bowed.

  ‘Come, there must be a reason?’ Fidelma coaxed.

  The flash of lightning created such a brilliant white glitter that they were blinded by its intensity for a moment; a fraction of a second. Then the crack of thunder almost deafened them. Nearby, a crash and a splutter of flame showed where a tall tree had been struck.