Smoke in the Wind

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.’

‘Did she go off with Iorwerth?’

‘She did not. Iorwerth had vanished and the girl was on her own. It seems that poor Efa took up with an itinerant warrior and had a child by him. Then Efa died.’

‘Did she die in childbirth?’

‘She was found in nearby woods, strangled, when her child was a few months old.’

‘Strangled?’ Fidelma was not often overtly startled but she set down her mead carefully.

‘It was very sad. Poor Gurgust gave up the forge after that. I did hear that he tried to find and claim custody of Efa’s child.’

‘Did he succeed?’

‘Not that I know of. The warrior had already given up the child and vanished in a host that marched on Ceredigion. I left Dinas and moved to the smithy here in Llanferran. It was only some years later that I heard that Gurgust had been killed in one of the border raids. In spite of his actions, he loved his daughter, Efa, and when she was murdered. .’ He ended with a shrug.

‘Did they ever find out who was responsible for Efa’s death?’ asked Fidelma when he paused.

Goff shook his head. ‘There was speculation that the warrior who had befriended her was the murderer. But no one knew who he was nor was he ever caught. There was even some argument that it was none other than Iorwerth himself.’

‘Was Iorwerth ever questioned about it?’

Goff was not surprised at her query. It had doubtless been asked many times over the years.

‘Of course. But Iorwerth had left Dinas as soon as Gurgust had thrown him out. At least no one could find him. It was thought that he had been in one of the hosts which marched on Ceredigion. Then, some years later, it was found that he had set up his own smithy at Llanwnda. Then he married Esyllt, my wife’s friend, and Mair was born. There was nothing to connect him with the death of Efa except rumour. Some felt that a wandering beggar had killed her, because the golden chain that she always wore — a chain of red gold which Gurgust had fashioned for her and which she had prized — was missing. It carried a strangely shaped gold pendant with jewels ending in the likeness of a hare. It was the symbol of Andrasta, the old pagan goddess of my people.’

‘Andrasta?’ queried Fidelma. ‘I have not heard of this goddess.’

‘They say the great queen, Boudicca, invoked her before she drove the Romans out of her kingdom,’ explained Goff.

‘And this gold chain and pendant was missing?’

‘It was. The conclusion was that she had simply been robbed and killed.’

‘Nevertheless, Iorwerth was suspected?’

‘He is an evil man, Sister,’ interrupted Rhonwen. ‘I would not put anything past him.’

Fidelma sat awhile, frowning. ‘Is Dinas far from here?’

‘It is a long way around the coastline. But if you went to the coast a few kilometres north-west of Llanwnda, then took a boat across the great bay there, Dinas is the island on the far side of the bay: a distance of perhaps five kilometres. Often the island is the object of attacks from Ceredigion just along the coast. But Gurgust and his daughter Efa are long forgotten. This happened twenty or more years ago. There is nothing there now.’

‘It seems a curious coincidence that both the daughter of Gurgust and the daughter of Iorwerth should meet their deaths in similar circumstances.’ Fidelma was reflective.

‘How can there be any connection?’ demanded Goff.

‘You said that Gurgust was killed in some border war?’

‘I did.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It is what I heard.’ The smith’s eyes suddenly lightened and he smiled. ‘If Gurgust lived, and believed that Iorwerth had killed his daughter, then he would have sought revenge long ago. Gurgust is long dead.’

Rhonwen leant forward across the table and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Even so, husband, the good sister must have a reason for asking the question. Are you saying that you believe Idwal to be innocent of young Mair’s death? Does Brother Meurig also believe this?’

Goff interrupted before Fidelma could respond.

‘You told us that you had come here to investigate the raid at Llanpadern. What is your interest in the death of Mair of Llanwnda?’ he demanded suspiciously.

Fidelma reassured him. ‘We journeyed to Llanwnda with Brother Meurig. He is there to investigate the killing. It is natural that our curiosity is piqued by the affair, and what help we can render to Brother Meurig we are willing to give.’

‘So you do believe that Idwal is innocent,’ Rhonwen said shrewdly. ‘No barnwr would waste their time on such questions unless they suspected that all was not as it seemed.’

‘How well do you know Idwal?’

Rhonwen answered with a smile. ‘As Goff said, we are a small community.’

‘What do you make of him?’

‘Make of him?’ Rhonwen was puzzled.

‘Do you think him capable of murder?’

‘Who is and who is not capable of taking a life given the circumstances?’ countered Goff. ‘We are all capable of doing so, I should imagine.’

‘I think Sister Fidelma means, what is your assessment of Idwal? Is he a likeable boy? Would he kill without justification?’

Goff rubbed his nose. ‘He is a half-wit.’

Rhonwen made a tutting sound and shook her head. Fidelma turned to her.

‘You disagree with that assessment?’

‘He isn’t a half-wit. He is merely slow. Almost child-like. He did not have a pleasant childhood after Iolo the shepherd died. Iolo fostered the boy as a baby. He was still a boy when Iolo’s brother, Iestyn, drove him out. Since then Idwal has had to earn a living as an itinerant shepherd.’

‘I’ll not deny that the boy has a fairly gentle nature,’ agreed Goff. ‘There is no denying that. He would weep every time one of his lambs died. But who knows what provoked him? We all have the instinct to kill when presented with the right circumstances, and the boy was deep. He kept his thoughts to himself. Who knew what angers lay beneath his quiet exterior?’

‘So you believe that he is guilty?’ asked Eadulf.

‘I believe what I am told by men whose opinions I respect.’

‘And who is it that you respect who told you Idwal was guilty?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

‘Why, Iestyn of Llanwnda, of course.’

Fidelma saw Rhonwen screw her features into a brief expression of dislike.

‘You do not think much of Iestyn, do you?’

Goff’s wife made her views clear. ‘When I think of him throwing that young boy out to fend for himself. . and now he has the gall to level the finger of blame.’

Goff tried to defend his opinion. ‘Iestyn has been a good friend to me. And perhaps he was right to throw the boy out years ago. Perhaps he saw what was coming.’

‘I know this is a small community, but when did you speak with Iestyn on this matter?’ Fidelma probed.

‘A day or so ago. He came by with a cart that needed a repair.’

‘I thought he was a friend of Iorwerth. Surely Iorwerth was closer at hand and would have been able to mend his cart?’

‘What my husband means,’ sniffed Rhonwen, ‘is that Iestyn was delivering a cartload of hides to a trader near here when his cart broke. Easier to call here than drag it all the way back to Llanwnda.’

‘I understand. So Iestyn was the one who told you what had happened and said that Idwal was guilty.’

‘He was,’ said Goff, rising abruptly. ‘And now, pleasant though it is to gossip, I have my forge to get back to.’

Fidelma stood up and Eadulf followed reluctantly. She knew when she had been dismissed.

‘We have a journey to complete. But let me ask one more question before we depart.’

Goff made a gesture which seemed to indicate the invitation to put the question.

‘You say that this is a small community and everyone knows one another?’

Rhonwen was beginning to clear the remains of the meal from the table. She smiled. ‘Are you seeking information about someone?’

‘I am. What can you tell me about a man who calls himself Clydog Cacynen or another who goes by the name of Corryn?’

The jug which Rhonwen had been holding fell to the floor and shattered into a number of pieces, allowing the little remaining mead to splash over the wooden boards. Goff moved forward, frowning, as Rhonwen began to apologise nervously and start picking up the pieces.

‘How did you come across the name of Clydog?’ he demanded.

‘We heard that there was an outlaw in this area and were warned to be careful of him,’ she lied easily. ‘I simply wanted to know who he was.’

‘If you want to ask about him, ask Father Clidro. He once tried to negotiate a peace with him.’

‘But Father Clidro-’ began Eadulf.

‘Father Clidro, as you will recall, is no longer at Llanpadern nor is any of his community,’ interrupted Fidelma quickly, with a warning glance at Eadulf.

‘Then we can answer no more questions,’ Goff said firmly. ‘I would merely add my voice to those you have heard already and urge you to avoid meeting with Clydog. He is a scourge on our people. He has sharp ears and punishes swiftly. We will say no more. I give you God’s speed on your journey.’

His expression was resolute. It was clear that his wife was upset at the mention of Clydog but also clear that Fidelma and Eadulf had outstayed their welcome at Llanferran.

Goff refused payment for the hospitality that he had provided, muttering the usual formula that prayers offered up by the religious on behalf of his wife and himself were worth more than gold or silver. Fidelma and Eadulf responded with the usual blessing. But there was an emptiness about the ritual; it was performed without feeling.

As soon as it was over, Fidelma and Eadulf retrieved their horses from Dewi at the forge and took the trail which the youth indicated as leading to Llanwnda.

‘Curious,’ observed Eadulf, after they had travelled without speaking for a while.

Fidelma, immersed in her own thoughts, glanced absently at him. ‘What?’

‘Remember Rhonwen’s reaction when you asked about Clydog? The smith also seem scared to death of the man.’

‘With cause, no doubt,’ she agreed. ‘Unfortunately, we can no longer ask Father Clidro about him. From the look on Rhonwen’s face, I suspect that Clydog is not beyond rape as well as pillage.’

‘Short of being able to ask Clydog, which I do not propose doing,’ responded Eadulf in grim amusement, ‘I think we will not be able to resolve that mystery. However, so far as the disappearance of the brethren of Llanpadern is concerned, I think we may now offer an explanation to Gwlyddien, as much as I am embarrassed by it.’

Fidelma answered with a short laugh. ‘We may offer an explanation, but is it the right one? Come, let me hear your version.’

Eadulf look slightly pained at her sceptical response. ‘My explanation is the same as I offered before.’

Fidelma was still smiling softly. ‘And that is. .?’

‘I do not make excuses for my people, but you know that many Saxon ships raid the coast for plunder and slaves. A Hwicce ship landed here, raided the community at Llanpadern. In the raid, one of them was killed. . the man we found in the tomb. The raiders then marched their captives back to their ship. Something happened when they reached the cliff overlooking the ship. Perhaps an attempt to escape. Seven were cut down. The evidence of Hwicce weapons and a shield shows who did it.’

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 death 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.