Smoke in the Wind

Chapter Eighteen

Eadulf leapt to his feet.

The shouting had come from the Saxons, who had spied the oncoming vessel. There was no mistaking the intention of the other ship, nor that it was manned by Welisc. The dragon battle flag seemed common to most of the Britons. It had been the symbol of the great Macsen Wledig, whom the Romans had called Magnus Maximus when he was declared emperor of the western empire by the legions stationed in Britain. It was curious what thoughts came in moments of adversity. Macsen was betrayed and put to death. His wife, Elen, returned to Britain to become the most influential figure in the Christian movement, her sons and daughters founding many kingdoms of the Britons.

Eadulf watched the oncoming Welisc vessel with consternation. It was clear that the Saxon ship would have no chance to escape or manoeuvre. The new mast had only just been lifted on board and it would take a while to put it in place, let alone hoist the rigging and sails. Osric’s ship was lying helpless.

Eadulf found himself squeezing his hands into fists in his frustration, so tightly that the nails dug into the flesh of his palms. Osric’s men had grabbed their shields and weapons and rushed to the side of their vessel in a desperate attempt to repel boarders. And then a curious thing happened.

When there was still several metres between the high prow of the Welisc ship and the side of the Saxon vessel, the red dragon ship turned aside and almost slewed round, still moving rapidly, so that it passed swiftly away from the Saxons. Eadulf heard shouting and saw several burning brand torches being thrown across by the Britons, landing on the Saxon deck and starting several small fires which were quickly extinguished by Osric’s men.

Eadulf was baffled. He had been expecting a barrage of arrows from the bows which the Britons often used, or a boarding party with sword and shield. Yet the Welisc ship passed swiftly on, the sailing master obviously knowing the currents of this bay. Even as the vessel swung away, Eadulf saw several dark objects fall from its stern. Even from this distance he could recognise the shapes as human beings, and from the way they fell and floated in the water he realised that they were dead.

Bewildered, he watched the Welisc ship race out of the bay back the way it had come, round the headland. He waited for quite a long time, fully expecting to see the vessel reappear. When it did not, he decided to make his way down to the shore.

The Saxons were back at work on their ship, hoisting the newly cut mast into position. Others were clearly on watch, for he heard a shout and saw someone gesturing at him as he walked down the shingle. A couple of bodies lay in the surf, face down, moving gently to and fro as the waves washed ashore.

He had been recognised, for he saw Osric and a couple of his men climbing down into a boat and pulling away from the ship towards the shore.

Eadulf walked over to the nearest body.

It was that of a young man, clad in the brown woollen robe of a religieux. The young man’s hair was cut in the tonsure of St John, the style worn by the religious of the Britons as well as the five kingdoms of Éireann. He was but recently dead, perhaps killed at the moment he had been thrown overboard. The wound — his neck had been cut — was still bleeding.

Eadulf bent down, grabbed the young man’s shoulders, and heaved him out of the surf further onto the shingled beach. In doing so, he saw something which had been looped round the man’s left wrist and arm. To a quick examination, it might appear that he had grabbed something from his assailant. It was a piece of cloth on which was embroidered one of the symbols which pagan Saxons still affected. Eadulf recognised it immediately as an Hwicce emblem, and exhaled sharply.

The crunch of shingle trodden underfoot made him look up. Osric came hurrying across to him while his two men stood guarding their small boat, ready to push off back to their ship if danger threatened. The eorl appeared angry.

‘Did you have anything to do with that?’ he demanded immediately, gesturing towards the headland round which the Welisc ship had disappeared. Eadulf realised that Osric was holding his sword menacingly in his pointing hand. ‘You said that there were no Welisc warriors in the vicinity.’

‘I did,’ Eadulf said, raising himself up. ‘The appearance of that ship was as much a surprise to me as to you.’ He pointed down to the corpse. ‘Did you have anything to do with this?’

Osric, disconcerted, glanced down. ‘You saw the Welisc throw those bodies overboard from their ship, didn’t you? Why would we have anything to do with this?’

‘Look at the object looped round the arm of this man.’

Osric bent down. ‘By the blood of Woden!’ he swore. He looked back to Eadulf with a frown. ‘What does this mean?’

‘It means,’ Eadulf said quietly, ‘that anyone who examines these bodies will presume that they were killed by Hwicce.’

Osric was silent. Eadulf turned and went to the other body that had been washed ashore, drawing it also out of the reach of the waves. It, too, was a religieux, not as young as the first one. In his back, quite deeply embedded, was an Hwicce dagger. As Eadulf was laying the body down on the shingle, a groan came from its lips.

‘Deus misereatur!’ cried Eadulf, bending closer. ‘This one is still alive.’

Osric came over and bent down by his side. ‘Not for long, my friend,’ he muttered. ‘I have seen wounds like this and no man recovers. Stop!’ Eadulf had been about to remove the Hwicce dagger from the man’s back. ‘If you remove the dagger he will die immediately. Turn him slightly so that he may speak before he dies.’

Eadulf turned the body on its side. ‘Can you hear me, Brother?’ he asked, in the language of the Cymry. He had been speaking to Osric in Saxon.

The man’s eyelids fluttered and he gave a sound like a barely audible moan.

‘Can you speak?’ urged Eadulf. ‘Who did this thing to you?’

The man’s mouth moved slightly. Eadulf bent his ear to the lips.

‘Break. . break up the bronze. . bronze serpent that Moses made,’ came the painful whisper.

Eadulf did not understand. ‘Who did this to you?’ he whispered again, more urgently.

‘Evil in our midst. . the creature of the damned, the evil spider. . casting his net. . ensnared us all. . He was one. . of us!’ The man abruptly coughed blood and was still.

Osric stated the obvious: ‘He’s dead, my friend. Did you learn anything?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I think he was rambling. In a fever, perhaps.’ He rose and glanced at Osric. ‘I don’t suppose that you recognised the ship which attacked you?’

The young Saxon thane nodded. ‘That was the ship of Morgan, the one we had chased from the mouth of the River Saeferne out along the coast of these kingdoms.’

‘They could have destroyed your ship.’

Osric did not demur. ‘They could have done so. They might still, if they have courage to come back to match our mettle.’

Eadulf was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘I do not think they lack courage. Yet it is hard to understand why they did not finish off the job. Why simply dump these poor bodies overboard?’

‘Who are they?’

‘Religious. I have a suspicion that they might be part of the missing community of Llanpadern. Though why that should be I do not know.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No more do I. I also suspect that whoever sails that red dragon ship. . Morgan, did you say?. . is trying to put the blame for these deaths onto you. Bodies of the religious found where you had anchored offshore also had Hwicce weapons near them. Why would they take pains to do this?’

Osric smiled grimly. ‘It is not the first time the Hwicce have been attacked by the Welisc and not the first time we have killed Welisc Christians. So we do not care about bearing the blame for these deaths.’

Eadulf was thoughtful. ‘Why is there a need to lay the blame on the Saxons in order to stir up enmity? The very name of Saxon is enough to rouse these folk to hatred, Christian or pagan. Is there some deeper meaning to this?’

‘It is not for me to ponder on any deeper meaning, Eadulf the Christian. My only regret is that my ship was not ready otherwise I would have destroyed that ship of Gwent. Now it has probably found some hiding place further up the coast.’

Eadulf looked towards the Saxon ship. ‘How long will it take to repair your mast?’

‘We’ll have done within the hour. As soon as the mast is raised I mean to out the oars and row further down the coast just in case the Welisc returns to the attack again. We’ll repair the rigging while we are under way.’ He hesitated. ‘What about you? Surely you are not safe in this kingdom now?’

Eadulf was inclined to agree with him, but he accepted that Fate led him on another path. ‘I must return to Llanwnda. There are things to resolve before I can see my homeland again.’ While he had been speaking, his eyes had been examining the beach and the cliffs behind it. He had spotted several dark openings. ‘Those caves there will be useful,’ he said suddenly.

‘Useful for what?’

‘The bodies of the religious with their carefully planted items of Hwicce origin were tossed overboard for a purpose. That purpose seems obvious: those that discover them are to infer that the men on your ship did the killing. It could be that the Welisc have gone to raise the alarm somewhere along the coast and then will come back and destroy you.’

‘But they don’t need such a justification to do that,’ pointed out Osric.

Eadulf was momentarily dejected. ‘That I also know. But the fact is they did it as justification. At whom that justification is aimed is the mystery; not the justification itself.’

‘Then what are you saying, gerefa?’

‘Until I can discover that fact, I would rather put some grit in their newly churned butter.’

‘How would you do that?’

‘May I borrow a couple of your men to bring those bodies still floating in the sea to shore, and then use them to help me hide the dead in one of those caves? The fact that they will not be found immediately might destroy whatever plan the Welisc have devised.’

Osric grinned and slapped his thigh. ‘Spoken like a man of action and a true gerefa, Eadulf the Christian. I thought that all you of the new faith spoke of peace and love and honesty. Why, you are a man worthy of service in the company of Tiw, mighty god of war and strategy.’

Eadulf allowed the compliment to pass. After all, it had not been so long ago that he had been content to worship Woden, Tiw, Thunor, Frig and the pantheon of Saxon gods.

Osric began to issue the necessary orders. His two companions launched their boat and rowed towards the bobbing bodies making their slow progress towards the shore line.

Osric turned back to Eadulf. ‘I’ll help you with this one.’

Together they lifted the body and clambered up the shingled beach. At the foot of the cliffs they laid it down while Eadulf went to examine the few cave entrances. He chose one which was deep enough for a cursory examination not to reveal the bodies, and he and Osric carried the first body inside. By the time they returned for the second body Osric’s companions had brought up the third. They returned for the fourth while Eadulf ensured there were no telltale signs that would lead anyone to the cave.

‘What now, Eadulf the Christian?’

‘Now I shall return to Llanwnda to try to sort out this mystery.’

Osric smiled and shook his head. ‘You are a brave man to remain among these barbarians.’

‘Have you ever reflected, Osric,’ Eadulf replied with a grimace, ‘that it is a strange world when two peoples each believe it is the other who are barbarians?’

‘One day I will find time to learn something about your Christian faith, Eadulf. Who knows, perhaps it has something to teach us?’

‘Perhaps it does,’ Eadulf agreed solemnly.

Osric raised a hand in farewell and, with an order to his men, set off down the beach to his boat. Eadulf turned and made his way quickly up the path to the top of the cliff, to the point where he had left his horse tethered. When he looked back, he could see that the new tall mast was already in position. It would not be long before Osric’s ship was moving out of the bay.

He mounted his horse and set off at a quick trot in the direction of Llanwnda.

‘You have been a long time! I have been waiting for you.’

Eadulf was approaching the small bridge across the stream that marked the boundary of Llanwnda. Fidelma was seated on a fallen log, her horse tethered a short distance away.

He halted and dismounted. ‘Something unusual happened which delayed me,’ he replied.

She examined his features and read the grim lines of his face. ‘Do you wish to tell me about it?’ she inquired.

He glanced towards the apparently deserted buildings of the township. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Still hiding, I presume. They do not trust the Saxons. I did inform one of Gwnda’s men that they had nothing to fear, I don’t think he believed me.’

The two of them walked their horses side by side across the bridge into the township. Sparing no significant detail, Eadulf quickly told her what had happened and what he had done.

She remained deep in thought for some time after he had finished. ‘That is intriguing,’ she said at last.

Eadulf raised an eyebrow. ‘Intriguing is not the word I would use.’

‘Yet there is no other way to describe this event. Tell me — and do not stand on any false idea of kinship — did you trust this man Osric in all he said?’

Eadulf scowled momentarily. ‘What do you mean by trust?’

‘Did you believe his story? Believe it when he said he was chasing a ship of this Morgan of Gwent and that it was the same ship that sailed into the bay?’

‘I think, insofar as my ability to discern those who are frugal with the truth goes, I would say that he was telling the complete truth. Nor could he understand why the red dragon ship did not destroy him and his men while it had the chance.’

Fidelma nodded swiftly. ‘That is the most remarkable thing. Surely, whoever commanded that ship would know that Osric would not wait around to be attacked further? Why such a futile action? It was obvious, as you concluded, that this Morgan merely meant to dump those bodies in the bay. That the Saxons were intended to be blamed for the slaughter is also obvious. But why?’

‘I have asked myself that question several times on my way here. There is no simple answer.’

‘If these were bodies of the religious of Llanpadern, and if Osric’s men did not raid the community, why would this Morgan do so and why is he trying to place the blame on the Saxons?’

‘I am sure that we have heard the name Morgan recently and I am trying to remember where.’

‘You are right, Eadulf. It was Corryn who mentioned the name last night. But was it the same Morgan?’

‘Good questions, as you have often said. Now we must find good answers.’

‘Exactly so,’ agreed Fidelma cheerfully.

They had halted just beyond Iorwerth’s deserted forge. The pause in their conversation now brought a sound to their ears: the unmistakable noise of galloping horses. Three or four of them, at least. Some instinct made Fidelma motion to Eadulf to follow her and run quickly with her horse round the corner of the building next to the forge.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.

She shook her head and placed a finger to her lips.

The thunder of the approaching horses had diminished. The gallop slowed to a trot and then came the sound of their riders pulling up. Fidelma moved to the edge of the building and peered round. Eadulf was surprised when she swiftly pulled back.

‘It’s Clydog!’ she hissed.

Eadulf glanced round, seeking a hiding place or a means of escape.

‘Wait!’ whispered Fidelma, leaning forward to peer round again. ‘He’s not dismounting. He has two men with him.’

To their surprise they heard the door of Iorwerth’s cabin open and heard a well-known voice greet Clydog. It was Iestyn.

‘You are a fool to tell me to meet you here!’ snarled the farmer.

Clydog uttered his typical sardonic laugh. ‘Is this the way a host should greet a traveller, friend Iestyn?’

‘Any moment Gwnda and the others might return. So might that meddlesome Gwyddel and her crony, the Saxon.’

Fortunately, it seemed Iestyn was standing at the entrance to the forge and Clydog and his men were making no effort to dismount.

‘Ah, I would like to meet with them again. They owe me the pleasure of vengeance,’ came Clydog’s voice.

‘They escaped from you once,’ sneered Iestyn. ‘They’ll probably do so again. Our mutual friend, Corryn, told me all about it. In the meantime, your bungling has nearly ruined everything. They are asking too many questions, getting too near the truth of this matter.’

‘Why should you worry? Artglys of Ceredigion will guarantee you protection.’

‘Every moment the Gwyddel and the Saxon stay in Llanwnda is dangerous for our cause. That was why you were supposed to take care of them.’

‘So I shall. But there are more important matters to see to first. There is plenty of time.’

‘When will we get the word?’

‘As soon as we hear that Gwlyddien is marching east.’

‘I cannot stay longer. You were a fool to come to this place. Why did you summon me here?’

‘To tell you that Morgan carried out his part. Now you must do yours.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that word gets to Gwlyddien about the latest Saxon outrage. Did everything else go to plan?’

‘So far.’

‘I still say that the Gwyddel woman and her friend could destroy everything.’

‘Have no fear, Iestyn. The word will soon come. The people of Dyfed will believe anything about the Saxons. I have sent one of my men to the abbey of Dewi Sant with news of the Saxon raids. If this does not stir that old fool Gwlyddien to march then his people will start taking matters into their own hands. Whatever way, we will be victorious. Make sure that some of your people bear witness to the bodies and see the Saxon ship.’

‘What if this does not work?’

‘It will work. As soon as Gwlyddien is forced to march against the Saxons, Artglys of Ceredigion will march south into the kingdom and within a day or two you will be looking at the new king.’

‘There is an old saying, Clydog, “The end of the day is a good profit”,’ Iestyn replied pessimistically.

‘Just make sure that you get witnesses to see the Saxon ship and the bodies,’ snapped Clydog, kicking his horse and leading his men back across the bridge into the forest.

Fidelma and Eadulf waited until they heard Iestyn leave the forge and disappear into the woods in the direction of his farmstead. Eadulf gave a long whistling sigh.

‘I think I am more confused than ever,’ he confessed, standing back from the door.

Fidelma shook her head. ‘On the contrary, things have been made abundantly clear.’

‘Clear?’

‘It is now clear that Prince Cathen’s suspicions about Dyfed’s neighbour, King Artglys of Ceredigion, have a firm foundation. Ceredigion is trying to create a situation where Gwlyddien and his army are persuaded to attack the Hwicce. While they are away, Artglys will march into Dyfed to set up a puppet ruler answerable to him.’

‘Do you mean Clydog?’

‘It is possible.’

‘So what you are saying is that the affair of Llanpadern was staged to force Gwlyddien’s hand? That this Morgan marched on Llanpadern because Gwlyddien’s son Rhun was a religieux in that community?’

‘Precisely so.’

‘I still do not understand the details. . why take all the members of the community prisoner and then wait a day or two before killing some of them and staging that first elaborate charade of an Hwicce attack?’

Fidelma was nodding thoughtfully.

‘I think that might be explained. Brother Cyngar and the boy Idwal were not expected to arrive at Llanpadern that morning. Whoever did the deed did not even know that they had visited Llanpadern and found the community missing. Why the wait before starting to kill their prisoners? Because whoever took the community had to wait until the Saxon ship was sighted before staging the first “attack”. Cyngar and Idwal upset the plan from the first by arriving on the scene too early.’

‘But what of the death of the girl Mair?’

‘We still have to work that into the scheme of things.’ She stood up. ‘There are a couple of people we need to question before we can clarify matters there. Come.’

She led the way into the township. A few people were beginning to drift back to their houses, having been assured that the Saxon ship had sailed.

‘Should we try to stop Iestyn taking some townsfolk to see the Hwicce leaving?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Are you sure that the bodies of the religieux are well hidden?’ Eadulf asserted they were, and Fidelma went on: ‘Then we will leave that matter for a while and finish our other business.’

They had halted before a small building by which stood a stone statuette of a woman on horseback with a basket of fruit. Fidelma knew it was the old pagan horse goddess Epona, whom the ancients regarded as the symbol of fertility and health. The building was clearly the township’s apothecary shop. There was light and movement behind the thick, opaque glass windows.

Fidelma went inside. Eadulf followed, mystified. An elderly man was sitting at a bench pounding some herbs in a mortar with a wooden pestle. He looked up as they entered.

‘Ah, you are the dálaigh from Cashel, eh? Exciting times, eh? But not the first time we have had to abandon our township and take to the forests. The Ceredigion have sailed into the bay more than once in my lifetime, not to mention the Saxons.’ The old man was clearly of a loquacious temperament.

‘I presume that you are Elisse the apothecary?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I am. How can I be of service?’

‘Did Brother Meurig seek you out before he was killed?’

‘Ah, that was a sad death. Sadder that the people lost their senses and killed that young boy. Justice should not be an act of mere vengeance.’

‘Did Brother Meurig ask your opinion on the death of Mair?’

The apothecary shook his head. ‘He did not, although I was told that he wanted to speak with me. However. . his time was short.’

‘Then will you answer a couple of questions for me? I know what he wanted to ask you.’

The apothecary regarded her expectantly. ‘I am at your service, Sister. Ask away,’ he invited with gravity.

‘You were called to examine the body of the girl Mair, weren’t you?’

Elisse nodded in affirmation. ‘Sad when one so young departs this life. Sad indeed.’

‘What was the cause of death?’

‘I would say that she was strangled first. Bruising and abrasions around her neck showed that.’

‘Strangled first?’ Fidelma picked up on the word.

‘The other wounds were made after death, as if in some frenzy.’

Fidelma was leaning forward eagerly. ‘Other wounds? What other wounds?’

Elisse regarded her in surprise for a moment. ‘You were surely told about the knife wounds?’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf. ‘We have heard no mention of knife wounds. I heard that there was blood on her lower clothing. But we were told that this indicated that she had been raped and that she was a virgin.’

‘No, that was the conclusion that Gwnda leapt to when he pointed the blood out to me. He and Iorwerth claimed that the girl must have been raped before death. Iorwerth believed his daughter to be a virgin.’

‘What are you saying exactly? That she was not?’

‘I am afraid not. I paid particular attention to the matter for when my wife was cleaning her body for burial she was troubled by wounds made on the upper inner thigh. I realised that two wounds had been made by a broad-bladed knife. This was the source of the heavy bleeding.’

Fidelma was silent as she contemplated what she had been told.

‘I explained that there’ — the apothecary gave an embarrassed shrug — ‘there was no sign of sexual molestation. And I would guarantee that she was no virgo intacta.’

‘Could you tell by examination?’

‘My wife did that. She also told me that she was not surprised, for a year ago the girl had approached her and asked about ways to prevent pregnancy. I speak boldly, Sister, but you must know how women hand down such lore.’

‘Mair asked your wife this question?’

‘You may ask her yourself.’ The apothecary turned as if to call her but Fidelma restrained him with a shake of her head.

‘There is no need. Your word as an apothecary is good enough. That is all I want to know. It makes things very clear.’

They left the apothecary shop and Eadulf noticed that Fidelma was walking with a light step and smiling to herself. There were many more people in the street now. It seemed that everyone had returned and there was no longer any fear of a Saxon attack. To Eadulf’s surprise, Fidelma turned back in the direction of Iorwerth’s forge.

‘Where now?’ he asked.

She indicated the forge at the end of the street. ‘A final link to be put in place,’ she said mysteriously.

They could hear Iorwerth at work before they reached the forge. He was rekindling his fire and they could hear the rasping of his bellows as he tried to get the wood to catch. He looked up with a scowl as they hitched their horses to the fence and entered the forge.

‘What now?’ he demanded ungraciously. ‘Are your Saxon friends going to attack us?’

‘There are just a few points that we need clarification on.’ Fidelma responded to his brusque manner with a pleasant smile.

Iorwerth set down the bellows and folded his arms, glaring defiantly from one to the other. ‘Gwnda claims that you have no right to ask questions about the death of my daughter. I shall not answer those questions.’

‘That is fair enough,’ agreed Fidelma easily.

Iorwerth started in surprise at her ready agreement. ‘If not my daughter’s death, then what do you want to speak to me about?’

‘Yesterday you had a visitor to your forge.’

Iorwerth’s jaw clenched. ‘I have many come to the forge. It is my business.’

‘This man was a warrior and, I am told, a stranger to this district.’

The smith was frowning. ‘I do not usually have warriors. .’ He paused, and his expression told them that he had recalled the man. ‘Why do you inquire after that man?’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘As you say, he was a stranger, a warrior. His horse had loosed a shoe. I fixed it.’

‘You had never seen him before?’

‘Never. He spent a short time here. He asked for mead to drink, for which he paid, and spent a pleasant time exchanging some gossip while I fixed his horse’s shoe. That was all.’

‘Tell me,’ Fidelma pressed, ‘did Elen, Gwnda’s daughter, pass by at that time?’

‘How did you know that?’ demanded Iorwerth, slightly surprised at the recollection. ‘She did. I remember that because the warrior asked me who she was.’

‘You told him, of course?’

‘I said that she was the daughter of Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer.’

‘Did he tell you why he wanted to know?’

‘I think he said something like, “There’s a fine-looking girl, who is she?” ’

‘Nothing else passed between you?’

Iorwerth shook his head. ‘Nothing, as I recall. He passed the time of day while I fixed his horse’s shoe. We exchanged a few jokes and gossiped. That is all.’

‘Did he mention his name by any chance?’

Again, Iorwerth made a negative gesture.

‘Nor where he came from?’

‘No, although I could guess.’

‘Really? And what was your guess?’

‘He was either from Ceredigion or somewhere along its borders.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Smiths are a close-knit community. It is easy to recognise types of work. From what I saw of his horse and his weapons, I could swear that the work was done in Ceredigion.’

‘Very well.’

‘Why do you ask about this man?’

‘A matter of curiosity,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Let me ask you something else. Were you ever a warrior?’

Iorwerth looked startled. ‘Never. I have always been a smith.’

‘I understand that you learnt your craft in Dinas?’

The bolt went home. Iorwerth blinked rapidly. He did not reply for a moment or two. Then he said, slowly: ‘It is many years since I was last in Dinas.’

‘Twenty years ago?’

‘That is about right. How did you know this?’

Fidelma had taken something from her marsupium. She suddenly held it before his eyes. It was the red gold chain with the bejewelled image of the hare hanging from it.

‘Have you ever seen that before?’ she demanded.

A paleness crept over Iorwerth’s features as he stared at the pendant.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asked slowly.

‘Do you recognise it?’ she insisted.

‘I last saw that twenty years ago. Where did you get it?’

‘Iolo the shepherd, before he died, gave it to Idwal. Iolo told the boy that it belonged to his mother.’

Iorwerth stepped back as if he had received a body blow. His eyes widened and his mouth had opened slightly. He was looking at them but not seeing them. Then his features seemed to dissolve.

‘Oh, my God!’ he cried.

Then, before either of them could react, he had turned, grabbed the mane of an unsaddled horse, swung himself up and gone racing away over the bridge and into the woods.