Smoke in the Wind

Epilogue

‘I think that you made a splendid presentation, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said approvingly.

The coast of Dyfed was disappearing in the distance as they stood resting against the taffrail of the Frankish trading ship beating its way southwards across St Bride’s Bay. It was a satisfying feeling to sense the bounce of the hull against the waves; see the rise and dip of the vanishing coastline; hear the crack of the thin leather sails, as they filled with the changeable winds which were now set fair for their passage. The captain had promised them that their next landfall would be at Tanatos, the island off the coast of the kingdom of Kent. They now had a few days to do nothing but enjoy the voyage. They felt relaxed and happy.

‘I was guided by you,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘You were the one who spotted the similarity of facial features between Corryn and Cathen. What made you suspect Corryn of being Brother Rhun? Just the resemblance?’

‘Not only that. I was sure that I had seen Corryn’s features before. Those blue eyes of his should have made me realise sooner. But why did he always wear that war helmet? Obviously to hide his tonsure.

‘And there was his attitude. You remember that he was supposed to be Clydog’s lieutenant and yet many times he seemed to be in charge? He was certainly Clydog’s equal. However, what clinched my suspicions was when you reported the words of the dying religious on the beach.’

Eadulf shook his head, trying to recall. ‘I thought that the man was raving, poor fellow.’

‘He was telling you something in among his dying thoughts. He said that evil had been in their midst. The evil spider. Brother Rhun was the evil in their midst. He had taken the nickname Corryn, and what does that mean?’

Eadulf groaned inwardly. ‘Spider.’

‘Just so,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Anyway, you were the one who healed Sualda. Sualda proved to be the weak link, for without him we might never have known what happened to the Hwicce warrior.’

‘Ah, Thaec. At least he did meet his end with a blade in his hand, believing he was being dispatched to the Hall of Heroes. I suppose you are right. Without Sualda, Clydog could have kept his mouth shut or denied everything. How did you guess that Clydog was the son of Artglys?’

‘He was not an ordinary outlaw, that was for sure. Like Corryn, he was well read, educated. Then I remembered that Cathen had mentioned that Artglys had a son. It was guesswork, but guesses are often a short cut to the truth.’

‘What will happen to Clydog? He is an evil man.’

‘He is also a prince of Ceredigion. I suppose he will be held as a hostage against King Artglys’s future good behaviour. Perhaps Artglys might offer the remaining missing brethren of Llanpadern in exchange for the return of his son; perhaps even the missing valuables from the chapel.’

‘And what of the fate of Rhun, the renegade?’

‘I have no doubt what Cathen would like to do with his ambitious sibling. But the decision will be Gwlyddien’s. Although while Rhun remains alive, he will be a constant threat to his father and brother.’

Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘It was amazing that he had no compunction about slaughtering his own religious companions at Llanpadern.’

‘He was more evil in many ways than Clydog,’ Fidelma mused.

‘And more short-sighted,’ added Eadulf. He met her amused glance with a shrug. ‘Aesop said that one should never attempt to soar aloft on the wings of an enemy. That’s what he tried to do. A slave has one master but the ambitious man will have as many as are needed to help him reach his objective.’

‘Which philosophy means?’ prompted Fidelma humorously.

‘That even if he had become king of Dyfed through the help of Ceredigion, the price would have been too high. Ceredigion would have demanded remuneration which Rhun might have been unable to pay.’

There was a silence between them for a moment.

‘I suppose,’ Eadulf said, after a while, ‘that the greater tragedy, in this story, befell Idwal and Mair.’

‘A sad drama that was almost obscured by an unrelated conspiracy,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Brother Meurig’s death, Iorwerth’s suicide and the deaths that went before — Idwal’s mother Efa, for example. Where did that cycle start?’

‘Who knows? We are into the game of “what if”. What if Gurgust had not thrown his apprentice Iorwerth out? Or if he had not banished his daughter Efa from her home?’ ‘What if the person who came along at that time had not been Iestyn?’ rejoined Fidelma.

‘Iestyn!’ Eadulf sighed. ‘I’d almost forgotten him. What will happen to him?’

‘I suspect that it has already happened,’ Fidelma said grimly. ‘He might have found forgiveness for the part he played in feeding Iorwerth’s fears and hatred, and causing the death of Idwal, but he was in league with Rhun. I heard that he had served as a warrior with Rhun and his allegiance was personal. But, when it comes down to fact, he was a spy for Ceredigion. I think his fate was written in Cathen’s eyes when they took him from Gwnda’s hall.’

‘And what of Gwnda and Buddog?’

‘The Britons spent many centuries as a province of the old Roman Empire,’ Fidelma reflected. ‘They have adopted ways of punishment that we have not pursued in the five kingdoms. There is more of vengeance and retribution in their law. They punish more harshly.’

Eadulf shivered slightly. ‘Well, I am glad that we are now on our way to Canterbury. I cannot say that I enjoyed my time in the kingdom of the Britons.’

‘That was evident,’ agreed Fidelma seriously. ‘I have never known you to be so apprehensive and irritable.’

‘I am sorry that I allowed my fears to show.’ Eadulf paused and glanced quickly at her. ‘There were times when I felt they were justified.’

Fidelma’s features were suddenly pensive. ‘I have behaved very badly towards you, Eadulf. I should have treated you differently. I confess that I was trying to distance myself from you.’

Eadulf, to her surprise, nodded slowly. ‘I knew well what you were doing.’

Fidelma stared at him, slightly bewildered at his calm assertion of knowledge. ‘But you seemed to take every insult that I threw at you.’

‘As fearful and apprehensive as I was in the land of the Welisc, I knew that you were more uneasy and afraid. And you were not afraid of the Welisc.’

‘I think that you should explain that,’ she said, her voice slightly breathless with tension.

‘It’s an easy explanation. At Loch Garman, before we left the kingdom of Laigin, you finally admitted to your feelings for me and you made a decision to accompany me to Canterbury instead of returning to your brother’s kingdom. Do you think that I was unaware of how difficult that decision was? That I did not know how frightened you were of having made it? You have been racked with apprehension these last days. But it is in your character not to display your fear. You simply disguised it under a cloak of disdain and even derision towards me.’ Eadulf shrugged, his expression still serious. ‘I knew what was in your mind, Fidelma. You were testing me. You wanted to see if I might break and thus confirm that you had made the wrong decision. I was not going to make it so easy for you. If you want to change your mind then it must be by your own determination and not by mine. My mind in this matter is steadfast.’

Fidelma regarded him quietly for a moment or two before, impulsively, reaching out and placing her hand firmly in his.

‘I don’t think that I was doing it deliberately, Eadulf. Perhaps some unconscious impulse? But you are wise. I think my apprehension is cured. Will you forgive me for it?’

‘Fear comes from uncertainty. You have to be certain. Seneca wrote that where fear is, happiness has deserted that place.’

Fidelma looked solemn. ‘I agree. Fear is not a virtue. I am glad you tolerated my fear, Eadulf. I believe I am certain now. But if I grow uncertain, I vow to be honest and not let fear dictate. I have learnt by this experience.’

‘Speaking of learning,’ Eadulf smiled, shifting the conversation to a lighter note, ‘do you remember that you promised to tell me the meaning of that cheap metal finger ring hidden in that speckled cake that I ate the other night? I nearly cracked my teeth upon it.’

Fidelma coloured slightly. ‘Oh, it is only an old superstition, ’ she said in an attempt to dismiss the subject.

‘What sort of superstition?’ he pressed firmly.

Fidelma saw no easy way out of it. ‘At home, on the feast of Samhain, which Rome now calls the eve of All Hallows Day, it is our custom to serve the speckled bread — bairin breac, we call it. The Britons have the same custom and call the bread bara brith.’

‘But what does the ring in the bread symbolise?’ Eadulf demanded.

‘Well, when the speckled bread is being made, a ring and a hazel nut in its shell are mixed in with the dough. Whoever gets the portion of the speckled bread with the nut in it will remain unwed for the rest of their life.’

‘But I had the ring,’ he pointed out. ‘What happens to whoever gets the ring?’

‘It means that they will soon be married.’

Eadulf grinned in happy satisfaction. ‘That is a superstition I can live with. In fact, I think it is an excellent superstition.’

Fidelma inclined her head in thought for a moment, leaning against the rail of the ship. Then she reached into her marsupium.

‘I also had something in my piece of cake,’ she said quietly.

Her features were formed in a smile and so Eadulf did not observe the serious look in her eyes.

She held out the object in her hand and gradually opened her fist, palm upwards. A hazelnut lay on her palm.