Smoke in the Wind (12 page)

Brother Meurig replied by suggesting that food should be taken to the boy and his restriction eased.

‘Food I will take,’ replied the woman woodenly. ‘Ask Gwnda about his bonds.’

‘I shall,’ agreed Brother Meurig. ‘We were wondering what you meant when you said that Mair was deserving of death?’

Buddog’s features distorted with a little grimace. ‘I gave you my opinion,’ she said, volunteering no further information.

‘But on what is that opinion based?’ demanded Fidelma.

Buddog hesitated. Her lips thinned, and she pulled a disdainful grimace. ‘It is known throughout this township that the girl liked to flirt, to tease any man she thought she could provoke and make gain from.’

‘Are you saying that she was promiscuous?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I thought I had spoken plainly.’

‘A promiscuous virgin? It sounds like a contradiction in terms,’ muttered Brother Meurig.

‘Virgin?’ Buddog gave a harsh laugh.

‘You do not think she was a virgin?’

‘I only have an opinion,’ replied the servant. ‘I am not a physician.’

‘What men did she provoke?’ queried Fidelma. ‘You said that she would tease and provoke them.’

Buddog pursed her lips, perhaps regretting that she had made the comment. Then she said: ‘Why not ask Iestyn? I once saw him coming through the woods with a smile on his face. I heard that he had just seen Mair.’

‘When was this?’ demanded Brother Meurig.

‘A few days ago . . . oh, the very day she met her death.’

‘And what were you doing in the woods at that time?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

‘I was picking mushrooms that morning for a meal I was preparing.’

‘Buddog!’ It was the sharp voice of Gwnda, who had appeared in the doorway. ‘What are you doing here chattering? Take our guests to their rooms immediately. Can’t you see that they are tired, woman?’

Buddog shot him a resentful glance but said nothing. Gwnda started to apologise to them but Brother Meurig cut him short.

‘It is we who were asking questions, Gwnda.’

The lord of Pen Caer frowned. ‘Then you should address your questions to me and not to my servants,’ he said stiffly.

‘That would be futile, for it is the answers of Buddog that we wanted,’ Fidelma said. She disliked the overbearing lord of Pen Caer, especially the way he seemed to treat the women of his household. ‘I think Brother Meurig does have a request for you.’

Thus prompted, Brother Meurig told him that he expected food to be taken to Idwal and that his bonds should be removed except for the ankle chain. Gwnda grunted and turned away. Brother Meurig took it as an affirmative response and did not pursue him.

‘A pity,’ the
barnwr
said a short time later as he, Fidelma and Eadulf stood in the corridor outside the rooms to which a now taciturn Buddog had shown them.

‘Perhaps you can resume your questions tomorrow?’ Fidelma suggested. ‘However, it might well be that Buddog was making conjectures about Iestyn. Certainly she seems to dislike Mair. Anyway, we should retire now.’

‘Thank you for allowing me to observe your method of interrogation,’ smiled Brother Meurig. ‘I can see why you have won your reputation.’ Then he hesitated and glanced towards Eadulf. ‘I mean, why you both share the reputation.’

Eadulf did not bother to respond to Meurig’s belated inclusion of him.

‘Eadulf and I need to make an early start for Llanpadern in the morning,’ said Fidelma.

‘Will you not stay and see this matter through before you go? I thought you were interested in this case?’ Brother Meurig was surprised.

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am very interested, for I fear the youth is innocent and that something deeper lies behind this. But our commission from King Gwlyddien is to find out what happened at Llanpadern and to his son Brother Rhun. That is our main task. We will ride on to Llanpadern first thing tomorrow. But I will look forward to hearing your news on this matter when we return.’

Brother Meurig’s face softened a little. Eadulf realised that Fidelma’s announcement probably came as a relief to the
barnwr
. Fidelma’s natural authority seemed to have almost taken over his investigation. Nevertheless, the
barnwr
was gracious.

‘I am most grateful for the help given by Brother Eadulf and yourself. It appears that our methods of investigation are similar.’ He paused and then added almost reluctantly: ‘But won’t you need a guide in the morning - an interpreter?’

Fidelma smiled. ‘I don’t think so. If Llanpadern is just a few kilometres in the direction of the hill which you pointed out to me earlier, then it will not be difficult to find. And as for an interpreter, though it is a few years since I spoke the language of the Cymry, I find that I seem to have retained a fair portion of what I learnt.’ She smiled at Eadulf. ‘Eadulf, too, appears to understand enough to get by.’

‘I understand more than I speak,’ confirmed Eadulf.

Brother Meurig certainly appeared relieved that they were no longer calling on his service as guide and interpreter. ‘Then I shall remain here and continue the investigation.’

Fidelma smiled. ‘We shall look forward to hearing your resolution when we return after our inquiries at Llanpadern.’

It was a bright, crisp autumnal day, with a pale blue sky and no clouds to block the tepid warmth of the early morning sun. Fidelma and Eadulf had bidden farewell to Brother Meurig and to Gwnda, the lord of Pen Caer, and begun their journey south-west towards the distant peak of Carn Gelli. The countryside was a mixture of moorland and crags, and isolated farmland surrounded by wooded valleys into which gushing streams, too small to be called rivers, cascaded from the surrounding hills.

It was an ancient landscape with a variety of cairns, cromlechs, standing stones and abandoned hillforts. Fidelma had noticed that there were also a fair number of burial chambers where only chieftains or men and women of high rank would be laid to rest. It was a landscape that showed signs of a wealth of wild flowers amidst the gorse and various species of ferns and heather. At the moment there were only a few patches of white blossoms, such as shepherd’s purse and white deadnettle, which displayed any relief against the green. Generally the countryside was sinking into its drab, almost colourless winter appearance.

High above them, the occasional kestrel flew in lazy circles, keen eyes watching for prey among the dying brownish bracken and evergreen gorse. A flash of red moved quickly as a fox went dashing for cover, more out of habit than fear of a kestrel, for its size made it quite safe. It was field mice, voles and hatchlings that the bird of prey was seeking.

As they rode along the track, it was the first time that Fidelma and Eadulf had been alone for some days. Eadulf had been watching his companion keenly.

‘You are worried about the youth, Idwal, aren’t you?’ he said finally, breaking the silence.

She glanced at him and smiled briefly. ‘You have a discerning eye.’

‘You believe he is innocent?’

Fidelma pouted thoughtfully. ‘I believe that there are many questions to be answered.’

‘I think that you would have liked to take charge of Brother Meurig’s investigation,’ Eadulf observed in gentle accusation.

‘As the Blessed Ambrose said -
Quando hic sum, non ieuiuno Sabbato
.’

Eadulf frowned for a moment. ‘You mean . . .’

‘I mean, I follow the local law and custom. I do not have the right to dictate to a
barnwr
of this country. I have no wish to take over from Brother Meurig.’

Even as she spoke, Fidelma realised, with an inward sense of annoyance, that she was lying. She flushed and hoped that Eadulf did not notice.

‘Well, Brother Meurig seems competent enough.’

‘So long as Brother Meurig asks the right questions, there is an end to it. No one can dictate his interpretation of the answers. We, however, must concentrate on our commission. The sooner we resolve this matter, the sooner we can continue to Canterbury.’

They fell silent for a while.

The road from the township to the community of Llanpadern was an easy one, hardly more than three kilometres. They soon came within sight of the complex of buildings below the hill which Brother Meurig had identified as Carn Gelli. The buildings seemed isolated; even had Fidelma not been informed of the disappearance of the community, she would have felt that something was amiss simply by the atmosphere emanating from the buildings. That inexplicable aura of solitude seemed menacing. Fidelma was sensitive to atmosphere. Perhaps that very intuitiveness was the reason why she excelled in her profession. It gave her the ability to sense liars. She felt the twinge of guilt again. She had wanted to take charge of the investigation into Mair’s death for her instinct made her feel that Idwal was speaking the truth.

They continued to ride along the path to the gates and Eadulf leant forward from his mount and pushed against them. They were not secured from the inside and swung open. The courtyard beyond was deserted. Eadulf halted his horse and the breath hissed between his teeth in a nervous whistle. His eye was immediately caught by the great stack of wood which was clearly laid for a bonfire. Fidelma walked her horse to a tethering pole and dismounted, hitching the animal’s reins to it.

Eadulf found that he could not suppress a shiver as he glanced around at the silent buildings. Fidelma noticed his movement but said nothing. Things unseen did not cause her apprehension. It was things manifest and physical that brought danger. She waited until Eadulf had dismounted before she walked slowly back to the gates and stood looking down. Eadulf joined her. She glanced up at him.

‘There are too many tracks here, too much coming and going, and there has also been rain over the last few days which has obscured anything which might tell us about movements here.’

‘You do not trust Brother Cyngar’s word when he told you that he examined the area for traces which would indicate how the community departed?’ Eadulf asked.

Fidelma was irritated by the question. ‘I accept that he spoke his truth. It is always a good thing to check whether it coincides with your own. We won’t find much in the way of tracks. See the road by which we came from Llanwnda? And that other one to the west? Mostly stone-strewn tracks. We shall not be able to pick up traces on those roads unless we have good luck.’

She swung the gates shut before turning back into the courtyard and examining the scene thoughtfully.

‘If this place was subjected to a raid by Saxons,’ Eadulf said, reading her thoughts, ‘then they were very neat and tidy. Nothing destroyed, nothing burnt, no bodies . . .’

‘Yet this boy Dewi said there were bodies left on the beach where the Saxon ship anchored,’ she pointed out. ‘Now, where shall we start? Somewhere in this deserted place must be a clue to what happened here.’

Eadulf did not appear convinced. ‘What if that which happened here is inexplicable?’ he muttered.

Fidelma actually laughed, low and musically. ‘
Omne ignotum pro magnifico est
.’

Eadulf recognised the line from
Agricola
by Tacitus. He had heard it used several times before when his mentors had mocked his Saxon superstitions. ‘Everything unknown is thought magnificent.’ It was often used to point out that the unknown was thought to be supernatural when, in reality, it could easily be interpreted once the facts were known. He felt hurt by her remark, for he felt it was aimed at his Saxon background, so he did not respond.

She was already striding towards a door. It led into the sleeping quarters of the community.

Like Brother Cyngar before them, they found the beds neat and tidy, nothing disturbed. The same was true of the chamber of the Father Superior.

It was when they entered the gloomy refectory that Eadulf found the noxious odours in the deserted room almost overpowering. The food was still mouldering on the tables.

‘Must we?’ he muttered, raising a hand to cover his nose, as Fidelma moved resolutely into the hall.

Fidelma’s glance was one of rebuke. ‘If we are to uncover the mystery, then we must be prepared to examine everything in case we miss something which would give an indication of the cause.’

Reluctantly, Eadulf followed Fidelma as she walked slowly between tables on which lay the remains of the last meal that had been served to the brethren of the community of Llanpadern. There was evidence that scavengers had entered and made free with the food on the tables after it had been deserted. The mouldering bread and rotting cheese had clearly been attacked by the sharp teeth of rodents. Yet it was not this that Fidelma was concentrating on.

She was observing the knives and spoons, laid often carefully aside. A knife left halfway through cutting a loaf, still in the bread itself. A meat knife left lying on the floor. Fidelma halted suddenly, looking down. Nearby was a plate which had once contained a roast joint, judging from what little remained of it. The plate seemed to have been dragged out of place for it had pushed several other plates into an untidy heap. Fidelma’s sharp eye caught sight of a knucklebone on the floor some way away. Her gaze then returned to the knife on the floor. Its slightly rusting blade was discoloured and she realised it was stained with dried blood.

Bending forward, she picked it up and examined it closely. Unless the meat had been exceptionally rare, the profusion of blood which had caused the staining must have come from some other source. But what?

‘Eadulf, can you find a candle and light it?’

Although it was a bright morning outside, in here, in these buildings, all was shadowy gloom and it was difficult to see in any real detail.

Eadulf glanced round. Most of the candles had burnt away to streams of tallow. Brother Cyngar had told them that when he had entered the buildings, the candles, or most of them at least, had been alight. Eadulf spied one that had been toppled from its holder. A good few inches of unmelted tallow remained. Eadulf always carried a tinderbox with him: a small round metal box about three inches in diameter in which he carried charred linen cloth instead of wood chips, for he found it was a more combustible material, taking a spark better than dry wood.