Smoke in the Wind (36 page)

 

It was a black night. The moon was still hanging low on the horizon whenever it could poke out between the clouds, but across the hills they could see several bonfires here and there, bright specks in the distance. Already the township bonfire was alight and the shouts and cries of the children could be heard over the wild notes of the pipes, the beating of goatskin drums and the blare of horns. Some of the older people were dancing in a circle before the bonfire. Fidelma and Eadulf walked down to join the crowd watching the ascending flames.

The straw figure they had seen in Iorwerth’s forge had been burnt away to almost nothing. A few remains could still be discerned on top of the fire.

‘Human sacrifice?’ Eadulf grinned cynically.

Fidelma took the question seriously. ‘In olden times, it was the custom to offer a god called Taranis, the god of thunder, offerings in a wooden vessel, some say in the figure of a man made of wood. The figure symbolised the messenger to the gods.’

Eadulf’s attention had been distracted and he seemed to be searching the crowd by the bonfire.

‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I was trying to see if I could spot Iorwerth or our friend Iestyn,’ he replied. ‘I would have expected their attendance at such a celebration.’

Fidelma agreed. She turned, and abruptly found herself facing the grinning figure of Iestyn standing behind her.

‘Not gone yet, Gwyddel?’ he sneered.

‘As you can see,’ she replied evenly. ‘However, it is to be hoped that tomorrow may be a good day for our departure.’

‘Tomorrow? Are you leaving tomorrow?’ His tone rose to a sharp interrogative.

Fidelma merely moved away, drawing Eadulf with her and leaving the farmer staring suspiciously after them.

Out of earshot, Eadulf turned to her with a worried frown. ‘Why did you say that to him? You know he will tell his friend Clydog. They’ll be waiting for us on the road.’

‘I just wanted to add some fuel to the simmering pot, Eadulf,’ she replied calmly. ‘Tomorrow we will have reached a resolution to this matter. I am just hoping that your trust in young Dewi is not misplaced. He should have returned here by today or tomorrow at the latest.’

‘I can’t see what Dewi’s arrival will do to help us now. I don’t think the authority of Gwlyddien will count for much here. Clydog has many fighting men at his disposal.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I am gambling on the fact that Clydog will not attempt--’

They suddenly became aware of a rise in the level of the noise of the voices. The music of the instruments grew hesitant and then awkwardly trailed off. Even the shouts and screams of the children began to trail away. They heard cries of men, harsh and commanding. Figures moved in the darkness. Figures on horseback, bearing aloft brand torches and naked swords.

Fidelma turned in their direction. By the bonfire, seated on horseback, she could see a familiar figure. ‘Clydog!’ she hissed.

Then, grabbing Eadulf by the sleeve, she plunged away into the darkness between the nearest stone cabins. They paused in the shadows for a moment to regain their breath.

‘This is something I did not expect,’ she muttered. ‘I did not think Clydog would show his hand until Gwlyddien had been persuaded to march against the Hwicce.’

‘Perhaps Gwlyddien has already has been persuaded?’ Eadulf offered. ‘Anyway, what can we do now? Iestyn will tell him that we are in the township. There is no way we can reach our horses in Gwnda’s stables from here without being seen.’

Fidelma motioned in the gloom to the darkness of the woods behind the township buildings. ‘That is the only avenue of eluding Clydog and his robbers. Come on.’

She led the way quickly and silently from the buildings and into the woods. It was difficult to find a pass through the undergrowth but Fidelma seemed to stumble on a deer path along which their movement became easier.

‘Let’s hope that there is no truth in the old superstition, ’ muttered Eadulf, floundering behind her in the darkness.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’ve been involved in bringing to justice many who have now joined the souls in your Otherworld. Let us hope that those vengeful souls do not have the ability to come back this night and visit vengeance on us!’

Fidelma did not bother to respond. She was still annoyed with herself for not having foreseen the possibility of this event. It had not occurred to her that Clydog would feel secure enough to ride into the township and take over.

‘How long will it be before they realise that we must have taken to the woods?’ grunted Eadulf. ‘I doubt if we will get a long start on them.’

Fidelma halted so suddenly that Eadulf almost cannoned into her.

‘What . . . ?’ he began.

‘Water, up ahead,’ she replied. ‘It must be the stream that borders the township. We’ll have to find a place to cross.’

A moment later they came on the dark rushing waters of the stream. Here and there in the darkness were little patches of white water as the swiftly flowing current rushed and gurgled over the stones and rocks in the river bed.

‘The deer track leads straight down to it,’ she pointed out. ‘The stream is no more than two or three metres wide here, and I think I can just see a path on the other side. That means that the deer use this as a crossing, and if a deer can cross here so can we. Are you ready?’

‘Let me go first, just in case,’ insisted Eadulf, moving forward.

Fidelma allowed him to go on. Sometimes she was so absorbed that she forgot that Eadulf’s masculine pride could be wounded when she did not allow him to take the lead in those areas where he felt he should.

She waited while he stepped into the bed of the stream and heard him gasp as the coldness struck him. Then he began to pick his way across, swaying now and then as the deceptive force of the current pushed against him. The waters, however, did not rise above his knees and soon he was scrambling up the far bank. She did not wait for him to call to her but began to cross immediately. As she reached the bank he leaned forward and helped her out.

The clouds were bunching up now and obscuring what little light there had been from the low-lying moon, causing the woods to be almost in total darkness. There was, however, a faint gloom which allowed them to follow the deer trail with a fairly fast pace.

‘We must be a fair distance from Llanwnda now,’ muttered Eadulf breathlessly after they had been travelling for some time.

‘I think we have only been moving in a semicircle,’ Fidelma replied cautiously.

A moment or so later, they came to a darkened building. Eadulf shivered as he recognised its outlines. ‘It’s the woodsman’s hut. We have not gone far at all.’ He sounded disappointed.

‘But at least we have come upon the main track through the wood. If we follow this road we will come to the forge of Goff . . .’

Eadulf grunted in dismay. ‘But that is about seven or eight kilometres from here, and without horses . . . why . . . !’

Fidelma suspected that if she could see his features in the darkness they would be extremely woebegone. But it was too dark and she had only his voice to go by.

‘A good pace, Eadulf, and we should be there by daylight. We might be able to get horses from Goff and ride on to the abbey of Dewi Sant to prevent this conspiracy from bearing fruit.’

She halted abruptly. ‘I thought I saw a movement ahead,’ she whispered.

Eadulf strained forward, peering along the track. The trees seemed to converge on them in a dark twist of gnarled branches. He shivered slightly.

‘Isn’t one of these trees the one on which they strung up Idwal?’ he muttered nervously.

Fidelma nodded before realising that he could not see her gesture in the darkness.

‘I think so,’ she agreed.

The clouds seemed to part abruptly and the moon emerged once again to cast a gloomy light over the woods. This time they both saw it.

A body was swinging from one of the lower branches of a squat oak just ahead of them. It hung low to the ground so that the toes of the feet, fully extended, almost brushed the earth. The head was at a curiously disjointed angle to the body.

Fidelma moved forward, Eadulf nervously at her side. He wished that Fidelma had not told him the folklore of this night, the eve of All Hallows.

They halted before the body. Once again the moon had disappeared behind the clouds. It was impossible to see who it was, although Eadulf felt that there was something very familiar about it. They both came to the realisation at the same moment. It was Iorwerth.

‘
Dabit deus his quoque finem
,’ Fidelma sighed sadly.

‘You don’t sound surprised?’ muttered Eadulf, recognising the line of Virgil which indicated that God granted an end to all trouble.

‘I am not,’ she replied. ‘Though I thought he was made of sterner stuff. Otherwise I would not have shown him that piece of jewellery. Let’s cut him down.’

Eadulf took out his knife and began to saw at the rope. ‘I don’t follow what you mean. Who killed him?’

‘He did it himself.’

The rope split and Eadulf lowered the body to the ground. ‘Why should he . . . ?’

Sounds broke the stillness of the night. Lights moved in the darkness; burning brand torches. Their provenance was obvious. Fidelma grabbed Eadulf’s hand.

‘Run! That’s Clydog or his men looking for us.’

Together they sprinted away into the woods. A cry behind them told them that they had been spotted. A moment before, Eadulf had been cursing the clouds obscuring the moon. Now he cursed the fact that the night was not dark enough to hide them.

Within moments they realised their flight was almost hopeless. Their pursuers were on horseback. They searched desperately for some narrow path which would lead them more deeply into the woods away from the main track; some way by which they might elude the pursuing horses. There was none. The undergrowth was thick and dark and shut them out.

A moment later, one of their pursuers had overtaken them and turned his horse to block their path. His swinging sword blade menaced them.

‘Hold or be struck down!’ he snarled. They halted reluctantly.

The mocking tones of Clydog came from behind them. ‘Did I not tell you that we would soon meet again? We have some unfinished business, you and I, Sister Fidelma of Cashel.’

They turned and stared at him in the moonlight. Fidelma did not reply.

‘We have wasted enough time this night,’ Clydog suddenly said in businesslike fashion. ‘Bind their hands behind them and bring them along. We will return to Llanwnda.’

One of his men jumped down from his horse and roughly drew Fidelma’s hands behind her and secured them with a rope. She gasped in pain. Eadulf, clenching his hands, took a step towards her but was halted by the pinprick of cold steel at his neck. The sword was expertly held in the hands of the warrior on horseback who had blocked their path.

The other man, having finished with Fidelma, turned on him with an evil expression and swiftly searched him, removing his knife. Then Eadulf found his hands being dragged behind him. He tried to resist but the warrior spun him round and slapped him viciously across the side of the head, sending him toppling. His hands were bound before he had recovered. In less than a minute, they were both hoisted onto horses behind two warriors.

Clydog gave the command to ride on. To Fidelma’s surprise, it seemed that neither Clydog nor his companions had noticed the body of Iorwerth, for they passed by the tree without a glance. She realised that when Eadulf had cut the body down it lay in the high grass, and in the gloom had not been seen.

‘What do you intend now, Clydog?’ Fidelma called.

The outlaw chief glanced back at her. ‘Still asking questions, Gwyddel?’ he jeered.

‘I am afraid it is part of my nature,’ Fidelma responded cheerfully. ‘You have grown very bold since last we met.’

‘What is your clever tongue about now?’ Clydog demanded suspiciously.

‘Nothing clever. Last time we met you were hiding in the woods, like the scavenger you are, preying on wayfarers to rob and kill. Now you have decided to attack an entire township. That means that you have become bolder. I merely wonder why?’

‘I believe that you are clever, woman,’ grunted Clydog angrily. ‘I have a feeling that you know more than you say. We shall find out exactly what you know when we return to Llanwnda.’

Fidelma realised there was little to be gained by trying to continue the conversation. She looked over to where Eadulf was struggling to keep his balance behind the warrior on whose horse he sat. Poor Eadulf. He was not a good horseman. It was difficult enough for her, with her hands bound behind her back, to keep her balance. It must be extremely unpleasant for Eadulf.

At least the group of horsemen made no detours. Clydog led them down the track straight towards the township and within moments they were crossing the wooden bridge over the stream, passing the darkened silent forge of Iorwerth.

In the shadows, she saw one or two armed men standing in the darkness. Clydog ignored them, for they were obviously under his orders. He led the way up the street, beyond the still glowing bonfire, to Gwnda’s hall, where the robbers dismounted and Fidelma and Eadulf were roughly pulled from their mounts. One man took the horses on to the stables.

Clydog moved up the steps to the door of the hall and pushed it open. He turned on the threshold and called for his men to bring the prisoners forward. Then he led the way inside, his men pushing Fidelma and Eadulf roughly behind him. So intent were they on keeping their balance, difficult with their hands tied behind them and his thugs pushing them this way and that, that Fidelma and Eadulf had not realised that Clydog had halted abruptly. They stumbled into him and nearly lost their balance. In the time it took them to regain their equilibrium and look up they realised that Clydog and his companions seemed to have become like frozen statues.