Smoke in the Wind (38 page)

The tall, blonde servant shook her head. ‘I am only a servant, lady. I am not allowed to enter Gwnda’s hall during official business other than to attend to the wants of the guests.’

‘But you have the right to attend and listen to what has taken place. Eadulf will take you in and secure you a seat.’

Eadulf rose and motioned for Buddog to go with him. She did so, but only with reluctance and some protest. For a few moments Fidelma sat at the table drumming her fingers on its wooden top and frowning into space. Then she gave a deep sigh, stood up and entered Gwnda’s hall.

The hall was crowded. Prince Cathen had taken the chair of office with Gwnda, as lord of Pen Caer, seated to one side. Gwnda was clearly annoyed at being removed from the place that he had expected to fill and watched her coming with intense dislike. One of the men whom Cathen had brought with him was apparently a scribe, for he now sat to one side ready to record the proceedings. Cathen’s men were posted strategically around the hall and Cadell stood ready to perform the task of marshal of the court.

Fidelma paused at the door. A silence descended over the people as they turned to looked at her. Fidelma saw a scowling Elen seated near her father. There was Goff the smith, his plump wife, Rhonwen, and their son Dewi, on whom she bestowed a smile. Without the boy’s journey to the abbey of Dewi Sant, this could have been a more fatal affair. Buddog was sitting awkwardly where Eadulf had found a place for her. Not far from her, but with a warrior on either side, sat Iestyn the farmer.

Cadell had carried out his instructions to the letter. Clydog and Corryn and their followers were not in the hall, but were being kept in Gwnda’s barn as prisoners until she called for them.

Cathen glanced towards his scribe and the man knocked on the table with the pommel of his dagger. It was a superfluous action for already the hall was quiet.

‘We are ready to hear you, Sister,’ Cathen called.

Fidelma strode forward to the centre of the room, where Eadulf was already standing before Cathen. ‘Prince Cathen, let this court acknowledge that I and Brother Eadulf come here to speak with the approval and authority of Gwlyddien, your father, king of Dyfed.’

‘This is fully and readily acknowledged. Sister Fidelma of Cashel and Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, being lawyers of their own peoples, came to Pen Caer under commission of my father, the king. To facilitate matters he has approved of their being designated honorary
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s of this kingdom. We sit in anticipation of hearing the results of their investigations.’

Fidelma solemnly looked around, as if gathering her thoughts, and then turned back to address herself to Cathen. ‘We came to this place in the company of Brother Meurig. There were two matters calling for investigation. One was that for which King Gwlyddien had originally commissioned our help - the mystery of the disappearance of the brethren of Llanpadern. The second was that which Brother Meurig, as a learned judge, had specifically been sent to investigate - the murder of Mair, daughter of the smith Iorwerth of this township.’

There was a silence as she paused.

‘Initially, it was thought that these two events were two separate, unrelated issues, isolated from one another. Then I wondered if there might be some connection, for both incidents shared some common protagonists.’

There was still no sound as she paused again.

‘Prince Cathen, with your permission, I shall approach the explanation of these events by dealing first with the murder of Mair and its outcome--’

‘I object!’ Gwnda was leaning forward in his seat. ‘This matter is not in the competence of this foreigner, no matter what reputation she has in her own land.’

Cathen silenced him with a gesture. ‘I have already ruled on her competence,’ he said sharply. ‘My father has confirmed her qualification to investigate and bring evidence forward in the death of Brother Meurig, and as the
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was investigating Mair’s death it seems to me that it is within her competence to put forward her arguments in this matter.’

‘Brother Meurig was killed by Idwal. Idwal had killed Mair. The matter should be closed,’ protested Gwnda.

‘Do you deny that you had second thoughts about Idwal’s guilt?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Your daughter, Elen, thought that Mair had been killed in mistake for her because she had overheard a conversation in the woods which endangered her life. Is that not so? You even agreed that Elen should tell me so.’

Gwnda scowled. ‘I did not share her belief.’

Cathen leaned forward and searched out the frightened features of Elen. ‘Is this true, Elen? Did you make this claim and did your father agree that you were to tell Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf?’

‘It is true,’ Elen agreed unhappily.

Cathen turned back to Fidelma. ‘Then Gwnda’s objection is overruled. Continue.’

Fidelma paused a moment as if putting her thoughts in order before continuing.

‘The seeds of this tragedy - and here I speak of the death of Mair - go back many years. It is best if I tell the story as best I can and, should I place a wrong interpretation on events, then the witnesses gathered here can challenge and correct what I have to say. You will discover that the hand that struck down young Mair was not the same hand that struck down Brother Meurig.’

This caused a stir in the hall, quickly dispelled by a rapping on the table by the scribe.

‘As I say, the seeds of this tragedy were sown many yeas ago, in a place not so far from here called Dinas,’ began Fidelma. Goff stirred uncomfortably. ‘Two young apprentice smiths were working at the forge of Gurgust there. One of those smiths was Goff and the other was Iorwerth, Mair’s father. Gurgust, their smith-master, had a daughter named Efa.’

Elen had bent forward in her seat, a curious expression on her face.

‘Iorwerth made Efa pregnant. In a fury, Gurgust drove his apprentice Iorwerth out. His fury did not abate and he also cast his own daughter from his home. Desperate for security, Efa took up with a wandering warrior, who was thought by most to be the father of her child. I can only speculate on what happened, although I hope the person concerned will have the courage to confirm what I may say in speculation. This warrior took up with Efa but, shortly after the birth of the child, he quarrelled with her. Perhaps he simply did not want to become father to another man’s child.

‘The warrior disappeared and Efa was found strangled. Moreover, her baby had also disappeared. Now Gurgust, in happier days, had made a red gold necklet, with a bejewelled pendant bearing the image of a hare, for his daughter. There was no sign of it and it was thought that whoever killed Efa had stolen it.

‘Some time afterwards a shepherd named Iolo started herding sheep at Garn Fechan. He was raising a boy named Idwal, who was not his son. Here in Llanwnda, Iorwerth the smith married a local girl called Esyllt and had a daughter whom they named Mair. Iorwerth did not treat his wife, Esyllt, well. She subsequently died. In his guilt he became devoted to his daughter. Idwal, foster son of Iolo, was a simple, kindly youth, and he and Mair appeared strangely drawn to one another.’

‘Where is Iorwerth?’ interrupted Gwnda, in a hectoring tone. ‘He should be here to refute this outlandish tale.’

Fidelma turned towards Goff. ‘In the absence of Iorwerth, can you and your wife, Rhonwen, tell this court whether the tale I have told is outlandish so far?’

Goff stared at the ground before him. It was his wife who answered.

‘Your account is correct. You have imagined nothing so far. My husband was the second apprentice at Dinas and, as all should know, Iorwerth’s wife, Esyllt, was my close friend.’

‘What was not known,’ went on Fidelma, ‘was that the attraction between Idwal and Mair was not a sexual one but something which went even deeper. Idwal and Mair were born of the same father but did not know it.’

‘Prove it!’ snapped Gwnda above the hubbub caused by her statement.

‘Just before the old shepherd Iolo died, he gave Idwal something which had been the property of his mother. It was a necklet of red gold with a figure of a hare on it.’

‘Idwal is dead,’ cried Gwnda. ‘You cannot prove any part of this story.’

Fidelma smiled. She turned to Elen.

‘It is true,’ the girl whispered.

‘Speak up, child,’ Cathen said. ‘If you have something to say, let the court hear.’

Elen raised her head. Tears were glistening in her eyes. ‘It is true,’ she said more determinedly. ‘Iolo told Idwal where the necklet had come from. When Idwal was accused of murder, he realised that his precious possession might be taken from him. He wanted to keep it safe and so he gave it to me.’

‘Then where is it?’ demanded Cathen.

Fidelma moved forward, holding it up. ‘Elen passed it to me when she told me how it came into her possession. It is so distinctive that I am sure Goff will recognise it as the one made by his smith-master Gurgust. It was the one worn by Efa all those years ago. Goff and Rhonwen had already described it when they had thought it lost.’

Goff had risen, staring at the necklet. ‘It is the same one,’ he acknowledged in a quiet voice. ‘I would recognise it anywhere.’

There was a yell and a scuffle. Eyes turned to where Iestyn had been sitting. He had been silent all through the hearing, his face immobile. Now he had tried to struggle to his feet, his eyes wide, his face a mask of hate.

‘Are you claiming that Iorwerth was Idwal’s father?’ he shouted. His guard pushed him back into his seat.

‘Iorwerth should be here,’ muttered Gwnda. ‘He should hear this accusation. If what you say is true, he would also recognise this necklet.’

‘He did,’ affirmed Fidelma, without responding to Iestyn. ‘In Brother Eadulf’s company, I showed the necklet to him.’

‘Then where is he?’ demanded Gwnda.

‘Recognising it, realising that Idwal was actually his son by Efa, he became demented. You see, he had actually helped hang his own son for what he thought was the rape and murder of his daughter.’

‘Then where is he now, Sister?’ demanded Cathen. ‘He should have been present in this court.’

Cadell, responding to Fidelma’s gesture, cleared his throat and took a step forward. ‘My prince, his body is now at his forge. On Sister Fidelma’s instructions, I went to a place described by her at first light and found his body beneath a tree where he had hanged himself. His body had been found by Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf last night and cut down moments before Clydog captured them.’

There was a gasp of horror from the crowd.

‘Iorwerth could not live with the fact that he had killed his own son,’ went on Fidelma. ‘Nor that his son, so he thought, had lusted after and killed his own sister.’

‘This shepherd, Iolo, the man who raised Idwal, was he the warrior of whom you spoke?’ queried Cathen. ‘Was Iolo the man with whom this unfortunate Efa took up after she had become pregnant with Iorwerth’s child?’

To everyone’s surprise, Fidelma shook her head. Instead, she turned to Iestyn. ‘Iolo was never a warrior, was he, Iestyn?’

The farmer glowered silently back at her.

‘There is surely no need to deny anything now, is there? There are people here who know that you were a warrior in your youth and that you were Iolo’s brother. I presume that Iolo took pity on the baby, thinking that it was your own child by Efa? He took Idwal to foster, and you gave him Efa’s chain. Was that how it happened?’

Iestyn said nothing.

‘You became too old to follow the profession of a warrior and came to farm at Pen Caer. Idwal was nothing to you except that he was a constant reminder of your past misdeeds. Every time you saw him you were reminded of Efa. I think that you killed Efa?’

The farmer raised hate-filled eyes.

‘You will never prove it, Gwyddel,’ he said between clenched teeth.

‘I don’t think I need to. Your current involvement with the plot at Llanpadern, to which I will come later, is crime enough for punishment. However, it would be good to clarify these matters. Your lack of denial is sufficient. When Iolo died, you found yourself inheriting his property and the first thing you did was throw Idwal out to fend for himself. The lad had to survive as an itinerant shepherd, remaining in the district as an unwitting thorn in your flesh.

‘When Idwal was charged with Mair’s murder, you saw your chance of getting rid of the boy’s accusing presence for good. You took a leading role in demanding vengeance, in stirring people up to such a pitch of hatred that they took the law into their own hands. Your own guilt was also your motivation for your part in his slaughter.’

‘I was not alone in that!’ cried Iestyn.

‘Indeed you were not. The guilt lies with everyone who had a hand in the crime of Idwal’s death. But the most tragic hand in this was that of Iorwerth, Idwal’s own blood father, and for that crime he has inflicted his own punishment on himself.’

‘Just a moment, Sister Fidelma,’ interrupted Cathen thoughtfully. ‘You have told us a tragic story, and it seems enough people here can verify its details. It is a dreadful and sorrowful tale about Idwal’s life and death. But you refer to his death as a crime. True enough. But what of the crimes of Mair’s death and Brother Meurig’s slaughter? Whatever Iestyn’s past misdeeds were, you do not appear to be accusing him of involvement in these deaths, nor have you exonerated Idwal.’

Fidelma bowed her head and smiled softly. ‘You are a sound judge, Prince Cathen. We have so far only set the scene and attempted to clear up a mist that has obscured the central action of this tragedy.’

She paused again.

‘Iorwerth wanted to believe the best of his daughter, Mair. He argued that she was still a virgin and accused Idwal of rape. Mair had already come to sexual maturity. She was known by her friends to be promiscuous and preferred the company of mature men. She had a lover.’