Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

The young monk, far from being overwhelmed by the idea of sorcery and evil, simply accepted the idea that what could not be explained by natural means must, therefore, be attributable to supernatural ones.

After leaving Brother Cyngar, Fidelma and Eadulf had been conducted to the abbey’s scriptorum where Brother Meurig was checking some books of law. Brother Meurig was a tall man, towering even over Fidelma who was considered to be of more than average height. He was gaunt, with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones. His hair was greying and his dark eyes were sunken, the right eye carrying a cast which gave him a slightly sinister appearance. His mournful features were not reflected by the bright friendliness of his greeting.

He spoke to Fidelma in her own language, turned to Eadulf and spoke an equally fluent Saxon to him. In fact, it appeared that Brother Meurig spoke several languages and all fairly fluently.

‘How do you speak Saxon so well?’ queried Eadulf, surprised by the man’s ability.

‘I was a prisoner among the Mercians for several years.’ Brother Meurig pointed to a scar which ran round his throat and had been disguised by the cowled robe he wore. ‘See here, the mark of the Saxon slave collar. That was over ten years ago when Penda ruled that kingdom. He was an evil man, that one. Penda was born a pagan and died a pagan, serving none other than his god Woden.’

‘But you escaped?’ Eadulf asked, trying not to feel embarrassed, although Meurig spoke without rancour.

‘After Oswy of Northumbria defeated Penda and slew him at Winwaed Field, when Mercia was thrown into disarray, that was when many of the slaves he had taken, particularly Christian monks such as I, were released and allowed to return to their own lands.’

‘And now you are a barnwr . . a judge of the courts of Dyfed,’ Fidelma concluded.

Brother Meurig smiled in satisfaction. ‘Even as you are a judge, Sister Fidelma,’ he said. ‘A dálaigh is the equivalent of a barnwr . We have much in common.’

‘I have heard that many of your laws are similar to the laws of the Brehons of Éireann. I am sure that I will have much to learn from you, Brother Meurig.’

‘Your reputation precedes you, Sister. I doubt whether I shall be able to teach you much,’ pointed out the barnwr affably.

‘Have you have been told what has happened at Llanpadern?’ Eadulf asked.

Brother Meurig nodded swiftly. ‘But the matter is not in my hands.’

‘Do you have an opinion about it?’ Eadulf pressed.

‘An opinion?’ Brother Meurig sniffed deprecatingly. ‘I have heard that Prince Cathen believes that it might be a raid by Ceredigion for hostages. My opinion is that the idea is possible although unlikely.

‘Is there another logical explanation?’

Brother Meurig shook his head.

‘No other explanation presents itself to you?’ Fidelma queried.

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Then you do not believe, as Abbot Tryffin seems to suspect, that the community might have fallen foul of some black art — spirited away by the forces of darkness,’ Eadulf asked in all seriousness.

Brother Meurig chuckled dryly.

‘The forces of darkness have better things to do than waste time in performing conjuring tricks, Brother Eadulf.’

There was a ghost of a smile on Fidelma’s lips. ‘When you have eliminated all other explanations, whatever remains, no matter how incredible, must be the answer,’ she observed. ‘Even the black arts.’

‘From what I have heard of your reputation, I believe that the realms of darkness would be the last place where you would seek answers, Sister.’

‘Ah, you are so wrong, Brother Meurig. The realms of darkness are the first place to search when you are dealing with evil. The evil condition of the human mind is such a place of darkness that the entities of the Otherworld are but drifting ethereal smoke by comparison.’

Brother Meurig seemed amused. ‘I intend to leave for Pen Caer at first light, so that we may be there by dusk. You may spend the night at the township and go on to Llanpadern in the morning. That would be the safest thing to do.’

‘Safest?’ Fidelma caught the word.

‘Pen Caer is an area which has been beset by highway thieves of late. Even religious are not immune from their attentions.’

‘On our journey tomorrow, you will have to tell me more about the place,’ Fidelma said as they left.

‘There it is! That’s Llanwnda! That is the seat of the lord of Pen Caer.’

They had been riding most of the day, taking the journey in an easy fashion without tiring their mounts, stopping now and then for water and once for the midday meal. The track along which they rode was parallel to the coastline and the countryside offered such a variety of scenery as to be impressive. Moorland and crag, rolling cultivated lands and deep wooded valleys, river gorges and even tidal marshes bordered their road. Now and then they came close to where Meurig pointed out towering sea cliffs lining the shore between the land and the restless seas beyond.

It was late afternoon; the sky was a solid mass of grey-tinged clouds and dusk was not far off. They could feel it in the chill, gloomy air. Brother Meurig brought his mare to a halt on a rise at a crossroads marked by an ancient round-headed stone with a cross inscribed on it, set back in the hedgerow. He gestured towards some buildings which could just be made out through the trees, standing less than a kilometre away.

‘That is Llanwnda!’ Brother Meurig called again.

Eadulf found the name difficult to pronounce. ‘Clanoo’n-da, ’ was the closest he could come. ‘What’s the name mean?’ he asked.

‘A llan is an enclosure,’ replied Brother Meurig. ‘The chieftain here is called Gwnda and it takes its name from him.’

‘G’oon-da?’ Eadulf tried to repeat the name phonetic-ally.

‘That’s right. Gwnda.’

‘And the large hill beyond,’ interposed Sister Fidelma. ‘What is that? Is that the hill where the community of Llanpadern is situated?’

Brother Meurig shook his head. ‘No, that hill is Pen Caer, from which this district takes its name. The community of Llanpadern is on the lower slope of Carn Gelli just to the south of us. Can you see the hill far over to your left?’

The area was so wooded that it was difficult, but she could just make out the contours.

‘We shall find lodgings in the township. Probably Gwnda himself will provide us with hospitality, and then you may be able to pick up some gossip on what people think has happened at Llanpadern.’

‘A sound approach,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘I hope we will also have time to observe some of your inquiries on the case that you have come to judge. It would be a good opportunity for me to observe the practice of the law of Dyfed.’

‘I would like nothing better than to have you sit alongside me in trying this matter,’ agreed Brother Meurig. ‘But the practice is little different from the one you use.’

‘What’s that?’ demanded Eadulf suddenly. He had been watching a strange glow from among the trees surrounding the township. It seemed like a reddish, flickering light.

‘It looks like a fire,’ Brother Meurig replied, his eyes widening.

‘We must see how we can help!’ Fidelma cried, kicking her horse with her heels, moving quickly forward.

‘What if the cause is raiders?’ Brother Meurig yelled desperately after her. ‘Should we not be more circumspect in our approach?’

But Fidelma was already out of earshot with Eadulf chasing after her. Raising his eyes heavenward in resignation, Brother Meurig urged his own mount forward. They cantered along the track through the woods, for it was dangerous to move more quickly, and came to a bridge leading across a swiftly flowing stream into the township.