Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

Gwnda looked startled for a moment. Then he saw Iorwerth and the two men holding the boy. He rested the point of his sword lightly on the step before him, hands on the pommel. His features relaxed but it was hardly a smile of greeting.

‘I wish I could bid you welcome to my hall in happier circumstances.’

Brother Meurig swung down from his horse. ‘These circumstances will suffice, Gwnda, providing that they are explained to us.’

Gwnda regarded Iorwerth with a sour expression. ‘Does this mean that your rebellion is over, Iorwerth?’ he asked.

‘It was never meant as rebellion,’ replied the man, defensively. ‘My aim was justice.’

‘Revenge was your aim and rebellion it was; rebellion against your lord. Yet I am kindly disposed to you and will forgive your transgression against the law because you let your emotions misguide you. Get to your home and we will discuss reparation for your act later.’ Gwnda turned to Brother Meurig as an afterthought: ‘That is, if this has your permission?’

‘You appear to be a man of liberal judgment, Gwnda,’ said Brother Meurig. ‘I see no reason to object until I have an explanation. And if everyone has now come to their senses, perhaps these two men will remove this boy to some secure place where he may be confined until I can question him?’

Gwnda turned to the two men and his voice was sharp: ‘Return Idwal to my stables. When you have done that, you may take the horses of our guests here and see that they are well cared for.’ He smiled briefly to encompass them all. ‘Come into my hall, my friends, and I will do my best to explain the sorrow of this evening.’

‘Lord Gwnda. .’ One of the two men still stood hesitating.

‘Well?’ snapped Gwnda.

‘Shall I. . shall we be punished?’

Gwnda nodded towards Brother Meurig. ‘You will have the opportunity to present your defence. I shall leave the subject of punishment to the judgment of the barnwr here.’

‘But it was Iorwerth the smith. He told us. . told everyone. . that we should support him. He said it was justice.’

‘Everyone?’ jeered Gwnda. ‘Enough. You will have time to justify yourself later. Now get about the task that I have set you, unless you wish to compound your rebellion?’

The two men, heads hung morosely, moved off with the youth while Meurig, Fidelma and Eadulf dismounted and hooked their reins to a nearby post. Gwnda was ushering them into his hall. Inside, some women, looking apprehensively at the newcomers, were huddled in the corner.

‘Have no fear,’ called Gwnda cheerfully as he hung up his sword. ‘This is the barnwr and his companions. They come directly from the court of Gwlyddien.’

A young girl, about seventeen years old, dark-haired and attractive, came forward with an eager look on her face.

‘This is my daughter, Elen,’ Gwnda announced.

The girl spoke immediately to Brother Meurig. ‘Is the boy, Idwal, safe?’ she asked. Fidelma registered the concern in her voice.

‘He is. Are you a friend of his?’ asked the barnwr.

Gwnda snorted indignantly. ‘My daughter is no friend of the boy!’

Brother Meurig continued to look at the girl. He made no comment but simply raised his eyebrows in interrogation.

‘I was a friend of Mair,’ the girl said hesitantly, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘Everyone here knew Idwal.’

‘You should be more concerned with Mair’s fate and in seeking justice for her,’ muttered Gwnda sourly. ‘Now, you may leave us to discuss matters.’ He turned, raising his voice. ‘Buddog! Where is Buddog?’

A handsome, blonde-haired woman of middle years, her features still bearing what must have been the stunning beauty of her youth, came forward.

‘Bring refreshments for the barnwr and his companions. Quickly now!’ Gwnda’s tone was one of an arrogant master to a servant.

The woman, Buddog, stood for a moment, glaring at Gwnda. Fidelma noticed the intensity of her stare, which seemed to her to be one of malignancy, and realised that her companions had not observed it. Neither had Gwnda, who was occupied in showing Brother Meurig to a comfortable seat. Only then did he notice that Buddog had not obeyed him. He frowned, momentarily puzzled that his order had not been obeyed.

‘Our guests need refreshment now, not tomorrow!’ he snapped sharply.

Buddog paused for a fraction of a second before she dropped her gaze and moved away without saying anything.

Fidelma then noticed that Elen was also standing at the door, observing the scene. As Buddog brushed by her, the two seemed to exchange a meaningful look, and then Elen turned and closed the door behind them. Fidelma was intrigued by the veiled drama. There was tension in the household of the lord of Pen Caer and its mystery drew her like a moth to a candle.

Gwnda indicated that Fidelma and Eadulf should join Brother Meurig before the roaring log fire. One of the serving girls, not the woman Buddog, entered bearing a jug of local mead, which she served to them.

‘We seemed to have arrived at an opportune moment,’ Fidelma said, as she sipped the honey-sweet mead. ‘It appears that you were a prisoner of your own people.’

Gwnda gave her a swift glance of appraisal and then nodded slowly. ‘Rebellion, no less,’ he confirmed with irritation. ‘I can understand why some have allowed anger to mislead them. Feelings are running high on this matter.’

Brother Meurig regarded him with a serious expression. ‘Your understanding is most commendable, Gwnda. But rebellion is still a grave matter. How did this revolt manifest itself?’

Gwnda gestured with one hand, a curious motion as if dismissing matters. ‘My own people, stupid and misguided, imprisoned me and my household here. Then they seized the prisoner and intended to execute him.’

Brother Meurig’s expression was bleak. ‘That is outrageous. They imprisoned you and your family and took the boy from your custody by force? It is unheard of.’

The lord of Pen Caer’s features formed into a grim smile.

‘If it was unheard of, then I fear that it will now be a chronicler’s historical note. Iorwerth, who led this stupid attempt, was the father of the girl whom the boy, Idwal, raped and murdered. It is understandable that vengeance was his motivation. I cannot be harsh on him.’

‘Then you are most charitable,’ observed Brother Meurig.

Fidelma intervened, however, her voice sharp. ‘It sounds as though you have already judged the youth’s guilt, Gwnda. What need did you have of a barnwr ?’

Gwnda turned a patronising smile on her. ‘I observe that you are a stranger to our country, Sister. I should be most happy to explain the law later. Law is a complicated business.’

Brother Meurig coughed dryly as if embarrassed for Fidelma. ‘Lord Gwnda, Sister Fidelma is not only blood sister to the king of Cashel, but she is also a qualified dálaigh , of equivalent rank to me in her own country. It is to her that Gwlyddien, our king, has turned with his personal commission to seek a solution to the mystery of what transpired at Llanpadern.’

Gwnda flushed and made a non-committal sound.

‘You have not answered my question,’ pressed Fidelma without mercy. ‘It seems, from what you have said, that you have already concluded that the boy is guilty.’

The lord of Pen Caer appeared uncomfortable for a moment. ‘I sent for the barnwr because I believe that one should follow the law. However, my opinion is that the boy is guilty.’

One of the women interrupted by bringing in a tray of refreshments, which she placed on the table. Gwnda took the opportunity to motion them to take seats there. There were cuts of meat, cheeses, savoury cakes and oat bread among the dishes. Jugs of mead and fresh water were added to the meal.