Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

‘It lay at the feet of one religieux.’

‘Did you wipe the blood off?’ The weapon she held was clean and almost shining.

‘It was like that when we found it,’ Goff the smith put in.

‘And where was the other part of the weapon? In one of the corpses?’

‘No, the wounds were clean and-’ Dewi stopped abruptly as he suddenly realised the significance of the question.

‘And the knife and the shield? Were they just lying close by?’

The young man considered. ‘The shield was on top of one of the bodies and the knife alongside another.’

‘So what happened after this discovery?’

It was Goff who answered.

‘Dewi came back to fetch some more of us down to Penmorfa. I retrieved the weapons and searched the bodies in case there was a means of identification. There was none. No jewellery or crucifixes — nothing. So we buried them by the cliffs where they had fallen.’

‘Are you sure that they were killed at that spot?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Oh yes. There was a great deal of blood on the ground around the bodies.’

‘And then?’

‘When we had ensured that we were safe, I told my boy, Dewi, to ride to Llanwnda and tell Gwnda, the lord of Pen Caer, what we had found; the slaughter and the sighting of the Saxon warship along the coast. It does not need much imagination to work out what happened.’

‘That Saxon raiders attacked the community at Llanpadern? Are you sure of that?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Are you sure that they carried off the community and, for some reason, slaughtered seven of them on the cliffs before they went back onto their warship?’

‘Of course. This is what must have occurred.’

‘Do you know that there is no sign of an attack at Llanpadern? No building is burnt or destroyed. Nor are there signs of any religious slaughtered there.’

Goff grimaced.

‘That’s easily answered, Sister. The Saxons came at night and surprised the brethren so that there was no opportunity to defend themselves. They were rounded up like lambs for the slaughter.’

‘But-’ began Eadulf. Fidelma silenced him with a sharp look.

‘And has there been any further sign of this Saxon ship, either before or since?’ she asked.

‘We keep a special watch along the coast for such raids. There has been no further sign of it.’

Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘You have been most helpful, Goff. You, also, Dewi.’

‘Where do you go now?’ asked Goff, offering them more mead.

‘Back to Llanwnda. We will rejoin our companion from the abbey of Dewi Sant there.’

‘I hear there is also trouble at Llanwnda.’

‘That is so,’ confirmed Eadulf, now tucking into some bread with relish. ‘Our companion, Brother Meurig, is investigating-’

‘Meurig the barnwr ?’ Rhonwen moved to the table, her round face suddenly serious. ‘Is he investigating the death of poor Mair?’

‘Did you know Mair?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Here, under the shelter of Pen Caer, Sister,’ Goff nodded towards the distant peak, ‘we are a close community. Besides, Iorwerth is a fellow smith and news travels quickly from forge to forge.’

‘So you know Iorwerth as well?’

‘We were apprentices together at the same forge when we were young. For two years I slept cheek by jowl with him before our smith-master drove him out.’

Fidelma was immediately interested. ‘Drove him out? Can you be more precise?’

Goff looked sombre at the memory and glanced towards the serious face of his wife.

‘That I can, Sister. Our smith-master had a daughter. Some nights I would awaken to find that the bed of my fellow apprentice was empty. You understand?’

‘I think I follow you,’ agreed Fidelma.

The broad-shouldered man scowled in disapproval. ‘With Iorwerth, it was more a question of lust than love. I don’t think Iorwerth really cared for anyone. Maybe not even his daughter. I know his wife died some years ago and his mourning was brief.’

‘Indeed it was.’ Rhonwen sat down suddenly at the table. She looked at Goff and some hidden message passed between them.

‘I don’t think we need you any more, Dewi,’ he said. ‘Best get down to the forge and see all is well.’

Reluctantly, the youth rose and left them. After he had gone, Rhonwen leant forward.

‘Iorwerth’s wife was a friend of mine. Esyllt was a beautiful girl. How she was ever persuaded to marry Iorwerth, only God would know. It was not a marriage that I would have said was favoured in heaven. Her death was almost predictable.’

‘What happened?’ asked Fidelma.

‘She simply took ill and died one day. You know how it is? Some ague. The fever carried her off, poor dear. One thing, she went to a better place than she had occupied with the living. Iorwerth is a petty and vengeful man. I often wondered why poor Esyllt stayed with him. I asked her once if she would like to come away and stay with us, when we knew Iorwerth was beating her. After all, Esyllt was my closest and dearest friend.’

‘Tell me, Goff, where was this master-smith under whom you and Iorwerth were apprentices?’

‘He was smith of Dinas. Gurgust of Dinas. Poor man.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘Poor man?’

‘His daughter, you see.’

‘Poor man from the point of view that his daughter was having an affair with Iorwerth?’

Goff shook his head. ‘From what happened afterwards. It was a few weeks after Iorwerth was chased out of Dinas, after Gurgust had discovered that his daughter — Efa was her name — had succumbed to Iorwerth’s attentions, if you understand me? Gurgust was in such a rage that he threw his daughter out of his house as well.’

‘Did she go off with Iorwerth?’

‘She did not. Iorwerth had vanished and the girl was on her own. It seems that poor Efa took up with an itinerant warrior and had a child by him. Then Efa died.’

‘Did she die in childbirth?’

‘She was found in nearby woods, strangled, when her child was a few months old.’

‘Strangled?’ Fidelma was not often overtly startled but she set down her mead carefully.

‘It was very sad. Poor Gurgust gave up the forge after that. I did hear that he tried to find and claim custody of Efa’s child.’

‘Did he succeed?’

‘Not that I know of. The warrior had already given up the child and vanished in a host that marched on Ceredigion. I left Dinas and moved to the smithy here in Llanferran. It was only some years later that I heard that Gurgust had been killed in one of the border raids. In spite of his actions, he loved his daughter, Efa, and when she was murdered. .’ He ended with a shrug.

‘Did they ever find out who was responsible for Efa’s death?’ asked Fidelma when he paused.

Goff shook his head. ‘There was speculation that the warrior who had befriended her was the murderer. But no one knew who he was nor was he ever caught. There was even some argument that it was none other than Iorwerth himself.’

‘Was Iorwerth ever questioned about it?’

Goff was not surprised at her query. It had doubtless been asked many times over the years.

‘Of course. But Iorwerth had left Dinas as soon as Gurgust had thrown him out. At least no one could find him. It was thought that he had been in one of the hosts which marched on Ceredigion. Then, some years later, it was found that he had set up his own smithy at Llanwnda. Then he married Esyllt, my wife’s friend, and Mair was born. There was nothing to connect him with the death of Efa except rumour. Some felt that a wandering beggar had killed her, because the golden chain that she always wore — a chain of red gold which Gurgust had fashioned for her and which she had prized — was missing. It carried a strangely shaped gold pendant with jewels ending in the likeness of a hare. It was the symbol of Andrasta, the old pagan goddess of my people.’