Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

‘Going where?’

Gwnda shook his head. ‘He did not tell me.’

‘When did he say that he would return?’

‘He did not say.’

Fidelma tried to control her exasperation.

‘Did he tell anyone where he was going?’ Eadulf decided to enter the questioning.

‘A secret man, is the barnwr .’ Gwnda smiled without humour. Then he noticed the condition of their clothes and their tired and dishevelled appearance. ‘You appear to have slept rough. Could you not find shelter at Llanpadern? There was a bad storm last night.’

‘We had to shelter in a cave,’ Eadulf explained shortly. ‘Baths and the possibility of finding some fresh clothing would be a welcome thing.’

‘You are my guests until you depart again for the abbey of Dewi Sant,’ the chieftain acknowledged without enthusiasm.

‘Then we. .’ began Eadulf, and then paused, suddenly catching sight of Fidelma’s warning look. She was not sure what he was about to say but the look expressed her alarm in case he mentioned the finding of Meurig before she was ready. ‘. . we accept,’ he finished lamely.

They followed Gwnda into the hall and he clapped his hands for attention. The tall blonde woman entered and her eyes narrowed a little as she beheld them.

‘Buddog, Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf are once more our guests. See that baths are prepared and refreshment brought. Also see that their horses are cared for and fed.’

The woman inclined her head slightly. ‘It shall be done.’

While Gwnda was issuing his instructions, Fidelma managed to whisper to Eadulf: ‘Let me do the talking about Meurig.’

They were seated before the fire when Buddog brought in their drinks and announced that the bathing preparations were being made. When Gwnda had seated himself and taken his drink, Fidelma said quietly: ‘Father Clidro is dead.’

The lord of Pen Caer stared at her for a moment. ‘So it was a Saxon raid, after all? How many of the brethren have died?’ There was a note of triumph in his voice.

‘Some seven others, so far as we can deduce, and then there is Father Clidro. He was hanged in a barn at Llanpadern while the others were, as was reported to you, slain on the beach near Llanferran.’

Gwnda sighed deeply. ‘Our coastline is vulnerable to Saxon raids.’

‘Do you know of an outlaw called Clydog?’

Gwnda actually started so much that some of his drink spilled on his hand.

Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘It is obvious that you do know of him,’ she observed before the chieftain could compose himself.

‘Most people around Pen Caer know that name and many are acquainted with him to their cost,’ conceded the chieftain, recovering his poise.

‘What do you know of him?’

Gwnda examined them both thoughtfully. ‘Why bring Clydog into this?’ he said slowly.

‘I merely want you to share with me what you know of this Clydog the Wasp.’

Gwnda paused thoughtfully. ‘Clydog Cacynen.’ He almost sneered the name. ‘Six months ago we had reports of wayfarers being robbed in the forests around Ffynnon Druidion. At first, none of them were killed, merely robbed and sent on their way. They spoke of an outlaw named Clydog, who seemed quite cultured and who robbed them with a laugh. He had a small band of warriors, presumably adventurers, thieves and murderers escaping justice. A dozen or so men who took to the forests with Clydog.’

Fidelma was a little impatient. She felt that he was not telling her anything that she did not know. ‘You said that none of his victims were killed at first. That implies that others were killed later.’

Gwnda nodded in confirmation. ‘That is so, Sister. Several people have been killed as Clydog’s raids have become more reckless. King Gwlyddien once sent a band of warriors to scour the woods to destroy Clydog, but without success. Clydog knows the forests of Ffynnon Druidion like the back of his hand.’

‘Gwlyddien had to send warriors? You are lord of Pen Caer. Why couldn’t you raise your own band of warriors to flush him out?’

Gwnda chuckled without humour. ‘If I searched all Pen Caer I doubt whether I could find a dozen trained warriors. Most of the young menfolk are already serving with the Lord Rhodri to protect our borders with Ceredigion.’

‘So, apart from this one attempt, nothing has been done about Clydog since?’

‘So long as Clydog does not strike at any of the major settlements of Pen Caer and confines himself to the highways, he is no great threat to the peace of the area.’

‘So your policy is to let Clydog alone and hope he lets you alone?’ Fidelma was disapproving. ‘What if he were responsible for Llanpadern?’

Gwnda started in astonishment. ‘Are you saying that it was not a Saxon raid? Are you saying Clydog was responsible for killing Father Clidro and the others? That is nonsense. What purpose would it serve?’

‘I am asking, what if he were responsible?’ she pressed.

‘Then I suppose that King Gwlyddien would have to raise men to go against him. Send warriors in such numbers that he would be flushed out. But it would take a fair number to comb the woods of Ffynnon Druidion, and the kingdom cannot spare many trained warriors. Not at this time.’

‘Cannot?’ Fidelma emphasised the word.

‘Artglys, the king of Ceredigion, is pressing on our borders, searching for weaknesses in the hope of taking over this land. Our borders are long and our warriors stretched to maintain the peace along them.’

Fidelma sat for a moment considering the information. ‘We know what Clydog is, but I would like to know who he is.’

Gwnda was puzzled. ‘Who?’

‘Surely this outlaw did not suddenly appear from nowhere?’

The lord of Pen Caer surprised them by nodding slowly. ‘That is precisely what he did.’

‘You mean that he is not a local man?’

‘Not so far as we know.’

‘If he is not from the area, how does he have such a good local knowledge that he can avoid the warriors of the king when they search for him?’ Eadulf asked.

Gwnda sniffed deprecatingly. ‘A good point, Brother Saxon. A good point. But no one who has seen Clydog has been able to identify him as being related to anyone in this area. Perhaps it is one of his men who has the local knowledge.’

Fidelma was disappointed. She had been sure that Clydog must have some local connection; a connection which she was hoping would link him to the mystery.

Buddog re-entered. ‘The baths are ready for our guests, lord,’ she announced. ‘Alas, we have no robes suitable for religious. However, if the sister and the brother will consent to put on ordinary garments for a day, we will wash their own robes and return them.’

Fidelma slowly rose. ‘That will be acceptable. Your hospitality is most welcome, Gwnda.’

As Buddog left the chieftain also rose, along with Eadulf. ‘It is my earnest hope that the affairs that have brought you here are speedily resolved,’ he said.

‘It is our hope also, Gwnda,’ Fidelma replied with the same solemnity. ‘However, it may take some time. You see. . Brother Meurig has been murdered.’

Eadulf had been waiting to see what dramatic moment Fidelma would choose to reveal the find in the forest.

The expression on Gwnda’s face changed only slowly. Then he shook himself like a shaggy dog. ‘Are you saying that Brother Meurig is dead?’

‘His body lies in the forest,’ confirmed Fidelma.

Gwnda let out a long, whistling sigh. ‘Murdered, you say? Why did you not tell me immediately?’

‘You said that you did not know where Brother Meurig had gone or when he would return. What could you have told me if you had known before?’

‘Nothing, but. .’

‘But?’