Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

‘I think that it is better we rethink this plan,’ Eadulf went on. ‘There is no way you are going to be able to ask questions about Idwal. Besides, Gwnda is right, you know.’

She looked at him belligerently. ‘Right? In what way?’

‘This matter of Idwal is not really our affair. Our task was to-’

She held up her hand to stop him. ‘Spare me what I have heard a thousand times,’ she snapped waspishly. Then, almost at once, she smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, Eadulf, but you have pointed this out before — several times.’

He agreed gloomily. ‘Facts are facts no matter how many times they are stated,’ he added in self-justification.

‘The fact is that I am coming to the belief that there is some common factor in all these events. I want to know what that connection is.

‘This is not the first time you have implied there is a connection. How can you say so? I have seen no evidence of any connection.’

‘I feel it.’

‘It is not like you to rely only on intuition.’

‘I do not rely on it, as well you know. But Brehon Morann once said that often the heart and emotions will see before the head does.’

‘And often the heart and emotions will be blind while logic shows the way,’ grunted Eadulf.

‘I thought we could work together,’ Fidelma found herself protesting. ‘Instead we seem to be arguing all the time. What has happened to us, Eadulf?’

Eadulf considered the matter.

He realised that it was true. Since they had come to this accursed country of Dyfed there had been a growing friction. It was not that argument was new to them. Indeed, they had often argued but each had retained their respect for the other; both had retained their sense of humour. Eadulf knew that Fidelma always teased him over their conflicting opinions on the Faith, over their differing philosophies. But the arguments were always good-natured and there was no enmity between them. Yet now, now. . what was wrong? There seemed a growing bitterness behind their words.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘I think it is this atmosphere, Fidelma,’ he answered weakly. ‘I feel it is oppressive.’

‘You have been gloomy ever since we came on this shore. Perhaps I should have taken notice of what you said. Maybe we should have waited in Porth Clais and found another boat.’

Eadulf knew that she did not believe what she was saying. She was in her element here, studying this mystery. To deny her that would be to totally misunderstand what made her function.

‘The fault lies with me,’ he said, after a moment or two. ‘I am the one who is the cause of the problem.’

Fidelma looked quickly at him to check whether he was being sincere. Then she shook her head. ‘I think the fault might lie with the decision I took at Loch Garman.’ Her voice was without emotion.

Eadulf compressed his lips. He said nothing.

Fidelma waited a moment or two and when he made no other comment she added: ‘The sages say ne cede malis , but that is precisely what we seem to be doing. We are yielding to misfortune. We have never done so before.’

‘There is a curse on this land,’ growled Eadulf angrily.

‘A curse?’ Fidelma actually smiled, a swift glimpse of her old urchin grin of mischief. ‘I have never seen you retreating back into the superstition of your people, Eadulf.’

Eadulf’s face reddened. He was well aware that most Christians from other lands did not regard the newly converted Angles and Saxons as truly Christian. He had not forgotten the body of the Hwicce in the tomb at Llanpadern and the talk of a Saxon raiding ship. He knew just how much the Britons of these kingdoms hated Saxons. He had always felt himself above the misdeeds of his people in their centuries-old struggle to drive the Britons ever westward and take over their lands. The Saxon wars were nothing to do with him. They were a matter to be condemned by the Church and he was no part of them. To have Fidelma associating him with. .

He paused in his misery. Someone had entered the room and crossed to the table where they were sitting. It was Buddog.

‘I have come to set the table,’ she announced quietly, and suited the action to the word, beginning to place the plates from a wooden tray.

Fidelma regarded the dour, taciturn woman with a speculative eye. ‘Have you heard the news?’

The blonde servant did not pause. ‘Concerning Brother Meurig? I have.’

‘Gwnda is claiming that he was killed by Idwal.’

‘That is not my concern.’

‘I thought you were anxious to point out to Brother Meurig, when we were last here, that Idwal was deserving of some sympathy.’

‘I did not say that,’ the woman said brusquely.

‘Then what did you say?’

‘I said that if Idwal killed Mair then she deserved it.’

‘Ah yes,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘So you did. You felt that she was flirtatious and led men astray. Why was that, now? Remind me of your reason for saying so.’

‘Because Mair was sly. Capricious. She twisted men around her little finger. She could make them do whatever she wanted.’

‘Ah, so I remember. But what you are saying is that she was hardly the virgin depicted by her father Iorwerth.’

‘What did Iorwerth know of what she was up to? A virgin, indeed,’ sneered the woman. ‘She used men’s lust as a weapon against them.’

‘You seem to have known her pretty well? More so than her father,’ pointed out Eadulf.

‘I knew her. She was around here enough times.’

‘Ah, yes. She was Elen’s friend, wasn’t she? But as for using men’s lust against them — who do you say were her victims? Are you speaking of Idwal?’

‘And others.’

‘What others?’

The door opened abruptly. They looked up and saw a dark, attractive young girl enter the room. It took Eadulf a few moments to remember that she was Elen, the daughter of Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer. She hesitated when she saw Buddog. But the blonde servant took the opportunity to leave, her eyes lowered.

‘Is it true?’ The girl’s first words were a breathless gasp as she faced Fidelma. ‘Is it true that Brother Meurig has been killed and that you are looking for Idwal to kill him in revenge?’

Fidelma motioned the girl to a chair by her. Automatically, Elen obeyed the unspoken order and sat down. When she had done so she repeated with emphasis: ‘Is it true?’

‘It is true that Brother Meurig was hacked to death in the woodsman’s hut in the forest. However, it is not true that we are looking for Idwal to kill him. Indeed, your father made plain that we have no role in the matter. Nevertheless, we would like to find Idwal if only for his own safety.’

The girl remained silent for a moment. ‘Brother Meurig told me that you were a famous lawyer from Cashel.’

‘When did you speak with Brother Meurig?’ asked Fidelma.

The girl pouted thoughtfully. ‘He asked me some questions yesterday before I left.’

‘Before you left?’

‘I have just returned from Cilau and heard the news in the township.’

‘Cilau?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘I seem to have heard the name before.’

‘It is a small settlement not far from here. I have a cousin there,’ explained the girl. ‘I left there at midday to get here before dark.’

‘Did you know that Brother Meurig was going into the forest?’

‘I knew that he planned to go to the forest this morning to see where Mair was killed,’ Elen agreed.

‘Did you know that he was taking Idwal?

‘Didn’t he need Idwal to show him the spot where Mair was murdered?’

‘As I recall, you did not believe Idwal killed your friend Mair?’

‘Idwal would not harm anyone. You spoke with him so you must know that he is a simple youth. Simple but nice. . and he is so gentle. Sometimes, when a sheep or lamb under his care falls from a rock and injures itself, he can hardly bring himself to kill it. Only the fact that life is a greater misery with the pain of its injury gives him the courage to do so.’