Peter Tremayne - Smoke in the Wind

Fidelma was silent as she contemplated what she had been told.

‘I explained that there’ — the apothecary gave an embarrassed shrug — ‘there was no sign of sexual molestation. And I would guarantee that she was no virgo intacta .’

‘Could you tell by examination?’

‘My wife did that. She also told me that she was not surprised, for a year ago the girl had approached her and asked about ways to prevent pregnancy. I speak boldly, Sister, but you must know how women hand down such lore.’

‘Mair asked your wife this question?’

‘You may ask her yourself.’ The apothecary turned as if to call her but Fidelma restrained him with a shake of her head.

‘There is no need. Your word as an apothecary is good enough. That is all I want to know. It makes things very clear.’

They left the apothecary shop and Eadulf noticed that Fidelma was walking with a light step and smiling to herself. There were many more people in the street now. It seemed that everyone had returned and there was no longer any fear of a Saxon attack. To Eadulf’s surprise, Fidelma turned back in the direction of Iorwerth’s forge.

‘Where now?’ he asked.

She indicated the forge at the end of the street. ‘A final link to be put in place,’ she said mysteriously.

They could hear Iorwerth at work before they reached the forge. He was rekindling his fire and they could hear the rasping of his bellows as he tried to get the wood to catch. He looked up with a scowl as they hitched their horses to the fence and entered the forge.

‘What now?’ he demanded ungraciously. ‘Are your Saxon friends going to attack us?’

‘There are just a few points that we need clarification on.’ Fidelma responded to his brusque manner with a pleasant smile.

Iorwerth set down the bellows and folded his arms, glaring defiantly from one to the other. ‘Gwnda claims that you have no right to ask questions about the death of my daughter. I shall not answer those questions.’

‘That is fair enough,’ agreed Fidelma easily.

Iorwerth started in surprise at her ready agreement. ‘If not my daughter’s death, then what do you want to speak to me about?’

‘Yesterday you had a visitor to your forge.’

Iorwerth’s jaw clenched. ‘I have many come to the forge. It is my business.’

‘This man was a warrior and, I am told, a stranger to this district.’

The smith was frowning. ‘I do not usually have warriors. .’ He paused, and his expression told them that he had recalled the man. ‘Why do you inquire after that man?’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘As you say, he was a stranger, a warrior. His horse had loosed a shoe. I fixed it.’

‘You had never seen him before?’

‘Never. He spent a short time here. He asked for mead to drink, for which he paid, and spent a pleasant time exchanging some gossip while I fixed his horse’s shoe. That was all.’

‘Tell me,’ Fidelma pressed, ‘did Elen, Gwnda’s daughter, pass by at that time?’

‘How did you know that?’ demanded Iorwerth, slightly surprised at the recollection. ‘She did. I remember that because the warrior asked me who she was.’

‘You told him, of course?’

‘I said that she was the daughter of Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer.’

‘Did he tell you why he wanted to know?’

‘I think he said something like, “There’s a fine-looking girl, who is she?” ’

‘Nothing else passed between you?’

Iorwerth shook his head. ‘Nothing, as I recall. He passed the time of day while I fixed his horse’s shoe. We exchanged a few jokes and gossiped. That is all.’

‘Did he mention his name by any chance?’

Again, Iorwerth made a negative gesture.

‘Nor where he came from?’

‘No, although I could guess.’

‘Really? And what was your guess?’

‘He was either from Ceredigion or somewhere along its borders.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Smiths are a close-knit community. It is easy to recognise types of work. From what I saw of his horse and his weapons, I could swear that the work was done in Ceredigion.’

‘Very well.’

‘Why do you ask about this man?’

‘A matter of curiosity,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Let me ask you something else. Were you ever a warrior?’

Iorwerth looked startled. ‘Never. I have always been a smith.’

‘I understand that you learnt your craft in Dinas?’

The bolt went home. Iorwerth blinked rapidly. He did not reply for a moment or two. Then he said, slowly: ‘It is many years since I was last in Dinas.’

‘Twenty years ago?’

‘That is about right. How did you know this?’

Fidelma had taken something from her marsupium . She suddenly held it before his eyes. It was the red gold chain with the bejewelled image of the hare hanging from it.

‘Have you ever seen that before?’ she demanded.

A paleness crept over Iorwerth’s features as he stared at the pendant.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asked slowly.

‘Do you recognise it?’ she insisted.

‘I last saw that twenty years ago. Where did you get it?’

‘Iolo the shepherd, before he died, gave it to Idwal. Iolo told the boy that it belonged to his mother.’

Iorwerth stepped back as if he had received a body blow. His eyes widened and his mouth had opened slightly. He was looking at them but not seeing them. Then his features seemed to dissolve.

‘Oh, my God!’ he cried.

Then, before either of them could react, he had turned, grabbed the mane of an unsaddled horse, swung himself up and gone racing away over the bridge and into the woods.

Eadulf turned with grim humour. ‘Well, he certainly recognised the necklet. But what does that tell us? Indeed, what can we deduce from anything?’

Fidelma was smiling with a dreamy satisfied air. ‘The deduction is simple, Eadulf. I believe that we have now all the pieces to set up the picture of what has happened in this place.’

Eadulf’s surprise was only slightly less than that displayed by Iorwerth. ‘Surely you cannot mean that?’

‘Surely I can,’ replied Fidelma with dry mischief. ‘Let us hope our young friend Dewi returns from the abbey of Dewi Sant soon.’

‘What then?’

‘Then we can explain this puzzle, apportion the blame, and return to Porth Clais in search of a ship. I am sure that you urgently want to continue the journey to Canterbury?’

Eadulf did not reply.

‘Good,’ went on Fidelma as if he had spoken. ‘Tonight is a chance to enjoy ourselves. The eve of All Hallows Day. The ancient pagan festival of the dead. We can join in the feasting and bonfires.’

‘Are you sure that you have a solution to this riddle?’ Eadulf seemed unconvinced.

‘I would not have said so otherwise,’ replied Fidelma quietly.

The evening meal, served by the taciturn Buddog, was eaten in a gloomy atmosphere. Gwnda sat moodily at the head of the table, drumming his fingers occasionally on the table top. He seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. The main savoury dishes had been cleared away when Buddog brought in a plate of small cakes speckled with currants from the gooseberry bushes.

‘These are good,’ Eadulf said desperately, trying to ease the brooding ambience.

‘Have you not seen them before?’ asked Fidelma, feeling sorry for him. ‘We call them speckled bread at home and also serve them at this time of year-’

Eadulf had bitten deeply and a spasm of agony distorted his face. He put his hand to his mouth and drew out a small metal finger ring which he held up, staring at it in surprise.

‘What in the name. .?’

Fidelma was chuckling. ‘Don’t worry, you are not being poisoned. It is merely a tradition.’