Smoke in the Wind

sobbing more quietly now, head hung low.

‘He is hardly more than a boy,’ muttered Fidelma, observing the prisoner closely. She had addressed Brother Meurig in her own language, but the moon-faced man glanced at her distrustfully. It was clear that he also understood her tongue.

‘Boy or not, he is a killer and will be punished,’ he stated in the local speech.

‘This is not our way of punishment,’ returned Brother Meurig. ‘What do you mean by it?’

‘This boy raped and killed my daughter! I will have my vengeance!’ the moon-faced man said determinedly.

‘You will not have vengeance.’ Brother Meurig’s tone was biting. ‘However, you may see justice done. What is your name?’

‘I am Iorwerth the smith.’

‘And this boy’s name?’

‘He is Idwal.’

‘Very well, Iorwerth the smith. You will lead us to Gwnda’s hall. You two men, bring the boy, and see that he is not harmed otherwise you will answer to me.’ His sharp commands allowed for no dissent. Brother Meurig glared at the crowd who had retreated some yards away as if to distance themselves from Iorwerth and his friends. ‘The rest of you will disperse to your homes.’ He glanced towards the man who held the cudgel, who now appeared crestfallen. ‘And what is your name, my friend?’

The man’s eyes were still sullen. ‘I am Iestyn. I am a farmer here.’

‘Well, Iestyn, what justification do you have for your involvement in this affair?’

‘I am a friend to Iorwerth.’

‘Well, friend to Iorwerth, I shall make it your duty to ensure that these people disperse to their homes in safety. If there is any sign of unrest or further rebellion here. . why, I would hold you personally responsible. You would not like that, I am sure.’

Without another glance, Brother Meurig turned his back and motioned the man called Iorwerth to lead the way. There was a hesitation and then the moon-faced man shrugged and began to move forward. Brother Meurig started after him, still on his horse, while the two men followed, propelling the boy before them.

Bringing up the rear, Eadulf glanced towards Fidelma and smiled grimly. ‘It seems that Brother Meurig has more of a commanding personality than I gave him credit for,’ he whispered.

Fidelma grimaced. ‘He is what he is; a barnwr,’ she replied in a tone which implied rebuke.

The procession wound its way along the short distance between the buildings towards a large enclosure of barns and outhouses. Among these stood one tall edifice whose imposing structure marked it as the hall of the lord of the area. Two men stood outside the door. They seemed surprised by the arrival of the procession. One of them came forward as he recognised Iorwerth.

‘What has happened?’

‘It is the barnwr,’ the smith explained curtly, jerking his head towards Brother Meurig.

‘Where is your lord?’ demanded Meurig, still seated on his horse.

The man glanced towards the house and then, surprisingly, his companion turned and ran off. The remaining man called a curse after him. Brother Meurig ordered him in a sharp tone: ‘Bring forth your lord. Quickly! And woe betide you if he has been harmed.’

The man went to the door and knocked upon it. It did not seem to have been secured. There was a movement inside and the man turned and scurried off into the darkness.

A moment later a thickset man with a dark full beard appeared in the doorway. He carried a sword in his right hand as if ready to defend himself from attack.

‘What does this mean?’ he growled, glancing suspiciously around. ‘I, Gwnda, demand to know!’

Brother Meurig bent forward in his saddle. ‘Are you Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer?’

‘I am he,’ the man responded, not lowering his sword. Then his eyes narrowed suddenly as he recognised the robes of the religieux.

‘I am Brother Meurig of the abbey of Dewi Sant, the barnwr for whom you have sent. These are my companions, Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf. They travel under special commission of Gwlyddien of Dyfed.’

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.