The man examined Eadulf with amusement. ‘Then you have bought the Saxon a longer lease on life than he was about to enjoy. You will both come with us.’
‘You still have not told us who you are,’ Fidelma replied defiantly.
‘My name will mean nothing to you.’
‘Are you ashamed of it?’
For the first time a scowl crossed the young man’s features. His companion with the polished war helmet moved unobtrusively forward and laid a hand on his arm. The movement was not lost on Fidelma. The warrior could be goaded and that knowledge might come in useful at some time. The young man made an effort to regain his composure and the cynical smile returned.
‘My name is Clydog. I am often called Clydog Cacynen.’
‘Clydog the Wasp?’ Fidelma spoke as if placating a child. ‘Tell me, Clydog, why is it that you wear that old symbol of a hero about your neck? Can it be that you have earned that distinction fighting against unarmed religious?’
The young man’s hand automatically went up to touch his torc. Another flush of uncontrollable anger crossed his features.
‘It was worn,’ he replied slowly, ‘at the defeat of King Selyf at Cair Legion. The Saxons will have good cause to remember that crime.’
The man in the war helmet cleared his throat warningly. ‘We have bandied enough words. If you want these religious to look at Sualda, let us go now before another mistake is made. You two, walk in front of the bowmen. No tricks or they will shoot. I do not make vain threats.’
Eadulf felt able to intervene for the first time.
‘Have a care,
Fidelma turned to him with a frown of disapproval. ‘Remember the adage,
The man with the war helmet glanced from Eadulf to Fidelma and burst out laughing. ‘Well now! We find that the Saxon has a tongue, after all. Thank you for your information. A princess of the Gwyddel, eh? Well, lady, you need not remind your Saxon friend that one should strive to pay as little ransom as possible when one is taken prisoner. I doubt whether we shall trouble your esteemed brother with a ransom demand even though we now know your rank. He is too far away and such negotiations are troublesome.’
‘So you are common outlaws?’ Fidelma regarded her captors with defiance.
There was an angry flush on the cheek of the man who called himself Clydog. ‘An outlaw? In Dyfed, I would not deny it. But not common; not I. I am-’
‘Clydog!’ The word came like a sharp explosion from the man with the war helmet. He turned abruptly to Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘Enough chatter. Precede us!’ He indicated towards the courtyard.
‘Do you have a name also?’ Fidelma was not to be intimidated. In fact, she was pleased that she was causing dissension among their captors.
The man with the war helmet regarded her for a moment. ‘Among this band, you may call me Corryn,’ he replied without humour.
‘It is the first time I have heard of a wasp and a spider coexisting,’ Fidelma said humorously, knowing that
‘You might be surprised,’ came the man’s rejoinder. ‘Now, shall we proceed?’
Outside, Fidelma was surprised to see half a dozen mounted men, all well armed and astride good horses. With them were two more men seated on a large farm cart which seemed to be filled but whose contents were covered with tarpaulin. She rebuked herself for not paying closer attention to the warning from their own horses, and the open gates.
‘I see that you have come with your own mounts,’ observed Clydog, examining their horses. ‘Those beasts are richly accoutred thoroughbreds. You religious are well provided for.’
‘They were provided for us by King Gwlyddien,’ Eadulf pointed out defensively.
‘Ah. Then the old man will not miss them. Still, as we have a distance to ride, you may still use them.’
‘Where do we ride for?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘And why are you taking us as prisoners if you do not expect to ransom us?’
‘Mount up!’ snapped the man who called himself Corryn. ‘Do not ask questions!’
Eadulf mounted. There was little point in doing anything else.
Clydog had turned to the two men on the cart. ‘You know what to do? Rejoin us as soon as you have finished. ’
He walked his horse to the head of the band as they closed in around Fidelma and Eadulf, and with a wave of his hand led them off at a brisk pace. They seemed to be heading directly towards the large mass of forest to the south. Fidelma was sure that at some point on their journey to Llanwnda Brother Meurig had referred to the name of this woodland. What had he called it? The forest of Ffynnon Druidion?
Of all the ill-luck. To fall in with a band of cut-throats. Brother Meurig had mentioned that there were robbers in the area but not such a large, well-armed band as this. Had she realised, then she would have demanded that Gwlyddien or even Gwnda provide them with an escort of warriors. In truth, she was now more concerned about Eadulf’s safety than her own. Perhaps she should have listened more closely to Eadulf when he was talking about his feeling of discomfort at being a Saxon isolated in the lands of the Britons. It was not that she did not understand the depth of historical animosity between the two peoples but that she had thought good sense would prevail. She had forgotten that prejudice was often reason enough to inflict harm on someone.
She examined the figure of Corryn, riding beside Clydog at the head of the band of men. She had that curious feeling that his features were familiar. Had they met before? Or did he merely remind her of someone? If so, who?
He seemed intelligent and of good education. He spoke Latin; certainly enough to pick up on her warning to Eadulf that he should be circumspect about revealing her identity because robbers would set a high price on a woman of rank whereas they might let a simple religieuse go without ransom.
Clydog, who seemed to be the leader of the band, also appeared to be well educated. There was the torc which he wore round his neck and the mysterious response he had made about it. Neither Clydog nor Corryn seemed to be typical of robbers and outlaws. But whatever the mystery was it was an infernal nuisance that their paths had crossed at this time. The first task was to escape. All told there were nine riders with them, including Clydog and Corryn. It would be hopeless to attempt to escape now because most of the outlaws carried bows of the type that were four feet in length and when strung would send an arrow over a great range. They would have to wait until they reached their destination and hope an opportunity would present itself there.
She glanced surreptitiously at Eadulf. She could see the grim lines of worry on her friend’s face. She knew that Eadulf had only gone along with her decision to undertake this investigation to please her. He had been apprehensive; he had been apprehensive even before he accompanied her to the abbey of Dewi Sant to see Abbot Tryffin. Perhaps she should have respected his reservations, for Eadulf did not worry without reason. She would never forgive herself if her vanity, her arrogance, led to some harm’s befalling him. They should have waited in Porth Clais and continued their journey to Canterbury without interruption. She set her jaw firmly. It was no use indulging in repentance now.
They reached the thick cover of the trees. Clydog obviously knew the tracks for he did not slow down but kept on at a rapid pace, while those following moved quickly into single file behind. Fidelma and Eadulf found that their companions were expert horsemen for they had negotiated their prisoners into a position in the middle of their column without slowing their pace. It was some time before the column of horses burst through a thick entanglement of evergreen undergrowth. Fidelma observed they had entered a clearing where a small stream bubbled into a large pool, not large enough to be called a lake. There was an old burial chamber at one end and some makeshift huts and tents nearby. A cooking pot hung over a central fire. A rail at the far end provided the only stable for the horses, being simply a spot at which the beasts were tethered.
There were half a dozen more men in the camp, who came forward, examining the prisoners with curiosity.
‘Who are they, Clydog?’ demanded one of them, a thickset fellow who appeared well used to the outdoor
