community of Llanpadern. He sent Brother Meurig here to judge the case against Idwal. You have no right to intervene in this matter. I am lord of Pen Caer and I shall be magistrate in this affair.’
Fidelma swallowed sharply. It was true. Gwnda was right under the absolute letter of the law. She had no jurisdiction here. She thought for a moment and then realised that she could do nothing but back away.
‘Then I must plead with you, Gwnda. I believe that an injustice is happening. I should investigate this matter further if justice is to be served.’
‘You have authority to investigate at Llanpadern. That is all.’ Gwnda’s expression was determined. ‘You are welcome to the hospitality of my hall for this night. I presume that you will want to return to the abbey of Dewi Sant tomorrow. Until then I suggest that you do not wander far from the protection of my roof.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Gwnda?’ Once more Eadulf heard a dangerously quiet quality to her voice.
Gwnda’s expression was impassive. ‘There is no threat at all in what I say, Sister. I am but warning you for your own safety and the safety of your Saxon companion.’
‘That certainly sounds like a threat to me,’ observed Eadulf sourly.
‘When the news of Brother Meurig’s death has spread, there will be many who will be angered. The fact that Idwal was obviously responsible for Mair’s death was acknowledged by most people in Llanwnda. Now it appears that Brother Meurig has been killed by him. The people will be reminded that you stopped them taking their revenge on Idwal. Had they done so, Meurig would be alive now.’
‘It was not we who prevented the mob from murder,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘Brother Meurig was the one who stopped their foolhardiness.’
Gwnda smiled thinly. ‘Brother Meurig has paid the price for his mistake. However, if you start wandering around Llanwnda, the people might recall that you were with him and bear collectively the responsibility for a further death here.’
‘That is a totally illogical way of thinking,’ snapped Fidelma.
‘I speak not for myself, of course, but for the people,’ Gwnda said evasively. ‘They are notoriously illogical when it comes to curbing feelings of vengeance against any who have wronged them.’ He turned to the door. ‘If you need anything further just ring that hand bell. Buddog will come to attend to your wants.’
They heard his steps retreating outside and a short time later a horse left the stable.
Eadulf was resigned. ‘So that is that! We return to the abbey of Dewi Sant tomorrow. At least we can-’
He was brought up short by Fidelma’s scornful expression. ‘Do you think I would run away now?’
Eadulf gazed into her fiery green eyes and suppressed a sigh of resignation. ‘I suppose not.’
‘Precisely so.’
‘Then what do you intend?’
‘I have never retreated from a mystery that I was pledged to resolve. Nor will I now.’
‘Then you will need to get the authority of King Gwlyddien to overrule the lord of Pen Caer.’
She glanced at him and smiled. As usual, Eadulf had that ability of getting right down to the practicality. Her smile broadened. Eadulf read what was in her mind and groaned inwardly.
‘You want me to ride to the abbey of Dewi Sant and seek authority of King Gwlyddien?’
She nodded affirmatively and added: ‘It is the only way.’
‘Do I have time to eat first?’ he asked petulantly.
‘Naturally. And to sleep as well. The best way to do this is for both of us to pretend that we are leaving tomorrow at first light. Then I shall find somewhere to stay outside Llanwnda while you go on to the abbey. If you ride fast, and the abbot provides you with a fresh horse, you could be back within twenty-four hours.’
‘What will you do for twenty-four hours?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘You will not be able to move around asking questions and there is the additional danger of our friend Clydog and his men to be avoided.’
Fidelma looked rueful. ‘I will do what I can. But you are right, I will be very restricted until you return.’
‘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
‘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
