Smoke in the Wind

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, helping himself to a plate of stew.

‘I was hoping that Elen would be here so that we could finish our fascinating conversation with her.’

Eadulf looked chagrined. He had almost forgotten the claim that Elen had made. They ate their meal in companionable silence. It was a young girl, nervous and gawky, who entered to clear away the remains.

‘Everyone seems to be away this evening. Do you know where the lady Elen is?’ Fidelma asked her.

‘She’s gone, Sister.’ The girl glanced anxiously around, apparently to ensure they were alone.

‘Gone?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.

‘She left shortly after you came back.’ Suddenly the girl cast a frightened glance towards the door and pulled out a small rolled parchment from beneath her blouse. ‘She asked me to give you this when you were alone. There’s writing on it, but I can’t read and she would not tell me what it was about.’

Fidelma glanced at it. The goatskin square contained a note written in Latin. She turned to the girl and smiled encouragingly at her. ‘You will forget all about this, won’t you?’

‘Of course, Sister. Elen is good to me. One day I hope. .’

‘Hope what?’

‘I am a hostage, Sister. Two years ago I was taken in a raid on the kingdom of Gwent by lord Gwnda. I don’t want to end up like Buddog. She has been a servant here for a lifetime. Elen promised me that one day I may be set free.’

‘Deo volente,’ Fidelma sighed solemnly, adding, as the girl did not understand Latin, ‘God willing.’

The young servant bobbed a sketchy curtsy and hurried from the room.

Eadulf, who had been waiting impatiently for Fidelma to reveal the contents of the parchment, asked: ‘What is it?’

‘A message from Elen, in Latin.’ Fidelma waved the parchment. ‘It simply says, “Meet me at the woodsman’s hut if you can after the evening meal. Tell no one.” ’

Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically. ‘Rather dramatic,’ he observed. ‘Do we go?’

‘Of course we do,’ replied Fidelma.

It was very dark by the time they reached the clearing in the woods where earlier that day they had found the body of Brother Meurig. It was still only early evening but the sky was pitch; black rain clouds had swept in abruptly from the west and a fine drizzle had started to fall, so that the skies were starless and oppressive, without even the relief of moonlight. It was quite chilly.

‘A curious place to request a meeting,’ muttered Eadulf as they approached, walking their horses quietly. The hut was only half an hour’s ride from the township. They had debated whether to leave their horses behind so as not to be noticed; it was easier to avoid unwelcome scrutiny on foot than on horseback. But they realised it would make their journey longer and more unpleasant. ‘Clearly the young woman is not troubled by thoughts of spirits. After all, a religieux was murdered here barely twelve hours ago.’

‘Mortui non mordent,’ Fidelma reassured him as they negotiated the track.

‘Dead men may not bite but. .’ Eadulf paused and shuddered. ‘Absit omen!’

A light moved at the entrance of the hut: a figure holding a lantern.

‘Sister Fidelma? Is that you?’

It was Elen’s anxious voice.

‘It is I and Brother Eadulf,’ Fidelma called as they moved forward into the light and dismounted. Eadulf took their horses to the side of the hut where Elen’s own mount was tethered.

They followed the girl inside. The interior had been cleared apart from the dark telltale stain on the floor which marked where Brother Meurig had met his death. Elen placed the lantern on the table, and seated herself on a bench in one corner. Fidelma sat on a small wooden stool opposite Elen while Eadulf looked about and then positioned himself awkwardly on the end of the bench which the girl had occupied.

‘A curious place to meet,’ Eadulf reiterated. ‘And cold,’ he added with a shiver.

The girl agreed, but added: ‘It is better to be uncomfortable but secure from prying eyes and ears than warm where we can be overheard.’

‘Do you want to explain that remark now,’ Fidelma asked, ‘or shall we take up at the point where your father interrupted us?’

The girl was suddenly hesitant.

‘Did you really mean it when you said that you thought Mair was killed in mistake for you?’ pressed Fidelma.

Elen nodded unhappily.

‘Who do you think would want to kill you and why?’

‘There is an outlaw in these parts called-’

‘Clydog?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘Clydog Cacynen?’

‘You know of him?’ asked the girl in wonder.

Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘We have had the pleasure of his company. Why would he kill you?’

‘Last week I was riding in those woods to the south of here. My horse picked up a stone in his hoof and I dismounted to remove it. As I was bending down, I heard voices raised in anger not far away. I left my horse and moved closer. I. .’ She paused and then gestured slightly defensively. ‘I am of a curious nature and wondered what the argument was about.’

There was a brief silence while she gathered her thoughts.

‘There were three men in a small clearing away from the track which I was following. They were so busy with their argument that I was able to come up behind some bushes to observe them closely. One of them was a religieux, a broad-shouldered man. I felt that he was somehow familiar, but I could not recognise him.’

‘Why did you think that he was familiar?’ interrupted Eadulf with interest.

The girl pouted as she gave the question some consideration. ‘I can’t say. Perhaps I was mistaken. It was simply a feeling.’

‘Continue,’ invited Fidelma. ‘Did you recognise the others?’

‘I knew only one of them. That was Clydog Cacynen.’

‘How did you know him?’

‘Because once, some months ago, I was returning with a companion to Llanwnda and we had stopped for refreshment at the hostel of Goff the smith.’

‘I know the place,’ Fidelma said.

‘While we were there, Clydog and his men rode in and demanded that Goff shoe one of their horses. They were in too much of a hurry to notice two young girls. I saw Clydog then. That’s how I recognised him in the forest.’

‘What about the third man?’ asked Eadulf.

Elen shook her head. ‘I did not know him at all. He was a warrior.’

‘One of Clydog’s men?’

She gave a negative movement of her head. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Was he wearing a war helmet, blue-eyed?’

‘He was not wearing a helmet. I think that he had sandy hair but as for the colour of his eyes. . I am not sure.’

‘And this argument, what was it about?’

‘Little that made sense. The curious thing. .’ She hesitated. ‘The curious thing was that the religieux seemed to be issuing orders to Clydog and to the other man.’

‘Can you recall exactly what was said?’

‘Not really. I remember Clydog was saying something about the plan being. . what was the word?. . convoluted, that’s it. Convoluted and without guarantee of success.’

‘What plan?’ demanded Eadulf.

Elen shrugged. ‘That I do not know. The religieux turned to Clydog and said something like he must obey his instructions or it would not go well with him. Something like that, anyway.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful. ‘What did Clydog say to that?’

‘He was defiant, but he seemed to show some deference to the religieux.’