‘That does not sound like the Clydog we saw,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘He seemed to have no respect for members of the Faith.’
Elen smiled wanly at him. ‘You are right, Saxon. Clydog is no respecter of the Faith. The stories about him are legion. . he is said to be a very cruel and evil man. The king himself sent warriors to flush him out of the woods, but without success.’
‘But he was deferential to this religieux?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Well, continue, Elen. What then?’
‘The other man, the warrior, seemed to be siding with the religieux. He said something like “The king has worked out this plan himself” — I remember that. And that it would succeed if it were followed to the letter.’
Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. ‘The king? Gwlyddien?’
Elen shrugged. ‘He just said “the king”. Gwlyddien is certainly king of Dyfed. Clydog was dismissive. He said something about seizing power at the point of a sword. The religieux said that it would put all the kingdoms against them unless it was seen to be a legal claim. It was then that my horse became fretful, snorted and stamped.
‘Clydog and the warrior rose, startled. They looked directly towards me. I turned and ran. I heard them shouting and running after me. I leapt for my horse and galloped away down the track. They must have left their horses elsewhere for they did not pursue me.’
Fidelma sat back thoughtfully. ‘So what brings you to the conclusion that you were the intended victim of the murder and not Mair?’
‘Mair and I were of the same age, build and colouring. We were sometimes taken for sisters, looking much alike. It was only after I began to think about Mair’s death, and knowing that poor Idwal was incapable of it, that I began to realise.’
‘Realise what?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘That Clydog must have had a glimpse of me as I fled. He must have thought that I had overheard something that was important; something secret which they had been discussing. I think that Clydog came upon Mair in the woods and mistook her for me. I think Clydog killed her.’
Fidelma digested the claim in silence before asking her next question. ‘Did you tell anyone about overhearing this conversation?’
Elen shook her head slowly.
‘Surely, you told your father? As lord of Pen Caer he is the local authority. He should know of any conspiracy within his lands.’
The girl shook her head defensively. ‘I thought it was best to keep this to myself. I was fearful of Clydog’s vengeance and, as it later proved, with good reason.’
‘But after Mair was killed,’ Eadulf suggested, ‘did you not think it wise to tell your father?’
‘I did not. Perhaps I was being selfish, perhaps callous. I felt. .’ She suddenly gave a sob and her face creased in anguish. It took a few moments for her to regain control. ‘I could only feel relief. When I realised that Mair might have been killed instead of me. I thought that there was an end to it. That Clydog would not come after me. That I was safe. That was all I thought. May God forgive me.’
Fidelma leant forward and patted the girl on the arm. ‘It was a natural reaction, Elen. So you have kept your secret until now?’
Elen wiped her eyes and nodded.
‘Why now?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Why do you feel that you can tell us now?’
The girl looked disconcerted for a moment, and Fidelma smiled encouragingly at her.
‘It is a good point,’ she said. ‘You could have continued to remain silent about this. You did not have to tell anyone.’
Elen was silent, lips compressed, head bowed.
‘Come, there must be a reason?’ Fidelma coaxed.
The flash of lightning created such a brilliant white glitter that they were blinded by its intensity for a moment; a fraction of a second. Then the crack of thunder almost deafened them. Nearby, a crash and a splutter of flame showed where a tall tree had been struck.
There came a chorus of frightened whinnies from the horses and a thud as one of the animals reared up and caught its front hooves against the side of the woodsman’s hut.
The girl had sprung up in panic.
‘Be calm. It is just the storm breaking,’ Fidelma said. Unruffled, she went to the door of the hut. The rain was a torrent, pouring straight down, churning the ground around them into a river of mud. It cascaded on the roof of the hut like a shower of stones, cracking and hissing. As she looked up at the sky, another bright flash caused her to blink rapidly. This time there was a more discernible pause between the flash and the accompanying crack of thunder. ‘I’d better attend to the horses.’
Eadulf moved forward. ‘You can’t go out there,’ he protested. ‘I’ll do it.’
He was met by an amused look. ‘Eadulf, you are the first to confess that you are not the best of horsemen. I know the beasts. I will go and calm them.’
As she turned back to the door, another flash came and Eadulf mentally counted the seconds between it and the crack of thunder.
‘It is moving away,’ he announced, more in hope than certainty.
Fidelma drew her heavy woollen cloak around her head and went out to where the horses were tethered. It was difficult to hear in the pounding rain but Elen thought she could make out her voice calming the beasts. It was some time before she returned, thoroughly drenched. Eadulf had examined the hut and found some bundles of dry wood. With the aid of the tinderbox he carried, he had started a fire. Fidelma shook off her cloak and stood before the leaping flames to dry her clothing. The thunder was distant now, the rain easing to a fine trickle. The storm had raced in from the sea to the west and was rapidly heading inland.
‘Now,’ Fidelma said, after a few moments, as the steam began to rise from her sodden clothing, ‘perhaps we can get back to our discussion.’
‘I was asking why Elen had decided to tell us at this point when she could have remained silent about the matter and no one the wiser,’ Eadulf prompted.
‘Ah yes,’ Fidelma said, turning to the girl, who had now reseated herself on the bench. ‘And why tell the story to us when you could have told it to your father?’
‘I did tell my father.’ Elen’s voice was soft.
‘Does he know that you are now telling us?’
She gave an affirmative gesture. ‘I told him so.’
‘So Gwnda knows that you are meeting us and telling us these facts?’ Eadulf could not keep the incredulous note from his voice.
‘I have said so.’
‘You have not answered the question as to why you have now decided to tell your story when you might have remained silent,’ Fidelma insisted.
Elen turned frightened eyes upon her. ‘I have seen the warrior again, the one who was with Clydog. I think he recognised me.’
‘When?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘This afternoon, when I returned from Cilau.’
‘Where?’
‘In Llanwnda. Don’t you understand?’ Her voice rose desperately. ‘He was in Llanwnda. I am sure, sure that he recognised me. My life is in danger. He will tell Clydog and Clydog will realise that he killed the wrong person.’ She ended with a gasping sob.
‘Very well, Elen,’ Fidelma said calmly. ‘But where in Llanwnda did you see this warrior?’
‘It was at Iorwerth’s forge.’
Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf. ‘Iorwerth’s forge, you say?’
‘I was passing by, returning from Cilau as I said. The warrior was there, seated near the forge drinking mead. Iorwerth was examining his horse. He saw me passing by and I am sure he recognised me. I hurried on by but glanced briefly back and I saw that he had risen from his seat and was speaking to Iorwerth. They were both gazing after me.’
‘And all this you told your father?’
