impregnable wall to the right.
Eadulf leant forward in his saddle, straining his eyes to see ahead. It was really dark. The heavy rain clouds still hung low and oppressive, shutting out all light. There was no moon, no stars, to light the path. In such circumstances, Eadulf acknowledged Fidelma’s better horsemanship by not attempting to guide his animal but allowing it its head, and freedom to choose its own safe path along the river behind Fidelma’s mount.
It was a longer trek than Fidelma had estimated. Eventually she saw a light ahead and realised that the dark looming shapes were buildings: Iestyn’s farm. She turned to Eadulf, just a dark shape in the blackness behind her.
‘Let us not announce our arrival yet,’ she called quietly. She guided her horse round one of the farm buildings, which looked like a barn, and halted in its shade before dismounting. They found a bush on which to hitch their horses’ reins and then moved towards the edge of the barn. A faint light was issuing through the windows of the farmhouse, sending a gloomy ray across the stable yard.
‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, struggling to peer forward into the semi-darkness.
‘Quiet!’ hissed Fidelma. ‘There are a couple of horses in the yard before the house.’
‘Why does that cause you alarm?’ replied Eadulf, dropping his voice to match hers.
‘They are not farm horses.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered, stepping in the cloying mud and groaning in irritation.
‘Those are war horses, not farm horses. And what warriors would call at a farmhouse at night?’
‘Clydog?’ whispered Eadulf, suddenly anxious.
‘They could be anyone. Friends. Even relatives. But it is best to be prepared.’
Eadulf screwed up his face in distaste in the darkness. He could feel the chill of the wet mud sticking to his sandals. He wanted to protest but then shrugged. He just uttered a prayer of thanks that the storm had passed and the rain had ceased.
Their horses were out of sight. Fidelma led the way cautiously forward round the farmyard, coming to the side of the farmhouse. She eased her way silently to a window and took a quick peek through, but could see nothing through the rough opaque glass. She glanced back to Eadulf and shook her head.
‘I can’t see anything,’ she whispered, ‘nor hear anything clearly. But I think Iestyn and his visitors are inside.’
‘What now?’ asked Eadulf ruefully. ‘Do we wait out here in the damp or should we simply knock on the door?’
Fidelma pursed her lips in temper.
Directly in front of the house, on the opposite side of the farmyard, was the big barn behind which they had tethered their horses. Fidelma touched Eadulf’s arm and pointed across to it. Keeping low she led the way back across the yard and had almost reached the black gaping door, with Eadulf close behind, when a shadow moved.
A menacing growl, ending in a string of high-pitched yelps, gave them a second’s warning before a large, muscular dog leapt out from the barn at them. The great dog was a matter of a metre from Fidelma when its barking ceased in a yelp of pain and it seemed to Eadulf that the giant beast hung suspended for a moment in its mid-air leap. Then it fell to the ground, whining and yapping in pain and frustration.
In the gloom Eadulf realised that the dog had been tethered. Had they been nearer to the barn or had the lead been longer then the story would have ended otherwise.
The horses in front of the farmhouse started to whinny and grow restless. The dog continued to snarl and bark in frustration. Eadulf looked desperately around and then, grabbing Fidelma’s arm, he took off towards a small building, surrounded by a low wall. He jumped the wall, helped Fidelma over it and dragged her down behind it. Shapes began moving around them. Eadulf realised by the stench that he had leapt into a pig pen. Pigs snuffled inquisitively at them before settling down with total indifference to their presence.
Cautiously, Fidelma and Eadulf raised their heads. Across the yard, the door of the farmhouse had swung open. A man stood holding a lantern high. The dog was still barking furiously.
‘Shut up, Ci!’ the man snapped. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’
They recognised Iestyn. He was joined by another man. Fidelma gave a sharp intake of breath, and moved her lips to Eadulf’s ear to whisper, ‘It’s Corryn.’
The dog was whining petulantly now in the presence of its master.
‘What set the dog off?’ Corryn was demanding.
‘There’s nothing out here,’ replied Iestyn. ‘The horses are skittish. Maybe they spooked the dog.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Corryn reluctantly, peering round into the blackness.
A third man had joined them. ‘You are well away from the township,’ he said. ‘Surely no one would pass by here? It would be awkward if they did so at this time.’
Iestyn chuckled sourly.
‘No one is likely to come by on a night like this. There is only the one track between here and the township. You know that. Anyway, why be worried now? I would have been more worried about riding into the township in broad daylight. You might have been recognised.’
The third man chuckled in reassurance. ‘I don’t think so. I recognised the girl but I am certain that she didn’t recognise me. Anyway, I know who she is now. Gwnda’s daughter.’
‘Exactly,’ intervened Corryn. ‘What if she had raised some alarm? It was a dangerous thing to do. It could upset all our plans.’
‘Only if she overheard anything. She probably did not hear anything at all about the plan. Anyway, it is progressing too slowly. Ceredigion is not prepared to wait for ever.’
‘If Artglys wants Dyfed to be allied with him, then he must wait,’ snapped Corryn. ‘We have spent too much time bringing this plan towards fruition to abandon it now. And what is Artglys’s alternative? He has none.’
The third man shrugged. ‘The warriors of Ceredigion are trained and ready. We can move immediately.’
Corryn’s tone held a bantering note. ‘And do you think that Dyfed has bred weaklings? How many times has Ceredigion come in battle array into Dyfed? Since the time of Ceredig you have looked enviously upon this kingdom. Many times you have attempted to seize it but it has withstood you. It will not fall because Ceredigion comes in battle array: it will fall only by subterfuge. So let us hear no more about Artglys and his impatience. Let us stick to the plan which we have so carefully constructed.’
The third man’s jaw rose angrily. ‘The plan will be followed so long as my lord Artglys says it must be followed.’
‘Then you had better consult your king as to whether he wants an alliance or not.’ Corryn began to turn away.
‘And you had best consult Clydog as to his intentions,’ the warrior called.
Corryn spun round. ‘Clydog’s intentions are not my intentions!’ he snapped. ‘Go and tell Artglys’s jackal, Morgan, that he best proceed with the next stage. We must ensure that Gwlyddien starts his action soon and he obviously needs more bodies to stir his rage. A few more religious slaughtered on the beach will help to increase his temper. Do you understand?’
The third man stood hesitantly. Then he seemed to shrug indifferently. ‘Very well. Now I understand why they call you the spider, my friend. Waiting, plotting, watching, and then. . Let us hope we do not get impatient. I shall tell Artglys what you require.’
Without further ado, he left his companions and went to his horse, mounted and vanished into the gloom without a backward glance.
Iestyn remained holding his lantern with Corryn by his side, as if watching the vanishing figure.
‘The man is arrogant, my lord,’ came the farmer’s disapproving tone.
‘Truly said,’ agreed Corryn. ‘And in the days ahead, it might be appropriate to take the measure of him. Remember that this is not a
‘Do you trust Clydog, lord?’
‘Not at all.’ Corryn laughed sharply. ‘Nor, I doubt, does his father. That is why he has sent Clydog here to create trouble in Dyfed rather than allowing him to remain at home. Which reminds me, I must rejoin him. Is there any further word of that woman. . the Gwyddel and her Saxon friend?’
