‘Have you not seen them before?’ asked Fidelma, feeling sorry for him. ‘We call them speckled bread at home and also serve them at this time of year-’
Eadulf had bitten deeply and a spasm of agony distorted his face. He put his hand to his mouth and drew out a small metal finger ring which he held up, staring at it in surprise.
‘What in the name. .?’
Fidelma was chuckling. ‘Don’t worry, you are not being poisoned. It is merely a tradition.’
Eadulf turned the ring over curiously. ‘What does it mean?’ he demanded.
He did not notice Fidelma colour a little.
‘I’ll explain later,’ she said. ‘It is a tradition of the feast at this time of year.’
From outside came the sound of music and voices, especially children’s, raised in singing. Eadulf’s expression clearly asked a question.
‘It is for the eve of All Hallows,’ Gwnda replied morosely.
‘Oh, the new celebration.’ Eadulf remembered that Fidelma had explained the bonfire to him.
‘New?’ said Fidelma sharply. ‘Come, Eadulf, surely you know of the antiquity of the feast? You have been in the five kingdoms long enough, even if you did not realise that the Britons also celebrated it.’
‘I know that it was Boniface, the fourth of his name to be Bishop of Rome, who introduced the celebration of All Saints’ Day fifty years ago,’ Eadulf replied stubbornly.
‘Because he could not stop the Gauls, Britons and Irish from celebrating the ancient festival of the New Year, the feast of Samhain. So he merely gave it a Christian guise. Isn’t that so, Gwnda?’
The lord of Pen Caer was still moody. ‘What’s that? Oh, yes. Our people have celebrated the Calan Gaeaf since the days beyond time.’
‘We still call it Samhain,’ Fidelma said. ‘Many still believe it is the true start of the new year, for the old ones believed that darkness must come before rebirth and so we enter the period of darkness in these winter months before the rebirth of life. In fact,’ she smiled briefly, ‘the old ones used to say that this was the best time for women to conceive so that the baby could be born within the period of light.’
‘I thought it was a ceremony of the dead,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘In a way,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Because the feast marks an end and a beginning. It is thought by the ancient wise men that this was a night suspended in time when the borders of natural and supernatural become blurred. It is the period when the Otherworld becomes visible to this world. . a time when those departed souls to whom you had done wrong in this life might return to wreak vengeance on you. . to even the balance of good and evil. .’
With a crash, Gwnda pushed back his chair, and strode from the room.
Eadulf smiled uneasily. ‘He seems to have a problem with that,’ he observed wryly.
‘I think that many people have a problem with it, if they truly believe it. It was the old way of trying to ensure that everyone behaved in a moral fashion towards their friends and neighbours in this life.’ She paused and held her head to one side, listening to the sounds of music and shouting from outside. ‘Let’s go and look at these celebrations. The bonfire will probably be lit by now.’
It was a black night. The moon was still hanging low on the horizon whenever it could poke out between the clouds, but across the hills they could see several bonfires here and there, bright specks in the distance. Already the township bonfire was alight and the shouts and cries of the children could be heard over the wild notes of the pipes, the beating of goatskin drums and the blare of horns. Some of the older people were dancing in a circle before the bonfire. Fidelma and Eadulf walked down to join the crowd watching the ascending flames.
The straw figure they had seen in Iorwerth’s forge had been burnt away to almost nothing. A few remains could still be discerned on top of the fire.
‘Human sacrifice?’ Eadulf grinned cynically.
Fidelma took the question seriously. ‘In olden times, it was the custom to offer a god called Taranis, the god of thunder, offerings in a wooden vessel, some say in the figure of a man made of wood. The figure symbolised the messenger to the gods.’
Eadulf’s attention had been distracted and he seemed to be searching the crowd by the bonfire.
‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I was trying to see if I could spot Iorwerth or our friend Iestyn,’ he replied. ‘I would have expected their attendance at such a celebration.’
Fidelma agreed. She turned, and abruptly found herself facing the grinning figure of Iestyn standing behind her.
‘Not gone yet, Gwyddel?’ he sneered.
‘As you can see,’ she replied evenly. ‘However, it is to be hoped that tomorrow may be a good day for our departure.’
‘Tomorrow? Are you leaving tomorrow?’ His tone rose to a sharp interrogative.
Fidelma merely moved away, drawing Eadulf with her and leaving the farmer staring suspiciously after them.
Out of earshot, Eadulf turned to her with a worried frown. ‘Why did you say that to him? You know he will tell his friend Clydog. They’ll be waiting for us on the road.’
‘I just wanted to add some fuel to the simmering pot, Eadulf,’ she replied calmly. ‘Tomorrow we will have reached a resolution to this matter. I am just hoping that your trust in young Dewi is not misplaced. He should have returned here by today or tomorrow at the latest.’
‘I can’t see what Dewi’s arrival will do to help us now. I don’t think the authority of Gwlyddien will count for much here. Clydog has many fighting men at his disposal.’
‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I am gambling on the fact that Clydog will not attempt-’
They suddenly became aware of a rise in the level of the noise of the voices. The music of the instruments grew hesitant and then awkwardly trailed off. Even the shouts and screams of the children began to trail away. They heard cries of men, harsh and commanding. Figures moved in the darkness. Figures on horseback, bearing aloft brand torches and naked swords.
Fidelma turned in their direction. By the bonfire, seated on horseback, she could see a familiar figure. ‘Clydog!’ she hissed.
Then, grabbing Eadulf by the sleeve, she plunged away into the darkness between the nearest stone cabins. They paused in the shadows for a moment to regain their breath.
‘This is something I did not expect,’ she muttered. ‘I did not think Clydog would show his hand until Gwlyddien had been persuaded to march against the Hwicce.’
‘Perhaps Gwlyddien has already has been persuaded?’ Eadulf offered. ‘Anyway, what can we do now? Iestyn will tell him that we are in the township. There is no way we can reach our horses in Gwnda’s stables from here without being seen.’
Fidelma motioned in the gloom to the darkness of the woods behind the township buildings. ‘That is the only avenue of eluding Clydog and his robbers. Come on.’
She led the way quickly and silently from the buildings and into the woods. It was difficult to find a pass through the undergrowth but Fidelma seemed to stumble on a deer path along which their movement became easier.
‘Let’s hope that there is no truth in the old superstition, ’ muttered Eadulf, floundering behind her in the darkness.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ve been involved in bringing to justice many who have now joined the souls in your Otherworld. Let us hope that those vengeful souls do not have the ability to come back this night and visit vengeance on us!’
Fidelma did not bother to respond. She was still annoyed with herself for not having foreseen the possibility of this event. It had not occurred to her that Clydog would feel secure enough to ride into the township and take over.
‘How long will it be before they realise that we must have taken to the woods?’ grunted Eadulf. ‘I doubt if we will get a long start on them.’
Fidelma halted so suddenly that Eadulf almost cannoned into her.
‘What. .?’ he began.
‘Water, up ahead,’ she replied. ‘It must be the stream that borders the township. We’ll have to find a place
