Smoke in the Wind

‘The township of Llanwnda,’ supplied the abbot.

‘Why did this township of Llanwnda,’ she stumbled a little over the pronunciation, ‘ask for a judge? I presume that a barnwr occupies the same position as a dálaigh in my country? Is there any connection between that request and the disappearance of the religious community?’

Abbot Tryffin shook his head firmly. ‘The lord of Pen Caer, whose township it is, sent for a judge on an entirely unrelated matter. A young girl was raped and murdered by her boyfriend. She was a virgin. In such rural townships this is a most serious crime. The boy was apparently lucky not to be beaten to death by the outraged locals. No, there is definitely no connection between the two matters.’

‘Then I see no reason to delay. We can be ready to depart for Llanpadern with Brother. .?’

‘Brother Meurig.’

‘. . with Brother Meurig in the morning. However, you have said that it is a journey of over twenty kilometres and Brother Eadulf has not been well. .’

‘I shall be coming too,’ interrupted Eadulf coldly. ‘I am not so infirm or without talent that I cannot be useful in this matter.’

‘Horses can be supplied for the journey,’ Gwlyddien offered, ignoring the ill-temper of Eadulf’s tone.

‘Then we are agreed.’ Eadulf looked defiantly at Fidelma, who was wondering why he seemed upset at her attempt to make matters easy for him.

‘We are agreed,’ she echoed.

‘Excellent. It is well beyond midday and our meal awaits.’ Abbot Tryffin rose from his place. ‘After you have both eaten and rested, we will go in search of Brother Cyngar. Brother Meurig is also in the abbey. Ah. .’ He turned to look at Fidelma and Eadulf as a thought suddenly struck him. ‘I forgot. Among the nobles and the religious, we can speak the language of Éireann and, indeed, Greek, Latin, and some Hebrew, but the ordinary people speak only the language of the Cymry. You will need an interpreter.’

‘Your language presents no problem to me,’ Fidelma replied, lapsing into Cymraeg. ‘I served my novitiate with several sisters from the kingdom of Gwynedd and learnt from them. However, there will be much in the way of your legal language that I might not be able to understand, although I shall try my best.’

Eadulf was not asked if he understood, nor did he volunteer that he had any knowledge.

‘Then there seems no impediment to your progress,’ Abbot Tryffin said in approval. ‘Brother Meurig will be able to advise you if you have difficulties.’

‘We should be grateful for that,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Then let us adjourn to our meal.’

Chapter Four

It was cold but no frost lay on the ground when the three horses moved out of the gates of the abbey of Dewi Sant. The horses moved in line, led by a tall figure on a grey mare. Brother Meurig rode at a steady walking pace, while behind him came Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf on two spirited cobs, short-legged, strong beasts. Meurig was wrapped against the early morning chill in a great cloak that was almost the colour of the horse he rode. His companions were also enveloped in heavy woollen mantles.

Abbot Tryffin had sent a man to fetch the travelling bags of Fidelma and Eadulf from Brother Rhodri’s hospice at Porth Clais. This gave them the time to question Brother Cyngar about his visit to Llanpadern and be ready to depart with the barnwr, Brother Meurig, as soon as the early morning light began to appear over the easterly hills.

Fidelma and Eadulf had both been impressed with the serious and practical attitude of Brother Cyngar. However, the young monk was unable to add much more than they had already been told by Abbot Tryffin. Fidelma had questioned him closely on the detail of what he had observed. He was certainly pragmatic, and showed his eye for detail as he patiently went through a description of the abandoned buildings and their condition.

The young monk, far from being overwhelmed by the idea of sorcery and evil, simply accepted the idea that what could not be explained by natural means must, therefore, be attributable to supernatural ones.

After leaving Brother Cyngar, Fidelma and Eadulf had been conducted to the abbey’s scriptorum where Brother Meurig was checking some books of law. Brother Meurig was a tall man, towering even over Fidelma who was considered to be of more than average height. He was gaunt, with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones. His hair was greying and his dark eyes were sunken, the right eye carrying a cast which gave him a slightly sinister appearance. His mournful features were not reflected by the bright friendliness of his greeting.

He spoke to Fidelma in her own language, turned to Eadulf and spoke an equally fluent Saxon to him. In fact, it appeared that Brother Meurig spoke several languages and all fairly fluently.

‘How do you speak Saxon so well?’ queried Eadulf, surprised by the man’s ability.

‘I was a prisoner among the Mercians for several years.’ Brother Meurig pointed to a scar which ran round his throat and had been disguised by the cowled robe he wore. ‘See here, the mark of the Saxon slave collar. That was over ten years ago when Penda ruled that kingdom. He was an evil man, that one. Penda was born a pagan and died a pagan, serving none other than his god Woden.’

‘But you escaped?’ Eadulf asked, trying not to feel embarrassed, although Meurig spoke without rancour.

‘After Oswy of Northumbria defeated Penda and slew him at Winwaed Field, when Mercia was thrown into disarray, that was when many of the slaves he had taken, particularly Christian monks such as I, were released and allowed to return to their own lands.’

‘And now you are a barnwr. . a judge of the courts of Dyfed,’ Fidelma concluded.

Brother Meurig smiled in satisfaction. ‘Even as you are a judge, Sister Fidelma,’ he said. ‘A dálaigh is the equivalent of a barnwr. We have much in common.’

‘I have heard that many of your laws are similar to the laws of the Brehons of Éireann. I am sure that I will have much to learn from you, Brother Meurig.’

‘Your reputation precedes you, Sister. I doubt whether I shall be able to teach you much,’ pointed out the barnwr affably.

‘Have you have been told what has happened at Llanpadern?’ Eadulf asked.

Brother Meurig nodded swiftly. ‘But the matter is not in my hands.’

‘Do you have an opinion about it?’ Eadulf pressed.

‘An opinion?’ Brother Meurig sniffed deprecatingly. ‘I have heard that Prince Cathen believes that it might be a raid by Ceredigion for hostages. My opinion is that the idea is possible although unlikely.

‘Is there another logical explanation?’

Brother Meurig shook his head.

‘No other explanation presents itself to you?’ Fidelma queried.

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Then you do not believe, as Abbot Tryffin seems to suspect, that the community might have fallen foul of some black art — spirited away by the forces of darkness,’ Eadulf asked in all seriousness.

Brother Meurig chuckled dryly.

‘The forces of darkness have better things to do than waste time in performing conjuring tricks, Brother Eadulf.’

There was a ghost of a smile on Fidelma’s lips. ‘When you have eliminated all other explanations, whatever remains, no matter how incredible, must be the answer,’ she observed. ‘Even the black arts.’

‘From what I have heard of your reputation, I believe that the realms of darkness would be the last place where you would seek answers, Sister.’

‘Ah, you are so wrong, Brother Meurig. The realms of darkness are the first place to search when you are