Smoke in the Wind (10 page)

Fidelma inclined her head as she followed his explanation. ‘You are right, Meurig. In our law, we call it the
snádud
. The king’s protection. All virgins in the territory fall under his protection and a payment must be made if that protection is violated.’

‘Shall we proceed to the circumstances of the murder?’ asked Brother Meurig.

Gwnda continued: ‘It was noticed that Idwal appeared to be seeking Mair’s company more than is usual in such circumstances.’

‘Such circumstances?’ queried Fidelma, quickly picking up on the inflection.

‘Idwal, as I have already remarked, was an itinerant shepherd. More than that, he was a bastard child. A nameless child. No one knew his father or his mother. A boy of no worth. That is why Iorwerth warned the boy away from his daughter. He also told Mair that she should avoid the boy’s company.’

‘And did she?’ asked Fidelma.

Gwnda seemed surprised at the question. ‘Mair was a dutiful daughter. You see, Iorwerth was a smith and, as his only child, he could expect to make a good match for her. I believe that he meant to marry her to Madog, the goldsmith of Carn Slani.’

Fidelma turned to Brother Meurig. ‘I presume that we share the same system of dowries?’ she inquired.

‘We do,’ he confirmed. ‘The murderer will become responsible for the payment of the
sarhaed
, to her family, that is to Iorwerth. There is the payment of the
amob
to the lord of Pen Caer, and payment of the
dirwy tais
to King Gwlyddien himself. The payment and compensation of the fines involved would constitute a very large sum of money.’

‘More than, say, an itinerant shepherd boy can pay?’ Eadulf was able to intervene again with a simple sentence.

Gwnda made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘The youth, Idwal, could not pay any such fines. That is why there was such anger in Iorwerth.’

‘Are you saying that Iorwerth was only angry at the financial loss caused by the murder of his daughter?’ demanded Fidelma swiftly.

Gwnda shook his head. ‘Of course not, but it would enhance the anger for any man. That anger built up and he forgot his duty to his lord. He persuaded some companions to imprison me in this hall while he and others snatched the boy and were about to mete out summary punishment when you arrived.’

‘That is barbaric and against our legal code,’ Brother Meurig pointed out.

‘Yet satisfying to a man who has been wronged and sees no other way of exacting retribution,’ rejoined Gwnda.

Fidelma’s brows drew together. ‘It sounds as if you approve?’

Gwnda’s lips twisted into a thin smile. It was more a moving of facial muscles than an expression of what he really felt.

‘I cannot approve in law. But I can understand his motivation. I have said so before. Therefore, if I judge him on his rebellion, I shall not exact punishment for his action.’

‘His action was still unprecedented and without the law,’ insisted Brother Meurig.

‘The circumstances of the murder have not been explained yet,’ Eadulf pointed out quietly, seeing the conversation going down a cul-de-sac away from the main subject.

Brother Meurig regarded him in annoyance for a moment and then realised that he was being logical. ‘You are right. Such legal arguments can be more usefully aired at a later time. Let us hear the circumstances of the actual killing, if you please, Gwnda.’

The lord of Pen Caer rubbed the bridge of his nose as if the action aided his thoughts. ‘Little to relate. It was two days ago. As I said, young Idwal came to the township and told Buddog that the community had abandoned Llanpadern. That was not long after dawn. It was about then that Iorwerth sent Mair on an errand to her cousin’s place at Cilau. About an hour later Iestyn, who is a friend of Mair’s father, arrived at Iorwerth’s forge and told him that he had seen Mair and Idwal arguing on the forest path. He came straight away to tell Iorweth as he knew that Iorwerth had forbidden them to meet.’

‘Why didn’t Iestyn intervene in this argument he witnessed? He was a friend of her father,’ Brother Meurig pointed out.

‘That is something that you would have to ask Iestyn himself,’ replied Gwnda.

‘Continue,’ pressed the
barnwr
. ‘What happened then?’

‘Iorwerth fell into a rage. He, Iestyn and a few other men from the township went off swearing that they would give Idwal such a beating that he would never molest another girl again.’

‘Molest?’ queried Fidelma. ‘I thought Iestyn only said he had witnessed an argument? How would Iorwerth interpret this as molestation?’

Gwnda turned to her. ‘Again, you have to ask him, Sister. I only report what I have heard.’

‘When did you hear that Iorwerth and his friends had set off in search of Idwal?’ asked Brother Meurig.

‘By chance, I was in the forest that morning. That was how I came upon Idwal standing over the body of Mair. He did not see me but it was clear what had happened. For the boy still had his fists clenched in anger and he was shouting out her name in a shrill voice.

‘I was making my way towards him when there came the sound of Iorwerth and Iestyn coming through the woods. Idwal heard them also and he turned to run. By coincidence, he came running straight for where I was hidden behind a tree. As he passed me, I hit him across the shoulders with my cudgel and knocked him down. Then Iorwerth and his companions arrived. When they saw what he had done they wanted to kill him there and then. I prevailed on them, at that time, telling them that a judge should be sent for.’

‘Let’s get this straight,’ Brother Meurig said slowly. ‘Do you claim that you saw the boy in the act of . . . ?’

Fidelma cleared her throat and was about to speak when Gwnda pre-empted her obvious comment. ‘I saw the boy standing over the body. That is all. But it does not take a sharp mind to understand what had happened.’

‘In my country, the laws of evidence are strict. You cannot swear to what you did not see,’ Fidelma observed dryly.

‘The same laws apply here, Sister,’ agreed Brother Meurig. ‘Opinions or interpretations of witnesses do not constitute evidence. Gwnda knows this well. A judge will draw his own conclusions from the evidence. How was the girl killed?’

‘Strangled after she was raped. There was bruising on the neck. The body was seen by Elisse, the local apothecary. He says that heavy pressure was applied and the girl was prevented from breathing long enough to kill her.’

‘How did this apothecary deduce that the girl was a virgin but had been raped before death?’ queried Fidelma.

Gwnda appeared momentarily embarrassed by the subject. ‘There was a great deal of blood . . . you know, on her nether clothing.’

‘Was the body warm when you came upon it?’ asked Eadulf, once again trying to phrase his question in an intelligible form.

Gwnda stared at him as if he were a half-wit.

‘Brother Eadulf means, did you examine the body yourself?’ interpreted Brother Meurig.

‘I did not touch it. I saw that the girl was dead. That was obvious without an examination.’

‘But you cannot say if she had been dead for some time by the time you came on her and Idwal?’ Fidelma asked, having seen the point that Eadulf was making.

‘The boy was still standing over her. It was obvious that the killing had only just happened.’

‘It is not obvious to us,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘You did not see the killing and there are many ways to interpret what you saw. Has Idwal actually admitted that he killed the girl?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Of course?’

‘I have not known anyone to voluntarily admit to murder.’

‘So he has denied that he killed her?’ Brother Meurig did not sound happy. ‘Did he admit that he raped her?’

‘The boy denied that as well.’

‘Has he consistently denied being responsible for Mair’s death?’ pressed Fidelma.

Gwnda nodded slowly.

‘Has he volunteered any explanation?’ asked Eadulf. ‘What does he say happened?’

Gwnda was nonplussed.

‘Was he ever asked for his explanation of events?’ Brother Meurig was worried.

Gwnda saw the disapproving expressions on their faces. ‘He was not,’ he admitted. ‘I am no lawyer.’

There was a short silence which Fidelma broke by observing: ‘A pity that you did not touch the body to see how long she had been dead. We might have learnt something from that.’

Gwnda chuckled grimly. ‘Only the boy’s guilt.’

‘At least that would have been something, wouldn’t it?’ returned Fidelma icily.

Brother Meurig rubbed his chin, his face creased into a frown of irritation. ‘Everyone seems to have condemned the boy without asking his story. What motive is he accused of having? Why had he killed the girl?’

‘Easy to answer,’ replied Gwnda. ‘The girl rejected his advances. He raped her in uncontrollable passion and then, realising his crime, he killed her. I would have thought that much was obvious.’

Fidelma had expected his answer. ‘Are we sure that Mair, as a dutiful daughter, which you assure us was the case, rejected the advances made by Idwal, if, indeed, he made any?’

Gwnda stared at her in distaste. ‘You will not be welcome in this community if you impute things about those who cannot now defend themselves.’

Fidelma’s expression did not change. ‘I am sorry if you think I am doing so, Gwnda of Pen Caer. I do not speak frivolously and I thought the purpose of Brother Meurig’s inquiry was to ascertain the truth. In pursuit of truth, questions have to be asked and answers given. Sometimes the questions might imply things that are distasteful. It is not the questions that are distasteful but occasionally the answers.’

Brother Meurig rose from his seat, shaking his head sadly. ‘In this matter, I agree with Sister Fidelma. It appears that we have arrived just in time to guide this matter into the proper legal strictures. We must question the boy, Idwal. However, the hour grows late and we must find hospitality for the night.’

‘You are welcome to the hospitality of my hall, of course,’ Gwnda said, trying to exude courtesy once he saw Meurig supported Fidelma.

‘Then we shall accept it,’ Brother Meurig replied, speaking for all of them.

‘Should you need anything, please inform Buddog. I am without a wife and my daughter is still too young to take on the duties of running this household. Buddog will see to your wants. I myself must go to have a word with Iorwerth about the disgrace that he has brought on Pen Caer this night.’

‘We would like to question the boy Idwal before we retire for the night,’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘Then Buddog will show you to the stables where he is held. It is a dark night.’

Buddog met them at the door with a lantern. She held the light high in strong, capable hands as she conducted them across the yard to the dark stables. Fidelma had a passing thought that the hands did not go with the handsome features of the woman, for they seemed hard and callused by manual work. Buddog did not seem relaxed or friendly towards them. She spoke only when spoken to and then was monosyllabic, holding her head with jaw jutting upwards slightly aggressively.

‘Have you run this household for a long time, Buddog?’ Fidelma asked pleasantly as they began to cross the yard.

‘Not long.’

‘A few weeks?’ There was a tone of mockery in Fidelma’s voice. She disliked imprecise answers.

She noticed the servant’s lips tighten a little.

‘I have been in this household for twenty years.’

‘That is a long time. So you came here to work when you were a young girl, then?’

‘I came here as a hostage,’ replied the woman shortly. ‘I am of Ceredigion.’

They had reached the stable door. Buddog paused with her hand on the latch and turned to Brother Meurig.

‘You will need this lantern, Brother. I know the yard in the darkness so I can find my own way back.’

Brother Meurig took the lantern.

The woman hesitated and then said with a quiet intensity to the
barnwr
: ‘If the boy did kill Mair, then she was deserving of death!’

With that, she turned and became a shadow in the darkness.

Fidelma broke the surprised silence. ‘I think, Brother, you will have to ask Buddog to explain her views.’

Brother Meurig sighed softly. ‘Undoubtedly, Sister. She seemed rather vehement.’

The boy, Idwal, was chained in an empty stall. He strained away from them as they entered, moving into the furthest corner like some frightened animal. He could not move far for he was still bound with his hands behind him and had the chain around one ankle. Fidelma wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘Does he have to be contained in this fashion?’ she demanded.

Brother Meurig did not support the idea of loosening his bonds. ‘If the boy is a killer, then there is no cause to release him in case he does further harm.’

‘
If?
And if he is not a killer?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘The evidence we have heard hardly supports that contention, ’ replied Brother Meurig in annoyance at having his opinion challenged.

‘We have only heard part of the evidence, so far,’ Fidelma reminded him.

Brother Meurig was impatient. They had been travelling all that day and he was tired. ‘Very well. I will have a word with Gwnda after we have finished.’

He moved forward but Idwal gave another animal-like cry and cowered back, turning his head away as if expecting a blow.

Fidelma laid a hand on Brother Meurig’s arm. ‘I would like, with your permission, to question him, Brother Meurig. I know I am here only to observe and this is stretching your generosity, but the boy might respond better to questions from me.’

Brother Meurig was about to object. He was beginning to feel that Fidelma might be interfering too much in his office, but he was also an intelligent man and realised that the boy might be more forthcoming to a woman. He indicated by a gesture that she might do so and seated himself on a nearby bale of hay. Eadulf took up a similar position. There was a three-legged stool, used for milking cows, nearby. Fidelma picked this up and went to sit near the boy.