‘I do not. I believe that his difficulties are of a personal nature, not political. But of course if he did murder John de Reine. .’
To become flustered with emotion was not the behaviour of a bard. Dafydd kept his voice calm by moving the anger downward. He rocked on his feet. ‘How long have you known his name?’
‘From the beginning.’
‘Why did you not tell me?’ Dafydd rocked a little faster.
‘At first it did not seem important. I have never heard ill of Rhys. As far as I knew his greatest sin was that of loving a woman against her father’s wishes. Such a sin did not alarm me.’
‘Tangwystl is his beloved?’
Dyfrig said nothing.
‘Of course she is — it was by her name that you knew him.’
‘I imagined Rhys had been wounded in a fight over a cow, or defending a woman. But the death of John de Reine — that changed the game.’
‘Indeed it should.’
‘All the way from St David’s I intended to confess my omission and tell you to whom you had given sanctuary. But when I learned the Cydweli men had returned, I thought it best you did not know. They would read only innocence in your eyes, your voice.’
‘You fool. If they had believed my professed ignorance of the man the first time they would not have returned.’
‘So it has turned out. They are shrewder than I had thought.’
‘So why tell me now?’
‘I cannot live with the deceit.’
‘You cannot?’ Dafydd heard his voice echo off the house, lowered it. ‘You managed it well enough before.’
Now, at last, Dyfrig raised his head. He looked — Dafydd could not believe it. He stopped his rocking. The monk’s face was yet blank. Was there some flicker of contrition in those hooded eyes? He thought not.
‘Forgive me,’ Dyfrig said softly.
‘What does it matter whether I forgive you? You have no soul. What are you that you can confess such a thing to me and show no emotion?’
Dyfrig began to drop his head.
‘Look at me, not the soil at your marble feet.’
Dyfrig complied. Was it better to be regarded by those cold, hooded eyes?
‘I now understand the danger involved,’ said Dafydd. ‘What must I do?’
‘We must go after Brother Samson, protect him. We do not know whether the Cydweli men have comrades who knew their destination. Even now they might be on their way to this house.’
Dafydd had not thought of that. ‘But my servants.’ Mair had just stepped into the garden. Dafydd motioned for her to stay where she was.
‘Your servants will be safe,’ Dyfrig said quietly. ‘What cause do the men have to harm them? Until they are recovered they depend on your servants for care and comfort.’
‘We shall talk more of this over the evening meal.’ Dafydd motioned for Mair to come forward. He was sorry for the shadows beneath her eyes, the frown that creased her high forehead. When would his household be at peace again?
‘Maelgwn’s youngest son has come with a message for you, Master Dafydd.’
Maelgwn farmed the land adjacent to Dafydd’s property. He was an odd little man, fancied himself a vessel of prophecy. ‘He wishes to tell my future, does he?’
‘Not this time, Master. The boy says there are murderers in the wood.’
The barefoot lad bowed to Dafydd, stretched out his arms and bowed his head to Brother Dyfrig. ‘May I have your blessing, Father?’
Dyfrig made the sign of the cross over the boy.
‘What is this about murderers, lad?’ Dafydd asked.
‘My da says you are to come.’ He was staring at Dyfrig. ‘It is one of your kind we found.’
‘You found a monk?’ Dafydd asked.
The boy nodded.
‘Tell me, for pity’s sake, lad, in what condition did you find him?’
‘Left for dead. His servant wept over him.’
‘Was there another? A young man, a pilgrim?’
The lad shook his head.
‘Do you know the monk’s name?’
‘His man calls him Brother Samson.’
Heartsick, Dafydd turned to Dyfrig. ‘You knew no ill of him?’
‘It was you sent them without armed escort,’ Dyfrig hissed. To the boy he said, ‘We shall come after sunset, lad. Tell your father we shall come.’
When the boy was gone, Dafydd turned on Dyfrig. ‘We must find Rhys ap Llywelyn.’
‘We must see to Brother Samson. You sent him off with your pilgrim.’
‘The kinsman of your friend.’
‘We must go to him.’
‘Of course we must.’ Make sure of Maelgwn’s care, then go in search of the pilgrim. ‘We shall take Cadwal and Madog with us. And food and drink.’
‘You should bind the captives so they cannot follow us.’
‘They are injured. I shall leave enough men to guard them. And the dogs.’
‘They are soldiers.’
‘We have twice bested them.’
‘Listen to me, Master Dafydd. I find it passing strange the Cydweli men lie so quietly in your hall. They are watching, waiting. You may be angry with me, but it was your refusal to behave as others would that has brought this trouble on your house and on Brother Samson. Another would have taken the wounded man back to St David’s. That is an appropriate sanctuary. Not the house of a bard.’
‘God put him in my path.’
‘Perhaps you misinterpreted His purpose.’
Owen stood atop Cydweli’s chapel tower and let the mist cool his head. The day had moved along too quickly, forcing him to make what might prove to be a rash decision. He prayed that he had not made a mistake, that he had not lost his knack for judging fighting men, that for all Burley’s ‘flawed soul’ he could be trusted in his loyalty to Lancaster and Cydweli. In faith it was Father Edern who had referred to Burley’s soul — it seemed he was hardly one whose judgement was to be trusted.
Someone came through the tower door. Owen drew his knife and glanced round, ready to defend himself.
‘It is Iolo.’
Owen slid the knife back in its sheath. ‘You are certain you were not followed?’
‘I am,’ Iolo said with confidence.
Owen was reassured, for he knew Iolo could steal through a place like a cat, from shadow to shadow, seemingly not even disturbing the air round him.
‘Is this about Duncan?’ Iolo asked.
‘Aye. You are to watch him closely. Any move to attack any of us, or those we pursue, you know what to do.’
‘I do, Captain.’ Iolo also attacked like a cat — in a flash of movement and with deadly precision.
Dafydd, Brother Dyfrig, Madog and Cadwal led their horses from the stable under cover of darkness. All but Dyfrig knew well the trackway to Maelgwn’s farmhouse, a muddy path worn low in the tall grasses and gorse that crowned the headland, then dipped down into willowy woods along a stream. The weather had turned yet again and a soft rain fell. The low clouds veiled the moon. The wood was quiet, and thinking on the wounded Samson, the four crept along on cat feet. Dafydd drew his hood over his hair to quiet the soft music of his ornaments — it was not the time to bell the cat. But the whisper of their horses’ breath could not be stilled. When at last a soft lantern light welcomed them from the doorway of the farmhouse, Dafydd said a prayer of thanksgiving.
But Maelgwn’s wife received Dafydd and Dyfrig with such a solemn countenance that they asked if Samson yet lived. She bowed her white-veiled head as she spread her arms and asked for Brother Dyfrig’s blessing. He quickly gave it, then repeated his question.
‘He lives, Father,’ she said. ‘But he burns with fever and his leg is broken. His man, you will notice, is unharmed.’ She spoke the last as she stood over Samson’s servant, who sat with head bowed beside his master’s pallet.
Oil-lamps flickered on shelves by either end of the pallet. As Dafydd and Dyfrig approached, Brother Samson waked, blinking as if opening his eyes brought a shock of light. He lifted a trembling hand to his eyes to shield them. His breathing was uneven and painful to hear. His bald head was wrapped round with a clean bandage.
Aled, the servant, held a spoon of wine to his master’s cracked lips. Samson opened his mouth, let the wine trickle in.