The news silenced them.
Brother Meurig asked quietly: ‘Was Brother Rhun among those who were slain?’
‘I don’t know. Young Dewi said that the folk at Llanferran buried the corpses of the dead brothers. If Brother Rhun had been among them, I am sure that he would have said.’
‘And did this Dewi of Llanferran identify who these sea-raiders were?’ Fidelma quietly asked.
‘Oh yes. They were Saxons.’
Chapter Five
The ensuing silence was broken only by Eadulf’s stirring uncomfortably. He had been able to follow the conversation clearly. He avoided Fidelma’s eyes.
‘This lad called Dewi, is he a reliable witness?’ Gwnda inclined his head in affirmation. ‘His father, Goff, is well respected. His forge, at Llanferran, is not far from here should you wish to confirm the story.’
‘Did you have much contact with the community at Llanpadern?’
‘Not really. I knew the Father Superior, Father Clidro, fairly well. He was a charitable man, a holy man and a good scholar. But we did not trade much with the brethren.’
‘You say that it was Idwal who first brought you the news?’ Fidelma finally asked reflectively. ‘That must have been two days ago?’
‘He told my servant Buddog that the community had vanished.’
‘I shall need to speak with Idwal about what he saw.’
‘He is not a reliable witness,’ Gwnda said sarcastically.
Fidelma’s eyebrows rose a little at the assertion. ‘On what do you base that statement? His present predicament? ’
‘Not at all. Idwal claimed that the community had simply vanished. Puff! Like smoke in the wind. That there were no signs of violence. If the Saxons raided Llanpadern, as Dewi reported, then there would be some sign of their attack.’
Fidelma considered the matter. She did not refer to the fact that Idwal’s story was the same as that told by Brother Cyngar.
‘Is it unusual that Idwal would be at Llanpadern that morning?’ she asked.
‘Unusual? No, the boy is an itinerant shepherd and is often wandering the hills.’
‘Are you sure, forgive me for asking again, that he brought the news on the same morning that he is supposed to have raped and killed this girl?’ Eadulf interposed for the first time in the conversation. It was also the first time that he had spoken in the language of Dyfed. It was harsh and accented, the grammar not quite polished. But it was understandable. Gwnda regarded him in surprise.
‘Ah, and I thought you were dumb, Saxon. Yet you do speak. Not well, but you speak nevertheless.’
‘Brother Eadulf is an emissary of the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ Fidelma pointed out sharply. ‘And my trusted companion. He speaks several languages.’
Gwnda smirked in a patronising manner. ‘I had heard that there was a new archbishop among the Jutes of Canterbury. A Greek, isn’t he?’
‘Perhaps we should continue with the investigation first before exchanging gossip,’ said Fidelma. ‘I believe Brother Eadulf asked a question.’
The lord of Pen Caer shrugged indifferently. ‘Indeed, Brother Saxon. It was on the same morning on which Idwal raped and killed Mair.’
‘A coincidence?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘What else, my Saxon friend? What else?’
Brother Meurig cleared his throat noisily. ‘There is time enough to attend to the mystery at Llanpadern tomorrow,’ he said in a censorial tone. ‘I have a more pressing matter to pursue, and would like to hear more of this murder. Perhaps, Gwnda, you would outline the story as you know it?’
‘As I know it?’
‘The facts, as you know them. In the first place, who was murdered?’
Gwnda sat back in his chair, his hands folded before him. ‘A girl called Mair was murdered. As you now know, she was the daughter of Iorwerth, our local smith. She was his only daughter. In fact, his only child. She meant much to Iowerth as his wife is also dead. Mair was young, sixteen years old. And she was a virgin.’
Brother Meurig clicked his tongue several times. When he saw that Fidelma was frowning slightly he offered an explanation.
‘I believe that we share the same system of honour prices with you, Sister. A young girl’s honour price, the sarhaed as we call it, would be high. Indeed, a share of that honour price would also be vested in the king himself for, as a virgin, her safety is his responsibility. It is called his nawdd.’
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.’