‘So, the report received by Gwnda was correct,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘It does appear that there was a Saxon raid on this place and the community have been taken off as captives.’
Eadulf was leaning forward. He pointed to the man’s necklet with its engraving of a lightning stroke.
‘That is the symbol of Thunor, our pagan god of lightning.’
Fidelma looked down, her brows drawn together as she examined the lightning flash. Her mind was turning over the facts.
‘Here is another mystery. The Saxon warrior is placed in the sarcophagus of the Blessed Padern. He has been stabbed to death. The evidence suggests that he was stabbed in the refectory with a knife being used to carve meat during the meal. If this was done in the course of a Saxon raid, why was he carried here and placed in this sarcophagus? Why didn’t his comrades carry him away?’
Eadulf was frowning. ‘It would be the normal thing to do,’ he agreed. ‘The Hwicce, especially, do not believe in letting their dead fall into the hands of their enemies if they can avoid it. He should have been removed and buried at sea. The Hwicce are still revered by the Saxon kingdoms.’
Fidelma examined him curiously. ‘Why so?’
‘They still follow the old ways. The dark paths of Frige and Tiw are beset with sacrifice and darkness.’
Fidelma was scornful. ‘Nothing in that is worthy of reverence.’
‘It might be because they are frontiersmen, still carving their kingdom out of the territory of the Britons who were most hostile to the advance of the Angles and Saxons. They have retained their belief in the original gods of the people. Their kings still claim that they are descended from Woden, the chief of the gods.’ Eadulf hesitated.
‘And?’ Fidelma was not encouraging.
‘In spite of the coming of the Faith, all our kings from the land of the West Saxons to Bernica still claim such a lineal descent from the god Woden.’
Fidelma pursed her lips cynically. ‘At least my people do not have to claim they descend from gods and goddesses to seek leadership and obedience.’
Eadulf flushed slightly. While Fidelma was logically right, he still felt that criticism of his culture was implied. He decided to deflect the subject.
‘Why would the Hwicce raid this godforsaken coast? We are nearly two hundred kilometres from their kingdom. Why would they raid here? Why leave the place so immaculate and why leave one of their number in a Christian tomb?’
‘That is something which we must discover. Let us leave our pagan friend in the sarcophagus for the time being. Our next step is to search for more evidence before we journey to — what was the name of the place where the young boy, Dewi, reported the Saxons had killed some of the brothers?’
‘Llanferran.’
‘That’s right. Llanferran.’
Eadulf gave a deep sigh. ‘None of this even begins to make sense to me. It is one unreasonable alternative facing another.’
‘When you consider all the possibilities, it is the most reasonable explanation that provides an answer,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Most things are illogical until you have the information which explains them. Come, let us see what else we can discover in this place.’
Fidelma helped Eadulf return the lid to its normal position. She was about to lead the way out of the chapel when something else caught her eye and she paused, staring intently at the altar.
‘We almost missed that,’ she said, nodding towards it.
Eadulf looked at the bare altar and frowned. ‘Missed what?’ he demanded.
Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘Come, you should know better. Look, observe.’
Eadulf turned back to the altar. ‘There is nothing there,’ he protested. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘Nothing,’ said Fidelma. ‘That is precisely the matter.’
Eadulf was about to question her further when the realisation finally came to him. ‘There is no crucifix there. No altar candles; no icons.’
‘Precisely. Just as we may expect after a raid, the valuables are gone.’
As they turned to leave, just behind the chapel door they discovered another curious object. It was the figure of a man made from twists of straw bound together with pieces of string.
Fidelma was examining it with a thoughtful expression when Eadulf interrupted.
‘I can see no reason why the Hwicce would raid this place,’ he commented. ‘Surely the missing icons and treasures here would not constitute great wealth?’
‘Your people keep slaves, don’t you? Perhaps the incentive lay in the sale of the community.’
They found their way to the dormitorium and conducted a more thorough examination. It took them but a few moments, searching the sleeping quarters, to ascertain that nothing was missing from the personal belongings of the brothers. Toilet articles, a breviary and other small items remained at each separate bed.
In the chamber which was clearly that of the Father Superior, Fidelma’s sharp eyes noticed that one small, iron-bound box lay discarded in an alcove. It was the sort of box that one might expect to find valuables in, but it was open and empty. Nor, as she pointed out, was there a crucifix in the room. The chamber of a Father Superior would usually contain a fairly valuable cross. That one had hung in the room until recently was evident by the dusty shadow marks outlining its position on the wall.
However, the Father Superior’s personal belongings, toiletries and other items, and a collection of books in Greek, Latin and Hebrew, showing that Father Clidro had been something of a scholar, were all neatly stacked on a shelf. One volume even lay open on his desk with a metal page marker indicating the spot where he had left off reading.
‘This is truly a strange affair,’ observed Eadulf.
‘That I’ll grant you,’ agreed Fidelma, but she could not help adding mischievously, ‘but certainly not one that is sinister in the sense of any dark forces at work.’
‘We have looked through all the buildings. Let us find our way to Llanferran. Our horses are restless.’
They could hear a protesting whinny from the animals they had left tethered outside.
‘They remind me that we have not looked in the stables or animal pens,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We must be thorough.’
Eadulf screwed his face into a dismissive grimace. ‘We know that there is nothing there. Brother Cyngar looked. He told us.’
‘He also told us that he had looked round the community’s buildings and found nothing. Yet we have found a great deal.’
Eadulf nodded glumly. She was right, of course.
They left the dormitorium and went outside. ‘The gate seems to have blown open,’ Eadulf remarked.
‘Leave it,’ Fidelma advised. ‘It will not take us long to look at the animal enclosures.’
Brother Cyngar had been right. They were empty. All the livestock had gone. However, Fidelma insisted on looking carefully round, trying to spot the slightest thing that was out of the ordinary. From the enclosures they went to the large barn beyond, next to which stood a smith’s forge. The brazier was filled with grey ash, and cold. It was some time since a fire had been kindled here. The barn doors were open. Fidelma halted and looked inside. Cyngar had said he had gone to the barn and glanced inside but found it empty. Certainly, as they stood on the threshold they could see that there were no animals inside. There was nothing supernatural about their disappearance; the ground was stony and hard and the animals could easily have been driven off without trace.
‘Brother Cyngar said that the community possessed two mules. Why are there half a dozen stalls?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Visitors, of course,’ Fidelma responded. ‘The community provided hospitality for travellers and pilgrims passing through here. It would be natural to provide shelter for their horses.’
She walked inside and carefully peered into each individual stall. When she reached the end of the line of stalls on the left, she turned round. Something caught her eye and she glanced up. Eadulf saw the expression on her face. He was still standing in the doorway and she was looking at something directly above his head inside the door.