Soon the woods began to thin and they found themselves in a small twisting valley through which a small stream gushed, widening occasionally into moderately sized pools. At Fidelma’s suggestion they walked their horses through the shallow waters, whose swirling eddies hid their passing.
After a while the wooded cover ended and low plains of marshy ground stretched before them. They were aware of the plaintive crying of gulls and the noticeable tang of salt in the air.
‘The sea can’t be far away,’ Eadulf observed unnecessarily.
‘So we have to turn north now,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I can see some buildings. .’
‘Maybe we can get a proper meal there.’
Fidelma smiled ruefully at her companion. ‘I confess that if it were a choice between going hungry or having another meal of your Judas’s Ear, I would prefer starvation.’
They rode to some rocky high ground that, to the west, swept down towards a deceptive cliff edge. Below was a broad bay with a sandy beach, backed by shingle. Further up was a deep inlet through which a river came tumbling to the sea. They had to ride around this cleft, with cliffs on one side and marshy land on the other, to find a place to cross.
The buildings appeared to be a small hamlet with a hill rising behind it. Fidelma had noticed several ancient stones including a stone circle not far off. Smoke rose from the hamlet and they could see people moving about.
Eadulf sighed in relief. ‘Civilisation and food.’
‘Let’s find out where we are first.’
As they came closer, Fidelma realised that the place was not even large enough to be called a hamlet. There was only a large smith’s forge and outbuildings and what looked like the sort of hostel that was common in her own land, where people gathered to drink, eat or stay for the night.
An old man carrying a large stack of twigs on his back was approaching them from a path on the inland side of the track along which they were proceeding.
Eadulf decided to try out his improved knowledge of the language.
‘Shw mae! Pa un yw’r fford i. .?’
The old man stopped and stared at him. His eyes widened. ‘Saeson?’
‘I am a Saxon,’ admitted Eadulf.
To their surprise, the old man dropped his bundle of sticks and went scuttling away towards the buildings shouting at the top of his voice.
Fidelma looked grim. ‘It seems that they do not like Saxons in this part of the world.’
Before Eadulf could protest, Fidelma was moving on resolutely in the wake of the old man, who had now halted, waving his arms and still shouting. A broad-shouldered man, who was clearly the smith, and a couple of other men had grabbed what appeared to be weapons and watched them with caution as they approached. There were no expressions of welcome on their faces.
‘What do you want here?’ called the broad-shouldered man as they drew within speaking range.
Fidelma halted, Eadulf by her side. ‘Pax vobiscum, my brothers. I am Sister Fidelma of Cashel.’
‘A Gwyddel?’ The smith frowned. ‘The old man said that you were Saxons come to rob and kill us.’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly and slid from her horse, motioning Eadulf to dismount also. ‘My companion is a Saxon. Brother Eadulf. We have come neither to rob nor to kill. We are of the Faith.’
The tension of the group relaxed a little but the smith still stood regarding her mistrustfully.
‘It is unusual to find a Saxon travelling in this country as a religious. Saxons are more likely to travel in raiding parties as we, on this coast, know to our cost. We have lost many loved ones in raids.’
‘We mean no harm here. We are seeking a place called Llanferran.’
‘And so?’
Fidelma was bewildered for a moment. ‘We would also like refreshment and fodder for our horses for they are exhausted. Then if you would direct us to this place, Llanferran, we will be on our way.’
The smith stared at her for a second or two and then shrugged, putting down his weapon.
‘You have found Llanferran. My name is Goff.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Now, what is it you seek here apart from hospitality? It is not often that strangers come here merely to seek food and shelter, least of all Saxons.’ Goff the smith looked suspiciously at Eadulf.
‘We hold a commission from your king, Gwlyddien, to investigate the disappearance of the community of Llanpadern. .’
The smith scowled suddenly. A young man who stood at his side, white-faced and anxious, let out a nervous gasp.
‘We were told by Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer, that someone called Dewi had information on this matter.’
The smith reluctantly indicated the youth. ‘This is my son, Dewi. I named him after the blessed founder of our church.’
Fidelma smiled at the apprehensive boy. ‘Then we have much to discuss. However, can we beg some food and the warmth of your fire while we talk of this matter?’
The smith hesitated before making up his mind. ‘If you are true religious then you are welcome at my hearth. We will go up to the house.’
He turned to one of his companions standing in the sullen, suspicious group about the old man they had first encountered, who was glaring at them with hatred.
‘Take charge of the forge,’ instructed Goff. He was about to turn away when Fidelma stayed him.
‘Can the wants of our horses also be met? They need a good rub down, also water and feed.’
‘See to it,’ Goff ordered.
With murmured thanks, Fidelma and Eadulf followed Goff and Dewi across a yard and up a small rise to the large building which, as Fidelma had guessed, bore all the hallmarks of the hostels kept in her own land, where food, drink and a bed could be purchased.
A round-faced woman was standing before a cooking pot hanging over a roaring fire.
‘Rhonwen!’ called the smith. ‘We have guests. Religious on their travels.’
The round-faced woman came forward, wiping her hands on an apron that hung around her ample girth.
‘This is Rhonwen, my wife,’ Goff said.
‘Have you broken your fast this morning, Sister?’ the pleasant-faced woman asked. ‘Can I get you something to eat and drink?’
Soon fresh-baked bread and dishes of cold meats and cheeses were set before them. The smith and his son, Dewi, joined them in beakers of good mead.
Fidelma had reached into her marsupium and pushed the vellum bearing King Gwlyddien’s seal in front of the smith. He glanced at it and handed it to his son with a shrug.
‘Dewi has been taught to read,’ he muttered apologetically.
‘It is a commission from the king, father. The Gwyddel is a lawyer, like our barnwr.’
‘Very well. What can we tell you about Llanpadern, Sister?’ asked the smith. ‘We know that it was raided.’
‘So Dewi told Gwnda.’ Eadulf entered the conversation for the first time. ‘Tell us about this raid.’
The youth glanced at his father who nodded.
‘We heard that there was a Saxon warship anchored off Penmorfa nearly a week ago,’ Dewi began. ‘Then seven religious were found near the cliffs there. They had all been killed. It was obvious who had caused their deaths.’
Fidelma looked at him inquisitively. ‘Why obvious?’ she demanded.
‘One moment, Sister.’ The smith rose and went to a cupboard at the back of the room. A moment later he had returned bearing a round warrior’s shield, a broken sword and a knife. ‘These were found with the bodies of the religious. Do you need me to identify their markings and their origin?’
Fidelma turned to Eadulf, who was looking at the markings with an uncomfortable expression. She knew what he would answer before she asked the question.