Free Smoke in the Wind by Peter Tremayne Page B

has been harmed.’
    The man went to the door and knocked upon it. It did not seem to have been secured. There was a movement inside and the man turned and scurried off into the darkness.
    A moment later a thickset man with a dark full beard appeared in the doorway. He carried a sword in his right hand as if ready to defend himself from attack.
    ‘What does this mean?’ he growled, glancing suspiciously around. ‘I, Gwnda, demand to know!’
    Brother Meurig bent forward in his saddle. ‘Are you Gwnda, lord of Pen Caer?’
    ‘I am he,’ the man responded, not lowering his sword. Then his eyes narrowed suddenly as he recognised the robes of the religieux.
    ‘I am Brother Meurig of the abbey of Dewi Sant, the barnwr for whom you have sent. These are my companions, Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf. They travel under special commission of Gwlyddien of Dyfed.’
    Gwnda looked startled for a moment. Then he saw Iorwerth and the two men holding the boy. He rested the point of his sword lightly on the step before him, hands on the pommel. His features relaxed but it was hardly a smile of greeting.
    ‘I wish I could bid you welcome to my hall in happier circumstances.’
    Brother Meurig swung down from his horse. ‘These circumstances will suffice, Gwnda, providing that they are explained to us.’
    Gwnda regarded Iorwerth with a sour expression. ‘Does this mean that your rebellion is over, Iorwerth?’ he asked.
    ‘It was never meant as rebellion,’ replied the man, defensively. ‘My aim was justice.’
    ‘Revenge was your aim and rebellion it was; rebellion against your lord. Yet I am kindly disposed to you and will forgive your transgression against the law because you let your emotions misguide you. Get to your home and we will discuss reparation for your act later.’ Gwnda turned to Brother Meurig as an afterthought: ‘That is, if this has your permission?’
    ‘You appear to be a man of liberal judgment, Gwnda,’ said Brother Meurig. ‘I see no reason to object until I have an explanation. And if everyone has now come to their senses, perhaps these two men will remove this boy to some secure place where he may be confined until I can question him?’
    Gwnda turned to the two men and his voice was sharp: ‘Return Idwal to my stables. When you have done that, you may take the horses of our guests here and see that they are well cared for.’ He smiled briefly to encompass them all. ‘Come into my hall, my friends, and I will do my best to explain the sorrow of this evening.’
    ‘Lord Gwnda . . .’ One of the two men still stood hesitating.
    ‘Well?’ snapped Gwnda.
    ‘Shall I . . . shall we be punished?’
    Gwnda nodded towards Brother Meurig. ‘You will have the opportunity to present your defence. I shall leave the subject of punishment to the judgment of the barnwr here.’
    ‘But it was Iorwerth the smith. He told us . . . told everyone . . . that we should support him. He said it was justice.’
    ‘Everyone?’ jeered Gwnda. ‘Enough. You will have time to justify yourself later. Now get about the task that I have set you, unless you wish to compound your rebellion?’
    The two men, heads hung morosely, moved off with the youth while Meurig, Fidelma and Eadulf dismounted and hooked their reins to a nearby post. Gwnda was ushering them into his hall. Inside, some women, looking apprehensively at the newcomers, were huddled in the corner.
    ‘Have no fear,’ called Gwnda cheerfully as he hung up his sword. ‘This is the barnwr and his companions. They come directly from the court of Gwlyddien.’
    A young girl, about seventeen years old, dark-haired and attractive, came forward with an eager look on her face.
    ‘This is my daughter, Elen,’ Gwnda announced.
    The girl spoke immediately to Brother Meurig. ‘Is the boy, Idwal, safe?’ she asked. Fidelma registered the concern in her voice.
    ‘He is. Are you a friend of his?’ asked the barnwr.
    Gwnda snorted indignantly. ‘My daughter is no