Smoke in the Wind (18 page)

‘No! No harm is to come to her yet. She might still have a use.’ His mouth split in a mirthless grin. ‘You will regret what you have done, Gwyddel,’ he told her between clenched teeth.

‘I only regret not having taught you a harsher lesson,’ she responded acidly, hiding her relief that she had been reprieved from immediate death.

Corryn was frowning. ‘Do you insist on continuing this charade?’ he demanded.

Clydog ignored him. ‘Take her back to the hut. Bind her.’

She felt rough hands grab her arms and twist them behind her back, the rope drawn so tightly round her wrists that she gasped with the pain. The unkind hands propelled her towards the hut. Then came Clydog’s voice.

‘Bring out the Saxon! We’ll have some sport with him before we dispatch him to meet his true god, Woden.’

‘You can’t!’ Fidelma screamed, twisting in her captors’ grasp. ‘Why punish Eadulf for what I have done? Can’t you take defeat like a man?’

‘Maybe you would like to watch?’ sneered Clydog. ‘Ah, but your presence may give the Saxon courage enough to face his death with stoicism. I have seen such things before. Saxons run to meet death with the name of their god on their lips, believing they will be accepted in their immortal Hall of Heroes. No, you may console yourself by listening to his pitiful cries for mercy. Bring him out now!’

They pushed her into the darkness of the hut. She was thrown to the ground, the breath driven from her body. Even so, she was in an agony of torment as she was bound in her former place against the wall of the hut.

‘Hurry!’ she heard Clydog yelling from outside. ‘Don’t take all night. Bring the Saxon to me. I am impatient for the fun to begin.’

‘Eadulf !’ Fidelma finally managed to gasp.

Then she heard an astonished cry from one of the robbers. She blinked and tried to focus as the man raised a torch high to illuminate the interior of the hut.

She looked across to where Eadulf had been bound. He was not there. His severed bonds lay discarded, and nearby, a wooden platter on which the slices of venison still lay uneaten. Her heart lurched with a quick beat of hope.

There came to her ears the whinny of a distant horse, and the receding sound of the animal crashing along the trail beyond the clearing.

Then there came a cacophony of several voices crying at once.

‘One of the horses has broken loose!’

‘The Saxon! He is escaping!’

She heard Clydog’s almost hysterical cry: ‘The Saxon? Is it true? Has he gone?’

The outlaw came pushing into the hut, saw the severed bonds, and glanced down at Fidelma. His teeth clenched.

‘Have no fear, Gwyddel. We will find him. These woods are well known to us; we know them like the backs of our hands. When we bring him back you will both enjoy a pain so exquisite that you will be pleading for me to kill you in order to put an end to it. Death will come as a merciful release.’

‘First you will have to catch Eadulf,’ she spat back angrily. ‘So far, Clydog, you have not been able to fulfil any of your boasts. I doubt whether you can fulfil this one.’

She saw murder in his eyes there and then. As she braced herself, Corryn suddenly appeared at his side and caught his arm.

‘The Saxon is escaping!’ he hissed. ‘No time for this now. Your personal vengeance can wait.’

Clydog hesitated, eyes blazing. It seemed several moments before he had his temper under control. Then he turned out of the hut, shouting orders. Fidelma heard a movement in the clearing, the sounds of horses being mounted, and the snap of undergrowth as they departed. She was left alone in the darkness of the hut.

One part of her rejoiced that Eadulf had managed to escape and hoped that he would be able to avoid his pursuers. The other part of her mind sank into a troubled feeling of gloomy isolation as she realised that she was now alone and helpless at the hands of Clydog and his band of cut-throats. Clydog’s temper would be uncontrollable when he returned. She lay listening to the sound of the receding horses, and wondered where Eadulf would make for. She presumed that he would try to head for Llanwnda and seek help from either Brother Meurig or Gwnda, the lord of Pen Caer. But, even if he succeeded, it would be some time before he could bring rescuers back to this place, even if he could find it again, and provided Clydog did not move camp in the meantime.

She tugged futilely at her bonds. They were firm enough. She wondered how much time she had before Clydog and his men returned.

She prayed that Eadulf would elude them.

Then, in the darkness, she heard a sound. Turning, she saw the shadow of a man enter the hut.

Fidelma tried to struggle up to defend herself as best she could.

‘Quiet!’ hissed a voice.

Fidelma gasped in disbelief. ‘Eadulf!’ she whispered, partly in relief and partly in consternation. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were long gone.’

Eadulf dropped to his knees beside her. She felt his hands working quickly at her bonds.

‘My hope is Clydog and his carrion thought the same as you; that I had escaped on horseback,’ came back his cheery voice.

‘How did you manage to free yourself?’

‘Simple. When the man brought me the venison, I asked him to loose one hand so that I could lift the food to my mouth. The idiot did so, thinking that he had restricted me enough, but I was soon able to pick at the knots and--’

‘Clydog will kill us both if he captures us again,’ she interrupted.

‘I know. I heard what was happening. Are you harmed at all?’ His voice was slightly embarrassed.

‘I am not hurt. But Clydog is hurt in more than his pride,’ she replied with grim satisfaction.

‘I knew that you would be able to keep him entertained with your defensive techniques. I was going to wait inside the hut and then release you. But when I heard Clydog had decided to make me a martyr in the fullness of my youth, I decided not to encourage such an ambition. I slipped into the woods unobserved and watched them take you back to the hut. Then I let loose one of the horses and gave it a slap on the flanks to encourage it to gallop off down the trail.’

He gave a quick exhalation of breath and Fidelma felt the rope round her wrist suddenly slacken.

‘I’m free!’ she said quickly, rubbing her wrists to restore the circulation.

Eadulf helped her to stand up.

‘What now?’ she asked him, knowing that he would have already thought out some plan.

‘I saw that they had left our two horses still tethered. I suggest we take them and ride in the opposite direction to the one which they have taken.’

They started out of the hut and then Fidelma suddenly pulled him back. He realised why almost immediately.

‘Halt!’ cried a voice. An outlaw who had been left on guard came racing towards the hut. They saw the flash of firelight on the naked blade of his sword. ‘Stand still. You cannot escape.’

Eadulf acted swiftly. He reached down, picked up a handful of mud and threw it at the man. It was not thrown with any degree of force but simply to distract the outlaw, who parried it with ease. At the same time, Eadulf dived towards a wood pile and seized the first log he could from the stack. He swung round, almost in the same rolling motion, and came into a defensive crouch as his assailant recovered, realising there was no danger from the makeshift missile. Not waiting for the outlaw to move, Eadulf was on him, brandishing the wood above his head. The men were too close for the sword to be used effectively, and a moment later Eadulf had sent the wood crashing against the side of the man’s head.

‘Come on!’ he called to Fidelma, even before the outlaw had fallen to the ground. Fidelma was already untying the horses. With Eadulf leading, they set off at a brisk canter along the track which led in the opposite direction to the trail which Clydog and his men had taken.

It was fairly dark and the woods with their canopy of branches increased the darkness. A sudden wind was whipping at the treetops. Fidelma glanced up into the darkness.

‘It will be raining before long, Eadulf,’ she called. ‘This wind is a harbinger of a storm, I’ll warrant it.’

‘Then it might help rather than hinder us,’ replied Eadulf. ‘At least it might hide any tracks.’

She could not be sure how far they had travelled, except that it was a fair distance, when a short time later the sky suddenly lit with a momentary flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a harsh rumble of thunder which caused the horses to shy and whinny in protest. Rain, like cold, icy pinpricks, began to fall, quickly increasing in intensity.

‘We are not going to get far at this rate,’ Fidelma called. ‘Any idea where we are?’

‘I could not see the stars. There were too many storm clouds before this set in to be sure,’ replied Eadulf, ‘but I think we are heading west or south-west. The forest was due south from Llanpadern.’

His words were punctuated by another flash, and almost immediately the crash of thunder reverberated once again.

‘We’ll have to find some shelter out of this,’ Eadulf said. ‘This rain is too intense.’

‘It might be providential as the rain will wash away our tracks,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We’d best dismount and lead the horses. The thunder and lightning are making them skittish.’

Eadulf reluctantly acknowledged that it was the best course. He knew Fidelma was an expert horsewoman, learning to ride almost before she could walk. He was more used to travelling on foot. They dismounted and began to lead the animals along the track, feeling it turning to a muddy slushy mess beneath their feet as the rain gushed down through the trees.

It was just after another bright flash that Eadulf halted and pointed along a small pathway leading off the main track which had been illuminated by the lightning.

‘I thought I saw a rock face along there. I am sure there was an overhang. It might provide shelter. It would be better than nothing at all.’ He had raised his voice to be heard above the sound of the torrential rain and the rolling storm.

Fidelma simply nodded.

‘Wait here!’ yelled Eadulf. ‘I’ll make sure that it is safe along there.’

He turned along the path, leading his horse. Soon he had disappeared in the darkness and sheeting rain. Fidelma stood impatiently, waiting by the head of her nervous mount, gently speaking to it and stroking its muzzle in an attempt to keep it calm.

Then Eadulf reappeared. ‘It’s all right,’ he called. ‘Come on. The overhang leads into a large cave where we can shelter with the horses. I’ve left mine there. It’s big and dry.’

She followed, guiding her horse carefully along the muddy path through the whipping branches.

If anything, the rain was increasing in its intensity. The storm seemed to be circling round in the forest as if some angry storm god were trying to seek them out, sending his lightning forks sizzling down to the ground seconds before following them with a thunderous explosion. One must have struck nearby for they saw, on what must have been a hill, a fire break out among the trees only to be quenched moments later by the torrent of rain.

Fidelma found herself entertaining the irreverent thought that the Saxon thunder god Thunor had prepared this vengeance for them. It was not so long ago that her people measured storms as a manifestation of the power of the gods and goddesses. It occurred to her to wonder why Thunor sounded so similar to the Irish thunder god Torann and to his British counterpart Taranis, but then she dismissed the thought.

The overhang was quite large and Fidelma had no difficulty leading her horse under its shelter. As Eadulf had said, a dark, almost pitch black cavern yawned beyond. His horse was hobbled inside; he had taken the reins and tied the beast’s forelegs to prevent it walking far, for there was nothing to tether it to. Fidelma smiled to herself, approving of his forethought. She’d make a horseman of him yet. She quickly followed his example.

The cave seemed large and dry but they were both saturated and cold.

‘I don’t suppose there is a chance of a fire?’ she asked.

‘I doubt whether I could find dry kindle or wood,’ replied Eadulf, a shadowy figure against the mouth of the cave, lit only when the lightning flashed. ‘Even then I am not sure whether it would be prudent. We have not come so very far from Clydog’s camp. We don’t want to attract any attention.’

‘He and his men would surely give up the chase while this storm lasts,’ she decided. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’

As soon as it was light enough and, they hoped, the storm had abated, they ought to try to increase the distance between themselves and Clydog and his cut-throats. In the meantime, there was the problem of being wet and cold to overcome. Eadulf was right: there was no dry fuel to be found, and so they resigned themselves to making the best of the situation.

Eadulf, more by touch than an ability to see anything in the darkness, had removed the horses’ saddles. He found a smooth boulder to one side of the cave and Fidelma heard him arranging things.

‘I’ve put down the saddle blankets here. They are pretty damp, but better than the cold rock. I suggest we try and get warm together and perhaps our garments will dry on us.’

Fidelma and Eadulf huddled together against the boulder. Their embrace was one of animal necessity, each needing the warmth of the other’s body. Outside the cave, the storm was drifting away, but the dark rain clouds still rolled over the forest, sending cascades of water pouring across the landscape.

‘It’ll be clear by morning,’ muttered Fidelma as she nestled into the crook of Eadulf’s arm.

Eadulf was silent for a moment. ‘If we head due west in the morning we ought to reach the coast. But perhaps we might find a southerly road before that.’

‘Why southerly?’ she asked, momentarily perplexed.

‘So that we can find our way back to the abbey of Dewi Sant.’ He felt Fidelma stiffen a little.