Smoke in the Wind by Peter Tremayne Read Free Book Online Page B

‘I am here merely accompanying the emissary of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury. Your question is best put to him.’
    Eadulf set down his wine, considering the matter. It was true that he had delayed in Muman for nearly a year before finally deciding to return to Canterbury. What difference would a delay of a few more days in the kingdom of Dyfed make on this return journey? It would probably take a few days before they could find a ship anyway. But what mystery was there to so distract the abbot that he would invite strangers to solve it, and a Saxon at that? Eadulf was still acutely mindful that he was in the land of the Britons. He became aware of the abbot’s close scrutiny as the latter waited with barely concealed impatience for the answer.
    ‘There would be a remuneration for your services,’ the abbot said quickly, as if payment were Eadulf’s concern.
    ‘Why would you seek our help? Surely there are enough wise heads in the kingdom of Dyfed to resolve the problem without calling in strangers?’ Eadulf’s tone indicated his vexation.
    There was a movement beyond a screen at the far end of the room, and a tall, elderly man emerged from behind it. He had the build of a warrior, despite his age, and his features still retained the handsome mould of his youth. His white hair was tightly curled and beset by a gold circlet. His eyes were a striking, vivid blue, almost violet, with, at first glance, no discernible pupils. He wore clothes of rich satin and woven linen and wool. It was clear that he was a man of rank.
    Eadulf noticed that Fidelma was rising from her seat and so he rose reluctantly as well.
    The abbot coughed nervously. ‘You stand in the presence of--’
    ‘Of Gwlyddien, king of Dyfed,’ interrupted Fidelma, bowing her head in acknowledgment.
    The elderly king came forward, smiling broadly, his hand held out in greeting. ‘You have a discerning eye, Fidelma of Cashel, and a quick wit, for I am sure that we have not met before.’
    ‘We have not, but the son of Nowy has been spoken of with respect among the religious of these islands. Was not your father also famed for the support he gave to the Church?’
    Gwlyddien inclined his head. ‘Yet such as my reputation is, it provides little enough information by which to recognise me.’
    ‘True enough.’ Fidelma’s eyes held a twinkle. ‘It was by the royal symbol of Dyfed which you have embroidered on your cloak and by the gold signet on your finger that I inferred your identity. It was an elementary deduction.’
    Gwlyddien slapped his thigh in appreciation and chuckled. ‘All I have heard of you seems true, Fidelma of Cashel.’ He turned with outstretched hand to Eadulf, who stood slightly alienated by this exchange. ‘And, of course, where Fidelma goes, one hears of her companion, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Our bards tell us that two centuries ago the land of the South Folk, the very place from where you come, was once the kingdom of those Britons called the Trinovantes. From that tribe came one of the greatest of our kings - Cunobelinos, the Hound of Belinos, against whom not even the Roman emperors would dare to wage war.’
    Eadulf shifted his weight nervously. ‘ Tempus edax rerum ,’ he muttered, remembering the line from Ovid.
    Gwlyddien stared disapprovingly at him for a moment. Then he sighed and bowed his head as though accepting the inevitable.
    ‘Indeed, time does devour all things. Yet does not Virgil say that the Fates will find a way? What was once may yet be again.’
    Eadulf restrained a shiver. He had heard that the Britons had not lost hope that one day they would drive the Saxons back again into the sea. He wondered how to respond but the moment had passed. Gwlyddien had seated himself in the chair vacated by the abbot, who took another.
    ‘Sit down,’ the king instructed with an impatient gesture. Fidelma and Eadulf resumed their seats. ‘The answer to our Saxon friend’s previous question is simple. Among the