‘Saying that you act on his authority and advising everyone to co-operate with you. .’
Fidelma reached forward and took the vellum from Dewi’s fingers. ‘Do you understand that, Iorwerth?’ she asked.
Eadulf found himself hiding a smile at her sleight of hand. He knew that she had not allowed the young man to read out that the co-operation related to the specific inquiry about Llanpadern.
The smith’s jaw came up stubbornly.
Dewi was apologetic. ‘It is what the words say, Iorwerth, and I have seen the king’s seal often before at the abbey of Dewi Sant when I have delivered father’s work there.’
The smith remained hesitant but then admitted defeat. ‘If that is what the words say,’ he conceded reluctantly, ‘I will answer your questions.’
‘When you have finished your business with Dewi,’ Fidelma told him, ‘we will go inside your cabin and talk.’
The young man unslung his saddle bag and handed it to Iorwerth. ‘There is little business to conduct, Sister,’ he announced. ‘I merely came to deliver the pieces of gold that my father promised Iorwerth for his forge.’
Iorwerth took the bag and emptied out the pieces of metal, looking more like jagged rocks than precious gold.
‘Excellent,’ Iorwerth said as he examined them. ‘It is as agreed. Give my salutations to your father, Dewi.’
The youth returned the courtesy and turned towards his horse while Iorwerth said to Fidelma: ‘You may enter and tell me what you want of me.’
As Fidelma was about to follow him, Eadulf said: ‘I will join you in a moment. I just want a word with Dewi.’
She raised an eyebrow to show her curiosity. Eadulf caught her gaze and half nodded towards a corner of Iorwerth’s forge. She just had time to control her surprise. In a corner was a figure of a man made of twists of straw. It was not the same but it was similar to the straw man which they had found in the chapel of Llanpadern.
‘Well, Sister?’ Iorwerth was demanding as he stood at the door of his cabin. She recovered from her astonishment and joined him, and he led the way into his small living quarters. The space was claustrophobic and dark. She had to bend slightly, for she was tall and her head almost connected with the low beams. The heat of the fire was almost stifling. Fidelma did not wait for Iorwerth to ask her to be seated, for she knew that she would wait in vain.
‘What do you want?’ Iorwerth demanded gruffly.
‘Let us talk about Idwal.’
Iorwerth blinked rapidly. ‘But Gwnda said. .’
Fidelma turned icy cold eyes on him.
‘Yes?’ she prompted. ‘What did Gwnda say?’ Iorwerth gave a half-shrug. ‘The matter of my daughter’s murder is closed.’
‘Not so. You heard that I have a commission from King Gwlyddien, didn’t you? Things are closed when I say they are.’
‘Idwal killed my daughter and he killed Brother Meurig. .’
‘And you killed him?’ ended Fidelma.
At that moment Eadulf entered and took his position just behind her.
‘I did not kill him,’ Iorwerth was protesting. ‘Not the way you imply it. The people killed him.’
‘Ah,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘The people. Tell me how the people killed him.’
‘When Gwnda told us that Brother Meurig had been killed, we all knew that it was Idwal. After all, Idwal had raped and killed my daughter. Had you and Brother Meurig not interfered, justice would have been done before now.’
Fidelma decided to let this pass. ‘You still have not told me what happened.’
‘I knew a likely spot where the boy might hide out, an old oak tree a little way on from the woodsman’s hut.’
Fidelma was curious. ‘How did you know this spot?’
‘The boy was a creature of habit. I knew he used to play there a lot when he was younger. So did Mair and Elen and many of the young ones of the township.’
‘Go on.’
‘We went there, a dozen men of the township. . Idwal was there. When he saw us he tried to escape. I am not sure who it was but the next thing was that he had been strung up on the oak.’ The smith looked at her defiantly. ‘Vox populi vox Dei.’
‘What was that you said, Iorwerth?’ asked Eadulf in surprise.
‘Vox populi vox Dei,’ repeated the smith. It was clear from the way he pronounced the words that they were not familiar to him.
‘That is an interesting expression. You know what it means?’
‘It is our exoneration,’ replied the smith.
‘The voice of the people is the voice of God,’ translated Fidelma, musingly. ‘The wishes of the people are irresistible, eh? That excuses you from killing Idwal, I suppose?’
Iorwerth was silent.
‘Was Gwnda with you during this madness?’ Fidelma continued.
‘You should ask him.’
‘I suppose that he fed you this little bit of Latin to use as some magic amulet for your defence?’
Iorwerth did not answer.
‘Did you know that your daughter was not a virgin?’ Fidelma asked the question without warning. ‘You made a false claim to seek higher compensation, didn’t you?’
Iorwerth’s face went crimson with rage. He moved a few threatening paces forward but Eadulf placed himself quickly before Fidelma. The smith stood for a moment with large fists balled as if he were going to strike out.
‘You dare slander my daughter’s name?’ he finally gasped.
‘So, you claim that you did not know? Nor did you have any idea of who her elderly lover was?’
Iorwerth was staring at Fidelma in anger but able to control himself now. ‘Were you told that by that simpleton? Did Idwal tell you these lies?’ he snarled.
‘Why are you so sure that they are lies?’
‘Because Idwal would try to protect himself from his accusers. He fooled you, Gwyddel. He fooled you!’
‘But if another witness made the claim and not Idwal? What then?’
Iorwerth’s eyes were suddenly filled with suspicion. ‘What witness? It is a lie. My daughter had no secrets from me.’
‘Even in normal circumstances, a daughter will not often confess to her father when and how she lost her virginity.’
Fidelma examined him carefully now. The phrase vultus est index animi came to her mind. The expression on one’s face is a sign of the soul. Iorwerth’s soul was in anguish.
‘Tell me about Mair,’ Fidelma invited. ‘What sort of daughter was she?’
The brawny smith suddenly sat down and buried his face in his hands. To their surprise a sob racked his big frame.
‘She was not a good daughter. But she was all I had left of her mother. She was the image of her mother. Poor Esyllt. I did her grievous wrong. She died when Mair was young. I tried to make it up. . to Mair.’
‘I understand,’ Fidelma’s voice was more compassionate. ‘You compensated for the loss of Esyllt by spoiling Mair. In what way was she not a good daughter?’
‘She was strong-willed, like me in some ways. She did what she wanted. She was. . an individual, strong-headed, like a horse that has not been broken. She would not obey me.’
‘So you would definitely not be told if she had a lover.’
‘She knew how important it was for. . for both of us, to go through with the marriage that had been arranged with Madog, the goldsmith of Carn Slani.’
‘This was an arranged marriage?’
‘It was.’
‘Did Mair consent?’
‘She knew that we required the money that a union with Madog would bring.’
‘But given free choice she might have wished for another match?’
‘She was headstrong.’
‘Gwnda, as I recall, once told us that she was a dutiful daughter.’
Iorwerth gestured disdainfully. ‘Gwnda would not know more than what he was told.’
‘So he did not know that Mair was headstrong?’
‘Most people knew. Anyway, Gwnda’s daughter Elen was close to Mair, closer than a sister. It would be hard to ignore the fact that Mair was her own person.’
‘So when we are told that you forbade Mair and Idwal to meet one another, you might have been fairly certain that Mair would ignore your orders?’