Smoke in the Wind Read Free Page B

thickset and full-bearded. He stood, feet apart, above the youth, the cudgel in his hands, ready and threatening.
    ‘On your feet, Idwal,’ the man growled. ‘Or I shall strike you while you are still on your knees.’
    The boy looked up, still smarting from the pain of the blow. ‘What do you want with me, lord Gwnda?’ he wailed. ‘I have done you no harm.’
    The dark-haired man frowned angrily. ‘Don’t play games with me, boy!’
    He gestured back along the path, towards the body of the girl. As he did so a group of men came bursting through the trees onto the forest path behind them. Some of them saw the body of the girl and howls of rage erupted from them.
    ‘Here!’ yelled the dark-haired man, his eyes not leaving the youth, his cudgel still ready. ‘Here, boys! I have him. I have the murderer.’
    The newcomers, voices raised with fresh anger and violence, came running towards the kneeling youth who now started to sob as he saw his death in their expressions.
    ‘I swear, by the Holy Virgin I swear I did not--’
    A sharp kick from one of the leading men landed on the side of the boy’s head. It sent him sprawling and, mercifully, into unconsciousness because several others among the new arrivals started to kick viciously at his body.
    ‘Enough!’ shouted the dark-haired man called Gwnda. ‘I know you are full of grief and anger, but this must be done according to the law. We will take him back to the township and send for the barnwr .’
    ‘What need have we of a judge, Gwnda?’ cried one of the men. ‘Don’t we have the evidence of our own eyes? Didn’t I see Idwal and poor Mair with voices raised in fierce argument only a short time ago? There was violence in Idwal, if ever I saw it.’
    The black-bearded man shook his head. ‘It shall be done according to law, Iestyn. We will send for the barnwr , a learned judge from the abbey of Dewi Sant.’
     
    The monk was young and walked with that confident, rapid stride of youth along the pathway through the encompassing forest. He wore his winter cloak wrapped tight against the early morning chill and his thick black-thorn staff was carried not so much as an aid to walking but to be turned, at a moment’s notice, into a weapon of defence. The woods of Ffynnon Druidion, the Druid’s well, were notorious for the highway thieves who lurked within their gloomy recesses.
    Brother Cyngar was not really worried, merely cautious in spite of his confident gait. Early dawn on this bright autumnal day was, he felt, a time when all self-respecting thieves would still be sleeping off the excessive alcohol of the previous evening. Surely no thief would be abroad and looking for victims at such an hour? Not even the infamous Clydog Cacynen who haunted the woods; Clydog the Wasp, he was called, for he stung when least expected. A notorious outlaw. It was fear of meeting Clydog Cacynen that caused Brother Cyngar to choose this hour to make his way through the wood, having spent the previous night at a woodsman’s cottage by the old standing stone.
    There was frost lying like a white carpet across the woodland. Behind the soft white clouds, a weak winter’s sun was obviously trying to extend its rays. The woodland seemed colourless. The leaves had fallen early for there had been several cold spells in spite of its not being late in the season. Only here and there were clumps of evergreens such as the dark holly trees with the females carrying their bright red berries. There were also some common alders with their brown, woody cones which had, only a short time before, been ripened catkins, and a few silver birch. But everything was dominated by the tall, bare and gaunt sessile oaks.
    Now and again, along the track that he was following, Brother Cyngar espied crampball clinging to fallen trunks of ash; curious black and inedible fungi which he had once heard prevented night cramp if placed in one’s bed before sleeping. Cyngar had the cynicism of youth and smiled