Dyfed had thought about it through the night, unable to sleep on deck, even with the comfort of the hides about him and safe in the knowledge that the bodies were weighted and would never be discovered. The rumors all placed the fugitives in Caer Leb. With Nuadu sending his knifemen to Ynys Môn, Dyfed agreed with the rumors, guessing that Caer Leb was the likeliest refuge. Caergybi was too close to a natural harbor to be considered safe. They would be better hiding away from where merchants dock their ships for the night during the spring and summer months. Caer Leb was also a druidic center, and if Dyfed knew anything, he knew the druids would be in this up to the roots of their sacred white beards and beyond.
“How much to hire a horse for a day and a night?” he asked as he reached the blacksmith’s hut outside the outer palisade of Caergybi hillfort.
“To a discerning man such as yourself, I could not ask more than six pieces of silver,” the smith said, wiping his coked hands on his leather apron.
Dyfed shook his head as the haggling began. Being a merchant, haggling the price was part of his life, but on this occasion, he wished the formalities could be dispensed with. He wanted to get on the road and think about the wisdom of his chosen course while he still had a chance. He could not remember ever having been so nervous about a choice. Usually, he would decide and be happy with that decision.
He left Caergybi a short time later with a heavy heart and lighter by three silver pieces. He directed his mount towards the road through the middle of the island. The ride would be around five hours, more than enough time to think about the wisdom of approaching the druids.
***
Taidle Ulad was a powerful man on the island of Ynys Môn. Not many would dare to gainsay him, not even among the other members of the council. He was not best pleased to be distracted from his studies into floral lore because some merchant was claiming news of import. Still, he had been on hand to accept the request for an audience. In Taidle’s experience, what mortals thought important seldom was. Not that he thought druids to be immortal. Passing names down through the ages only gave the semblance of immortality. No, he referred to the people as mortals because he thought it an excellent way to distinguish them from the Elder Council.
Walking into the feast hall, he saw the man standing by the dais with a leather sack over his shoulder. The merchant was nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Apart from those hiding in the shadows, he was alone. The king had left the hall because the druid sent a message begging for his indulgence in the matter of a private audience with a merchant.
“Who are you, and what is your news?” Taidle whispered into the man’s ear. The merchant jumped and spun round, dropping the sack in his fright.
“I am Dyfed, the merchant,” he said when he had regained his composure.
“And what, Dyfed the merchant, is your news of import?”
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The man picked up the fallen sack and fumbled nervously at the drawstring. When it finally came loose, he upended it, and three heads fell into the dust at the druid’s feet. “These three paid for passage on my ship. They seemed like assassins on their way to my homeland, so I thought it best to dispatch them and report to the council.”
Taidle thought the man meant to dispatch them and come to the council with an open hand. It seemed apparent to the druid that this Dyfed decided to make as much profit as possible and sought a reward for killing the assassins in addition to whatever he had been paid to transport them.
He hid his suspicions as he said, “Speak on, Dyfed, the merchant.”
When the merchant had finished his tale, Taidle looked at him with ill-disguised boredom. The three heads at his feet were ugly, with long, lank hair, crushed skulls and the rictuses of a brutal death. Because their mouths were gaping, Taidle noticed that there was hardly a tooth among them. The dregs of humanity, the druid thought, with a shudder, but nonetheless deserving of fairer treatment than had been meted out by the merchant. Taidle looked at Dyfed and thought he should be strangled and dumped in a bog.
“You killed them because you suspected they were here to kill the warriors Macc Cecht and Dond Desa, together with the renegade Connery and his mother?” he asked.
“Yes, lord, I could think of no other reason for knifemen to buy passage on my ship to Ynys Môn.”
“Could they not have been returning home after working in the Five Kingdoms?” Taidle asked.
“No, lord, they were preparing for a kill. Sharpening their daggers and with their faces covered.”
Dyfed’s confident voice belied the nerves he was showing.
He sees my face and realizes his mistake.
“And what makes you think the fugitives are here at Caer Leb?”
“It is nothing but good sense, my lord. Where else would they be, if they are on Ynys Môn?”
“Just so, merchant Dyfed. Who is to say they are on the island?”
“Someone paid three cumhals in silver to have three killers transported to the island. It must have been Nuadu—”
“Why must it have been Nuadu?” Taidle interrupted.
“Few men in the Five Kingdoms have enough silver to pay three cumhals, and only one has enemies worth the sum.”
“And so, you surmised the killers were coming here to kill the enemies of Nuadu Necht?”
“I cannot think of any other targets who would require three assassins in the night,” the merchant said with a nervous laugh.
Taidle frowned at the man’s laughing. It was enough of an inconvenience that he had guessed where the fugitives were but to laugh at a druid. He could think of many reasons why this man should be ritually strangled, but none so pressing as daring to laugh at a member of the council.
“What reward will I receive, lord?” the merchant asked with a smirk meant to hide his terror.
“Your reward, Dyfed the merchant, is leaving here with your life. Now begone.”
Taidle watched the merchant scurry from the hall. The druid noticed Dyfed had a misplaced look of relief as he looked back over his shoulder. He called the knifeman out from the shadows, shrugging once more at the gullibility of mortals.
“You know what to do?” he asked. The killer nodded.
He would follow the merchant and kill him away from Caer Leb, so no aspersions could be cast on the Elder Council. His body would vanish, never to be seen again. Those who knew he had come here would be in no doubt as to his fate and would heed the warning. The council could not abide citizens meddling in their affairs and death was the only outcome.