Whispers of the Dead

CRY “WOLF!”

Is that all the petitions and statements?” asked Sister Fidelma with a sigh of relief.

It had been a long morning and Sister Fidelma had been fulfilling the job that she liked least as a dálaigh or an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann. Having qualified to the level of anruth, only one level below the highest degree accorded by the ecclesiastical and secular colleges of Ireland, she would often be asked by the Chief Brehon, the senior judge, of the kingdom of Muman, which her brother, Colgú, ruled from Cashel, to hear minor cases. This usually meant visiting outlying corners of the kingdom where there was no permanent Brehon. She would judge minor cases, or study submissions from plaintiffs to see whether there was some case of civil or criminal law that had to be heard by a more senior Brehon.

She had spent the night in her least favorite part of her brother’s kingdom. It was a disputed territory claimed by the princes of the Uí Fidgente and those of the Eóghanacht Áine. The Eóghanacht Áine were related to her own family and there had been many conflicts between them and the Uí Fidgente. Yet, these conflicts apart, she admitted that the area was a beautiful country. It was a large, fertile valley; a lush green plain which was sheltered by surrounding hills and stretched north to a great sea inlet.

The main township was set at a river bend where the river of the plain, Maigue, and the little crooked river, Camoge, intersected at a spot called Cromadh, or the crooked ford. At this juncture stood the Wood of Eóghan, rising on a hill surmounted by the ancient fortress of the chief, Díomsach the Proud. Fidelma had discovered that the man’s name had not been given lightly for he was, indeed, a proud man and conscious of his lineage from the ruling family of the kingdom, albeit a branch that had long separated from the Eóghanacht of Cashel. The Eóghanacht Áine were one of the seven main branches of the family establishing their rule over Muman. The Áine claimed precedence as second to the senior branch at Cashel. They were proud and arrogant.

But the area in which Díomsach claimed his power spread into this fertile valley which the Uí Fidgente also claimed as their territory. The Uí Fidgente were just as stubborn and proud. Many times had they risen up in rebellion against Cashel itself, even asserting a claim to the kingship. The continuing dispute as to who should rule in Cromadh made the presence of any dálaigh, let alone the sister of the king of Cashel, a subject of great tension. At all such courts held at Cromadh, the local chief of the Uí Fidgente claimed it was his right to attend and sit with the chief of the Tuatha Cromadh. It was a demand that was reluctantly agreed upon.

Fidelma now glanced at the haughty face of Díomsach as he sat on her right-hand side in his great hall. She had heard a number of complaints that morning, none of them major. Then she turned to the equally stony face of Conrí, local chieftain of the Uí Fidgente. Both kept silent.

“Is that all the submissions and statements?” she asked again, more sharply.

“I see no more supplicants,” replied Conrí of the Uí Fidgente in a bored voice.

Brother Colla, the scriptor who was taking a record of the proceedings, coughed nervously, looking toward Fidelma.

“You have something to say, Brother Colla?” she inquired.

“There is one other person who demands a hearing,” he said quietly. Then he hesitated.

Sister Fidelma looked at him with curiosity.

“Then why isn’t this person brought before me?”

The scriptor shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“He has been detained outside by Fallach, the. .”

Díomsach’s brows came together sharply.

“Fallach will doubtless have a good reason,” he snapped, adding quickly to Fidelma, “he is my chief of warriors. Who is this man apprehended by Fallach?”

“Lord, it is the farmer Febrat.”

To Sister Fidelma’s surprise, Díomsach burst out chuckling.

“Febrat? That half-wit? Then there is no more to be said. Our hearing is ended and we may retire for the feasting and entertainment.”

He made to rise but Sister Fidelma said quietly, “I am afraid that it is I who must say when my court may disperse, Díomsach. I would know more about this man Febrat and why you would exclude him from the right of petition to the courts of this land.”

Díomsach reseated himself and looked momentarily uncomfortable.

“The man is mad, Fidelma of Cashel.”

Sister Fidelma smiled cynically.

“Are you saying that he is adjudged insane and without responsibility in law?”

The chief shook his head but was silent.

“I am still, then, awaiting an answer.”

“I am also intrigued,” Conrí of the Uí Fidgente added, not disguising his delight at Díomsach’s discomfort.

Díomsach sighed softly.

“Febrat may not be legally insane but I think we are approaching a point where he must be adjudged as such. Febrat is a farmer. His farmstead is across the river, in the valley. It is the farthest farmstead in my territory bordering on the lands of my good friend, Conrí.” Díomsach inclined the upper half of his body toward the Uí Fidgente chief. It was an ironic gesture of deference, which was returned in kind by Conrí.

“I know the area,” Conrí confirmed with a polite smile.

“Then know this,” went on Díomsach. “Twice in the last two weeks he has come to my fortress claiming that the Uí Fidgente were raiding his farmstead.”

The smile vanished from Conrí’s lips.

“That is a lie!” he snapped. “There have been no such raids.”

“Nevertheless, we were not initially surprised when Febrat came here with this story,” Díomsach went on grimly. “It cannot be said that the Uí Fidgente are the most trustworthy neighbors. .”

Fidelma raised a hand as Conrí clapped a hand to his empty sword sheath, half rising from his seat. It was a firm rule that no weapons could be carried into a feasting hall or into a Brehon’s court.

“Sit down, Conrí, and calm yourself,” she admonished sharply. “Let us hear out this story. Did you investigate Febrat’s complaint?” she turned back to ask of Díomsach.

The chief nodded swiftly.

“Of course. Fallach and some of our warriors rode out and found nothing. Not broken blades of grass, a missing sheep, nor dog in frenzied mood. There was no sign of any movement of horses having ridden around the farmstead. Fallach questioned one or two people, including Febrat’s own wife, Cara, and she dismissed the idea as a figment of his imagination. Not being able to discover anything, Fallach returned.”

“Then there had been no raid?” asked Fidelma.

“Of course, there had not,” snapped Conrí. “My men would not raid a farmstead without my knowing of it, and they would know their punishment would be that much more harsh should I have discovered it. This man Febrat was indulging in liquor or was a liar.”

Díomsach nodded slowly.

“In this we find agreement, my friend. But then, two days afterwards, Febrat came to me with the same tale. He had the same sincerity and anguish as he had the first time he reported such an event. He named his neighbor, claiming this farmer was the man leading the raid. We had to take him seriously and so I accompanied Fallach and some warriors to investigate again only to find that once more there was nothing to justify his complaint.”

Sister Fidelma sat with raised eyebrows.

“He came twice to you claiming that his farmstead was being raided and each time you found nothing? Did you question his wife and did you also question the man whom he charged led the raid?”

Díomsach nodded quickly.

“We did. The man that he claimed led the raid was a farmer named Faramund. He was aghast at the accusation, and as we found nothing, nothing further was done.”

“And what did Febrat’s wife say? What did you say her name was? Cara?”

“Cara said that she thought her husband was imagining such things for she knew nothing.”

“What did Febrat say to this?”

“He was trying to persuade his wife that it had happened.”

“But if she was there, and if it happened, she would know,” Fidelma pointed out. “How could he persuade her otherwise?”

“’That’s just it. On both occasions Febrat’s wife was away that night. I think she was staying with her mother.”

“On both occasions?” pressed Fidelma.

Díomsach nodded: “That is the sum total of it, Fidelma of Cashel.”

“Has the man a history of instability?”

“I do not know,” Díomsach replied.

“And what does his wife say about this imagining?”

The chief shrugged.

“Only that perhaps her husband was working too hard or drinking too much.”

Conrí nodded in grim satisfaction.

“So long as the good name of the Uí Fidgente has been cleared on this matter, I care not about the man.”

“But he is here and wishes to make another supplication,” Fidelma pointed out.

“Why?”

There was a silence.

“Maybe he wishes to test our wits again,” Díomsach replied. “Or he is truly mad and we must bring in a physician to judge him.”

“Brother Colla,” Sister Fidelma instructed the scriptor quietly, “ask Fallach the warrior to come before us. . but without his prisoner.”

Fallach was a lean but muscular, dark-haired man. He came to stand before them with an expression of detached disdain.

“Fallach, I understand that a farmer called Febrat came to make supplication before this court,” Fidelma said. “You hold him prisoner. Tell me why and what you know of this man.”

Fallach frowned for a moment, glancing swiftly toward his chief, Díomsach.

“Lady,” he began, addressing her as such for he knew her to be sister to the King of Muman and not merely a religieuse or simple dálaigh. “I did not want you to be bothered by the fantasies of this man, Febrat. That is why I detained him before he could enter this court.”

“What do you know of these fantasies?”

Fallach shifted his weight for a moment.

“Lady, twice he has come to my chief, Díomsach, claiming that the Uí Fidgente were raiding his land and harming his livestock. Twice have these claims proven to be untrue. On both occasions we have gone to his farm and found it to be in perfect peace. No harm has come to his farm or to his livestock. His wife, Cara, cannot explain her husband’s attitude. She has told us that nothing has ever happened to make her husband behave in this manner.”

Sister Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

“Yet I am told that Febrat has been specific in his charge?”

Fallach frowned.

“Specific? Ah, you mean on the second occasion when he laid a claim against Faramund, a neighboring farmer? We went to see him. .”

Conrí’s eyes narrowed.

“I have just realized that to speak with Faramund, you went into Uí Fidgente territory. That is an act of aggression. Compensation must be. .”

Sister Fidelma cut in sharply.

“The territory is part of the kingdom of Muman and I am sitting in judgment on a matter pertaining to the kingdom. We will hear no more about disputed boundaries. Díomsach and Fallach were quite right to pursue an investigation relating to a potential criminal raid against a peaceful farmstead. That is the law.” She turned to the warrior. “And what did Faramund say?”

“He assured us that he was nowhere near the farmstead of Fallach and with the testimony of Cara and the lack of evidence of a raid, there was only one conclusion. To be honest, Faramund, while an Uí Fidgente, is trustworthy. He even studied law at one time.”

“Then is your opinion that the man, Febrat, is either lying for some reason or that he has become deranged?”

Fallach shrugged expressively.

“I would say that the man is deranged. He has dwelt within this community for as long as I can recall, though I scarcely know him well. He was merely a daer-fuidhir, one of the itinerant laboring classes. Then he was able to buy a little unfertile land and afterwards. .”

Díomsach interrupted with a smile.

“Well, I think that decides the matter. Dispatch him back to his farm. There is little we can do until his wife, who is his next of kin, declares him incapable and has him examined by the physicians. Then it will be a decision for the law as to whether he should be declared as a dásachtach.”

Fallach made to turn but Sister Fidelma stayed him.

“Since the man is here, we might as well examine him. You, Díomsach, have reminded me of the law Do Brethaib Gaire that is concerned with protecting society from the insane. If the man is truly displaying manic symptoms then we should not let him wander back to his farmstead. He is married and thereby his wife may have to become the conn, the guardian, who will be responsible for his behavior.”

Conrí shrugged with studied disinterest while Díomsach frowned with displeasure. He was looking forward to the feasting and did not want to delay any longer. He had ordered a boar to be roasted and had bought red Gaulish wine from a merchant. Nevertheless, the court could only be brought to a close by the presiding lawyer and he had to defer to Fidelma.

“Bring Febrat before us,” instructed Fidelma and Fallach inclined his head in acknowledgement and left them.

When Febrat stood before Sister Fidelma she almost smiled. He reminded her of a pine-martin, the slopping forehead, pointed features, dark restless eyes seemingly without pupils, and graying hair. He stood stock-still, erect, hands twisting together in front of his stomach. The only movement was his head, looking from side to side as if seeking for an enemy, while it seemed his neck and body stayed still.

“Well, Febrat,” Sister Fidelma began, speaking softly to put the man at his ease. “I understand that you have come to make a supplication to this court. Is this correct?”

“Indeed, indeed, indeed.” The rapidity of the repeated word made her blink.

“What is the plea?”

“My wife, my wife, Cara, Cara. She has disappeared, disappeared. Carried off in an Uí Fidgente raid, a raid.”

Sister Fidelma felt Conrí stir and glanced quickly at him to still any outburst.

“And when was this raid?”

“Last night, maybe this morning. Yes, this morning.”

“I see. And they carried off your wife?”

“They did, they did.”

“Tell us about it, in your own words.”

Febrat glanced to his left and then his right in quick nervous motions and then his dark black eyes focused on Fidelma. He spoke rapidly and with many repetitions.

He and his wife, Cara, had gone to bed at the usual hour. Around dawn they had been awoken by the noise of horses and men riding about the farmstead. He had taken his billhook, his only weapon, and gone out to see what was happening. In the yard, he recognized men of the Uí Fidgente apparently trying to steal his livestock. He was aware that his wife was behind him for he heard her cry out. That was the last thing that he had heard for something must have hit him. He awoke on the floor beside his bed and all was quiet. His wife had disappeared.

He ended his swift recital of the facts and stood looking at Sister Fidelma, waiting for her reaction.

Díomsach stifled a yawn at her side.

“Febrat, this is the third time you have come before me with tales of raids by the Uí Fidgente. .”

“False tales,” interrupted Conrí in annoyance.

“In the other two instances,” went on the chief of the Tuatha Cromadh, “we have investigated and found your stories to be untrue. Do you expect us to believe you now?”

Febrat glanced quickly at him and then back to Fidelma.

“All true, all true,” he replied. “I never told a lie, a lie. Not before and not now. My wife has been taken by the raiders, by the raiders. True, I swear it.”

“As you have sworn before and found to be a liar!” snapped Díomsach.

“Come here, Febrat,” Sister Fidelma instructed quietly.

The man hesitated.

“Come and stand before me here!” she repeated more sharply.

He did so.

“Now kneel down.”

Her eyes glinted as he hesitated for a fraction, and then he dropped to one knee.

“Bow your head.”

He did so. She peered into the gray tousled mess of hair, much to the surprise of Díomsach and Conrí.

“Stand back,” she instructed after a moment or two, and when he had resumed his place, Fidelma pursed her lips. “This blow that knocked you unconscious, it was on the head?”

“It was, it was.”

“There is an abrasion on the side of your head,” she confirmed.

“The story is false, Fidelma,” Díomsach said. “Let him return to his farmstead and we will discuss what is to be done later.”

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment, and then said to the warrior, Fallach, “Take Febrat outside for a moment.”

When they had gone, Fidelma turned to her companions.

“This case intrigues me.”

The chief of the Tuatha Cromadh made a sound like a cynical chuckle.

“You surely don’t believe the man, do you? Because he has an abrasion on the side of his head does not prove his ridiculous story.”

“Did I say that it did prove his story? What I believe is not relevant to the matter. I know that this matter cannot be left as it is. Either there is something that motivates this man to come with his stories to you, something which is substantial, or it is something that is due to a dementia. Either way, one should investigate so that the good of the people may be safeguarded. I would like you, Díomsach, to keep Febrat in your custody while I will ride out to Febrat’s farm-stead and speak to his wife, Cara. And I shall take your chief warrior, Fallach, as escort in case of trouble.”

“I can tell you this, Fidelma of Cashel, there has been no Uí Fidgente raid,” Conrí announced belligerently.

Fidelma returned his sour look with a bright smile.

“I am sure that had such a raid taken place you, as an Uí Fidgente chieftain, would have the honesty to admit it,” she said softly.

Conrí’s jaws snapped shut for a moment.

“I can give you this assurance, lady, that if there had been a raid, word of it would have come to my ear,” he said stiffly.

“Excellent.” Fidelma rose and looked across to where Brother Colla, the scriptor, was still working away.

“You may say that this court has ceased its hearing sine die while I investigate the matter of Febrat.”

“You are not going before the feasting?” demanded Díomsach in dismay.

“I think this matter demands my immediate attention. But I shall return, hopefully before evening, to enjoy your feasting.”

Díomsach’s face fell for he had been expecting to start the feasting and entertainment within that very hour and now the laws of hospitality would prevent him starting before his chief guest, the sister of the king, was ready to join him.

Febrat’s farmstead stood in lush fields by the river of the plain, the Maigue, about an hour’s ride from Díomsach’s fortress. The nearest hills were a mile or two to the south and east.

Fallach, riding at Fidelma’s side, stretched out a hand to indicate the group of buildings sheltering behind a small copse of oaks and yew.

“There is Febrat’s farm, lady.”

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as they rode nearer. There came to her ears the sound of some cows in distress, a bellowing which she was able to interpret immediately.

“It sounds as though the cows have not been milked,” Fallach announced, interpreting the sound as she had but before she could articulate it.

They rode into the yard and looked ’round. Sure enough, two cows were bellowing in plaintive tones in a nearby paddock. Chickens ignored them and continued pecking their haphazard way around the yard. Other animals meandered here and there: a few sheep, several goats. Apart from that the place seemed deserted.

Fidelma dismounted and stood looking around.

Fallach had also slid from his horse, and tied their horses to the rail before striding forward to the house, shouting loudly for the wife of Febrat. There was no respond.

“Shall we search inside, lady?” he asked.

Fidelma sighed deeply.

“Our first duty is to put those animals out of their misery,” indicating the two cows. “Find buckets. You take one and I will take the other.”

Fallach looked shocked.

“But lady, I am a warrior. .”

“I am sure the poor beasts will overlook that fact as they will overlook the fact that I am a dálaigh and sister to the king,” she replied with a smile of sarcasm.

He flushed and turned to search for buckets.

A while later when the lowing of the cows had ceased and the buckets were almost full, Fidelma and Fallach stood up and moved the milk into the cool of the farmhouse.

“Well, it is clear that no one is here,” Fallach announced, peering around.

“We will search. You try the outbuildings and also watch out for any sign that a raid might have taken place. I will look inside.”

Fallach frowned.

“You do not think that this time Febrat is right. .?”

“The time to think about conclusions is after we have found some facts,” she replied, and went inside.

Febrat and Cara certainly kept a tidy house. Not just tidy but Fidelma found that, surprisingly for a farmer, there were several rich artifacts adorning the place and tapestries of good quality hanging from some of the walls and on the bed. She examined them with interest.

She frowned suddenly. The tapestry on the bed covered it neatly. She swung ’round. Certainly everything in the farmhouse was neat and placed in order. Her eyes dropped to a piece of woven rug by the bedside. Again she was slightly surprised for this was a sign of wealth and quality of living. Most farm folk did not concern themselves with floor coverings, even those of better standards would simply have bare boards on the floor while the great majority made do with earthen floors, trodden hard into an almost marble-like surface by the stamp of generations of feet upon it. But Febrat and Cara obviously liked to live well or were used to living well. This thought caused something to stir in her mind, something that was not quite right. It was the fact that Febrat had been described as an itinerant laborer. The thoughts went through her mind quickly as she glanced at the bedside rug, a sheepskin.

Then her eyes narrowed. There appeared to be a discolored patch on the rug.

She stooped down and placed her hand on it. It was damp. She sniffed at her fingertips but there was no odor. It seemed that only water had been spilt on it. But water would have dried long before Febrat had completed his journey to her court that morning.

She picked up the rug and moved to the door. As she did so the sunlight shot through the clouds. It caught on the sheepskin that she was holding; on the creamy white of the wool. Something caught her eye among the patch of white woolen threads. It was a few dark spots, which had been missed by the water.

She licked her fingertip and rubbed. A tinge of red remained on her fingers. The spots had been dried blood.

She stared at her fingers for a time before returning the sheepskin, and turning to the cupboards and examining the contents. She noticed that Cara had a large wardrobe compared with the average farmer’s wife and she found a box of personal items of jewelery. Cara was obviously someone who believed in personal adornment. And the jewels were valuable.

She went outside to join Fallach.

“Did you find anything?” she asked as he came out of a barn door.

He shook his head.

“Nothing. There are no signs of violence or destruction. I am afraid that Febrat has let his imagination run wild again.”

“But what of the missing wife, Cara?” Fidelma pointed out. Fallach shrugged.

“Maybe she has gone to visit friends or relatives.”

“Again?”

Fallach looked puzzled at her inflection.

Fidelma did not answer his questioning glance but began to walk across the farmyard to the barn, when she suddenly bent down and picked up a branch.

“What tree would you say that came from?”

Fallach barely glanced at it.

“It’s an alder, of course.”

Fidelma gazed around at the trees surrounding them. Oaks and yew but there was no sign of an alder. She dropped the branch and continued to the barn. Inside was a cart, the usual type of cart found on a farm, which could be pulled by a single ass. Its large wheels were still damp with drying mud. On the cart was a large metal bladed spade, a ráma for digging earth. The blade had similar wet mud on it.

She glanced ’round the interior of the barn. There seemed nothing out of place. Certainly no sign of anything that could be interpreted as an indication of an attack or violence. Her eye caught sight of a wooden chest in a corner. Part of its exterior had drying mud clinging to it and the muddy imprint of a hand. The chest was fastened with an iron lock and there was no key in it or sight of a key. She turned to Fallach.

“Find a hammer and open that,” she instructed.

Fallach whistled in surprise.

“But, lady. .”

“I take responsibility.”

He paused only a moment more and then did as he was told.

Inside the chest was a small hand pick, and wrapped in sacking a large number of what seemed to be lumps of metal. Fallach looked puzzled and reached in to pick one up.

“Silver!” he whispered. “Great nuggets of silver.”

“And excavated recently,” said Fidelma, bending down and pointing to the bright marks on the nuggets and the marks on the hand pick.

“I know there are places to the north-east of here, mountains where those who mine lead and other metals say that veins of silver are to be seen. But these are nuggets. Rich ones.”

Fidelma rose to her feet.

“Replace them and let us continue with our task. If, as you say, Febrat’s wife was staying with friends or relatives, exactly who would she have gone to visit?”

Fallach grimaced as he replaced the lid of the box.

“You mean near here?”

“Near here will do to start with,” affirmed Fidelma patiently.

“Well, Cara’s mother, the lady Donn Dige, lives half-an-hour’s ride in that direction,” he pointed to the south.

Fidelma’s eyes widened a fraction at the name.

“Donn Dige? Isn’t she. .?”

“She was sister to a prince of the Eóghanacht Áine,” confirmed Fallach. “Her brother was killed at the battle of Cnoc Áine just two years ago.”

Fidelma sighed. So that explained the comparative wealth displayed in the farmhouse. Cara was not the average farmer’s wife but the daughter of a princely ruling house.

“Someone should have explained that to me,” she muttered almost petulantly.

“Does it matter?” inquired Fallach innocently. “It does not bear on the fact that Febrat is mad.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” agreed Fidelma. She glanced at the cart again. “Those wheels have been through a lot of mud. Let’s see if we can pick up the trail of its last journey.”

Fallach looked at her curiously.

“Why would you want to do that? The cart is just a normal farm cart. I have often seen Febrat driving it. It has nothing to do with any imagined Uí Fidgente raid.”

“Indulge me, Fallach,” said Fidelma, mounting her horse.

They rode out of the farmyard, eyes on the ground seeking the tracks of the cart. To Fidelma’s surprise they found no tracks at all. Some instinct told her to circle to the north, following a stony track. They had to go some distance from the farm buildings before they found traces of the almost obscured tracks. They moved down a narrow path through fields of cereal crops and then cut across a plowed field and then over coarse uncultivated land. It began to be very stony. She suddenly paused and saw several newly cut branches of alder lying discarded on the rocky soil. She slid from her horse and examined them. Sections of the branches about ten or fifteen feet in length had been cut, spreading out their twigs and leaves like a broom. She peered around and, to Fallach’s surprise, spent some time peering at the stony ground.

“We seem some way from an alder wood,” she observed. “And these branches appear to have been dragged here.”

Fallach did not reply, as he had no idea what to answer.

“If I am not mistaken, that is Uí Fidgente territory,” Fidelma said, pointing to the north as she remounted her horse. “I presume that Faramund’s farmstead lies in that direction?”

“It does. He is a good man, even though he is one of the Uí Fidgente. Even Febrat’s wife Cara told us that he was a good neighbor. Febrat confirmed that before he became sure that Faramund was leading these imaginary raids, he and his wife often invited him over to feast with them.”

Fidelma nodded.

“You found him reasonable enough when you questioned him with Díomsach? You discovered no threat from him?”

“None.”

Fidelma halted and looked back toward the southern hills.

“I have changed my mind,” she said. “Let us go and see if Cara is at the home of her mother.”

“The homestead of the lady Donn Dige?” Fallach was surprised but he shrugged and turned his horse in that direction.

The house of Donn Dige was a small fortified building, which spoke of the wealth that the sister of a petty-king would have. There were a few men working in neighboring fields. It was a far richer farmstead than the house of Febrat and his wife.

A short, almost muscular woman awaited them at the entrance. She had graying hair and coarse features and watched them suspiciously.

“Good day, Doireann,” called Fallach as they approached. “Is the lady Donn Dige at home?”

The woman’s narrowed eyes continued to rest on Sister Fidelma.

“Who wants to know?” she said ungraciously.

Fallach glanced in embarrassment at his companion and was about to open his mouth when Fidelma intervened.

“Tell her that it is Fidelma of Cashel who wants to know,” she snapped. “And if she hesitates to welcome the sister of the King of Muman, tell her, it is a dálaigh of the courts that seeks her out, and be quick, woman.”

The woman called Doireann blinked for a moment and then, with deliberate slowness, she turned and made her way into the house while Fallach and Fidelma dismounted in the courtyard and hitched their horses to a rail erected for that purpose. By the time they had done this, the woman had reappeared and waved them forward into the building.

Donn Dige received them. She was a dignified and elderly woman, whose rank showed in her stature and clothing. Had she stood, she would have been tall. Fidelma noticed the crutch at her side. The elderly woman saw the glance and smiled ruefully.

“A riding accident, so you will forgive my inability to rise to greet you. Alas, it also confines me to the house.”

The greetings were pleasant and in contrast with the curtness of her servant, Doireann. Refreshments were offered and accepted.

“What can I do for you, Fidelma of Cashel?” Donn Dige said, after the rituals had been observed.

“Let me begin by asking whether your daughter, Cara, is staying with you?”

The elderly woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I have not seen my daughter this last month. Why do you ask?”

Fidelma hid her surprise.

“Not for a month?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Her husband has reported her missing and claims his farm was raided by the Uí Fidgente.”

Donn Dige compressed her mouth for a moment.

“Again? Is this the same claim that he made last week?”

“It is a claim he made this morning,” intervened Fallach.

“If you have not seen your daughter, Cara, for a month how do you know about the previous claims?” pressed Fidelma.

“Simple enough. Doireann is my messenger and news-bringer.”

“Though it is surely a short ride from Febrat’s farmstead to here,” Fidelma reflected, “which makes me wonder why your daughter has not visited you this last month.”

Donne Dige smiled, perhaps a little sadly.

“My daughter has her own worries and she will come in her own good time. Doireann tells me that she has been greatly worried about Febrat.”

“In what way?” demanded Fidelma.

“What way would anyone be worried when one’s partner starts to claim that events are happening when one knows that they are not?”

“You daughter believes that her husband is losing his reason?”

“Of course. What else can it be?”

“Doireann has reported to you that Cara is absolutely sure that there is no reason for Febrat to make these claims?”

“None. Have you been to the farm yet? What does Cara say about this latest claim?”

“Your daughter is not at the farm.”

Donn Dige’s eyes widened slightly.

“Is there any sign of a raid?” she asked anxiously.

“None at all,” Fallach said quickly. “The animals are there, the house is untouched by any sign of an attack. .”

“Then she has gone visiting,” smiled the elderly woman in relief. “I shall send for Doireann to. .”

She was about to reach for a bell on a side table when Fidelma stayed her.

“Let us sort out a few things first,” she insisted gently. “Are there any problems between your daughter and her husband?”

“Problems?”

“Marital problems.”

“As far as I am aware, there were none before Febrat started these hallucinations. However, if you must know, I disapproved of my daughter’s choice of husband.”

“Why?”

“He was of inferior rank. My brother was prince of a territory whose honor price was seven cumals. My daughter, by rank and learning, had an honor price of a full cumal while Febrat had the value of a colpach, no more.”

A colpach was the value of a two-year-old heifer, compared to a cumal equivalent to the value of three milch cows.

Fidelma frowned.

“Do you mean that he did not own the farmstead?”

Donn Dige sniffed in disgust.

“Of course not. Apart from some gifts from my family to Cara, they have no substance to call their own. Since my brother’s death in battle, our branch of the family has been in reduced circumstances.”

“Then the rich tapestries and objects in the farmhouse. .?”

“A few gifts and loans by my family so that Cara would have some semblance of the rank to which she had been accustomed.”

“Who owns the farm?”

“My cousin, the Lord of Orbraige. Febrat is simply his tenant at will.”

“Was the fact that Febrat was of inferior rank to your daughter, and thereby without wealth, your only objection to their marriage?”

“It was a major factor,” confirmed the elderly woman. “But, in truth, and I admit that I am prejudiced, I simply did not like him. He had the look of a hungry wolf, the bright intensity of his eyes, longing and underfed.”

“So all the wealth in the house belongs to your daughter?”

“He had nothing at all apart. .”

“Apart from what?” prompted Fidelma.

“He had a little patch of land on a hill that actually bordered between his place and the river of the plain. A piece of worthless stone hill that used to mark the boundary of the Uí Fidgente land. It was all he could buy with money he had saved as an itinerant laborer. A stupid waste for it is useless for grazing and useless for planting. A stony, infertile land called Cnoc Cerb.”

Beside her, Fallach let out a sharp breath.

“Isn’t cerb the ancient word for. .?”

“It’s an old name, Hill of Silver,” replied Fidelma, swiftly moving on. “But apart from your reservations, Donn Dige, I presume that there were no other objections to this marriage? Your daughter was in love with him?”

“Love!” sniffed Donn Dige, as if such a thing were not even worth discussing.

“When was the marriage?”

“Six months ago.”

“And the marriage has proved a happy one?”

“As I said, the only thing that worried my daughter, according to Doireann, was this recent business of imagining the Uí Fidgente were raiding the farmstead. I understand that it happened two times and two times it was shown to be in his imagination.”

“And at the time these raids were supposed to take place, your daughter was not at the farmstead. Was she staying with you?”

“I am not my daughter’s keeper. I have no idea where she was.”

“Tell me something about Febrat’s background.”

“There is nothing to tell. I believe that his parents died when he was a child. The mother died in childbirth and the father later on. The father was a sen-cleithe, a herdsman, and that was the occupation Febrat followed until he met my daughter. . But where is my daughter?” Donn Dige suddenly demanded.

“I intend to find out,” Fidelma said softly as she stood up.

Donn Dige suddenly looked pale and her features no longer had the haughty expression. For all her haughtiness and keeping her emotions to herself, the hurt that her daughter had not visited her shone in the pale eyes of the elderly woman.

“Has Febrat killed her and pretended that the Uí Fidgente have carried her off?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“It stands to reason. The man has become mad. . or cunning. He went to Díomsach the chief with outlandish tales of raids twice. Twice the claims were investigated. According to you he went a third time today and it is likely that he thought that Díomsach would not even bother to investigate and simply throw him out of his fortress.”

Fallach nodded slowly.

“That is certainly what Díomsach intended to do.” He turned eagerly to Fidelma.

“Had it not been for your presence, Febrat would have been sent to his farm and it would not have been discovered that Cara was in truth missing for several days. Then Febrat would have simply said that he had told us so and we would have felt guilty for not looking for her. We would not have suspected him.”

Fidelma silenced him with an upraised hand.

“That is leaping to the conclusion that Febrat possesses enough cunning to plan such a complicated method of murder,” she observed.

“What other explanation is there?” demanded Donn Dige wearily.

“I shall endeavor to discover what has happened to your daughter, Donn Dige. I hope to have an answer to your question before nightfall.”

As they rode back in the direction of the farmstead of Febrat and Cara, Fallach was still shaking his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t understand, lady. You seem to know something that I don’t.”

Fidelma smiled briefly.

“Let us say that I now have a presentiment.”

“I still do not understand. Where are we making for, lady?”

“The farmstead of Faramund.”

He stared at her for a moment.

“You surely don’t believe that Faramund and the Uí Fidgente did raid Febrat’s farmstead?”

“I will tell you what I believe when we reach Faramund’s farm-stead.”

The farmstead lay at the foot of a hill. As they were crossing its gentle sloping shoulder, Fallach pointed to another jagged, stony hillock about a half-mile distant.

“That is Cnoc Cerb, the Hill of Silver, lady,” he said. “That’s where Febrat must be digging out those silver nuggets.”

Dogs were barking a warning below them as they rode down the track that led into the farm buildings.

A young man, tanned, with dark hair and handsome features had come out of the building and now stood leaning on a gate watching their approach. His pleasant features wore a smile of welcome as he waited for them to ride up.

“This is Faramund,” muttered Fallach at her side in explanation.

“Good day, Fallach. Good day, Sister.” The young man sang out. “What can I do for you this fine afternoon?”

Fidelma halted her horse and dismounted. Fallach followed her example.

“You can tell Cara to come out from where she is hiding,” Fidelma smiled back.

Faramund’s expression changed to one of momentary shock before he controlled himself. Fallach’s jaw had also dropped slightly at her opening words.

“Cara?” Faramund’s voice was puzzled. “Do you. . you mean Febrat’s wife? I don’t know what. . where. .”

The corners of Fidelma’s mouth turned down in disapproval.

“It will save us a lot of time if you are honest, Faramund. You have placed your chieftain, Conrí, in an embarrassing position, organizing mock raids on Febrat’s farmstead and conspiring with his wife to have him declared insane.”

“Conspiring. .?” The good humor in the young man seemed to evaporate into visible anger “Who are you to come here and make these accusations?”

“Fallach, explain to Faramund who I am.”

The warrior did so.

“So, Faramund, you have a choice,” went on Fidelma calmly. “You will cooperate with me now, or you will do so later under duress before your chieftain. If you choose the latter, your punishment when you are judged will be that much more severe.”

Faramund stared malevolently at her. He was not intimidated.

“You threaten to carry me off to be judged? There are only two of you, one warrior and one woman. Within my call there are half-a-dozen of my workers who. .”

Fidelma actually smiled broadly but her voice was sharp.

“Only six. . surely not? I counted eight or nine horses trailing the alder branches behind them to destroy any sign of their passage. Am I mistaken?”

Faramund’s expression tightened. Then he forced himself to relax.

“You are either very brave or very stupid, dálaigh. I have but to call my to my men. .”

“And then what? Díomsach and your own chieftain, Conrí, await our return. Do you think that you can threaten harm to a dálaigh and the sister of the King of Muman with impunity?”

Faramund was still truculent and threatening.

“The King of Muman is not here and I. .”

A female voice interrupted.

“Enough, Faramund! You cannot defy her by physical threats. She is too powerful.”

A young woman emerged from the door. She had dark hair and was good-looking in a voluptuous way. She knew that she was attractive and her whole body moved in a manner that seemed to exploit the animal-like quality. Fidelma noticed that she was holding a wooden mallet in her hand as if it were a defensive weapon.

Faramund turned as if to protest.

“Cara! So you are here?” Fallach greeted her in astonishment.

The young woman laughed. There was bitterness in her tone.

“That is obvious.” She turned to stare at Fidelma. “But I don’t know how you knew.”

Fidelma sighed softly.

“When did you think of this crazy scheme Cara? Was it before or after you married Febrat?”

The young woman looked defiant.

“I have nothing to say. You can prove nothing. Is it a crime to have a lover? My husband could not fulfill all my wants.”

Faramund nodded eagerly at her words.

“Cara’s right. We are simply lovers. What else are you accusing us of?”

Fidelma regarded them patiently.

“I was not aware that I had accused you of anything. But, since you have raised the matter, it’s quite simple. You want Febrat out of the way so that you could take over the silver mine at Cnoc Cerb.”

Faramund gave an angry hiss as he exhaled sharply but Cara’s shoulders suddenly drooped in resignation.

“You will have to prove it,” she said quietly but submissively.

“If Febrat could be pronounced without legal responsibility, as a mer, one who is confused or deranged, then you would be in control of his land at Cnoc Cerb.”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” Cara said suddenly.

“I know nothing of law.”

“But you do, don’t you, Faramund. What level of law did you achieve in your studies?”

Faramund flushed.

“Who says that I. .?”

“Do not waste my time!” she snapped.

“There has been no secret that you once studied law before you became a farmer,” Fallach pointed out. “I know it and so does Díomsach.”

The young man hesitated and then shrugged.

“I studied to the level of freisneidhed. ”

“So you reached your third year of study?” mused Fidelma. “And thus you have read the text Do Drúithaib agus Meraib agus Dásachtaib which deals with the use of land belonging to an insane person.” It was a statement not a question. “So it was you who suggested a way by which Cara might take over her husband’s land at Cnoc Cerb without killing poor Febrat? Have him declared a mer and, being guardian, she would gain control of the riches that he had discovered there.”

Cara was defiant.

“So what? No harm would have come to Febrat. The law says that I would have to look after Febrat for so long as he lives and if I did not I would have to pay five séds and suffer forfeiture of the land. He would not have suffered. .”

Faramund frowned at her.

“You are talking too much, Cara,” he warned sharply. “She cannot prove. .”

“I expect,” Fidelma wheeled ’round on him, “that was not your plan, was it? An accident, perhaps, some months in the future? Or perhaps something more subtle? An insane person attacking his wife? The insane person can be killed in self-defense or by someone else acting to defend the person being attacked.” She turned back to Cara who was sobbing quietly. “What I would like to know is when did this plan first materialize in your mind-before or after you married Febrat?”

“Faramund and I were lovers before Febrat started paying me court. My mother was a princess of Áine and so was I but we had no wealth, no backing. You don’t know what that means. It was then we found out that there was silver on the hill which Febrat owned. It was Faramund who suggested the idea of obtaining ownership without even hurting Febrat by having him declared insane. I married him and waited for a while before we put the plan into operation.”

“And you really think that Faramund would remain your secret lover while Febrat lived? Once you had your hands on the silver mine, Faramund would have wanted to own it by seeking marriage with you and becoming your heir. How long before not only Febrat perished but you as well?”

Faramund’s eyes narrowed. His look was murderous.

“You don’t think that you will be able to get back to Díomsach and tell him this, do you?” he asked quietly.

Fidelma smiled softly.

“Are you proposing to start your killing spree already? First Fallach and myself and then. . who? Cara next, I suppose.”

Faramund drew out a vicious-looking long-bladed knife but before anyone could move he suddenly gave a grunt and went down senseless to the ground.

Cara was standing behind him looking at the wooden mallet in her hand.

“I presume that you used the same method to knock out your husband, Febrat? Faramund and his farmhands came last night and rode around the farmstead hooting and yelling to convince your husband the farm was under attack. They carried alder branches to disguise the passage of their horses.”

Cara gestured helplessly.

“I could not stand to kill anyone. I told Faramund that. He made his plan seem so plausible. No one would get hurt. Febrat would be taken care of and we would have the silver. But I could not bear to kill anyone.”

Fallach, who had been bending by the slumped form of Faramund, glanced up and grimaced.

“I am afraid that you will have to come to terms with that, Cara. You have hit him too hard.”