Whispers of the Dead

by Peter Tremayne

  “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 raid
s 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 f
armer,” 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.