Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

“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.”