Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

“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.