“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.