The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (10 page)

And it seemed highly unlikely that the future King of England
could have dreamed up anything as subtle as the method used of
diverting attention from his equerry's murder. Unless he had been
the willing accomplice of Lady Elrigg. Would such a theory fit the
Prince's panic-stricken retreat from the copse and his speedy
departure from the Castle?

Faro doubted that. Bertie's constant fear of blackmail and
his ready supply of mistresses made Poppy Elrigg in no way special or permanent. Merely one more dalliance, that was all.

Dismissing the Prince's role in his equerry's murder, Faro
realised that anyone besides the poacher Duffy might have
stolen the horns, hidden them away in the copse where they had
been accidentally found by someone from the village with murder
in mind - that local tenant with reason to hate the laird?

Someone like Dr Brand who blamed his daughter's death on
the Elriggs. (What had happened? Constable Dewar would no
doubt reveal the circumstances if asked.)

Recalling the earlier part of his conversation with the doctor,
all Faro now knew for certain was that Elrigg had been
unconscious but not fatally injured when the Prince - and his
horse - bolted.

And that brought him sharply back to the reason for his presence at Elrigg. His main purpose was to obey the Royal
Command and report back to Her Majesty that the Prince of
Wales was innocent of cowardice. This he could do with
confidence, for if the hidden bull's horn was the weapon used
to end Sir Archie's life, then it was unlikely indeed that the
Prince had been the murderer.

But instead of being satisfied that he had completed his
mission and returning to Edinburgh, he realised he was following
the habit of a lifetime of police investigation and allowing himself to be drawn into a mystery that it was not even his right to solve.
If the entire population of Elrigg decided to kill each other off,
or their laird, this was the business of the Northumberland
Constabulary to assist Sergeant Yarrow and Constable Dewar by the appointment of a detective experienced in murder
investigations.

The evidence of his own eyes was, apart from finding the
probable murder weapon, only circumstantial. But he wished
he could have known the exact location of the possible suspects
at the time of Sir Archie's death.

Replacing the horn reluctantly, as if by holding it in his
hands he might extract by supernatural means the identity of the murderer, he made a mental note to be firm with himself
and concentrate on the history of Elrigg while he awaited
Vince's arrival, meanwhile ignoring any grisly secrets of the past
that were none of his business.

He would begin by having another look at the hillfort.

Hector Elrigg's greeting was cordial. In more leisurely
circumstances than their first encounter in the police station,
Faro saw that generations of Elrigg warriors had created the
young man's strong physique and vital personality. A fighting man in the tradition of Harry Hotspur. Leaning on his spade,
Hector said: 'Good day to you, sir. Interested in our old hillfort,
are you?'

Faro murmured that he was and Hector nodded eagerly.
Tapping the ground with his foot, he said: 'You're standing on
the oldest part of Elrigg, it's been here since the dawn of history,
when this entire area was covered with a vast forest and the
inhabitants had just left their nomadic ways and decided to
make places of settlement where they could trade, chat, make
marriage contracts, worship - become a community.'

'Does your hillfort predate the wild cattle?'

Hector shook his head. 'Who can tell? Certainly the
ancestors of our cattle would have provided meat for their
spears. Come, walk round with me.'

As Faro followed him across the grassy mound, which was
the size of a small field, only piles of stones and a few broken walls marked the spot that Hector told him lay within a circle
of byroads.

'Once it rose to about five hundred feet, crowned with a
camp for whoever made himself chief. Even in those days, there were men who had more physical strength, cunning and insight
to come out on top as leaders.'

As they climbed up the slope, Hector said, 'Look back. This is a good time to be here, when the sun is sinking. See how it
lights up the contours. Those parallel lines you see under the
turf are cultivation terraces.'

And walking quickly ahead, he jumped on a large boulder
and pointed back the way they had come.

'Those humps in the ground are the remains of hut circles,
folds for cattle, and burial cairns.'

'Have you found anything interesting?'

'A few urn burials, amber necklaces, silver rings, and so
forth.' He smiled. 'A liking for luxury and personal vanity is not
news; the powerful and rich had jewellery and other ornaments,
superior pottery and weapons. Power takes many forms but the display of one's riches was necessary and popular then, as a fine
house, a carriage and horses are today. The secret of power for
early man was their ability to use the landscape not only to
survive but to produce a surplus that they could use to bargain
and trade with, to buy slaves and most important to buy
allegiance from chiefs to serve them.

'Of course, like everyone then and now, they mislaid and lost
things, broke them or threw them away. Except that, as they
didn't have much to lose, they left us enough to give us some
idea of their lives. Their technology depended largely on flint - flint that could be smashed up, flaked and worked into tools of
every variety - blades, scrapers and arrowheads. With the
discovery of flint animals could be killed, eaten and their hides
used for clothes, tents, waterbags.'

Hector paused and pointed to the skyline. 'You get the best
view from the top of the hill yonder, worth the climb. The
headless women. If you aren't afraid to go there.'

'The cattle, you mean.'

'No. Even the cattle are scared of them. It's the noise they
make that scares them off. The presence of the old gods.'

Faro smiled.

'An unbeliever, eh? Well, take it from me, whatever you want
to call that primeval force, it's worthy of respect. And fear. It
can be very unnerving if you're up there in a rising wind. First it sounds as if the stones are sighing, then crying - that's when
you want to run...'

'Has anyone tried to find the cause?'

'Oh, I know the cause,' said Hector cheerfully. 'Natural
erosion has resulted in fluting and gulleys on the stones. The
wind rushes through them rather like organ pipes. That's the
scientific explanation, but try to persuade generations of the
ignorant and superstitious that they are not the cries of Celtic
princesses turned to stone. And when they scream then disaster
will strike Elrigg.'

'Have you ever excavated the site?'

Hector's face darkened. ‘I’ve tried to. I'm certain there is evidence to link the date of the stones with the hillfort, perhaps
they were part of a religious ceremonial or the burial site of
some important tribal chief. But I've been denied that right.'

He paused and regarded Faro suspiciously for the first time.
'Wait a moment. I have seen you before. At the police station.'

'That is so.'

When Faro did not offer any further explanation, Hector continued: 'Are you here to register for the archery contest?'

'Alas, no.'

'A pity. You have the look of a man who might be handy
with weapons,' he said, surveying him candidly.

But Faro refused to be drawn.

Hector continued to regard him curiously. 'You seem
remarkably well informed, sir. What exactly brings you to these
parts?'

'Insurance business, alas.' Faro tried to sound casual. 'All
rather boring, I'm afraid.'

'Connected with my late uncle, I presume.'

'Yes.'

'He was a bastard and he deserved to die. A few acres of his precious ground, a chance to discover the secret of the stones.
That's all I've ever wanted, all I ever asked him for. He owed me
a lot more than that - a damned lot more.'

He stopped, shrugged. 'I won't bore you with the details. It's
a very long and sordid story. All I can tell you is that they're a
rum lot up at the Castle.'

'In what way?'

Hector stared at the horizon. 'Oh, you know. The young and
beautiful actress who marries an old man for his money. Brings one of her London actress friends with her as companion. Can't
blame her insisting on that as part of the deal. Life would be
pretty intolerable for her otherwise. But her friend, Miss Kent,
I don't know how she sticks it. A far cry from the stage. Poppy
must have made it worth her while - Miss Kent was never a
great beauty with all the world and the Prince of Wales at her
feet.'

He looked at Faro as he said it. So he knew the identity of
the visitor at the time of Sir Archie's fatal accident. And as Faro
listened and watched Hector's expression change to one of
wistfulness, he realised that the nephew might also have a
motive of jealousy, mesmerised by Poppy Elrigg too, although
he might qualify only for one of 'all the world'.

'It would have made more sense for Mark to fall for the
companion, wouldn't it?' Hector went on. 'But no, it's the stepma
he wants. Miss Kent would have been much safer.'

'How safer?'

Hector laughed and, ignoring the question, he said: 'I've
nothing against young Mark. Like the boy, I must say. We've
always got along splendidly. I even gave him his first archery lessons. He saw me as a kind of latterday Robin Hood. Used to come and watch me dig when he came home from boarding school. He was intrigued by the possibilities of old graves and
skeletons, the usual schoolboy preoccupation with buried
treasure and that nonsense. I gave him a spade and a bit of
encouragement.'

He smiled at the remembrance before adding: 'He didn't like
his stepfather even then and their relationship didn't improve
with time. Poppy's arrival was probably the last straw -'

And Faro wondered how much Mark's young life had been
influenced by Hector's grudge against Sir Archie. He could well
imagine the impressionable schoolboy with a case of hero
worship for this romantic relative who searched ancient ruins
for buried treasure.

Hector was eyeing him candidly. 'Insurance investigator, you
say?' Without waiting for Faro's reply, he continued, 'If you'd
been a policeman, I'd have said there are one or two who'll be
mightily pleased that Uncle Archie got his just deserts. He killed
a beater once. Drunk he was, should not have been in charge of
a loaded shotgun. An accident, everyone covered up like mad.
Young lad about twelve.'

'From these parts?'

'No. From Durham somewhere. He was staying with
relations, farmers over Flodden way. Can't remember the details,
illness in the family, something of the sort. An only child. Went to school here for a while and got on well with young Mark, the two of them used to come to the dig. His aunt and uncle were so upset by the tragedy they couldn't settle afterwards and moved away.
Felt guilty, although it was none of their fault, poor souls.

'And then there's Dr Brand, his daughter drowned herself,
suicide. Plenty would say she was driven to it.'

Faro recalled the doctor's words as Hector went on.

'She was a bright, clever girl, working for the summer on
cataloguing family documents for my uncle. She left in a hurry. Rumour had it that she was pregnant - and the whispers were
that it was Uncle Archie's bairn. Later it came out that the
factor had been dallying with her. He'd been sacked for
embezzlement, bolted for London before he could be arrested,
leaving her in the lurch.'