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.
Chapter 12
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
