The Warrior's Salvation (Warriors of Eriu Book 1)

by Mia Pride

  Her heart pounded so wildly in her chest, she found it hard to breathe. She wanted to sit on the bench behind her, but decided against it. She would stand proud against her enemies. She had never been a woman to wither away like a delicate flower in the over-hot summer sun, and she certainly would not do so now. Fear tore at every corner of her flesh, causing her to tingle from head to toe, but she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She would not show her weaknesses to anyone, though they threatened to swallow her whole as her knees wobbled beneath her tattered gown.

  “My name is Bhaltair and I am a Brehon, guardian of the law. Tis my place to see that every member of the land receives a fair trial against all accusations. I will listen to all those voices willing to speak, then I…and I alone, shall decide on the punishment, if any.”

  He looked around the room to make certain nobody stood by to defy him, and when he felt confident that the audience would comply, he continued. “I have traveled here today to oversee the trial of this woman, Clarice Mac Conrach, wife of Jeoffrey. The former wife of Harrold Mac Conrach. Daughter of a serf.” He pointed over at Clarice and more anxiety flooded her. All eyes shifted to her and she flushed with embarrassment. She felt so humiliated, standing in front of all her people, ready to be accused of crimes she was incapable of committing…and the public knowledge that she was born a serf was truly mortifying. Aye, she had been born just one step above a slave. Would she now be brought down even lower?

  “Today, she stands accused of the murder of her former husband, Harrold and the wife of her accuser, Gregory Mac Conrach, brother of Harrold. She is also accused of the attempted murder and sacrifice of Gregory to the gods. While the law does not view sorcery as a crime, it is a crime to unlawfully perform human sacrifices outside the bounds of a ceremony led by a druid.” He turned to her and his face blankly took her in. He held no contempt for her, nor any sign of compassion. His face was that of a stone and Clarice felt colder than ever.

  “We will call up the witnesses, allowing both the accused and her accuser to speak in turn. To begin, I wish to call on the accuser, Gregory Mac Conrach.” The crowd shifted as Gregory’s large form pushed through the wall of people. Her body quaked at his approach, the wounds of his abuse still fresh in her memory even if they had healed physically. “Tell us of your accusations, Gregory.”

  He stood beside Clarice and glowered at her before he began to speak. “This started many summers ago. She was promised to marry the High King of Ériu’s son, Jeoffrey. But the lass is a sorceress, I tell you. She weaves her love spells on many a man. I succumbed to her spell and fled to Alba to be rid of her tricks. One day she arrives in our tuath as my brother’s wife. I was displeased but I took them in. I treated her like the sister she then was to me.”

  His voice lowered for effect and he leaned forward, as if ready to share an important secret with the tuath. Aye, he was a practiced deceiver. “But word traveled quickly that Jeoffrey, her first love, had arrived in Ériu after slaying his father. He was being called a hero,” Gregory spat on the earthen floor and grunted. “I heard her asking Harrold questions about Jeoffrey’s location. She wanted to find him. Soon after, Harrold was found dead in his home mysteriously. After that, my dear wee wife, Paulene, also died. I could not understand why she would also kill my wife, but before she died, Paulene confessed to overhearing Clarice and Harrold speak of Jeoffrey’s return. Tis my belief that she meant to silence my wife’s knowledge of her plans.”

  Clarice wrinkled her nose and looked at him through narrowed eyes. The man was more deceitful than she could have imagined. She wanted to scream that he was full of falsehoods, but she would have her turn to speak soon enough. Fear was replaced swiftly with anger and she felt it warm her blood and flow through her veins.

  “I see,” murmured the Brehon, furrowing his brow in deep thought as he paced back and forth on a raised dais near the king. “And tell me of her attempted sacrifice.”

  “Well, you see, when I threatened to turn her in for murder, she fled. I knew where she would flee to. She would seek out Jeoffrey, of course. I did not know where he was located, however, so it took me over one’s moon’s time to find her. When I did, I had a young lass in her village bring her to me, so she could not flee. As I was traveling back with her, she attacked me in my sleep. Hit me over the head with the hilt of my own sword and left me for dead! She whispered a dark spell over my body before she left, offering me to Arawn, the god of the Otherworld. If it was not for the two hunters who stumbled across my body, she would have succeeded.”

  “Lies!” Clarice’s eyes followed the familiar voice shouting in the crowd. Alastar stepped forward and pointed an accusatory finger at Gregory. “You know that is not the truth!”

  “Silence! I will have silence!” the Brehon bellowed. “Every man and woman who wishes to speak will have their say, but in turn…I will not tolerate interruptions!” the Brehon turned and glared at Gregory to further question him. “You say the lass hit you with your own sword?”

  “Aye,” Gregory nodded and crossed his large arms. “Cracked my skull, she did.”

  “Where was your sword at the time? Before she bludgeoned you with it?”

  Gregory paused and scratched his beard with his hand. “It was sheathed at my hip.”

  “The lass was unbound?”

  “A-aye,” Gregory stuttered. Clarice smirked. She could not help but revel in his fumbling need to correct his lies. He could not say she was bound, for how could a bound lass have retrieved a sheathed sword?

  “You left the woman you believed had murdered your brother and wife unbound as you slept? Tis quite peculiar.”

  “I told you, Brehon! She is a sorceress! She plays tricks with my mind! I had her bound and she pled with me to let her free. She promised she would not escape. I fell for her lies…again! She deceived me!”

  The Brehon nodded and looked over at Clarice to gauge her reaction to Gregory’s accusations. She stilled her features, not sure if smiling at his lies could be misconstrued as pride at her misdeeds. “Let us say she did have you convinced she would not flee and you left her unbound. How do you suppose she was able to unsheathe your sword while you slept? Would you not feel the weight of your sword being lifted from your hip? I would assume you are a deep sleeper, but as a trained warrior, surely you are trained to sleep lightly, in case of lurking danger?”

  “Och, aye. Mayhap I had propped my sword against the tree before I slept. Truly, the lass weaves a spell on me and I am not myself around her. She may have controlled my mind and willed me to lay my sword at her feet for all I know!” Gregory growled.

  Clarice, once again, had to choke back her laughter. The man sounded like a babbling fool. The Brehon apparently agreed, but it was not humor she saw on his face. He pursed his lips in consternation and stroked his beard in deep thought.

  “Clarice,” the Brehon said, turning his gaze toward her. “How do you make a love elixir?” Her brows dropped in confusion and she looked at him as if he had two heads. “Does one exist?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. She did not believe in sorcery at all. Aye, she believed in the power of herbs to create poisons, sleeping droughts, and elixirs to numb pain and balms to heal wounds. But an elixir that could create an emotion as powerful as love? Nay, she doubted one existed.

  “I can see by the look on your face that you find my question to be foolhardy. Just as I find this man’s claims of your love tricks.” He shook his head. “Never mind that now. I shall reserve judgment on that for later. I would next like to speak to the two hunters who found Gregory near death. Mayhap they can supply me with more clues as to what they found?”

  The crowd was silent, all but for the choking sob of one lass in the crowd. “They are dead, Brehon. Both men died in hunting accidents shortly after finding Gregory,” the lass sniffled and wiped her face as a cascade of tears began to fall.

  “And you are?” Bhaltair asked with a raised brow at the sniveling woman.


  “The widow of Isaac Mac Phaiden, Brehon, one of the hunters.” She put her hands up to her face and began to shake as another lass stepped forward and wrapped the crying woman in an embrace.

  The Brehon frowned and looked from her to Gregory. “Both the hunters who saved you have perished? How very odd.” Then he looked back at the sobbing woman and gentled his voice. “May I ask you to step forward and answer questions for me?” Her face raised and Clarice could not help but feel her lower lip tremble at the true ache in the woman’s eyes. Her face was blotchy with redness and she looked taken aback by Bhaltair’s request, but she nodded and slowly came forward. “You may step down, Gregory. I believe I have heard all you had to say?”

  Gregory frowned and nodded, stepping back into the crowd just as the wife of Isaac stepped up. “What is your name lass?” the Brehon asked softly.

  “Ingrid.”

  “And what is your role in the tuath? You are quite young, aye?”

  “Aye, I am but nine and ten summers. I am a simple lass really. I don’t quite have a trade. I dabble in herbs.”

  The Brehon’s brows rose as if surprised. “You have a fine knowledge of herbs? Would you recognize the scent of a specific herb?”

  She nodded and shrugged. “If it was a common one, aye.”

  Bhaltair turned and looked at King Steaphan. “Have you the jug I requested?”

  The king nodded and gestured to a serving lass, who stepped forward holding a blue and black clay jug in her hands. “My thanks, lass,” Bhaltair said as he took the jug in his hands. “Do you recognize this jug, Clarice?”

  Again, Clarice looked completely taken back by his question. Why would he ask such a strange thing? What had it to do with her trial? She shook her head and frowned. “You, Gregory. Do you recognize this jug?” Gregory’s eyes shifted to the side momentarily and Clarice saw his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

  “Nay,” was the only word Gregory spoke.

  “Gregory has stated in the past that he believes his brother and wife were poisoned. The moment this news was brought to the king, he was shrewd enough to have Gregory’s home searched for any signs of poison. His men found this jug.” The Brehon put his nose inside the jug and inhaled, crinkling his nose at what must have been a pungent odor. “The jug itself may serve as evidence of poisoning if we can identify the powder residue inside. However, its existence within his walls does not prove him guilty, for we know Clarice also lived with him many summers. Though she did not live with him at the time of Paulene and Harrold’s death, she did frequently visit his home to care for Paulene.”

  “Aye. She poisoned my wife under the guise of caring for her!” Gregory shouted.

  “Enough,” Bhaltair said calmly, putting up a hand to silence Gregory. “Clarice, do you recognize the scent of the powder residue left at the bottom of this jug?”

  Clarice leaned forward and looked down into the jug. A white powdery substance lined the bottom and sides of the jug and she hesitantly inhaled. Aye, she knew that smell. Would knowing make her look guilty? Mayhap, but lying would be worse. She must always tell the truth. “Aye. I know that smell. Tis poppy. Many healers use the poppy to create a pain elixir.”

  Bhaltair nodded and turned to Ingrid. “And you, Ingrid? What do you smell?” The lass also looked inside before breathing it in carefully and nodded in agreement. “Aye, tis definitely the powder of poppy. But that elixir is used for sleep, not poison. Harrold was a large man and would require a very large dose of poppy juice to cause death.”

  “You are correct. I do not think this is what killed Paulene and Harrold. Thank you, Ingrid. One last question and you may go. Did Isaac ever speak of Gregory?” At the sound of her dead husband’s name, Ingrid’s face crumbled again and she nodded, looking down at her feet and wringing her hands together nervously.

  “He believed Gregory to be guilty of their deaths, not Clarice. He said Gregory was in love with her…and not in the usual way. He was mad about her and leered at her when nobody was around. Isaac believed Gregory killed his wife and Harrold so he could marry Clarice, himself.”

  Gregory blustered loudly in the crowd, clearly preparing to shout out of turn before Bhaltair turned and glared him into silence.

  “Thank you, Ingrid.” The young lass bowed her head once more and walked back into the crowd. “Now I will ask Clarice questions. Tell me how you know Gregory.”

  This was it. Her chance to defend herself. Be brave, Clarice. Looking down at Jeoffrey, she saw him smile encouragingly to her and nodded. “I knew Gregory many summers ago, back in Ériu. I was, as you said, the daughter of a serf. Jeoffrey, my husband, was the son of Elim and heir to the High Throne of Ériu. It was often whispered that I aimed too high, but truly all I ever wanted in this world was his love. Gregory and Harrold are his cousins, sons of Elim’s brother. Jeoffrey asked me to be his wife and I agreed. I was only seven and ten summers. His father found out and forced me out of Ériu, threatening to kill Jeoffrey in front of me for falling in love with a serf, and then to kill me. I had to flee. Harrold was kind. He saw me running into the woods and stopped me. When I told him I must leave, he gave up everything to see me safely across the sea to Alba.”

  She wiped a tear as it ran down her cheek. Her poor, dearest Harrold. She missed him so. “It was only ever Harrold’s plan to see me settled safely here, in Caledonii, under the protection of his brother Gregory. When we arrived, I discovered I was with child. Harrold decided at that moment he would never leave my side. He wanted to protect me and Jeoffrey’s child. He claimed the child as his own and told people I was his wife so nay man would try to claim me.” She realized she had been nervously fisting her dirty skirt in her hands and released it, squaring her shoulders. “Harrold was my dearest friend. I would never have harmed him. Never.” She shook her head and fought back more tears, feeling her chin quiver with her restraint. She must stay strong.

  “I see. And you both lived with Gregory and Paulene?” the Brehon questioned.

  “Aye. I birthed my son and named him Jeoffrey, after his true sire, and we all lived together. Paulene was also a dear friend. She was quite ill most of the time I knew her. I spent many days caring for her. Tis true we did often give her poppy juice. The healer, Liosa, made the poppy juice regularly for us and both Gregory and I would give it to her when her pain became unbearable.”

  “Did Jeoffrey know why you had left him in Ériu?”

  She shook her head and frowned. “Nay. For four summers, he believed I had left him for Harrold. When we heard he was in Alba, Harrold agreed to take me to Jeoffrey, so he may meet his son. Before he ever was able to reunite us, he suddenly died. Then Paulene. I was all alone, except for my sweet child, Wee Jeoff.” At saying his name, her strength drained from her and she choked on a sob. She missed her son terribly. Her heart ached every moment they were separated.

  The Brehon looked at her and sympathy flashed in his eyes. “I believe we are all wondering why you fled when Gregory accused you of murder. Fleeing looks very guilty, lass.”

  “It was not his accusation alone that caused me to flee. He told me if I refused to marry him, he would blame their deaths on me. I have nay wealth to my name. Nay cattle. I have lived in his home since arriving in Alba, except for the small hut Harrold recently built for us when Gregory’s attentions toward me became unbearable. I am a serf. I have nothing. The penalties for murder are a much higher price than I could ever pay, and Gregory knew this. He knew if I could not pay, I would be turned over to him as a slave. If I become his slave, he can do aught to me or my son. He is a cruel man who has tried to force me many times in the past, even injured me. I knew I would never be safe, as his wife or his slave, and neither would my son…so, we ran.” Clarice continued her story, how she ran for her life into the night, carrying Wee Jeoff in her arms and went to the first tuath she found, Miathi, where she was surprisingly reunited with Jeoffrey.

  The Brehon listened intently, stroking his beard the entire time in deep thoug
ht, memorizing her tale. She told everything she could just as it was and could only hope he would believe her. “You fled Caledonii after their deaths and found your new husband, Jeoffrey, right away. Do you expect us to truly believe it was all a coincidence? That you did not murder Harrold so you were free to marry Jeoffrey, then murder Paulene because she knew your secrets, then fled into the night, finding Jeoffrey, convincing him of your innocence before he married you? It all seems to conveniently serve your purposes. You had access to the poppy juice. You have a basic understanding of herbs. You could have tampered with the juice…mayhap added a poisonous plant to it and rid yourself of all those who stood in the way. You did have much more to gain from their deaths than Gregory.”

  Clarice’s blood ran cold. The Brehon’s accusations speared her through the heart with dread and a bleak hopelessness. “Nay!” she shook with both fury and panic. “I loved them! I would never have hurt them!”

  Bhaltair raised his hand and paced some more. “Let us discuss the day Gregory retrieved you and tried to bring you back to Caledonii for justice. Did you or did you not flee, once more?”

  His line of questioning had suddenly become accusatory. He believed that imbecile Gregory! “I-I…Gregory tried to—”

  “I asked if you fled, lass.”

  “Aye, well, nay. I was retrieved. Jeoffrey and Alastar found me! Gregory admitted to murdering Harrold and Paulene to be with me and then attacked me! He had torn my dress and was forcing himself on me!” She wanted to shout that it had been Jeoffrey who bludgeoned Gregory over the head, but placing blame on Jeoffrey would serve no purpose. He had saved her life that day and she would not repay him by sharing that part of the story.