by Mia Pride
“Gregory!” The Brehon shouted and made Clarice’s already nerve-wracked body jump at his booming voice. Gregory appeared swiftly at Bhaltair’s side. “Give me your sword.”
Gregory looked stunned for a moment, clearly as uncertain about this line of questioning as Clarice was. But slowly, he reached over to his left hip and unclipped his sword from its sheath. The sound of metal being freed ringed in the over-crowded room and the tip of the sword gleamed in the firelight flickering off the walls. Gregory carefully handed his word to the Brehon, who slowly walked over to Clarice and stood before her.
“Take the sword.” Clarice reached out a hand tentatively to touch the sword, then withdrew. She hated weapons and violence. She had grown up in a war camp and had seen too much death. Even the sight of a sword could make her woozy with the memories of blood and the acrid stench of death. “Take, it lass,” the Brehon ordered.
Clarice placed her right hand around the hilt of the weapon, fitting her fingers into the worn grooves of leather that had been molded over the years to fit Gregory’s massive grip. Before she could get a proper hold on it, the Brehon released the weapon from his own hands and Clarice stumbled with a loud grunt, trying to right the sword in her hands. Straightening her back, she adjusted her skirt and, using both hands, reached down for the sword again, this time lifting it off the ground. The weapon was nary as tall as she was and though its weight was not tremendous, it was awkward in her fumbling hands. The thought of what this weapon represented, violence and death, caused her to gag as images of her past flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, she turned her head away from the sword with repulsion on her face.
“Raise it over your head,” Bhaltair said, crossing his arms and standing back.
Clarice shook her head and looked at him as if he were mad. “I-I cannot!”
“Try!” he barked. With a frown, she gripped the sword again with both hands and attempted to raise it higher. Though the weight itself was not heavier than she could carry, lifting it above her head was causing her arms to quake with strain. The hilt of the sword was thick, made for the grip of a massive warrior with overly-large hands. Her smaller hands could not even wrap around the circumference, causing the cursed weapon to slip from her sweaty palms and clatter to the floor.
Anger flooded her at the Brehon’s sudden need to embarrass her. Was he trying to prove her to be a weak woman and further demean her in front of her people? “Och!” she shouted as she pointed to the sword at her feet. “Nay, I cannot do it! And I will not try again, not with a babe in my womb.” She scowled at him and tapped her foot, crossing her arms. Truly, the man was behaving like a boar.
“As I suspected.” The Brehon bent over and gripped the sword, passing it back to Gregory. “T’was not you who nearly cleaved him in two in the forest.” He stood up on the wooden dais and shouted loud enough for all to hear. “I clear Clarice Mac Conrach of the charge of attempted murder and sacrifice. Gregory’s story does not hold true in that regard. The lass cannot wield a sword, much less swing it with enough force to injure a man, on the head, nay less.”
Her heart beat wildly as she took in his words. He was clearing her of at least one of Gregory’s foul accusations. She looked at Jeoffrey and wanted to smile, but his face was much too serious and her joy faded away.
“However, we must further discuss the more serious of charges still looming. I understand we have people willing to speak?” Bhaltair looked around the room.
“Aye.” Jeoffrey strode up to where Clarice was standing and put an arm around her waist. “I am Jeoffrey Mac Conrach, husband of Clarice and I speak on her behalf, as I know the full story.”
The Brehon nodded and stepped forward. “You are aware that, while you are free to speak, your words are laced with bias, for nay man would speak against his wife.”
“If my wife were capable of murder, I would not have married her.” Jeoffrey reasoned.
“Perhaps you are under some work of sorcery, as well? Gregory insists she is capable of such work.”
Jeoffrey grunted. “Utter rubbish. She is a beautiful, kind lass with a smile that can melt ice and a laugh that warms the heart. Any man would be a fool not to love her. This does not make her a sorceress.”
Bhaltair laughed in amusement and crossed his arms. “Aye, I am inclined to believe as much. Tell me your tale, Jeoffrey. What have you do add to what we already know?”
“You are correct that it was not Clarice who cracked Gregory’s skull. T’was I. And I would do it again, for I came upon the man attempting to force himself on my wife. She was screaming and clawing at him but he would not release her. I came behind him and cracked his head with the hilt of my own sword. I would have finished the man off, but it was Clarice who begged me not to kill him. She is sickened by violence and death. As for why Gregory was sent away from Ériu, I never told Clarice the entire truth, because I did not wish to upset her. But, Gregory has wanted her from the first. I never trusted him around her. The way he leered at her was beyond the lust of a man. She was to be my wife and one day I stumbled across him watching her bathe at the lake and he…had himself…in hand…I could not abide it any longer. She was not safe around him and it was a matter of time before he took his obsessive love of her to a dangerous level. I threatened to kill him if he did not leave Ériu. Nobody else ever knew of this, not even his brother. Tis why Harrold felt it was safe to bring Clarice to Gregory once they arrived in Alba.”
Bhaltair raised a brow and nodded in understanding, then crinkled his nose in disgust toward Gregory. “Any witness to Gregory’s abuse of Clarice when she arrived in Miathi?”
“Aye. Many. My best mate and second in command during the Wars of Ériu was with me when we found Gregory forcing Clarice.”
Alastar stepped up on the other side of Clarice with his hands on his hips. “Tis true. I stand witness that I saw Gregory trying to force himself bodily upon Clarice. Clarice begged us not to kill Gregory. I also witnessed the many wounds and bruises she received from him before arriving at Miathi. She was half dead and did almost die of fever from one of the infected wounds.”
The Brehon sat up straight as if finally hearing details he could work with and looked at Jeoffrey. “Do you have any more witnesses to attest to her abuse?”
Jeoffrey nodded. “Many more. She stormed into our gathering hall, dress torn, covered in blood and barely able to stand. She collapsed into the arms of our ironsmith, Hamish. He saw her wounds to her face clearly. Our healer, Morna, has also traveled here to serve as a witness to the wounds Clarice sustained. She nursed Clarice from death’s door. Ealasaid, a lass from our tuath who turned Clarice over to Gregory, also came as a witness.”
Clarice stiffened at the sound of Ealasaid’s name. Why would that horrible lass come to speak for her? She clearly wanted to be rid of Clarice. Mayhap she tricked Jeoffrey into believing her and would only spew more lies. Jeoffrey must have felt her tense up beneath his grip on her waist, for he turned to her and smiled gently as if urging her to trust him. Aye, she trusted Jeoffrey…but not Ealasaid.
“Bring these witnesses up, please,” the Brehon said wearily. Morna, Hamish, and Ealasaid stepped forward and stood next to Jeoffrey.
“Ironsmith, you were the first to see Clarice when she arrived at Miathi?”
“Nay, the guards did, Brehon. But I was the first to see her in the light, up close. She collapsed in my arms. She was very weak from travel and carried only her wee son. She had a terrible bruise across her cheek and a blackened eye. The lass had nay food on her. I can tell you this: she was running for her life, she was. She was frozen to the bone and quaking in fear, begging for help. She was not a woman who had planned a journey, for who brings nay food or water with them if planning on traveling on foot with a wee child? Nay,” Hamish shook his head. “Make nay mistake. She was a frightened lass running from real danger and her wounds proved it.”
“Healer!” the Brehon barked, making Morna jump out of her skin. The poor lass shook with
fright. Clarice knew Morna was a shy, quiet, innocent lass. To have traveled this far to speak on behalf was much more than Clarice could have ever asked for. “Tell me about Clarice’s wounds.”
Morna licked her lips nervously and Clarice reached out to grip her hand. Morna’s big blue eyes sparkled in the light of the hearth and her golden hair glittered. “Clarice had a very bad bruise on her face, and a blackened eye, as Hamish said. But the worst of it was her knees. They were rubbed raw as if she had been dragged, not simply fallen. They were filthy and required lots of cleaning, but it had not been enough to prevent her fever. She almost perished from the infection. She was very misused and sore. Her recovery took over a moon’s time.”
“Thank you, healer. Now you, young lass,” Bhaltair pointed at Ealasaid. “You wish to speak of her wounds?”
Clarice glared at Ealasaid, not trusting the lass to speak the truth at all. “Nay. Tis not her wounds I know of, but the day Gregory came for her. I am the one who tricked her into following me into the woods where I was to meet Gregory. You see, he tricked me. He told me she was a murderer. She was supposed to marry Jeoffrey that same day and well, I simply could not allow her to do so, if she was would one day kill him, as well. I believed him then…because I wanted to believe him. I wanted to have a true reason to hate her, not simply because she was the one who stole Jeoffrey’s heart. When Gregory came to me one day asking if I knew a lass named Clarice, I was very willing to let him fill me with the lies. But, once he had her, I saw that gleam in his eye. It was deeper than a man seeking justice. He was violent with her, pulling her hair and he…he hit her across the face. I knew I had made a grave error then. I gave her over to a man who wanted her by any means possible. I should have known after we…after he and I…”
“Aye, lass?” the Brehon prodded for answers. “After you and he…what?”
Ealasaid looked at Jeoffrey, then at Clarice, and began to cry. “Och, I am so ashamed!” she wailed! “I was lonely! And he is a large, handsome man. When we first met, I was deep in the woods, searching for new plants and he approached me. After he questioned my knowledge of Clarice, something came over me…over us both. We were two lonely people lusting after someone whom we could not have and…”
“And what?” Bhaltair growled, clearly out of patience.
“And I let him take me!” she cried, holding her hands over her face for a silent moment before continuing. “He was so rough. He pushed me up against the tree and took me until I cried. He pulled my hair and bit my lip until I bled…all the while calling out Clarice’s name. Then he dropped me on the forest floor and left me there all alone while he rode away. I should have known then that he was obsessed with Clarice. He told me she put a spell on him and I believed him! I wanted to believe…but nay…he is a crazed man who will misuse Clarice if he has his way. Make nay mistake. If you give her over to Gregory, he will hurt her.” Ealasaid ran away from the hall, pushing herself through the crowd and wailing until she exited through the large wooden double doors.
The entire room was silent. Several people glared at Gregory in disgust and he simply looked straight ahead at the wall, not making eye contact with anybody.
Bhaltair sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “None of what she said can help me with this trial. She offered no physical evidence that Gregory had truly lied about his claims! None of you have!” he waved them all away in frustration. “Her injuries cannot be proven to be done by him. Mayhap she fell while traveling to find Jeoffrey? Mayhap she ran into the side of a tree or tripped on a root? Nay, I cannot know if it was truly Gregory who hurt her, but mark my words, abuse of a woman is a crime and he will pay a fine for those crimes if proven true,” he vowed.
“The only evidence I have is two people dead and a jug of dry poppy powder, which cannot prove to be poison! I have a man who lost his wife and brother, who is clearly in love with the accused woman. And a woman who was in love with another man, knew he had returned and was desperate to find him. She claimed Harrold was not her true husband, but we also have nay proof of that claim. I must weigh what little proof I do have! Are we even certain the two deaths in question were murder? Can they not both simply have been natural deaths? Paulene, by all accounts, was a sickly woman. And many a large, strong man perishes from a weakened heart.”
“Aye, Brehon. Both bodies were covered in a mysterious rash and pools of vomit were found around their bodies…and feces. These are clear signs of poisoning and several common plants can cause such symptoms, we are just not certain which plant,” the king added from his seat beside the continuously pacing Brehon.
“Och. Healer!” Morna scrambled up to the front again and bowed her head. “Nay! The healer of Caledonii! Why have we not heard from her?”
“She knows nothing and wishes not to stand witness, Brehon,” the king shrugged. Clarice scanned the room and locked eyes with Liosa, someone she had once considered a companion. But when the older woman looked away from her pleading gaze, Clarice felt her heart sink to her toes. She would receive no help from her.
Bhaltair rubbed his chin and crinkled his brow, but seemed to decide she was not necessary if Morna was willing to answer his questions. “Which common plants could cause such symptoms, lass?”
“I cannot be certain. Many plants are known to be poisonous and many of the symptoms are similar. And I am not from here. I do not know which plants they grow,” Morna tittered and shook her head.
“I have heard enough. The victims were poisoned. Who stood more to gain from their deaths? Gregory lost his only brother and his wife and is grieving deeply. We know that Clarice wished to leave Harrold to be with Jeoffrey. It stands to reason that these conversations were also overheard by Paulene. Is it convenient that both the people who stood in her way are now dead and she so easily found the man she sought?”
Clarice felt her knees give way. He was going to accuse her of these horrible crimes. Her body collapsed to the ground and she began to shake uncontrollably. Nay. Her blood ran cold and she felt disoriented, as if she was outside her body and numbly watching her own demise. Gregory would kill her in the end, she was certain of it. She clutched at her womb, knowing that her punishment would also be the demise of her child…and she would never see Wee Jeoffrey again, never hold her husband in her arms. How could fate be so cruel as to finally give her back her life, only to brutally steal it away again?
“With the evidence I have received, I have nay choice but to convict Clarice Mac Conrach of the murders of Harrold and Paulene Mac Conrach.”
“Nay!” she heard Jeoffrey roar from the crowd, but the world began to spin and everything sounded muffled. She had no energy to do aught but cry into her hands at the injustice.
“As it has been made clear to me that she is unable to pay the honor-price for the life of Harrold, a man of high status as a warrior, and the honor-price of Paulene, born of noble blood and the wife of a warrior, because she owns nay land or livestock of her own to give, she must be given bodily as a slave to the surviving family member of the victims, Gregory Mac Conrach.”
“Nay…nay, please…you have it all wrong!” She wailed. “I have done naught!”
The Brehon looked at her crumpled body on the floor and frowned. He truly did not seem to revel in her punishment, but he was the law and must do as the law required without allowing sentiments to affect his decision. She looked at Jeoffrey, who was being restrained by warriors to keep him from reaching her, shouting and bucking as hard as he could. Then her eyes locked on Gregory and a foreboding chill ran up her spine. The man’s lecherous eyes stared boldly into hers and she detected a slight flick of his tongue against his lower lip.
“Brehon!” A familiar voice shouted over the murmuring voices, causing everyone to suddenly fall into silence. “My sister, Maggie, and I wish to speak. I am Àdhamh. Warrior to King Steaphan and best mate to Harrold. Paulene was our sister. We know many things that nobody else could know.”
Àdhamh was speaking on
her behalf? And shy, quiet wee Maggie? Clarice lifted her face from her hands and looked through blurry eyes as Àdhamh pushed through the crowd, gripping Maggie’s hand behind him. She would not allow a surge of hope, for what possible information could they offer to change her circumstances?
“Speak then,” Bhaltair said wearily. “What do you know?”
“I know that Clarice speaks true. Harrold was never her true husband. He told me as much. They shared a bed, aye, but they never lay together. The love between them was one of friendship and respect. I know more than anyone that his love for Clarice would have been impossible.”
“And why is that?” the Brehon question with a frown.
“Because…” Àdhamh looked to Clarice with a sad smile and her heart thudded against her ribs. Nay. He knew Harrold’s darkest secret and was about to reveal it to the world. She shook her head and begged him silently not to betray Harrold’s trust, even if it would help save her. “Because Harrold preferred men. We were lovers.”
The crowd went wild with murmurs and pointing before the Brehon raised a hand to silence them all. “He loved Clarice and vowed to protect her. But when Jeoffrey was said to be in Alba, he had promised to bring Clarice to find him. He had been speaking to all travelers, druids, poets, visiting warriors, trying to find word of Jeoffrey’s location for Clarice, so her son could meet his father. Would a true husband do such a thing? Would he give up his wife and child to another man? Paulene knew this as well. She heard them speaking and told Maggie here.”
Maggie lifted her head confidently and Clarice couldn’t help but swell with pride to see the lass facing her fears to save Clarice’s life. “Tis the truth. Paulene knew all that happened in that home. She knew they were not true lovers. She knew they sought a reunion with Jeoffrey. She wanted to help, but was much too ill. She also knew of Gregory’s unnatural desire for Clarice, a woman whom he thought to be his brother’s wife. Gregory had always been cruel to Paulene, beating her senseless, though she tried to hide it. It was his treatment that made her weak and ill. But when Clarice arrived, he wished Paulene dead. Paulene told me every day that she thought Gregory would one day kill her. And then…Harrold died before he could ever help Clarice. And a fortnight later, Paulene was gone. We knew it was Gregory. You think Clarice had more to gain from their deaths? Nay.”