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“NOT YET,” LOTHAR WHISPERED, raising his head as the king threatened to pass judgment. The hood covered part of his face. He inched towards the side to stand near Park and Serle. Grateful the knee-bender had given him a monk’s robe to wear, he gripped the dagger’s handle, hidden in the sleeve of the robe.
He watched Dara inhale, clench her hands, then exhale. She closed her eyes, squeezed her lips and bowed again to King Malachy without a word.
“Very well then, you may continue, Rowena.” Malachy settled back into his armchair.
“Pegeen went limp in my arms, her body cooled. I couldn’t wake her. I ran back home with Pegeen in my arms.”
“Was there anyone else at the Priestess’s home who was a witness?” King Malachy asked.
Rowena nodded, scanned the room, then pointed. “There they are.”
Lothar turned his head, watching Park and Serle glance at each other, duck their heads and take a step backwards.
“Guards, come forward,” the king ordered.
“Come on.” Serle pulled Park’s arm then stepped towards the center of the room.
Lothar exhaled, then lifted his head again to watch while rubbing the dagger’s handle with his thumb.
“You heard what Rowena said about Pegeen’s death.” Abbot Sean paced in front of Park and Serle. “She says you were there, is she telling the truth?”
“We were outside, Abbot,” Park said, “mucking the stalls.”
Lothar smirked as laughter erupted in the chamber.
“Abbot, Park and I did see the widow woman go in with a bundle in her arms, and then come out only moments later. The priestess wouldn’t have had the time to hurt the child like she did to Vaughn.”
Lothar closed his eyes as a hush went around the room. He opened them to see Dara slap her hands over her eyes and take a deep breath.
“Who’s Vaughn?” Sean asked.
“He pricked her in the woods,” Park explained. “Then he drown later.”
Lothar groaned, hearing the crowd inhale in unison. He watched Dara spread her fingers peeking towards her father, then close her fingers again. He turned to the king, noting he remained motionless. Lothar turned back to watch the knee-bender pace in front of Park.
“Did Vaughn know how to swim?”
“No.”
Dara slid her hands down her face, clasped them together, sniffed and raised her chin.
“Abbot, come here,” Malachy said waving his hand.
“All of you remain where you are,” said Abbot Sean.
Lothar saw the knee-bender look in his direction, as he gave the warning, and nodded once.
The Abbot turned and walked to where the king sat, and leaned down.
Lothar’s chest tightened watching Dara stand facing her father, while the King and knee-bender whispered to each other.
“Very well, your Majesty.” Sean bowed and walked back to Park.
“The King previously proclaimed Vaughn’s death an accident because, as you said, he didn’t know how to swim.”
“Sorry, Abbot Sean, King Malachy.” Park bowed. “The memory of Vaughn’s death came to me when Rowena blamed Dara.”
“Memories appear at random, Park. Tell the truth, but don’t let your imagination impact others.”
Park nodded.
Abbot Sean turned. “Anyone else, Rowena?”
Clutching the doll to her chest, Rowena shook her head.
Abbot Sean turned to Dara. “Priestess, do you want to confess or convince us of your innocence?”
“I am innocent. Some of what Rowena said is true, I did offer her some porridge, the same porridge I ate and even gave to Park and Serle before she arrived.”
“Is that true?” Sean asked Serle.
Serle grimaced.
“Did you eat the porridge?”
Serle nodded.
“And did you fall ill afterwards?”
Serle glanced at Park, then closed his eyes and lowered his head. “No.”
Rowena stomped forward, shaking the doll towards Dara. “She could have cast a spell upon the porridge when we arrived.”
Dara covered her nose with the back of her left hand from the dust emanating from the linen, then grabbed Rowena’s wrist with her right hand.
“Let go of me!” she coughed.
Dara twisted the doll from of Rowena’s grasp.
“Give that back,” Rowena shrieked, “it’s Pegeen’s.”
Ignoring Rowena’s plea, Dara called out. “Does anyone have a knife?”
“I do.”
Dara turned at Lothar’s voice. The hood over his head shaded his eyes and hair, but the familiarity of his height and stride as he walked towards her, thrilled and comforted her. She noted he held the handle with the blade against his wrist.
“I beg you, your majesty,” Rowena cried, “stop her.”
“Explain your actions, Dara,” Malachy ordered.
“It’s the doll.”
“Dara, the doll is her daughter’s, return it to her.”
“You don’t understand,” Dara pleaded. “Something in the doll killed Pegeen and is making Rowena sick.”
The king lifted his eyebrow. “What proof do you have?”
“It’s inside the doll. I need to make a slit in the doll to examine the contents it is stuffed with.”
Malachy rubbed his chin, then looked to Rowena and Dara. “Very well,” he exhaled. “You there, monk,” Malachy began.
Dara looked to Lothar as he lifted his head.
“Do not give her the knife,” the king warned. “You make the small slit into the doll.”
Dara watched Lothar bow his head, then turn to her.
“Courage, Valkyrie,” he whispered, caressing her fingers as she placed the doll into his hand. He turned the doll over, placed the knife tip into the doll’s back, slicing the linen near a crease, then pulled out the dagger and set it on the floor, his foot covering the blade.
“Abbot, please come and hold out your hand,” Dara asked. She noticed Sean rub his hands against his robes, then held out his palms.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sean whispered.
“You’ll know when I find it.” Dara pulled back the linen and squeezed the contents onto the abbot’s palms.
“Smells like lavender,” mentioned Sean.
“That’s what these larger pieces are.” Dara moved the larger pieces to the side of his palm with her finger.
“Oh no,” Sean sniffed, “you better hurry.”
Dara quickly turned to see Sean’s nose twitch. “Lothar, hold your fingers under his nose.”
Lothar lifted his head. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s going to sneeze,” Dara covered the Abbot’s hands until Lothar complied. She heard the abbot sigh. “Better?” she asked, biting her lips as she glanced at Lothar’s fingers under Sean’s nose.
Turning back, Dara sifted through the rest of the contents, her fingers drawing back the larger pieces from the grove lines in Sean’s palm.
“There they are,” she announced. “Your majesty, Rowena, please come here.” She waited as Malachy rose and escorted Rowena over to them. “See these tiny black seeds," Dara explained, pointed at the line of black dots, “they’re Foxglove.”
“They’re so tiny, how can you tell what they are?” asked Malachy.
“The pods are some of the larger pieces.” She moved her finger to the dried flower with pointed ends. “The pollen and spores from the seeds and pods caused Pegeen’s death and Rowena’s sickness now.”
“I didn’t poison my daughter,” Rowena sobbed.
“I know you didn’t,” Dara sniffed, as tears welled in her eyes as the memory of the child’s death still clung to her. “The people who made the doll must have added dried flowers when they created it, not knowing that Foxglove is dangerous.”
“Hand me the doll,” Sean said. Dara noticed Lothar removed his fingers from under Sean’s nose. She placed the doll into the Abbot’s open palms, then watched him walk to the stone fireplace and set it on the cold hearth, slapping his hands against each other.
“No!” Rowena cried rushing to the fireplace.
“Rowena stop.” Sean put his arm around the crying woman. “The doll will only kill you; too; it must be destroyed.”
“But, Pegeen...” she cried into his sleeve.
Abbot Sean whispered a prayer over her head.
Rowena sniffed and sat back. “What did you say?”
“I said a blessing over you.”
“It’s what she said over Pegeen.” She pointed to Dara.
“I did bless Pegeen,” Dara said to Malachy and Lothar as she wiped away the falling tears from her cheeks when she squeezed her eyes tight.
“I... I...” Rowena began. “I didn’t know you were blessing Pegeen, I am sorry.”
“Do you wish to stop this inquisition now?” Abbot Sean asked Rowena.
“Yes.” She sniffed.
“The accusation of the Priestess being a witch has been rescinded. This trial is over,” announced Abbot Sean. Walking over to a burning wall torch, he lifted the handle from the iron holder, and held out. “Rowena, please light the fire.”
She nodded, touched the flame to the linen doll on the hearth, then handed the torch back to the Abbot.
The king stepped back towards his chair then turned. “Everyone, return to your duties,” the King commanded to the crowd. “Priestess, you will remain here a moment after everyone has gone,” Malachy said. “You too, Abbot.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Abbot Sean bowed and walked towards Dara and Lothar. “I need to talk to someone on their way out.”
Lothar pulled back the hood, as he stood next to Dara. “I’m staying.”
* * *
“VERY WELL,” SEAN SAID as he walked back to the king.
“Who’s that monk standing with Dara?” the king inquired peering around Sean from his chair.
“Lothar is no monk, but an acquaintance of your daughter.”
“After today, I can’t publically claim her as my daughter without the villagers uprising.”
“She didn’t harm the child.”
“They will remember and wonder if I interfered with her trial. Rumors spread and perhaps help one of the neighboring kings to gain a foothold here.
“What do you intend to do with her now?”
“She must marry immediately.”
“Your majesty?”
“A husband would protect her, where I cannot. The public knowledge of her past indiscretions, pose a problem to find a man willing to marry her.”
“She will not like being ordered to marry.”
“I didn’t either when I left Dara and her mother to marry Enid; but I did so for the safety of our kingdom.”
“Now, you want to subject Dara to the same fate.”
“In time, she will come to appreciate my decision and possibly grow to love the man, like I’ve done with Enid.”
Sean turned to Lothar and Dara, smiled and turned back to the king. “If you are going to demand her to be married quickly, I’d suggest Lothar as her husband.” Sean stepped back and moved his arm towards the man standing with Dara in the center of the room. “I’ve seen them together and believe they would be a good match in God’s eyes.”
“I’ll decide if he’s worthy before having my only child marry a man I don’t know about,” Malachy mumbled. He pursed his lips and ground his teeth as he rapidly tapped the rounded edge of chair’s arm with his finger. “Very well,” he stood, then shouted, “You there with Dara, present yourself.” He squared his shoulders noticing the robe was stretched tight across Lothar’s chest, watching the man bend, and grab something from the floor. The King stiffened, remembering the dagger used to slice the doll as Lothar neared, then exhaled as the tall blonde man handed the blade to the Abbot with a slight nod.
“Where are you from Lothar?” the king asked.
“North.”
“Where ... Armagh? Land of the Picts?”
“Lothar, don’t tell him.” Dara pulled on his robe sleeve.
Patting Dara’s hand, Lothar gazed into her meadow green eyes, then wiped the tear falling down her cheek. “I’m from a settlement on an inlet off the tip of Scandia.”
“That’s the land of the Norse.”
Lothar turned to Malachy and nodded.
“Guards, seize him!”