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Dara finished hitching Sinséar to the wooden cart, walked inside and set the four clay jars of fresh honey into the empty basket.
Still nervous about leaving, Dara strayed back to take one last look at the sleeping man in the bed.
He appeared to be recovering. His fever had gone down, but he remained unconscious. The deep gash in his left shoulder would eventually leave a scar as it healed. Unfortunately, she had run out of the moonwort, and a few other items. Therefore, she had decided to proceed to the marketplace after she gathered her herbs.
Picking up the basket, she walked outside, closing the door quietly behind her, then placed the basket into the cart. She grabbed Sinséar’s lead rope and headed toward the village, telling herself that she’d be gone for just a short time.
Dara smiled feeling the warm, early morning rays of sunshine that filtered through the trees caress her skin. During the past three days, she’d remained inside her home, caring for the injured man, while the late autumn weather had cleared. The dry ground made her five-mile journey to Droicheada for market day that much easier to walk.
Dara stopped near the hillside and left Sinséar to graze while she collected the last remaining moonwort before frost set in. She roamed about, removing the leaves from the stalk and placing them in the basket. Later she’d chop and mix the leaves into the healing salve. The repetitive task kept her hands busy, freeing her mind, which wandered back to the blonde man sleeping in her bed.
He had mumbled and shouted throughout his sleep, although she still was unable to understand what he was saying. She was concerned about the way he thrashed around while he slept, like he was battling for his life. He would settle into peaceful slumber for short periods, leaving her a brief time to nap, only to relive the nightmare again.
After gathering all the leaves she could, Dara put the basket back into the cart, grabbed the pony’s lead rope and continued her journey.
As she entered the village, Dara spotted a man’s body as it swung in the breeze above the market square. She moved closer, then stopped her cart. She thought it looked like the stout man she’d found dead on the beach. A crow landed upon the shoulder of the body, looked at her and let out a shrill. The hair on the back of her neck shot straight out. She shivered then turned away.
She walked over to the market area, browsing the merchant carts for the items she needed, although her eyes kept coming back to the body in the square.
“What happened to that man over there?” Dara inquired of the gray-haired woman who sold linens from a cart.
“He is,” the old woman spoke with a raspy voice, “or was, I should say, one of those nasty Norse raiders who washed up on our shore the days after the storm.”
Dara gazed at the gaps where the woman was missing teeth while the crone spoke. Lines etched deeply into the woman’s face, the years leaving their marks.
“How do you know he was a Norseman?”
“Just look at him! That long hair and beard of his, and the wolf emblem he wore on his chest, there can be no mistaking that one for anything less than a Norseman!”
The memory of the beach encounter, with the man who remained unconscious in her bed, filled Dara’s mind. “He can’t be one of them,” she whispered to herself.
“Being a Norseman, the good people of the village brought him back here to stand for the crimes of all the barbarians who have raided our lands in the past.”
Astonished, Dara leaned closer and asked, “He had a trial?”
“He is a Norseman, that is all that matters; killers, thieves, all of them!” the raspy voice shouted while she shook a wrinkled finger at the body.
Dara’s vision followed the haggard woman’s finger as it pointed back towards the square. The body had turned in the breeze. She recognized the clothing and the size of the man, yet something had changed his appearance.
“Stoned him,” the woman declared to Dara, while the woman sold more linens and trinkets to other buyers in the market. “The good men of our village brought him to the square and strung up what remains of the heathen for the birds to pick at its rotting flesh.
“Horrid thing to look at, but they would have taken over the village and possibly raped, and killed us, if not for the storm. So the long-tailed star saved us by telling us to watch for changes.”
Dara observed the woman barter with the other market buyers. ‘The star,’ she had said.
She remembered the night she had seen the star. Could it have been a sign, an omen? Dara knew the one person who could answer her questions was lying in her bed.
Dara bartered the old woman down to two jars of honey for the items she wanted.
“Thank you,” Dara said. She turned away from the old woman and walked hastily to her cart with three bundles of natural linens and some rough sackcloth filled with herbs.
Her thoughts kept her agitated. If someone from the village found out about the man lying in her hut, and convinced others that the man was Norse, then he too, would be taken and killed. His body would swing, while birds picked at it, like the one in the square. She would be declared a traitor and swing beside him, a reminder to those who might be tempted to give aid to any Norse at all.
She pulled Sinséar’s lead rope and felt a chill prickle her skin as she glanced back once more at the dead body.
Walking home, Dara’s thoughts returned to that night. She had felt uneasiness along the riverbank. Were the spirits warning her about this man while she was at the river’s edge? Was the brilliant star foretelling the villagers of another attack by the Norsemen as the old woman declared? If he is a Norseman, would he take her prisoner, even after she treated his wound and kept him safe?
Others had seen the star and had assumed it as an unlucky omen. Why didn’t she have the same feeling of trepidation that she had the first night? The star had passed and left no clue of what was to come, good or bad.
How was she going to face the man in her home again? Sleeping, he was harmless, and although he was injured and did not hurt her when they first met, how could she be sure he wouldn’t when he was healed?
So many questions filled Dara’s mind as she lead Sinséar toward home.
