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Toki shrugged. “I didn’t hate Olav, ’tis just that I didn’t want to marry Keith, but my parents forced me to, and he is not the merchant his father was. Olav owed both of us, and he gave little. No, Zarabeth, Olav cleaved to you—his fancy young slut of a wife. He turned his back upon his only son because you seduced him away from Keith.”
Imara straightened now, her shoulders wide as a man’s, her upper arms thick with muscle, and walked to Toki, towering over the shorter woman. “Get out, Toki, and do not return until you can control your tongue’s venom.”
Lannia, bent and scraggle-haired, never looked up from her task. She said, “Toki’s mother is a witch, and she birthed a witch. Pay her no attention, Zarabeth.”
Actually, Zarabeth had already dismissed Toki from her mind. Her attention was on Lotti, sitting in the far corner, playing with six carved sticks Olav had given her many years before. The child was quiet, too quiet.
She felt the nibblings of fear. Olav was dead. What would become of her and Lotti?
She found out the following day after Olav’s funeral. Two of his friends, both on the York council, came to see her. They were old men, gray-haired and toothless, yet they were kind. She gave them sweet mead to drink, then waited respectfully for them to speak.
“. . . And so, Zarabeth, Olav has left you all his goods, his shop and his house. He didn’t wish his son to have anything.”
She hadn’t really believed Olav when he told her he’d done this. She’d known, had been certain, that he would look after his son, that he would change his mind, that he would overlook Toki’s viciousness and not strike out at Keith to get back at her. She shook her head now. “But Keith . . . it isn’t right. Surely Olav—”
“It is as we ha
ve said to you.” Both of them looked at her then, closely, as if she were some sort of oddity. “All wonder at it, yea, ’tis true, but you are young and comely, and therein lies the answer to all our questions. Thus it is, and thus it will remain. It is what your husband wished.”
And they left this house of death quickly, for a man didn’t like the thought of a dead spirit leaving with him and cleaving unbeknownst to him to his own soul. Still, Zarabeth wondered at their abrupt retreat, their curtness. She had known but kindness from them until today. They hadn’t disapproved of Olav’s marriage to her before, or if they had, they had hidden it well. She remembered both of them clearly on her wedding day, the two graybeards drunk and stumbling and pinching a female buttock when a woman came near to them. They’d laughed and clapped Olav on the back and laughed more when they gave him their old men’s advice in loud whispers. They weren’t laughing now.
For the next two days Zarabeth slept and tried to regain her strength. Olav’s funeral had been the familiar blending of Christian and Viking, and he’d been laid to rest with a rune stone over his burial mound. All her neighbors left her alone, as if guessing that she needed to be alone, to mend, to regain her balance. Two days later, Zarabeth took Lotti outside. It was high summer and hot, no breeze stirring the still air. There were the familiar smells of animals and human sweat and excrement. She saw neighbors and waved to them, grateful that they’d left her alone. Then she realized suddenly that they were ignoring her, or turning quickly from her. What was wrong?
As was her wont since Magnus had left, she and Lotti walked to York harbor. She stared over the trading vessels moored there, Viking longboats all, with covered cargo spaces, knowing the Sea Wind wasn’t there, but looking nonetheless, hunger in her soul. Lotti shook her hand and Zarabeth looked up to see Keith approaching, three men of the York council with him. He pointed to her and yelled, “Don’t move!”
Move? Why should she move? She waited patiently for them to reach her, Lotti’s hand held firmly in hers.
“It is over and done with, Zarabeth.”
“What is, Keith? What do you here? Has something happened? Is Toki all right?”
“Were you going to try to escape on one of the vessels? Has another Viking offered to help you?”
She stared at Keith, wondering at his words, at his pallor, at the strained look in his eyes.
“What is this, Keith? What is wrong?”
One of the council, a man named Old Arnulf, who had danced drunkenly at Olav’s wedding feast, strode up to her and said in a voice filled with fury, “We know the truth now, Zarabeth. We know that you murdered your husband, that you fed him poison from the day he wedded with you. You will die now, and justice will be done.”
“Poison?” She looked from Keith to each of the three older men. They were serious. “You believe I fed poison to Olav? He was my husband! I cared for him throughout his illness, I didn’t try to kill him! This is madness. What goes on here?”
“ ’Tis too late for denials, Zarabeth,” Keith said, but when she turned on him, he took a quick step backward, as if expecting she would attack him.
“I did nothing to Olav!”
Old Arnulf just shook his head. “Both Keith and Toki are witnesses to your deed. That a wife would seek to kill her husband—’tis something we won’t tolerate, and thus you will die.”
“No!” Without thought, without conscious decision, Zarabeth grabbed Lotti up into her arms and ran down the long wooden quay. Two rough-garbed sailors stopped her, laughing, holding her, looking at her as if she were a feast and they starving men.
“Hold her! She’s a murderess!”
The sailors dropped their hands as if touching her would taint them or she would turn on them with a knife. This time, though, Zarabeth didn’t move. She waited for them to approach her again, then said, “You say that Keith and his wife say I poisoned Olav. How do they know this?”
Arnulf took her arm, saying briskly, “You will have a chance to ask your questions and make your pleas before the king, for he was Olav’s friend and has said he will pass judgment on you. Come along.”
And it was done. Zarabeth made no more protest until she realized they were taking her to the slaves’ compound. It stood on a barren moor just outside the city fortifications, a place of misery and filth. It was surrounded by its own earthen wall, three feet thick, and there was one great longhouse that was covered with a thatched roof. Around the longhouse were separate huts for the guards. There was a central well but nothing else.
Still she didn’t give in to the awful fear. She would tell King Guthrum the truth of the matter. It was soon clear to her: Toki had poisoned Olav and had convinced Keith to blame Zarabeth. No wonder Olav had gotten well once he had forbidden Toki and Keith to come back to the house. And then, because of her pleas, Olav had forgiven his son and allowed him and Toki back. And he had signed his own death warrant with his generosity. It was too much. She couldn’t at first take it in. There was no hope for it. She would tell the king what had happened and then she and Lotti would be left in peace.
