The Riverwoman’s Dragon

10 Patterns

The house showed a plain front to the street, but within Dame Gemma had created a space of color and warmth. Several large wall hangings either embroidered or painted could be drawn over the windows to shut out drafts, and otherwise brightened the walls. Owen took a seat on one of three benches made comfortable with colorful cushions set around the fire circle, accepting a bowl of ale with thanks. He had come so far by choosing his words with care when the widow had opened the door and looked ready to slam it shut, saying he had thought much about what she had said when they had last spoken and had come to believe she was one of the few people who might help him find Sam’s murderer. He told her that he was particularly interested in Sam and his work for the Wolcotts.

‘I pray you, tell me all that is on your mind.’

To his relief, she had merely nodded and invited him in, offering him ale, even setting out a bowl of roasted nuts. As he looked round, he noticed that on the wall over the entry someone had painted IHR in yellow.

Taking a seat, Gemma followed the direction of his gaze. ‘You have noticed the charm,’ she said, crossing herself.

It was believed that the initials indicating Jesus Christ might serve as powerful protection. ‘Against pestilence?’ Owen asked.

‘All manner of harm to our household. I gave it a fresh coat of paint after Sam’s death, but it is not new.’

‘I was also admiring the wall hangings. You painted them as well?’

The small smile in a face drawn down in distrust transformed her for a moment. ‘I have not always been a shrew, Captain. It is only in the past several years that taking joy in beauty deserted me. When worries beset me I can no longer see God’s gifts, only the pain ahead.’

At a loss for how to respond to such a statement, Owen chose merely to say, ‘I am here to listen, Dame Gemma,’ and settled in to do just that, bowl of ale in hand.

‘I owe Dame Magda an apology. I fear it might have been my hateful words that incited the priests to preach against her and the other midwives. I am searching for a way to undo the damage I caused them. And all who depend on their care.’ She dabbed at tears with a corner of her apron. ‘I have prayed to God for his forgiveness. But the damage is done.’

‘What changed your mind?’

‘I never believed it an accident, that he slipped and fell into the river. But I knew it was not Dame Magda who pushed him. I feared the true murderer would silence me. So I accused her to protect my family. My daughter and her little ones. My son.’

‘Protect you from whom? Have you been threatened?’

‘I dare not say.’

‘I can protect you. I have the bailiffs and their men at my command. But I need to know from what or whom we are protecting you.’

‘We are unimportant. And with the great sickness–’

‘All the more reason to act now to prevent more violence.’

She rose to fuss with the fire, poking the logs, then walked toward the window at the side of the tidy hall and stood for a while, gazing out. Owen waited, helping himself to the well-spiced nuts, washing them down with ale. He was about to ask if perhaps he should return later when she turned and hurried back to her seat, beginning to speak even before she settled. ‘It’s the Wolcotts.’ Smoothing her apron, she closed her eyes. ‘I feel as if I should begin with “long, long ago”, as I did with my children when I spun them a tale.’ A tear escaped down her cheek, and another. ‘Would that it were a tale. Then I might change it and my Sam … I regret every word I spoke to him in anger.’

On an impulse, Owen reached out to touch her hand. Pressed it. ‘I will do all in my power to protect you and your family. Tell me first about your children, before we forget. Their names, where they live.’

She smiled at him, telling him of her daughter, wed to a stonemason and lodged in the minster close with their three children, and her son, an apprentice to a goldsmith in Stonegate.

The tale she spun was far more than Owen had expected.

‘At Michaelmas two years past Sam told me that Guthlac Wolcott and his son Gavin had decided to double his pay. He spoke the words as if telling me of the death of a dear friend. And from then on he was troubled in his mind. I was forbidden to spend the additional money – it went to the church. We did far more than pay the tithe. I resented him for that. Our son might have benefited, and we might have helped our daughter, with her three young ones. Sam’s new piety – I took it into my head that he and Dame Beatrice – she is so lovely, and so young. It was just after the first child she bore Guthlac, and soon thereafter she was again with child. Sam’s long days, often I was abed when he bothered to come home. I became convinced that both babes were Sam’s. I could not believe such an old man had sired two such beautiful young ones.’ She crossed herself. ‘Wicked thoughts. I told no one. But Sam was so uneasy in his mind, and I was frightened.’ Only now did she withdraw her hand with a soft apology, taking a sip of her ale.

‘You told Sam of your fears?’

‘I accused him. He swore it was not true. But I would not hear it. I said all his misery was his own fault.’ She closed her eyes as tears fell. ‘I became so bitter. So bitter. My friends fell away, weary of my biting words, my complaints. They saw us prosper– I did put coins aside and fixed up the house, dressed Sam and myself in clothing befitting his status. They saw no cause for my anger.’ Looking up at Owen, she seemed to search his face.

He could not imagine her finding anything but concern. And sadness. If Lucie were to push him away he would be lost.

‘You said you would not hear him out. He tried to explain?’

‘He swore I was wrong about Beatrice, but that he feared for her. She was between two who had plans for her, and she did not realize her peril. He feared, too, for Guthlac, when they engaged Bernard.’ She crossed herself. ‘May God welcome my Sam into eternal bliss.’

‘What do you know of Bernard?’

‘He is evil, Captain. I know evil when I smell it.’

‘Who engaged him?’

‘Gavin worked to convince the old master that he was imperiling his soul by having a pagan healer in the house. Sam came home, worried for Guthlac, saying Beatrice would not stand up for her husband. So of course I attacked him for that, told him she was a whore who destroyed our love.’ A sad laugh. ‘But after his death Lettice Brown told me I was wrong about Sam. It was Gavin who was her lover. Lettice– May God watch over her. What happened to her, her husband, her home, I cannot but wonder whether she was being silenced. I pray she is safe, though how she might have escaped …’

He might ease her mind, but it was not his choice to make. Nor did he entirely trust her. ‘What did Sam say of Gavin?’

‘He despised him. Grasping, greedy, dull-witted. I begged him to respect his master’s heir, else he would be without work when Guthlac died.’ She sobbed. ‘But the old man outlived my Sam.’

All the while he listened, Owen sensed a falseness, a woman pretending fear and a sad simplicity, but in truth shrewdly spinning a tale. He poured her more ale and waited for her to signal she was ready to continue. When she had drunk down a goodly amount of ale he asked, ‘Do you know Janet Fuller?’

She crossed herself. ‘Poor Janet. To have that leech as a lodger. I’d prayed her husband would throw him out, but now, so ill …’

‘Did she ever speak to you of a brother?’

‘That lout? Alan, in London. Why?’

‘I cannot say. What do you know of him?’

‘His master was a physician, trained in Italy. But so they all claim to be. He trained Alan as his assistant, entrusting him with bloodletting and simple cures. She said he seemed quite proud of it all when he wrote to her.’

‘What was the occasion of the letter?’

‘He said he might have cause to return to York, there was some trouble in London. His master was a foreigner and under suspicion. Janet’s husband did not want him in their home, but she did not know what recourse she would have were Alan to come when Jack was away. Perhaps that is why she took Bernard as a lodger.’

A foreign physician, trouble, an assistant fleeing London. ‘Do you recall when Bernard arrived in York?’

Gemma closed her eyes. ‘I cannot recall. I was caught up in my own worries. I am sorry.’

‘You have been more than helpful,’ said Owen. He rose. ‘I will speak with Hempe, arrange to have your home and those of your children watched until we have caught your husband’s killer.’

She had risen as well, pressing her back with weariness. ‘You believe me?’

‘I am grateful,’ he said, bobbing his head as if nodding.

‘Bless you, Captain. Bless you.’

Owen stepped out into a late afternoon heavy with the day’s rain yet crowned with a deep blue, and a sun bright where it found a way into the overhanging stories of the crowded street. He breathed in deep and set off at a brisk pace for the shop and Lucie’s counsel. On Coney Street he encountered a small pulsing knot of men and women shouting curses. Pushing his way into their midst he found Goodwife Keene, an elderly midwife, cowering as she covered her head with her arms against the blows two youths and a woman rained on her. Yanking the two youths out of the way he caught the arm of the offending woman and held it until she looked up, stepping back with a snarl as if she were a mad dog interrupted in battle. Agnes Baker. For years she had whispered ugly rumors about Lucie, who had done her the great disservice of saving her from herself. Agnes had appeared far too often to purchase certain physicks that calmed the mind and eased pain. After witnessing her stumbling about as if drunk and having difficulty when dealing with customers, forgetting what the person had requested, unable to recall what was available, Lucie had refused to continue to dispense those physicks in more than single doses.

‘What has the goodwife done to provoke you to violence?’ Owen asked.

‘Captain Archer,’ she sneered. ‘I cannot expect you to respect God’s word.’

‘And what word would that be, Goodwife?’

‘He condemns heretics!’

‘I know Goodwife Keene to be a pious Christian. She embroiders cushions for the good monks of Trinity Priory and attends Mass there every Sunday. Perhaps you might learn about your neighbors before condemning them.’

Alice Keene was beyond words, nodding her head while still ducking from expected blows.

‘I shall speak with your parish priest, Dame Agnes, tell him of your violence to a good Christian woman. And as for these youths …’ Owen turned to the two young men held now by the crowd. ‘Ah, one is your son.’ With a hiss Agnes Baker tried to snatch him away, but the man and woman holding him would not give him up.

‘Curse you, Owen Archer,’ Agnes hissed.

‘Now who is the one cursing Christians?’ Owen asked. He took her son by the collar and shook him, letting him go with just the right amount of force to set him rolling on the pavement. ‘Be off with you and take your spineless offspring with you.’

He turned away, not trusting himself to say more. Agnes was the very model of a venomous gossip.

The other youth, Warren, was well known to all the bailiffs and their men, and a regular in the pillory at Trinity Priory. ‘I see that your last turn at the pillory taught you little. But to beat your elder, a woman who has helped safely deliver far finer citizens of York than you will ever be – even I did not expect such cowardice from you.’ He caught him up by the shirt, shook him as well, then tossed him away, knowing the lout would lick his wounds and scurry home only to sin again. ‘As for the rest of you, I am sorry to see that fear has made cruel fools of you.’

Crouching to Goodwife Keene he helped her straighten while an onlooker, clearly contrite about doing nothing, collected the items that had rolled out of the midwife’s basket and offered to carry it home.

‘We will go first to the shop so that I might see to your scratches,’ he told Alice Keene.

‘I pray you, do not bother with me,’ she said. ‘I will clean myself at home.’

‘The mood in the city is ugly,’ said Owen. ‘I will not rest easy until I have seen to your injuries and escorted you home.’ He thanked the woman who held the basket and took it from her.

In the apothecary workshop Lucie saw to Alice’s facial injuries – deep scratches on her face, the work of someone’s fingernails, and a bruise beginning to color on her broad forehead. She prepared a comfrey paste that would soothe the scratches, a St John’s wort salve for bruises, telling her to check herself for other injuries once she was home, a feverfew powder for the headache to come.

After escorting Alice home, Owen headed to the York Tavern. He would have preferred going straight back to Lucie to tell her all he had heard from Gemma Toller, but she had deliveries to store after closing the shop.

Seeing his face, Bess drew him into her quiet space next to the kitchen and poured two goodly cups of brandywine, handing him his and tilting her head, ready to listen.

‘Where to start?’ he wondered.

‘Not a comforting beginning.’ She took a drink. ‘I understand you sent Agnes Baker and her loathsome eldest off to do penance for their sins. We may never see them again. I toast you for that.’ She lifted her cup to him and took another drink.

‘Not surprised you heard. Folk are on edge. Guthlac Wolcott is dead.’

‘I heard. Not pestilence, but folk won’t believe it. And being buried out in the kirkyard here. We will be busy with folk wanting to drink and gawk.’ She knew more than Owen did. ‘Though the family has suffered much this past year – the little ones, then their factor’s death, now Guthlac, I have a bad feeling about that son and the young wife.’ She leaned toward Owen, studying his face. ‘I see you have somewhat to say about that. Tell me.’

While Owen was telling her about Gemma Toller’s suspicions regarding Beatrice’s children, Hempe arrived.

‘Tom told me you were here,’ he said. ‘I hoped for a word.’

Bess motioned him in, fetching another cup from the shelf behind her, offering him brandywine. She summed up for him what Owen had just said.

Hempe shook his head. ‘She told you all that? How did you charm her? She never said aught of use to either me or Poole.’

‘We disregarded her as a shrew,’ said Owen. ‘Which she may be, with a purpose. Or she may provide insight. I’ve not yet decided.’

‘What changed your mind about her usefulness?’ Hempe asked.

‘It was something Lucie said when we spoke of Dame Beatrice’s condition.’

Bess gave him a look as if to say, of course. ‘What of Guthlac’s death?’ she asked. ‘Did she find blame with Bernard?’

‘I sensed no opinion on that except that Bernard may not be who he claims.’ Owen told them what he knew and suspected.

‘Fled trouble in London and changed his name?’ Hempe said softly. ‘And climbed from barber to physician, educated in Italy.’ He held out his empty cup for more. ‘Might he be an executioner for those willing to pay well?’

‘I wonder,’ said Owen.

‘Did I hear you say that Dame Beatrice is with child?’ asked Hempe. ‘Is Gemma certain?’

‘Dame Magda is,’ said Owen. ‘And there is more.’ He told them the rest of what Lettice had told them, of her conviction that the Wolcotts were behind her tragedy.

‘God in heaven,’ Hempe whispered.

Bess shifted in her seat, setting the ribbons on her cap dancing. ‘Bad seed, that Gavin. I have always thought that. To think that he would so coldly plot his father’s death. And what of his friendship with the mayor? Is Graa part of this?’

Owen marked that Bess knew of the friendship. ‘No one has suggested so. But the warehousemen who beat Lettice’s husband were Graa’s men.’

‘So we keep this investigation to ourselves until we know what is what,’ said Hempe.

They spoke more, Hempe talking of disturbances throughout the city. When Owen rose to leave, he declared his intention of calling on the Fullers the next morning, after the burial.

‘I pray you, do not cross the threshold,’ said Bess. ‘You do not want to bring home the Death.’

Hempe rose as well. ‘Lotta and I will attend the vigil at the Wolcott home tonight. For a short while. Dame Beatrice attended Sam’s requiem, and would have come to the vigil the night before, I think, but that she knew of his widow’s animosity toward her. I will tell you whether I notice anything of interest.’

‘Have a care, both of you,’ Bess warned.

Owen was not entirely pleased to see Brother Michaelo sitting by the garden window in the hall as he headed into the kitchen.

Lucie looked up from the bowl of warm water in which she was washing her hands.

‘A timely arrival. I have just come from the workshop.’

‘I see we have a visitor.’

‘He said he will not stay long,’ said Kate. ‘He wishes to speak with you about Einar. To warn you. How is Goodwife Keene?’

‘She is shaken,’ said Owen. ‘I think midwives will be hesitant to attend births until folk calm, and I cannot blame them. The city might promise protection, though even if the council would agree – which is doubtful – we cannot be everywhere.’ A weariness wrapped him and pulled him down as he took off his boots. He wanted nothing so much as to slump up to bed and sleep. Yet he knew sleep would elude him. His mind was noisy, desperately racing about trying to disentangle the threads of thoughts and order them. ‘It is too easy to point at a female healer in accusation. Yet a man such as Bernard leaves a trail of ruin behind him and all are silent.’

Lucie walked over to take his hand. ‘It is ever so. And men of the Church are ever ready to point at women and absolve men. Come. Let us hear Michaelo’s news.’

Michaelo set aside a bowl of ale and rose with grace from his seat near the fire in the hall, bowing to them. ‘Forgive the intrusion, but I felt you should hear of Einar’s behavior tonight.’

‘Trouble?’

‘Distress. I told him how Asa had walked onto the ship to attend Jack Fuller. How she had called for help guiding him home, and then stayed with him even though Master Bernard might return and take umbrage at her presence. He groaned and kept muttering, “No, no, I must stop her.” Thinking to comfort him I told him I understood that he feared for her, that the Death might take her. But he corrected me. “She means to punish him for using her and then throwing her aside.”’

‘Punish Bernard?’ Owen asked.

‘Yes. He would say no more, but his mind was not on the folk we attended tonight. I wished he would go to her.’

‘And did he?’

‘No. He went to Dame Magda. Seeking her advice.’

‘I hope that is true.’ Another thread tangling the riot in his head. Bernard had used Asa? He remembered what Magda had said, that the leech might have sought Asa’s advice. ‘I mean to call at the Fullers in the morning. After Guthlac’s burial.’

‘Have a care,’ Michaelo said softly. ‘I would not have you fall ill.’

‘Nor I,’ said Lucie.

Once again he promised not to cross the threshold. ‘I am moved by your concern, Michaelo.’

‘You have much work to do,’ said the monk.

‘I do. And there will be much more.’ He told him about the incident with Goodwife Keene. ‘We have gone far beyond a few troublemakers.’

‘As I said, you cannot be spared.’ Michaelo rose as if to leave.

‘Stay a moment,’ said Owen. ‘There is something I would like you to hear. It will not take long.’

Kate knocked, then entered with a jug of ale and two additional bowls. ‘I thought you might have need of this. And I will bring bread and cheese if you like.’

‘Bless you, yes,’ said Lucie.

Settled near the window for the refreshing evening breeze, Owen told them of what he suspected regarding Bernard.

‘A physician in London. The need to flee,’ Michaelo said. ‘You are thinking of Monsieur Ricard’s execution for treason against Prince Edward. That Alan was in his household and changed his name as he fled.’

‘Am I too eager to make a connection?’ Owen asked.

‘Eager?’ said Lucie. ‘I cannot think you welcome such trouble in the city. I, too, thought of him.’

‘I question the prince’s choice in men for the search,’ said Michaelo. ‘That they would lose the trail when he has done everything to be conspicuous.’

‘Not his intention, I think,’ said Owen. ‘At St George’s Field he exchanged angry words with Gavin Wolcott, accusing him of endangering him by spreading rumors about him.’

‘Gavin Wolcott,’ Lucie whispered.

‘There is more.’ Owen told them all that Gemma had confided, as well as Magda’s news of Beatrice and Lettice’s fears.

‘A web,’ said Lucie. ‘All spun by the same spider?’

‘Or several conjoined for mutual benefit,’ said Owen.

‘Shall I compose a letter to the prince?’ asked Michaelo.

‘I would hope to have this resolved long before a letter might reach him, he acts, and his men arrive, but yes. At least he will be alerted. Thank you for offering.’

Michaelo rose, bowed. ‘I shall bring the letter in the morning. We might discuss it while we watch the burial.’

When he was gone, Lucie began to pace. ‘Asa and Bernard, or whoever he is. He was here weeks before she arrived with Einar. Can that mean something?’

‘I wish I knew.’

Lucie continued to pace. Owen settled back to fill his stomach.

‘The day went well?’ he asked.

‘I am pleased to say the shop was busy, and no one made a fuss about waiting. I turned away a few who asked me to act as midwife, assuring them that there were sufficient experienced midwives in the city. But hearing of what happened to Goodwife Keene I wonder if they will hesitate to attend births until – until what? I pray for the city.’

‘You have all you can do to care for the shop,’ said Owen. ‘You cannot add midwifery to your tasks.’

‘No. Nor was I tempted.’ She held out her hand. ‘Shall we go to bed, my love? I missed you last night. After I show you how much, we might talk more.’

Owen thought that an excellent plan.

Magda had sensed Einar’s agitation from the doorway, but continued ladling stew. He sat down and took the bowl she offered but forgot about it on his lap, letting it cool as he began to unburden himself.

‘Asa has– Do you know the Fullers? He’s a–’

‘Riverman. Yes.’

‘Fuller’s ship docked today. Asa was on the staithe and heard that he was unwell, no one would help him, fearing the Death. Brother Michaelo assisted her in helping him home. Asa means to bide there, caring for him. I cannot– I must stop her.’

‘Did she not tell thee that was her wish, to help those all other healers shunned?’

‘She said nothing of it to me. But Bernard? No. If it were anyone else I would admire her action. But the leech. I do not trust her motive.’

‘Dost thou know what it is? Or art thou guessing?’

‘In truth, I am guessing. She’s kept much from me. For a long while in Lincoln she said nothing of her work with Bernard.’

‘She worked with him?’

‘Yes. And now hates him for taking her up and then discarding her.’

‘In what way did he take her up?’

‘He proposed they work together, that they would share what they knew, each would learn. Asa feels he received all the benefit for he knew little more than bloodletting. And then he left Lincoln without a word.’

‘That is why she cursed his family when she found him.’

‘You know of that?’

‘Such loud words spoken on the street – all York heard the tale of the gray-haired healer shaking her cane and calling down curses on him and his kin.’

‘And now she pretends to help them. But that is not her intent. We must stop her.’

‘With or without Asa, the family will feel cursed. Jack Fuller has brought home the manqualm. His beloved daughter, gentle, frail Cilla, may succumb. Thou dost not necessarily know Asa’s heart. She might choose to do for the Fullers what Bernard cannot. Prove her worth to the city while shaming him.’

‘I wish I could believe that would satisfy her. But I cannot. I should have told all that I knew to Captain Archer.’

‘Go to him in the morning. Tell him all you wish him to know.’

‘Will you come with me?’

‘No. This is thy mission, not Magda’s.’

‘At least let me tell you–’

‘Eat now. When Magda changes thy bandage, that will be the time to talk.’