The Riverwoman’s Dragon

11 Whose Vengeance?

A summery morning had coaxed Owen out into the garden, where he had walked the paths, collecting debris, plucking out stray weeds before breaking his fast. He paused beneath an apple tree, remembering his first spring in this garden, the feeling of having come home after years in the service of the old duke. This tree had reminded him of his mother, how she pampered and tended the fruiting trees in their small garden. How closely he had watched her work, just as his children followed Lucie around the garden, curious and eager to help. His precious little ones. What were Gwen, Hugh, and Emma doing now? Were they playing in the old orchard at Freythorpe? Did they think of him? He bowed his head when the bells rang for Guthlac’s mass, saying a prayer for the man’s soul.

The quiet moment was shattered by Hempe clattering through the gate, his bald head uncovered, hat crushed in his hand. ‘Something is not right about Guthlac’s death and this hasty burial.’

‘We bury folk quickly in a plague summer, you know that.’

‘Still.’

‘What troubles you?’

‘Last night Lotta and I called on the Wolcotts to honor the vigil, sit up for a while with Dame Beatrice. It was warm in the room, a window open to allow his soul to escape and I knelt there for the air. Gavin kept slipping in and out of the room – I could hear him out in the garden. And every time, Dame Beatrice would look up – something about how she did, she was not mourning, she was – anticipating? It felt wrong, all of it. When we departed I slipped out back and there was a cart piled high with belongings, a manservant standing guard. He said that after the burial Dame Beatrice wished to go to her parents. Master Gavin would escort her there while they were burning the bedding of the late master and purifying the house. Lotta was annoyed with me for behaving as if I suspected them of some crime, and when I told her what the servant had said she thought it a kind act on Gavin’s part. Of course the young widow would find comfort in her parents. But Lotta woke me this morning. “I just remembered that her parents are dead,” she said. “Beatrice’s. Folk whispered when they were wed, that young child to that old man, that her brother was eager to marry her off. She and his wife were always sparring.” I was forgiven for my distrust.’

‘Where are they headed?’ Owen wondered. ‘And what is of such value in that cart it must be watched?’

‘And isn’t it curious that Master Bernard neither sat the vigil last night nor attended the service this morning.’

‘I heard the bells chime the end of the service. Did you stay throughout? Are they on their way to the cemetery?’

‘I did not stay. I needed to see you, talk this over.’

‘He might have arrived late–’ Owen thought about Asa tending Jack Fuller. ‘Or there might be trouble at his lodging. I mean to stop there after the burial.’

‘Might we go now? We might pass the procession on the street.’

‘I need food, my friend. I’ve not yet broken my fast. Come. I will not be long.’

He found Michaelo in the kitchen, talking to Lucie. Nodding a greeting to Hempe, the monk proffered Owen a wax tablet. ‘I propose this letter to the prince.’

Owen read while he ate bread and cheese and washed it down with some ale. Short, succinct, stating the details so that Prince Edward might decide whether or not to send an envoy. His only quibble was vowing to take Bernard – Alan – into custody and question him, holding him if his suspicions seemed justified. That might be Owen’s intention, but to promise such to the prince was unwise.

‘Say that the man will be watched, questioned, and prevented from leaving the city.’

Michaelo nodded. ‘Perhaps I might add, “should he survive the sickness in his household.”’

‘A grim practicality,’ said Owen as he returned the tablet, ‘but unnecessary. How soon can you send it?’

‘Archdeacon Jehannes knows of a messenger heading south on the morrow. It will travel with him. I will deliver it for you to sign and seal before I see to the sick in the minster yard.’ The prince had given Owen a seal specific to his correspondence so that all might know to expedite it.

Thanking him, Owen took Lucie aside to tell her what troubled Hempe, and where they were headed.

‘I will watch Guthlac’s burial, tell you if I notice anything of note,’ she said. ‘You might ask Michaelo to accompany you. He mentioned calling on the Fullers to offer help if they needed him. If they do not require him, I could use him in the shop today. Jasper wishes to walk the prayer procession in St Helen’s midday.’

Bess and Tom Merchet stood in the tavern yard with their staff and a few others, quietly awaiting the burial procession. Owen and his companions were turning into Coney Street when they met the solemn processional. They pressed close to the building to make room. As the coffin passed, Owen bowed his head and crossed himself. Gavin and three other merchants served as bearers, walking in solemn gait behind the priest and two clerks, one holding a crucifix aloft, the other carrying the censer. Dame Beatrice Wolcott followed, her eyes lowered, hands pressed together in prayer. Behind her were a few neighbors and a small group who seemed to turn out for all burials. No sign of the leech.

‘Any word from your watch on the Wolcott home?’ Owen asked Hempe.

‘I have two on the watch, one who can see the front of the house from the Ferriby yard, one who can watch the area in the back garden, and the loaded cart. The one in front saw a man arrive late in the night with a package, large and apparently heavy, drawn quickly and quietly into the house. The one watching the cart saw that package placed in the cart before dawn.’

‘Any thoughts on what it contained?’

‘None. Perhaps something from the warehouse?’

‘So late at night?’

‘I know. During the day I have only one watcher posted. Less conspicuous. He’s playing gardener at the Ferriby house,’ said Hempe. ‘The letter to the prince. You are convinced the leech is the Alan that His Grace seeks?’

‘I am, yes.’

‘God help us.’

After knocking on the door to the Fuller home Owen stepped back, assailed by a pungent cloud of juniper-laden smoke wafting from a shuttered window. It would ever be a plague smell to him. Michaelo murmured a prayer.

Janet Fuller opened the door a crack to peer out, her hair wild about her, clinging to her sweaty face. ‘Captain Archer and Bailiff Hempe.’ She seemed to choke on their names. Swinging the door wider, she said, ‘And Brother Michaelo. Bless you for your kindness yesterday.’ As the monk stepped forward she held up a hand to stay him. ‘This is a plague house. My Jack is beyond help. God will soon call him. Cilla fell ill this morning.’ Her voice broke. ‘And Asa, he beat her so badly I fear for her.’ She bowed her head. ‘To pay such a price for her kindness. Her friend Einar is with her.’

‘Who beat her?’ Owen asked.

‘My brother. Alan.’

‘Is he here now?’ Hempe asked.

‘No.’

From an arm’s length back Owen tried to peer beyond her, but he could see little in the dimly lit room. ‘But Einar is here?’ he asked.

‘Yes. He has seen to her, comforting her where she lay after the beating. She was in such pain. I did not know what to do. I feared if I moved her I might cause more injury.’

‘If you would tell us what happened,’ said Owen. ‘When was Alan here?’

‘He returned late in the evening. I was sitting by my daughter’s bed behind the screen, holding her hand and singing to her while Dame Asa lanced Jack’s boils. The stench of it–’ Janet sobbed.

‘And he beat her?’ Owen asked.

A sharp nod. ‘He pulled Dame Asa from the chair where she sat by my husband and threw her against the wall. She lay there unmoving. But he kept beating her. Kicked her, struck her with the chair, stepped on her right hand until I heard– Mother Mary, stomping and grinding and shouting that he would save the world from her sorcery, her vile drawings, the poppet curses, her thievery. But he is wrong. Alan is the devil’s foot soldier, not Asa.’

Deus juva me, Owen silently prayed. The brutality. ‘Do you have any idea what provoked such a rage?’

‘At first I thought it was the knife she was using. She went searching for a sharp one and found one among his things. When he went for her I tried to stop him. I feared he would cause her to slip and hurt Jack. But he was too quick for me. He wrenched the knife from her hand. Made her bleed. God help me, I cursed him and ordered him out. “You wait,” he said to her.’

‘What did Asa do?’ Hempe asked.

Janet pressed a hand to her eyes. ‘What was it she said?’

Behind Janet Owen heard Einar’s voice, speaking softly.

‘I remember,’ said Janet. ‘She called after him that she knew who he was and had told the sheriff. He cursed her but went on out of the door. I prayed he was gone. Then I heard him on the steps to the solar.’

Alan knew his secret was out. ‘And Asa?’ Owen asked.

‘She took another knife from the scrip on her girdle. But her hands were shaking and I took it from her, gave her wine. She drank it while I cleaned the black poison from my love’s groin.’ A sob.

‘Take your time,’ said Owen softly. He turned to stare down a curious neighbor, who scurried off.

Janet found her voice. ‘All the while we could hear him up above, stomping about and raging. God help us. I went to calm my daughter. She was begging me to go out into the street and call for the night watch. We were arguing when he rushed in and set upon Dame Asa.’

Owen doubted the night watch would have been of much use by then. ‘The knives. Are any of them still here?’ He hoped they might carry some proof of Alan’s connection to Monsieur Ricard, something that would convince the sheriff that ‘Master Bernard’ was indeed Alan Rawcliff. Why else would Asa taunt him?

‘I will look on the table,’ said Janet.

‘And the poppets he mentioned. Did you see any?’ Owen asked. ‘Or drawings?’

‘I have,’ said Einar, appearing behind her. He held up what Owen guessed to be a mandrake root dressed in drab clothing, like Alan’s. ‘Asa stole Alisoun’s mandrake root and made a poppet, a curse. From what Cilla said about what he was shouting, Asa had tucked it in his bedding. He must have found it last night. Asa had told Cilla about it. Assured her it would frighten him away. He threw it at Asa before he grabbed her hand.’

‘You knew she meant to do this?’ Owen asked.

‘She spoke of it. I knew she had the root with her when she left Dame Magda’s home. And I found this folded up in her scrip.’ Einar gave Janet a paper to pass to Owen.

Glancing at it, Owen recognized Asa’s work, though the skull-like head surrounded by writhing vines came from a far darker place than the flowers and animals with which she had decorated her home up on the moors. He tucked it into his scrip.

‘Did you find any knives?’

‘I was not looking for them,’ said Einar.

‘Where is your brother now?’ Owen asked Janet.

‘He must have run out into the night when I went to the kitchen for a cleaver. He was gone when I came back and has not returned, praise God.’

‘We must take Asa to Dame Magda,’ said Einar. ‘You can search her scrip then.’

Owen looked to Michaelo. ‘Can you and Einar fashion a litter and bring her out? Hempe and I can then take her.’

‘I will take her,’ said Einar. ‘If Brother Michaelo would stay with Dame Janet.’

‘Of course,’ said Michaelo.

Janet protested.

‘I pray you, permit me to be of help,’ said the monk. ‘I have been among victims of the sickness and have not as yet fallen ill, nor do I have family to protect.’

‘Are you certain?’ When Michaelo nodded, Janet said, ‘Bless you,’ and stepped away.

While Einar led the monk to Asa, Janet checked the table by her husband, returning to say Alan must have taken the knives.

As expected. Owen asked if she had all she needed, listened to her requests, promised to return with them after Asa was settled.

Hempe nodded. ‘It is a long way through the city to Magda’s rock. I will fetch a cart and alert my men to search for – I will tell them Bernard. It is how they know him. When you go through Bootham, ask whether the gatekeeper saw him. That will be one less task to assign.’

With a nod, Owen settled on the step to await Hempe’s return, trying to imagine where Alan might flee. A frustrating endeavor, for he hardly knew the man. He rose to pace and think, but his mind kept turning to the brutality of Alan’s attack.

When Hempe at last appeared leading a donkey and cart, Owen hurried to him. It was a rickety thing, lurching to one side. Seeing it, Owen asked Janet for a hammer.

‘You will find one in the shed behind the house.’

It was the work of a few minutes to repair the axle well enough for the journey.

‘The carter will be pleased,’ said Hempe. ‘I paid him far more than this is worth, and now you have repaired it.’

‘For the moment,’ Owen said. ‘As you say, it is a long way.’

Einar and Brother Michaelo brought Asa out on a board that likely served as the family’s table. She was wrapped in a shawl, but with enough of her face visible to see the swelling, the bruises, and the caked blood on her forehead. Those were only the visible injuries. Though Asa did not appear to be conscious, she gasped and moaned as they tilted the board to lift it up into the cart. Owen curled his hands into fists imagining what he would do to the cur when he found him.

Owen would remember little of the slow journey across Foss Bridge and through the city that warm, sunny morning. On such a summery day one would expect the streets to be filled with people young and old finding cause to be out enjoying the warmth on their skin, the light. But if they crowded the streets he traversed they must have made way, for he recalled no obstacles. Neither did he remember any conversation with Einar, and Asa did not regain consciousness for all the motion. He was lost in combing through all that he had heard or thought about Alan in search of missed warnings. Never had he imagined the man capable of the violence he had inflicted on Asa. Why had he not anticipated it? Because he called himself a healer? His pose of piety? Owen had never imagined the man could be so easily provoked to physical brutality. Even a man facing death for treason – to beat a woman with such brutal intent felt far beyond anything he might have expected. Or was it? How many men beat their wives after being crossed in far more mundane ways, often not by her but by someone else? Too many. And a man accused of treason was a desperate man.

A thought gnawed at him. Was he no better than the folk who easily believed violence of women healers, curses, spells, but would never so accuse a physician, leech, barber? Alan’s contempt for female healers – had that not been the warning sign? Owen might have guessed. He might have warned Asa.

‘God go with you, Captain Archer.’

Owen snapped to attention at the greeting from the gatekeeper at Bootham Bar. Not his friend today but Oswald, younger, less experienced, though diligent and trustworthy.

‘Plague death?’ Oswald asked, keeping his distance and holding a cloth to his nose.

‘A victim of a brutal beating, not dead, God be thanked. Have you seen the leech Bernard come through?’

‘Master Bernard?’ Oswald shook his head. ‘Not today. But he would be at the Wolcott burial, would he not?’

‘He was not. I thought perhaps he had been summoned from the city.’

‘If he was, not in this direction. Most folk head out this way to consult the Riverwoman.’

‘As do I.’

Oswald waved them through, wishing them Godspeed.

‘She has not moved,’ said Einar from the cart.

‘Better that she not suffer the journey. Did you give her something to help her sleep?’

‘Dame Janet gave me valerian powder in wine to dribble into her mouth. But she has not awakened since the beating.’

‘Did you examine her? What are her injuries?’

‘You can see the gash on her head, and bleeding either on or inside that ear. Her lip is split in two places, her nose broken. She has much pain along her right side. I would guess he broke some ribs. Her right forearm and hand are bruised and swollen, and her right foot lay at an uncomfortable angle. I did not trust myself to move her much. Dame Janet had covered her with a blanket and tried to give her water, dribbling with a spoon.’ He groaned. ‘It is my fault. If I had told you all that I knew–’

‘Not now, Einar. I need you here with me, aware of everything you do, everything you hear. We will talk later.’

At the river, after Owen checked that Asa’s bindings were secure, a group of men offered to help transport her to Magda’s rock. They knew the river, they assured him. The tide was not fully in and they knew where to walk. Lifting the board on which she lay out of the cart, they gently set it on the water. Owen and Einar followed the men as they floated Asa to the rock.

Twig came out to watch, the kitten in his arms. ‘I will put out the trestles,’ he said, disappearing within. At the rock, Owen and Einar took either end of the board. Thanking the men who had guided Asa across, Owen bowed to the dragon and led the way into the house, setting it on the trestles by the fire.

‘Dame Magda said she would be back at midday,’ said Twig. ‘She expected to be needed here.’

After Owen removed Asa’s bindings he set to cleaning her so he might gauge the extent of her injuries. The blood on her face appeared to have come from a gash in her temple rather than from within her ear, preferable, but still dangerous, and likely the reason she did not wake. Into the hot water he poured a mixture of agrimony, ivy, and dock root for deep cleansing, having Einar hold a padding of cloth soaked in the mixture to the wound while he wound a clean strip of linen round her head. Twig fetched a cushion for Owen to place beneath her head, supporting her neck. The swelling made it difficult to determine just where there might be breaks in her forearm, hand, foot, and leg, so Owen did little more than clean them with the mixture and applied poultices of nepte leaves with chervil and comfrey, as well as a little arnica from Lucie’s garden. All the while, Einar had spooned into Asa’s mouth a weak mixture of poppy milk and valerian in wine.

Magda would be a better judge about how to proceed. Asa was her daughter and had recently been in her care. With luck the swelling might go down by the time she returned. Not knowing the extent of her internal injuries, Owen dare not move her to a bed where she might rest in more comfort, but he folded a blanket and gently lifted her shoulders to slide it beneath her, then covered her with another.

When Asa seemed settled, her breathing improved, Owen insisted on examining Einar’s injured arm. The young man had removed the sling in order to help carry Asa out of the house and place her in the cart, which made sense at the time. Einar winced at Owen’s touch.

‘A lot of swelling,’ Owen noted. ‘Are you in much pain?’

‘Dame Magda says it is healing well.’

Avoiding the question meant a yes to Owen. ‘That was before sitting up all night attending Asa, then carrying her out.’ He removed the bandage. As he’d thought, the activity had reopened the wound. But he had expected worse. Changing the bandage should be sufficient for now. He added a little salve for good measure.

‘Before you leave I want to talk, Captain.’

‘I mean to stay until Magda returns. She may need me.’ But the change in the young man’s voice, a tremor, a hesitation, caught Owen’s attention. ‘If you’re worried about Asa, her breathing is good. And her heart. She may fully recover.’

‘It’s not that. There is much you must know.’

Owen did have questions. ‘Come out into the air.’ He instructed Twig to let them know if there was any change in Asa. Stepping out, he chose the side of the house looking toward the south bank and settled on a bench, stretching out his legs.

Einar joined him. ‘I might have prevented Asa’s injuries. I knew Bernard’s temper, had experience fighting with him.’

‘You? When?’

‘It is a long tale.’

‘I am aware that he is not who he claims to be, that he is Janet Fuller’s brother, Alan. I was looking for him this morning. I thought to find him at the Fuller home.’

‘I did not know their relation until last night, at the Fuller home. God help me. I went to protect the family from Asa.’

‘Brother Michaelo told me.’

‘I was right that, hating him as she does, she meant to do something to goad Bernard – Alan. But I was wrong about what that was. It seems she was of much help until he attacked her.’

‘Was he still there when you arrived?’

‘No. You need to know about Alan. I encountered him in London. I am sure of it.’

‘Go on.’

‘When my father fell ill he sold his medicines and his tools for bloodletting to pay for food and shelter, letting me shift for myself in continuing our work. I found my way to London, stealing just enough to get by, thinking to apprentice to a barber. But I knew no one. I could find no honest work, so I fell in with thieves. I was good at it. Worked my way into a band that robbed the finest houses. When a French physician was arrested for treason I volunteered to be first one through the house, report what was there. I hoped to find all that I needed and to set myself up as a traveling barber. I found the house filled with silver and much that would bring a good price, but no tools. Beyond the master’s bedchamber there was a stairway down to a smaller building. When I stepped through the door I heard someone, slipped in unnoticed, watched him emptying the room of medical implements and supplies. He knew what to take.’

‘All that you wanted.’

‘Yes. So I attacked him. He was stronger and faster than he looked. Better fed. He beat me and ran off, dropping a few of the smaller tools in his haste. I was not so badly beaten I missed out on them and some silver. With coin in my pockets I went to the taverns. I learned that the king’s men were searching for a man named Alan Rawcliff, the French physician’s assistant. He’d escaped before they raided the house. Sounded like the man I’d fought. I started hunting him, thinking I could catch him with the stolen items and be rewarded.’

‘What was the physician’s name?’ Owen asked.

‘Ricard.’

The Frenchman who had slowly poisoned Prince Edward. Owen had been right about Alan’s identity. ‘Go on.’

‘I picked up his scent in Peterborough, but he’d already moved on. Someone thought to Lincoln. And he’d changed his name to Bernard. In Lincoln I heard of a woman who said she was Magda Digby’s daughter working with a barber named Bernard. That’s how I found Asa.’

‘She was working with him?’

‘Yes. Making good money. He spoke well, dressed well, found his way into the homes of far wealthier folk than she might. But he knew little beyond bloodletting. She offered to train him as they worked together. I learned all this by following her. She was friendly to me, permitted me to stay with her, but made it plain that I should not nose about her business. I might have warned her then that he would not stay.’

‘He disappeared?’

‘She was furious, as you can imagine. And he had taken some of her medicines. A while after he had left Lincoln, the king’s men arrived, searching the city for a traitor. Their description of Alan Rawcliff, assistant to the traitor Monsieur Ricard, matched Bernard, even down to Asa’s belief that he’d never done more than apply leeches and administer simple remedies, which is what he’d done for Ricard. Like I said, I’d already guessed who he was, but now I knew. A few folk whispered of Bernard the barber, but as he was gone it seemed no one told the king’s men that he might have been there. The city merchants and Churchmen wished to avoid trouble in Lincoln. Asa was excited. We would hunt him down and turn him in.’

‘She took up your cause.’

‘She did not know I had already been on the hunt. Or – perhaps she did.’ He opened his palm. ‘This knife was in her scrip. It has Monsieur Ricard’s mark on it. So do the tools Alan dropped. She might have seen them and noticed the mark, known this knife was proof.’

‘It does explain why he snatched it from her. How did you trace him to York?’

‘A chance conversation with a taverner at the edge of the city a few months after he left. He seemed eager to gossip about travelers, so I asked about Bernard. “Ah, the sly barber sold himself to a York merchant as a physician educated in Italy. Rode off with him.”’

‘The taverner said nothing to the king’s men?’

‘I did not ask. To my shame I thought only of how Asa and I might benefit from his trouble if we followed him to York.’

‘Did he mention what York merchant?’

‘Called him a young fool traveling with several others who were angry with him when they discovered he had invited Alan along.’

‘So you told Asa where he had gone …’

They had then come to York, and in short order heard of the rumors about Magda Digby, some of the accusations so close to Asa’s manner of speech that Einar realized Alan must be using her confidences. He said nothing until he met Magda himself and found her not at all how Asa had described her, but rather a woman from whom he wished to learn, a woman of wisdom and honor. When Asa complained about Alan, Einar laughed at her.

‘By then she disgusted me as much as he did. I hoped that with Dame Magda I might learn healing. If I could convince her that I am called to it … So I told Asa that once I ferried her across the river I wanted no more to do with her.’ He bowed his head. ‘She did not deserve what she’s suffered.’

‘No.’ Owen said nothing for a while.

Einar rose, stepped down to the edge of the rock, stuck a hand in the water. ‘I like it here on the river. I pray Dame Magda will forgive me.’

‘You have told her all this?’

‘I did. But all she said was that you were the one to hear it. She did not throw me out, but she will.’ A heavy sigh.

‘You said Asa used Alisoun’s mandrake to make the poppet. She knew Alan feared them?’

‘She said they held a particular terror for him.’

‘When did she steal it?’

‘I don’t know. She showed it to me the day I rowed her across the river. She stole a number of household goods from Dame Magda as well.’

‘I thought she had used the mandrake root earlier,’ said Owen. ‘There was another, or so Edwin Cooper claimed.’

‘I know nothing of that.’

‘No matter. How long were you here in York before going to Magda?’

‘A fortnight or more. Asa tried to find work, but the fear of strangers was already spreading in the city and she found few who would open the door to her. Folk hurried past her on the streets, cloths over their mouths, though she looks neither ill nor unkempt. Dame Celia Cooper seemed to welcome her, and she hoped that might lead to more work. For a time it did. Until Cooper threw her out and his thugs beat her. She cannot move fast with her bad leg. Lincoln is a city on a steep hill. Several years of climbing it visiting the sick crippled her. She expected York to be easier for her, though the journey from Lincoln was difficult. But despite having the coin to pay, the only lodging we could find here was up a steep set of steps often slippery with rain. She tried to come down only once a day and back up in the evenings. But it meant she was out on the streets all day, walking. After the beating she decided it was time to find her mother and ask for help.’ Einar settled on the bench beside Owen. ‘I cannot think where Alan’s gone.’

‘Nor can I. If he’s in the city, Hempe’s men will find him.’

They were interrupted by Twig, stepping out to tell them that Asa was moaning and licking her lips.

‘Let me help you with that. Oof! That’s a load.’ Jasper laughed as he backed through the beaded doorway to ease his side of a large package down onto the floor where it would be out of the way.

His companion bobbed his head to Lucie. ‘Mistress Wilton. I am Tomas the weaver.’ His accent identified him as a Fleming. ‘This is the fustian the captain ordered for the Riverwoman.’

She had forgotten. ‘Bless you for delivering it.’

‘I try to keep busy. It is hard at present, with the sickness. Folk do not like to come near foreigners.’ He and his family had lived in York a long while. But Lucie knew it was true the Flemings were avoided.

‘Did the captain pay you?’ she asked.

‘More than enough. I have coins to return.’ He counted them out, placing them on the table just inside the door. ‘We were glad for the order. Will the Riverwoman be making clothes for the poor?’

‘She is giving work to a family in need of it. Enough for them, and sufficient to make more to sell and display their skill.’

‘If I might be of help. We have a table at the Thursday market and we could display some of their work. Good for them, good for us.’

‘I will tell Magda of your generous offer.’

He bobbed his head and withdrew, thanking Jasper for his help.

Curious, Lucie untied the cord and lifted the waxed cloth to reveal a fustian unlike anything she had seen in shops, so soft as to seem far costlier, yet with a tight weave for long wear. She would see what she might do to stir up more business for Tomas.

‘I could borrow Bess’s cart and take it to Magda this afternoon,’ said Jasper. ‘I would like to see her.’

‘And Asa?’ They had heard of Owen’s solemn progress through the city and out Bootham, gossip spreading fast.

‘No. Just–’

‘You need not explain. For months you have been chained to the shop with little chance to stretch your legs and see something else. I accept your offer. Remember to take the coin.’

In the early morning Magda had been called to a home halfway to Easingwold. A child had tumbled from a roof. Setting the bones of a young child was ever the most difficult, and Magda had been weary of heart and spirit by the time she went to the glade to see how Helen and her twins fared. The family’s joy cheered her, and when the children invited her to share a meat pie they had made from their father’s catch she welcomed the chance to prolong her time in the healing place. So it was that she turned home long after she had intended. She had not forgotten that she would be needed, but she had sensed Bird-eye’s presence, and knew that whatever the problem, he could cope until her return.

Raven chided her along the way, urging her to walk faster. Asa, then. Magda reached out to her daughter, finding confusion and pain, a great deal of pain, but no anger. Broken bones, broken spirit. Tears. She quickened her pace, but a flood of memories slowed her – Asa’s childhood of broken bones, torn skin, loosened teeth, sprains, screams, curses, high fevers, but never tears. By the time she bore Asa, Magda knew that children survived illnesses and injuries that felled older folk. Some criticized her for allowing her child to run wild. But Asa was wild, a creature of the moors, buffeted by winds, nurtured by storms and inconstant sun. Four-legged animals and those with wings spoke to Asa more clearly than the two-legged folk among whom she lived. She’d sought out the ancient trees, sitting on their roots through the day, drinking in their wisdom. Among her own kind she was ever ready to erupt in fury, chilling in her delight in cruel barbs and japes. She had only disdain for her brother Potter, but she had loved her father, whom all called Digby. He carved and chiseled life out of wood and rock, humming as he worked, or weaving stories as folk in the village brought out their own work to listen. Strong, a man of few words when he was not telling tales, he comforted and cajoled his wild daughter, encouraged his quiet, curious, awkward son. When Magda felt the call to go south to the forest of Galtres, Digby had blessed Potter’s decision to accompany her, expecting both to return before long. Asa had cursed both of them, angry about their defection, though except for her mother’s healing skills she had wished to have nothing to do with them. And she had cursed Magda again on her return, blaming her for both the deaths of her father and her brother. Now she came for healing. The pungent scents of the woodland rooted Magda in the present as she remembered, propelling her homeward.

By the time she greeted the dragon, Magda had heard from her lads how Bird-eye and Einar had brought Asa strapped to a board, unconscious, how the men had floated her to the rock. In the house she found Bird-eye bent over Asa, whispering to her. Magda joined him, looking down on her daughter, drinking in the pain that radiated from her body and her heart. Breathing it in, breathing out a promise of ease. In and out as she made a cursory exam of the bandage obscuring Asa’s forehead, the eyes blackening over the broken nose, so swollen she must breathe through her mouth. Her eyes opened. Blinking.

‘Mother.’ Mouthed more than spoken. One hand fluttered, the other lay quiet, swollen and discolored. The forearm as well. Tears came.

‘Who did this to thee?’ Magda lifted the blanket to examine her feet. Same side swollen and discolored.

‘Alan, who calls himself Bernard,’ said Owen.

‘Provoked him,’ Asa whispered.

‘Perhaps. But it was his choice to accept the bait and attack thee. Where is the pain?’

‘Everywhere.’ Asa closed her eyes, squeezing out the tears.

‘The most serious injuries are all on her right side,’ said Owen. ‘Forearm, hand, and foot may be broken, and possibly the lower leg. The ribs on that side as well.’

Magda leaned close to listen to Asa’s lungs. She glanced up at Einar. ‘Thou didst a good job of moving her with care. Ribs might be broken, but they have not punctured her lung.’

‘God be praised,’ said Einar.

‘Thy god had naught to do with it. Take credit for thy choices, Einar.’ Looking down at Asa, Magda invited her to rest quietly while she and Owen discussed how to proceed.

Asa reached for Magda with her uninjured hand, pressing her arm. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Hush now. Rest.’ Magda stroked her daughter’s cheek and turned away, motioning to Owen to follow. ‘Einar, stay within Asa’s sight. Lay a comforting hand on her. Twig, thou hast done well to keep the water hot. Hast young Holda eaten?’ The kitten now ate small portions of meat throughout the day.

‘Just a while ago.’

‘Many thanks for thy care this day. Come again tomorrow if thy mother can spare thee.’

Bobbing his head, Twig slipped out the door.

Now they might speak without guarding themselves. While Owen listed all that he had observed, Magda began to mix powders and poultices, preparing for the likeliest events. There was much work to do. ‘Canst thou assist Magda until evening, Bird-eye? By then Einar should be sufficient.’

‘I will stay as long as you have need of me.’

Shortly after nones Jasper brought the Merchets’ cart round to load the fabric. At the shop counter, Lucie measured out cloves and sprigs of juniper for a young mother who could barely speak for the fear choking her, but who had gasped out wishes for Owen’s safety, having seen him escorting Asa through the city. She jumped as a young man hurried into the shop. Lucie held up her hand, signaling him to wait, and finished filling the woman’s basket.

‘Pay me later,’ she said. ‘Go home to your children.’

Whispering her thanks, the woman hurried out, skirting the young man.

‘Brother Michaelo sent me. He needs these items for Dame Janet. I am to wait.’ He handed Lucie a torn piece of paper with a list of items for soothing poultices for the buboes.

‘How is Cilla?’

‘These are for her. She’s badly, Mistress Wilton, and her father’s gone. A while ago.’

Lucie’s heart hurt for Janet, who would be left alone in her grief. She was measuring the items when Jasper came to tell her he was leaving. She gave him the news.

‘Should I stay?’

‘No. There is no line at the door. Go. I am eager to hear what you learn.’

Waking Asa from a restorative sleep, Magda told her that she and the captain must see to her deeper injuries, warning her that there would be pain. Broken bones to set.

‘I can bear it,’ Asa whispered.

With a feather-light touch, Magda placed her hands on Asa’s swollen forearm, sensing the heat, feeling for any breaks in the flow of blood through the limb. She did the same over the hand, staying longer, the bones so intricate. Now she told Einar to do the same. She saw his reluctance, his doubt, but he extended his hands and she softly talked him through it, inquiring about what he felt. He missed the extent of the damage in the hand, misinterpreted a break in the forearm, but he had some ability, which she had expected after what he’d told her of his father, how folk believed him to be a gifted healer because of his uncanny ability to read a body with the lightest touch. In his eyes she saw his hunger to learn more.

Next Magda adjusted Asa’s shift so that she might place bare hands on the swollen rib cage. A possible break there. Wrapping it would support her when she coughed. She moved down to the leg. Though swollen and no doubt painful, and the ankle twisted badly, she sensed no breaks. It should not bear weight for a while, but would heal if packed and bandaged with a poultice of comfrey and arnica like what Bird-eye had applied. She commended both men on their gentle handling, and Bird-eye for the poultice.

‘Not as bad as I feared,’ said Asa with an attempt at a smile.

Drawing Owen to her worktable, Magda confided that splinters of bone in the arm would render the setting painful but she could not risk a strong sedative. Since childhood Asa responded to physicks in ways one could not anticipate.

‘Such a brutal attack,’ said Owen.

‘And the victim an aging woman with brittle bones. Magda will depend on thy strength to keep her still. She will feel the splinters, and the broken bones in her hand will shift painfully as Magda sets her arm.’ She saw his concern. ‘Afterward thou shalt wrap the hand in bandages dipped in a healing paste. Magda will wait a few days for the swelling to lessen before she dares splint the fingers.’

‘The hand will never heal well enough for her to draw, will it?’

‘No.’

She held his arm as his anger flared. ‘Calm thyself, Bird-eye. There is much work to do. Thou canst hunt this man after Asa sleeps with more ease. Now remove thy shirt. This will be bloody and hot – the fire must be stoked to keep Asa warm. She might lose much blood.’

‘You will open her?’

‘Likely the arm, yes.’

The procedure was as difficult and grueling as Magda had predicted. For it happened that Asa’s splintered bones could not be set until Magda removed some of the fragments impeding her work, a long, painful, bloody process. After hours in the warm house, his mind and body devoted to supporting Magda, Owen escaped into the afternoon air, drinking in the breeze from the river, resting his attention on the sound of water, feeling his fatigue.

Magda followed. Lifting her face to the sun she rose on her toes, stretched her arms toward the sky, and let out a long sigh. Owen marveled at the short, slender, aged woman, so agile and graceful after hours bending to difficult surgery. And to subject her own daughter to it – he did not think he could do it. Yet he knew it was the only hope for Asa to have use of the arm and hand. Uncertain as that was. Magda’s eyes were calm now, but it seemed to Owen that the worry lines in her aged face were deeper.

‘I bow to you, Dame Magda. I have never seen such fine work. Far more men would have survived had you been the surgeon in the camps.’

‘Healing soldiers so they might return to the battlefield? Magda would find it difficult to bear. Wouldst thou have the stomach for it now?’

With surprise, he shook his head. ‘No. I would not.’

She smiled, her wrinkles deepening around eyes and mouth. ‘Thou hast a great heart, Owen Archer, and thou hast given much of thyself today. Calm thyself before thou goest into the city.’

Turning back toward the house, Magda touched the dragon’s head, and for a moment it was as if the two became one, woman and dragon, completing each other, a being of fire and water, her scales aglow, hovering in the air, then gracefully diving into the river, but also Magda the woman Owen had always sensed, a warrior woman but with wise eyes that drew him in, clearing his mind of doubt. In that moment he saw the enormity of what she had been teaching him all the while, understood how he blinded himself to the subtleties that would help him in his work. Out of doubt. And fear. He blinked away a tear of frustration, and Magda stood before him as the healer she presented to the world. Nodding to him, she went inside.

Owen lingered, pacing and shaking out his legs and arms, fighting to sustain the vision, allowing himself to see the connection he’d sensed between Magda and Einar, how the young man had known without her saying what she needed of him, and how Owen’s own gift was valuable in a different way. He saw it so clearly now, how he had brushed away his knowing that Gemma Toller, Beatrice Wolcott, and Gavin Wolcott were lying. As he had known from the beginning that the leech was dangerous. He was arguing with himself when he heard his son calling to him.

Jasper stood on the riverbank, pale hair glinting in the sun. Behind him, a donkey cart. Cupping his hands over his mouth he was calling, ‘I’ve brought Dame Magda’s cloth!’

A task forgotten. Lucie must have taken it to hand. Owen motioned for Jasper to wait there and ducked inside to see what Magda would wish him to do.

‘The family is in Galtres, are they not? It is a heavy load to carry far,’ he warned.

Einar glanced up from where he was assisting Magda in wrapping Asa’s rib cage. ‘I could deliver it in the morning.’

Magda nodded to him. ‘Bring it here. Einar will take it tomorrow in Magda’s cart.’

Owen stepped out to motion Jasper across. ‘Use the coracle. We’ll take it back together.’

He felt the calm slipping away.