The Riverwoman’s Dragon

13 Journeys

Armed with his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a dagger, Owen departed just as the city was waking. Carn greeted him at Bootham as he was looking out for Oswald, the young day guard.

‘Bailiff Hempe took men through a while ago, five of them yours, three on horseback.’

‘Horseback?’ Owen was glad to hear it. ‘Anyone else leave the city?’ The gates should not open before dawn, but Carn was in the habit of opening a little early for those departing the city.

‘Not long after your men young Wolcott drove out with his father’s widow. On their way to her parents. Taking her as a kindness.’ When Owen cursed under his breath for missing them Carn mistook it. ‘I agree. Seems soon, Guthlac buried only yesterday. But she was all draped in veils, as was her maidservant, and they clung to each other as if deep in mourning.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Not long. They won’t yet be far into the wood, not with that load. Seems to me a foolhardy undertaking, driving such a heavily laden cart along the track through Galtres. The carthorse seemed restive. Probably the squeaks and the cries of the women. You are expecting trouble, I’m guessing.’

‘I mean to be ready if it should arise,’ said Owen. ‘How many in Wolcott’s company?’

‘Besides the women and the young master, a manservant guiding the horse.’

‘Any other travelers before or after?’

‘After them, a carpenter and apprentice with a cart full of timber for a farm near Easingwold. Pulling it, they were. A long journey for them. Not long after two laborers. Said they work a night watch in the city. Rough sorts. Then a clerk from the minster who was called home to his dying mother. Red eyes, almost tripped over his own feet.’

The timber. That would usually be coming into the city, not out. Owen would look out for them. The laborers from Graa’s warehouse?

‘Did you recognize the grieving clerk as being from the minster?’

‘I cannot say as I did, for I thought him a priest, calling him father. He corrected me.’

‘And the carpenter. Was he familiar?’

‘No, but I do not know all in York.’

‘I owe you some of Tom Merchet’s ale,’ said Owen.

Carn’s weary face brightened. ‘I will be waiting, Captain.’

‘If a young man name of Roland comes looking for me, send him to assist the bailiffs’ men on the riverbank by the Riverwoman’s rock.’

‘My shift is over as soon as Oswald arrives.’

‘Tell him to pass on the word.’

‘I will. He’s a good lad.’ He motioned toward something behind Owen. ‘Here’s Brother Michaelo with two fine horses. For you?’

‘Benedicite, Carn, Captain,’ said Michaelo. ‘Am I late?’

‘You arrive at the very moment I need you,’ said Owen. ‘Come. Our prey has escaped the city.’

Carn waved them on through. ‘May God watch over your hunt.’

Owen cringed at the too-loud clue as to their intention.

‘The poor in the minster yard will be grateful for the meat,’ Michaelo called back in a volume matching Carn’s. ‘Fool of a Scot,’ he muttered as he turned back to Owen.

‘I thank you for that.’

Outside the gate they moved off to the side so they might adjust the saddles and prepare to mount.

‘Fine animals,’ Owen noted.

‘From the abbey stables,’ said Michaelo. ‘Dom Jehannes is standing surety that no harm will come to them.’

Perhaps misguided confidence. Owen did not expect the day to go smoothly. ‘How is Anna this morning?’ he asked.

‘She said she slept well and her head no longer pounds. She is grateful for Dame Lucie’s physick.’

‘Her fever?’

‘Still hot, but she thinks it might be easing. We pray Dame Lucie was right, it need not be the Death upon her.’ Michaelo mounted.

Owen continued to fuss with the stirrups. ‘That is good news.’

Michaelo leaned down toward Owen, lowering his voice. ‘Forgive me, but should we not be in haste?’

‘And alert anyone watching that we are on a mission?’ He watched as Michaelo understood. ‘We will take a leisurely pace toward the woods, chatting amiably as we watch for trouble on the riverbank near Dame Magda’s house.’

‘My mistake.’

Einar led the donkey and cart out of the yard, getting acquainted with the animal. It felt good to stretch his legs and breathe in the scents of the forest, feel the cool air on his skin, even the mist. All night the fire in Magda’s home had burned hot, a comfort at first, but later waking him in a sweat. He had taken the blankets and moved as far from the fire as possible. And though he woke with icy feet and hands he’d stayed in his corner until Magda called to him to observe her examination of Asa.

This morning her face and all exposed skin on her right side were darkened with bruising. But the swelling in her hand had eased a little, and he helped Magda removed the temporary bandage so that she might apply an unguent on the bruised and swollen hand, misshapen by the mutilated fingers.

‘When will you set them?’

‘Later this day, before thou must leave to assist the crow.’

Einar imagined the agony Asa would suffer in the process. ‘Michaelo is more of a phoenix, rising from the ashes,’ he said, hoping to wipe away the image.

‘All clerics are crows to Magda.’

‘He is different.’

‘Thou couldst say that of each one.’

When would he learn that arguing with Magda would circle back on him?

When the examination was finished, she had sat with Einar as he ate, explaining how to find the earthen house in the woodland glade where he was to deliver the cloth. Her directions were like none he had ever received. He must move at a slow pace once the track dipped, feeling for the subtle shift in the scent and listening for the moment when it seemed as if the woods hushed at his approach, the trees stilled. He was then to turn toward the river on a path that he might doubt was truly a path leading anywhere.

‘Thou wilt understand when thou seest it,’ said Magda. ‘Leave the donkey and cart in the clearing beyond where the path bends round an ancient oak. Shoulder thy load and walk from there. The house is not far.’

‘How will I know it?’

‘It is the only one on that path. If thou canst not find the path, return to Magda and she will take it another day.’

‘You doubt me?’

She had smiled and touched his arm. ‘It is not thee whom Magda doubts.’

And that had been that.

Considering Alan’s violent temper, Einar had taken up his bow and a quiver of arrows for the errand.

‘Magda warns thee to leave all weapons but a short knife in the cart.’ She had not smiled then.

‘Why? This family to whom I deliver the cloth would object?’

‘Not them. Promise Magda thou wilt leave all weapons in the cart.’

‘But someone might steal them – or Nip, now I think of it. A donkey is valuable.’

‘No one will steal thy weapons from the cart. Nor Nip. Magda warns thee to follow her directions.’

‘I swear I will.’

He’d felt uneasy then, even more so now. Her riddles confused him. But he was determined to succeed.

The woods were quiet so early in the morning. On the way he would walk Nip and the cart, not ride up high where the noise of the wheels might mask his sense of the quieting. He would ride in the cart on the way back. He had been walking for a while when Nip grew restive as two men, bent beneath the weight of their sacks of wood, waddled toward them.

Einar eased the cart to the side of the track to permit the pair to pass. They blessed him in barely discernible mumbles as they slowly went by. Something about them prompted him to stay put until they were out of sight. He was glad he had, for once he resumed he quickly sensed a change in the air, an enveloping quiet. To his left he saw a faint trail, as if the underbrush had grown over what was once a deeply rutted track. Softly encouraging Nip, he guided him on to the path and beyond a great oak. There he found the clearing Magda had mentioned, complete with an old trough in which the water looked clear. Cupping his hand, he tasted it. Fresh water.

‘There you are, Nip. Refreshment.’ Slipping his weapons into the cart, tucking them away in a corner, he backed up to the rear of the cart and crouched down to lift the pack of cloth to his shoulder. With a promise to return soon, he continued down the track which grew more defined, smiling as he heard the sound of water over rocks and felt the coolness as if near a waterfall. The trees shivered and sighed above him.

In a few moments, Owen mounted and moved off toward Galtres, Michaelo riding on his right, his sighted side. That would allow them to converse, but once they began to track the cart in the woods Owen would order him to his sightless side. He told him what he’d learned from Carn. ‘Are you armed?’

‘For riding into Galtres? Of course. A dagger. Where is the leech?’

‘Carn did not mention him, but I believe he hid beneath the cover on the cart until out of the city. Or was hidden.’

‘His payment for hastening Guthlac’s death?’

Owen glanced at Michaelo. ‘You begin to think like me.’

A raised brow. ‘What of the others whom Carn mentioned? Do you expect them to join up with Wolcott?’

‘The laborers, yes. But not that cart. I do not believe they mean to pull such a load through Galtres. They’re headed to the riverbank. They will find two of my men there. I thought someone might think to distract me a second time.’

‘Building what?’

‘The question is, what might they burn?’

‘God help us.’

‘Another two of my men will meet us a short way into the woods, the fifth farther along.’

‘The three on horseback.’

‘That would make sense.’

While they rode at an easy pace Owen told Michaelo all that he had learned of Alan Rawcliff, Einar, and Asa.

‘An unpleasant pair, Gavin and Alan,’ Michaelo noted. ‘We know the latter will not hesitate to resort to violence. What think you of Gavin?’

‘He practices at the butts on Sundays. A fair shot.’

‘Not so good as you, I pray.’

‘No. But if he has the advantage that might not matter.’

For a while now Owen had kept his good eye – unfortunately causing him to twist to the left – on a cart being pulled with some difficulty across the uneven ground toward the riverbank. From a distance he could hear the racket it made. A good thing, for the pair pulling it seemed unaware of the trail of folk moving in silent fellowship to form a barrier behind them and close them in.

Owen pointed to what was happening.

‘You look pleased,’ said Michaelo.

‘I am glad to see that the minds behind all this are too arrogant to be careful.’

‘Arrogant?’

‘They do not expect us to see the pattern. No need to try a new strategy, just repeat what they tried before, an attack on Magda’s house and the folk she protects. They believe me to be ever-vigilant on her behalf.’

‘You are. But you see far more clearly than they do.’

‘I thank you for that.’

When almost level with Magda Digby’s rock they came upon the grieving clerk Carn had mentioned, sitting on a log by the side of the road as if overcome. Brother Michaelo offered a prayer.

‘A dark time for us all,’ said Owen.

The man kept his head down as he muttered a benedicite.

At the edge of the wood Owen guided his horse behind a tree so that he might watch as the mourner rose and started running toward his fellows in the cart. Seeing he meant to warn them, Owen spurred his horse to chase down the man, leaning over to grab him by the tunic and yank him up across his pommel, which pressed into the man’s middle, forcing the breath out of him. He lay quiet while Owen rode back to join Michaelo.

‘Does he breathe?’ Michaelo asked.

‘With difficulty. But he will not ride long.’

Michaelo crossed himself as he guided his horse to Owen’s blind side without needing to be reminded.

‘What am I looking for?’ he asked.

‘Tracks of a cart. Anything else that might suggest whether they are alone. If it seems of note to you, tell me.’

Not far from where he’d left Nip and the cart, Einar came upon what looked like a tall hedge of holly. As he stepped through it he experienced an inexplicable sense of coming home. The track became soft beneath his boots with a cushion of old leaves fallen from great oaks and willows. He spied two boys filling buckets at a stream.

The elder stood up sharp when he noticed Einar and demanded to know who he was.

‘I am Einar. My kinswoman Magda Digby asked me to bring this cloth to your house. Is it far?’

‘The cloth!’ The younger grinned from ear to ear. ‘We’re all to have new tunics. I’ll lead you. It’s not far.’

Attempting to run, the lad made the water slosh so wildly in the bucket that Einar offered to carry it, but the lad laughed and slowed down. The hedge and the ancient trees within encircled a glade green with grass and moss, a carpet that heaved up in the middle to create an earthen house. In front of the open doorway sat a man whittling.

‘Dame Magda sent me,’ he called out. ‘I am Einar, her kinsman, and I come bearing cloth.’

‘Welcome! My wife will be pleased. But you were not followed?’

Einar laughed at that. ‘Only if they received Dame Magda’s instructions, and believed them.’

The man nodded his head. ‘I am Fergus.’ He shifted the leg that stuck out straight at an odd angle for comfort. When Einar realized that he could not rise without the walking stick leaning behind him, he offered to carry the cloth inside.

A woman appeared at the door, older than the man, sweet of face but with frightened eyes. ‘Who is this, Fergus?’

Explaining, with Einar’s help, Fergus convinced her – Lettice, he called her – that Einar was a friend to them, and Magda’s kinsman.

‘May God watch over you,’ she said at last. ‘And may he bless you and Dame Magda for your kindness.’

She held out her arms for the cloth, which Einar still balanced on his shoulder.

‘It’s heavy. Where shall I set it down?’ he asked.

She’d begun to argue with him when a younger woman appeared in the doorway carrying an infant.

‘Do stand aside and permit the young man to place that heavy load on the table,’ she said with a smile in her voice.

Lettice obliged. Inside the doorway Einar paused, amazed by the space. A girl laughed at his expression.

‘It’s magic!’ she said as Einar set the pack on the table.

‘Now you know that Dame Magda does not like that talk of magic,’ said the woman holding the infant. As she spoke, the thin cry of another infant rose up from somewhere in the depths of the remarkable house. ‘She is jealous that I am carrying her twin sister. I must go to her. Bless you.’ She smiled at Einar. ‘I pray you give our thanks to Dame Magda. Will she be here later today?’

‘If you need her, I will make certain that she has word,’ he said. ‘I will sit with her daughter while she is out.’

‘I would be grateful,’ said the woman. ‘I pray you tell her that Helen’s milk is slow.’ She blushed to say it.

‘I will, Dame Helen,’ said Einar.

The woman thanked him and withdrew into another room. How large is this house? Einar wondered.

‘Sit with her daughter?’ Lettice said. ‘What is wrong with Dame Asa?’

‘She was beaten by the leech A– Bernard.’

‘God help us,’ she whispered. ‘Is it bad in the city?’

‘With the sickness folk are fearful. Priests have spoken out against the midwives and other women healers. Dame Asa and others have been attacked.’

‘May God have mercy on us all. Has Mistress Wilton closed her apothecary?’

‘No. And the bailiffs have men on watch to prevent more attacks.’

‘We are most fortunate to be here,’ said Fergus, leaning on his walking stick in the doorway, one arm round the young girl.

Einar apologized for speaking of trouble in front of the child.

‘No need,’ said Fergus. ‘She understands that the world is not always friendly, do you not, Tess?’

The girl nodded, but Einar saw the fear in her eyes. He knelt to her. ‘You are safe here, little one. Without Dame Magda’s instructions I would never have found you. Never.’

‘Why is she kind to us?’ Tess asked.

‘She is kind to all.’

He was rewarded with a little smile, which warmed him.

Not far into the woods Owen paused to listen, then softly made the sound of an owl. Alfred and Stephen emerged from behind a great tree, leading horses.

Michaelo sighed with relief.

‘Who is this slung across your lap?’ Stephen asked.

‘Meant trouble to Dame Magda,’ said Owen. ‘Truss him up, gag him, and leave him where you waited. We can fetch him on our return.’

The man found breath enough to cry out as Stephen yanked him down off Owen’s horse. But he was quickly gagged and bound and left to enjoy the soft rain that had begun to fall. The tree would protect him from most of the moisture.

The four continued on until they encountered a pair of woodsmen bowed beneath loads of kindling. When asked they mentioned passing several carts heading north, but only one with women.

‘Two of them, one crying so pitifully,’ one of the men said. ‘Grieving for her husband, so said the man escorting her.’

They had passed them a while back. Since then only a man and his son with a farm cart, and a young man with a donkey cart. The latter had a bow and quiver of arrows, like Owen.

Vigilant for men laboring under such heavy burdens. Owen nodded to Stephen, who moved to block their way. Alfred dismounted, handing Owen his reins. As one of the men scuttled to the side Owen caught him and shoved him to the ground. His partner tried to shrug off his load and run, but Stephen used his horse to pin the man against a tree. Alfred’s cursory search of the packs revealed bows, arrows, and torches. Within moments the pair were trussed, gagged, and tucked away, their loads sorted for items best not to leave near them.

‘We’ll need a cart for all the miscreants,’ Michaelo muttered.

‘The nights are mild. We might let them sleep beneath the stars.’ Owen handed Alfred his reins and moved on.

Michaelo hurried to join him on his blind side. ‘Am I still to be watching for signs of a cart?’

‘Yes.’

They rode in silence, Stephen and Alfred riding single file behind.

‘Why would Gavin Wolcott risk so much and involve so many merely to steal the goods that would have come to him by right?’

‘If folk guessed that the children born to Beatrice were his, not his father’s, including the one she now carries, he would lose his good standing in the city. The deaths of the two little ones in the autumn would be seen as God’s judgement.’

‘Yet they clearly learned nothing.’

‘A desperate couple with everything to lose, so they flee. But they cannot get far.’

‘Because you saw through the ruse.’

‘Too late to save Guthlac.’

‘You cannot save the world. But was the old man so blind he could not see what was between his son and his wife? And why did Bernard – Alan – assist him?’

All good questions, for though Owen had theories he had as yet no answers.

Within moments of Einar’s departure Asa had begun to weep and beg Magda’s forgiveness.

Her voice but a whisper, her words poorly formed because of swollen lips and jaw, she clutched at Magda’s neck with her uninjured hand, pulling her close so that she might hear. ‘I am to blame for Bernard. I poisoned him against you. Forgive me.’

‘Hush now. Lie still while Magda changes thy bandages.’

Asa had refused anything that might calm her so that she would have a clear head, though she now willingly drank down a cup of broth laced with herbs to dull the pain.

‘I thought to twist him to my purpose,’ she said. ‘Told him I taught myself the spells and charms you kept from me. Said the power was in our blood.’ One eye was swollen shut, but the other watched Magda for a reaction.

‘Spells and charms in thy blood?’ Shaking her head, Magda cut the bandage on the ruined hand, softly whispering words of comfort as she peeled away the cloth sticky with healing and soothing pastes.

‘You are whispering a charm now.’

‘To calm thee. It will work if thou dost find comfort in it. It is nothing without the rest. If Magda relied on charms thou wouldst die from thine injuries.’

Less swollen, the hand no longer hid the extent of the damage. Magda breathed deep and returned to the charm, calming herself as well as her daughter.

Twig, playing with the kitten near the window that looked out to the riverbank where he lived, cried out in dismay.

‘What is it?’

‘A fight on the bank. They pulled two men to the ground, one of them carrying a lit torch. Someone took it from him and doused it in the river. I think they meant to start a fire. Now our folk are searching the cart, holding up torches and wood for a fire. But there’s something else and someone just pulled their shirt up over their mouth and nose.’

Magda had joined him at the window. She watched a man in the cart struggling to rise. Those searching the cart backed away. ‘Pestilence,’ she whispered. The two had brought not just fire but also the manqualm to the folk on the riverbank. With a hand on Twig’s shoulder she spoke of it, told him that she would go to the man as soon as she had finished changing Asa’s bandages. She thought to send the boy to his mother, but he was safer on the rock.

‘Thy dam will be worried, but Magda needs thee here. Thou canst go to her when Einar returns. He will not be long.’

Twig stood tall. ‘I will come for help if Dame Asa needs you.’

Patting the lad’s shoulder, Magda returned to her now sleeping daughter. She worked quietly, quickly, wishing to tend to the man brought in the cart before someone took him into their home.

As Magda opened the bandage around the shattered forearm Asa stirred, whimpering in pain. Lifting a cup to her lips, Magda urged her to drink.

After a long draught she lay back with a wince. ‘Everything hurts. But the arm is the worst,’ Asa said. ‘I heard the boy. Go to them, Mother, the people who watch over you. See to them.’

Magda heard the whisper of wings, a faint caw, then a knock on the door. One of the older boys from the bank, breathless, shivering a little for his soaking from walking across from the bank.

‘A man in a cart, Dame Magda. Sick. Some of the women thought to carry him to the bonfire in our midst. Others argue he will bring the Death. We gave him water.’

‘A kindness if he is burning with fever.’

‘He is.’

‘Go!’ Asa called hoarsely.

Gathering her things, Magda went with the lad, rowing across.

On the riverbank folk opened a path for Magda to the man lying in the cart. She smelled him long before she saw his flushed and sweaty face. ‘Stay back,’ she barked to the crowd. ‘Bring water. And a bowl thou canst spare. It must later be burned, with all that touches him.’ She saw the regret on faces as they eyed the cart. Peering at what else was in there, she saw what they coveted – the wood brought for burning would shore up a flimsy shack. Why bring such good timber? ‘Where are the two who brought this cart?’

A man and a lad of perhaps sixteen years were dragged through the crowd before she could warn folk to stay clear of them. They showed the beating they’d received, but neither of them were flushed with sickness. Yet. She recognized the older one from Gavin Wolcott’s lodgings before he moved back into his father’s house. But the lad was unfamiliar.

‘Where didst thou find this sufferer?’ she asked them.

‘In hell, witch!’ the boy slurred through swollen lips.

The man kicked him, bobbed his head to Magda. ‘Plucked him from the minster yard.’

She guessed that the cart and timber were also from there. ‘The firewood? Torches? Didst thy master provide them?’

The man bowed his head and said naught.

‘Boy? Thou hast plenty wind to curse Magda. Dost thou work for Wolcott as well?’

‘Burn, witch!’ the boy shouted.

Magda raised a hand to stop the one about to clout him. ‘Let him be. He will sicken soon enough.’

That hushed the boy, who glanced fearfully at the cart.

But Magda was busy now that she’d been offered a wooden bowl for the medicine she would mix for the sick man. Taking a stump from the cart, she placed it so that she could use it as a table on which to mix the herbs with some wine.

‘Canst thou sit up enough to drink?’ she asked the sick man.

Nodding, he managed to pull himself up against a pile of torches. From her basket she took a cloth bag and a small jug. Pouring some of the wine into the bowl, she emptied the contents of the bag into it and stirred, all the while talking to the man, learning his name, assuring him that he would be more comfortable after drinking the potion. When at last she handed him the bowl he lifted it to his lips with trembling hands.

‘A little sip, then wait a moment, then another. Do that until thou hast finished it.’

But he drank greedily, swooning before he’d emptied the bowl. She retrieved it and helped him settle. Touching him gave her the information she needed. The stench came from his groin. Pulling a jar and a clean rag from her basket, Magda hummed as she smoothed a rosemary scented paste onto the rag, offering it to the man. ‘Tuck that where you feel the stickiness. It will soothe thee.’ The man, moving more slowly now, did as instructed, then lay quite still. He would die in the night, but in more comfort. Climbing onto the cart, she began to arrange wood and planks to cover the man. Someone joined her, a man she recognized as having recovered from the sickness years ago. Nodding to him, she stepped aside and let him complete the project.

Passing through a quiet place in the wood Owen felt himself relax. It did not last. From far ahead he heard a shout, another. Two distinct voices, one startled, one angry. And then a woman’s scream. Owen nudged his horse into a canter he could safely handle as the woods closed in round them. Michaelo fell behind, and soon it was Alfred who rode beside him. He heard nothing now, and thought he might slow to listen. But he soon caught a fresh cry, nearer and more sustained, not the woman this time but a man, outraged. Sudden silence. Owen steadied his horse, then moved forward at a steady pace, close now. Very close. A rattling, squeaking noise. A cart moving fast. Too fast for Galtres. The track narrowed ahead and could at times be treacherous with old roots exposed. Owen held up a hand to signal he was slowing, listening to the cart, fainter now, watching for signs of where it had paused for whatever had occurred.

There it was, tracks of a cart, underbrush flattened. He moved on, even more slowly now. After a time he called a halt, listening. ‘What was the last you heard the cart?’ he asked.

‘A while ago,’ said Michaelo. ‘A rattling and groaning that bespoke a rough patch of track.’

Stephen agreed.

‘Ride as quietly as you can now,’ said Owen. ‘Ears pricked. They might be off the track. We do not want to miss them.’

‘Captain,’ Michaelo called softly, pointing toward the trees on Owen’s blind side.

From the woods a large man limped out from the trees, holding the reins of a horse with his one hand. Crispin. Owen lifted his arm to call a halt. Crispin had offered to ride out before dawn and wait, meaning to follow if the cart came through. As he had an official interest in the woods, if seen he had a plausible reason to be there. Closer now, Owen saw a man slumped on Crispin’s horse.

‘Who?’ he asked.

‘John. One of yours, I believe,’ said Crispin. ‘Wriggled his way out of Wolcott’s cart, trussed, and could do nothing to break his fall. He’s addled, but I believe he was taken while watching the Wolcott house.’

Alfred dismounted and approached, lifting the man’s chin. ‘Yes, this is John. He relieved Roland this morning.’

‘He’s a good man. His quick thinking was a big help to me yesterday. His escape from the cart went unnoticed?’ Owen asked.

‘Wolcott had dismounted and was arguing with the three men walking ahead. One was supposed to be leading the horse but kept wandering up to talk to his mates. Wolcott said they were slowing him down and he ordered the two to follow behind.’

‘Are they now?’

‘Yes, and having a time trying to walk fast enough. But John grew restive and I worried we would give ourselves away. I don’t think they are far ahead. The two women have been very quiet.’

‘Do you want to head back to the city with John?’ Owen asked.

‘No. I want to see this. I’ll follow behind.’ He looked up at the horse. ‘I could use help mounting.’

Alfred came to his aid.

Owen ordered Stephen to go first, keep a steady pace, quick enough, but not so quick they gave themselves away. He held his breath now as he listened for sounds of a cart. And there it was. Stephen lifted a hand, nodded. Michaelo whispered a prayer. Owen strung his bow.