The Riverwoman’s Dragon

14 Consequences

A customer stepped aside with a cry as a man rushed into the apothecary.

‘You must come! It’s the widow Wolcott!’ Breathing hard, the intruder leaned on the shop counter, gulping air. On his sleeves, bloodstains.

Luke, Emma Ferriby’s nephew. Lucie wiped her hands and drew him aside. ‘You said the widow Wolcott. But Dame Beatrice departed the city this morning.’

He shook his head. ‘No. Someone else.’

Jasper came out of the workroom. ‘I can watch the shop.’

Lucie motioned Luke to follow her out to the garden, depositing him on a bench. ‘Sit.’

‘No time. She is bleeding.’

But Lucie was already on her way to the kitchen, where she told Kate they were going out. ‘I think I will need your assistance.’

‘Mine?’

‘Jasper must tend the shop. Come.’ Lucie picked up the basket of supplies she kept by the door and hurried out.

The rumble and squeak grew louder, and the sound of boots striking the road in a brisk march. Close now. Alfred guided his horse to one side of the track.

‘Weapons?’ Owen asked Crispin.

‘If those two had bows I would have seen them. Knives and brawn, if we’re lucky, an axe if we’re not.’

Nodding, Owen whispered to his mount to calm it as they eased past Alfred. Ahead, the trees thinned, revealing the men hurrying to keep up with the laden cart. Three people were clearly visible on the seat, two veiled women and Gavin Wolcott. Owen notched an arrow and aimed at Wolcott’s shoulder, but before he let it fly a woman turned round and called out a warning. Wolcott raised his bow, an arrow notched, but had to rise and turn round to shoot.

In that pause Owen hit Gavin’s shoulder, the impact toppling him forward onto the horse, who skittered. The men in the rear began to charge Owen and his men, but halted at a woman’s scream.

‘The cart! Gavin has fallen beneath the cart!’

Alfred and Stephen surged past Owen to take the men.

‘Captain, down!’ Michaelo shouted behind Owen.

As he pressed himself to the horse’s neck something rushed past. Looking behind him he saw an axe lodge in a tree.

‘The man who was leading the cart,’ said Michaelo. ‘He has a knife now.’

Straightening with his arrow ready, Owen aimed at the arm holding the knife, then the man’s thigh. As the man fell he was pushed away by Gavin, who was crawling out from beneath the covered cart. One of the women clambered down to help him while her companion stumbled down off the cart and hobbled away.

‘I’ll stop her,’ Michaelo called out.

Owen, arrow notched and ready, walked his horse toward the woman leaning over Gavin. Rearing up, she bared her teeth at him. No veil covered her head now. Gemma Toller, her face and the front of her gown bloody. In her hand she held a substantial knife, and the way she wielded it, the discipline with which she raised her arm – she knew how to throw it. There was nothing for it but to immobilize her. As the arrow struck her upper arm her eyes widened in disbelief and she slipped down onto Gavin. That should keep him down for a moment.

Dismounting, Owen moved to the cart, untying a corner of the cover as Crispin rode up to him, John riding pillion.

‘The roll of bedding is on the other side,’ said John.

As Owen stepped over Gemma she reared up, grabbing for him.

Crispin raised his walking stick and struck her in the head. ‘I never did trust her.’

Stephen and Alfred dragged their two men toward the cart, both bound hand and foot, dumping them on the track and then dragging Gemma and Gavin out of the way. Michaelo followed them, leading a woman who stumbled along on a tether to his saddle. Not Dame Beatrice, but one of her maidservants.

‘Where is your mistress?’ Owen asked.

‘I do not know,’ she sobbed. ‘He told me to dress that woman in my mistress’s gown. He said we must protect my mistress, that she was accused of murdering the old master, so this woman was pretending to be her.’

‘Can anyone tell me where Beatrice Wolcott is?’ Owen growled.

One of the men who had followed the cart was sitting up now. ‘That whore? I tossed her in a shed where she’ll rot as she deserves.’

‘How dare you!’ the maidservant cried. ‘My mistress is no whore.’

‘No? She slept with his son to bear Wolcott brats. What would you call her?’

Stephen silenced him with a kick to his chin.

Gemma Toller struggled up to fall upon Gavin, pounding on him with her fists. ‘What have you done with her? What have you done?’

Crispin used his stick to push her off the man. ‘You might have asked after her earlier,’ he said.

‘I did. Gavin– He said Beatrice was leaving in a separate cart by Micklegate Bar. We will be hanged for this,’ Gemma whimpered.

‘Likely,’ said Crispin.

Owen shushed him, told Stephen and Alfred to tie up the prisoners, motioned to Michaelo to help him search for the man rolled in bedding. The monk dismounted, tying the reins to the cart.

The roll was where John had said. As he pulled it toward him Owen could feel that it did indeed contain a body, one that twitched, then jerked as he handled it. Once on the ground he cut the cords holding it together and opened it. Inside, Alan Rawcliff lay unconscious, bruised and battered, his shirt stiff with dried blood.

In a garden shed she lay, clammy with a fever, her heartbeat fluttery, her feet and hands cold. A gentle rain was falling, seeping through the ruined roof of the shed and dripping on Beatrice Wolcott. But that was not what soaked her skirts. She cradled in her arms a slip of flesh, bloody, still connected by the cord.

‘Blessed Mary and all the saints,’ Kate sobbed.

Lucie whispered a prayer for the dead child, then, bending to the woman’s ear, said, ‘Beatrice, can you hear me?’

The eyelids flickered. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. The bottom lip was split as if she had been hit, her cheek and chin bruised.

Kate drew Beatrice’s upper body onto her lap and Lucie knelt to her, filling a small bowl with wine, dribbling a little in the woman’s mouth.

Beatrice coughed, gasped, then licked her lip. ‘More,’ she whispered.

Warning her to just sip, Lucie dribbled more as she told Beatrice who they were and that they had come to help.

‘Too late,’ she whispered, turning her head to the side, closing her eyes.

‘Beatrice? I need you to wake.’ Lucie tapped her cheek. ‘You must wake.’ But the woman was still. Yet her heart beat, and she breathed, shallowly. Where there was breath there was life.

It took more work turning round the cart than it had redistributing the contents to make room for bound and injured passengers. But a widening of the track farther on helped. Soon the solemn party turned back toward the city, John and the maidservant on the seat of the cart, Stephen riding beside the carthorse.

‘Was this the plan all along?’ Michaelo asked Owen. ‘Gemma and Gavin?’

‘If so, I fear we will not find Beatrice Wolcott alive.’

Michaelo bowed his head and began to pray.

Alert to noises or furtive movement in the woods to either side as he rode, Owen could not understand Einar’s sudden appearance. One moment there was no one to either side of the track ahead, the next he was halting the company to make way for Einar, who was leading Magda’s donkey cart out from – where? Owen saw no path. Was he truly so depleted by the fight with Wolcott and his party that the young man and donkey cart could be upon them before he noticed? And from where?

‘Delivering the cloth?’ Owen asked.

‘Yes.’ Einar stared at their overflowing cart. ‘So many injured. An accident? Do you need help?’

‘I could use the cart,’ said Owen. ‘We’re taking these folk to the castle jail. But the leech I must deliver to the king’s men at St Mary’s Abbey.’

‘Alan? They know about him?’ Einar sounded disappointed. Perhaps realizing in that moment his missed opportunity. He might have delivered up the man to the prince.

‘Help us deliver him,’ said Owen. ‘I know Magda would not deny me the use of her cart that far, and for the leech who battered her daughter.’

Einar nodded. ‘Gladly. I will accompany you and return the cart afterward.’

With Alfred’s assistance, Owen transferred the still unconscious Alan Rawcliff to Magda’s cart.

‘His lips are cracked,’ said Einar. ‘I have water.’

As Owen lifted Alan’s head, Einar helped him drink. But though he swallowed, he did not open his eyes.

‘Did you drug him?’ Owen asked Gemma Toller.

‘I don’t know. I did not know he was with us.’

Gavin Wolcott did not stir.

The maidservant wriggled in her bonds. ‘If I help you, will you let me go free?’

‘I can promise nothing,’ said Owen, ‘but I will tell the sheriff you willingly helped us.’

She hesitated. ‘You will do that?’

‘I promise.’

‘They gave him something to drink in his wine. From the jar of physick for the old master,’ she said in a rush, as if racing against second thoughts. ‘Then when he was stumbling about howling that he was betrayed those two men hit and kicked him until I thought he must be dead.’ She indicated the two who had followed the cart.

‘Did Gemma Toller witness this?’ Owen asked.

‘I told you–’ Gemma began.

‘No. She came this morning.’

‘Is the physick still in the house?’ Owen asked.

The maidservant shook her head. ‘Packed in the cart. If you loose my hands I will find it for you.’

He freed her hands. Out of a trunk she lifted several men’s shirts, a few cushions, two decorated mazers, finally drawing out a pouch that she handed to him. Within was a small covered pot tied closed. He opened it and sniffed – too many scents for his limited knowledge, but he was confident that either Brother Henry, the abbey’s infirmarian, or Lucie would be able to identify the contents. Entrusting the Wolcott cart and the captors to Crispin Poole, Owen led the serving maid to Einar’s cart, helping her into the back with Alan.

‘Call out to us if he wakes,’ he said. He meant to take her to the Wolcott house to see to Beatrice, if she yet lived.

With Einar seated on the cart, Owen rode to the front of the group and led them out of Galtres.

After praying over the stillborn, Lucie wrapped him in rags that Luke had brought from the Ferriby home and handed Luke the bundle to bury in the garden. Malformed and premature, the child would not have lived even if a midwife had been present. It was Beatrice who might have benefited from proper care, and Lucie cursed Gavin for his cruelty to his father’s widow. Beatrice still did not wake, and grew colder despite the fire they had stoked in the Wolcott kitchen where she now lay.

A pounding on the door. ‘Where is the thief? I will have his head!’ a man shouted. ‘Come out, you coward, and face me.’

Lucie rushed to silence the intruder and discovered the mayor, Thomas Graa, his round face purple with rage. He took a step back when she appeared. ‘Mistress Wilton?’

‘If it is Gavin Wolcott you seek, he is gone,’ she said, ‘leaving his father’s widow to suffer alone in a filthy shed.’

That quieted the man. ‘Dame Beatrice? What has happened?’

‘I do not know. Luke Ferriby came searching for–’ she paused, realizing the mayor had no idea Owen had been watching the Wolcott house, ‘his gardener. He discovered Dame Beatrice in a faint in the shed and came for me.’

Trying to peer past Lucie into the room, Graa said, ‘Gavin has gone mad. We must hunt him down.’

‘My husband took men to track him.’

‘The captain? Excellent. Best thing we have done, offering Archer the captaincy.’

‘My concern is Dame Beatrice.’

‘Ah. Of course. I will send a cart to fetch her, bring her to the sisters at St Mary’s in Castlegate.’

‘That is kind of you,’ said Lucie. ‘But I thought to take her to my home, where I might see to her.’

‘Of course. Yes. That is good of you. I will send a cart to carry her to your home.’ He turned away, muttering to himself. ‘That monster. Fled with our goods. Damn him. I thought him such a fine young man. How I could be so wrong …’ He paused, turning back to ask, ‘And Bernard the leech?’

‘I know nothing of him since he beat the healer attending Jack Fuller,’ said Lucie. ‘I pray my husband discovers him with Gavin Wolcott. Now I must return to Dame Beatrice.’

‘My servants will come with the cart to assist you.’ Graa hurried off.

As Owen led his men and captives out from the cover of the trees he discovered a crowd on the riverbank. He did not see the cart from the morning. Glancing back, he called Michaelo forward, asked him to find out if their men needed help.

‘I will go,’ Einar offered. ‘I would see whether Dame Magda needs me.’

‘And if she does need you?’ asked Owen. He looked to Michaelo. ‘I want the others to press on to the castle. You will accompany me to the abbey.’

‘Of course,’ said Michaelo.

Einar insisted on accompanying the monk to the riverbank.

‘But you’ve no horse,’ Owen pointed out.

With a laugh, the young man began to run, graceful and fast. If Magda was a dragon, her great-grandson was a wolf, thought Owen. Michaelo rode after him.

‘Ah, youth. Such grace. And speed.’ Crispin and the others had pulled up beside Owen. ‘We will await their return, should you have need of us.’

Owen glanced at Gemma Toller, quietly weeping. He noticed that the talkative one had a fresh gash on his forehead and lay with eyes closed, jaw slack.

‘Gave you trouble?’

Stephen grinned. ‘You might say that.’

‘Michaelo’s returning,’ said Alfred.

Seeing the monk’s solemn expression, Owen rode to meet him.

‘The two in the cart brought a man dying of the pestilence to toss among the folk on the riverbank, unholy monsters,’ said Michaelo. ‘One of the ones I’ve attended in the minster yard. Magda has eased the poor man’s last hours. I offered to send for the friars.’

Owen nodded. ‘No trouble now?’

‘Your men hauled off the two and others who arrived to set fire to the settlement and Magda’s house. They await you at the castle.’

‘Einar?’

‘He waded out to Magda’s rock, suddenly worried about Asa, who has been alone but for the boy Twig. He asks that we return the cart to the bank, and Magda’s lads will see to it.’

Curious. He had seemed keen to accompany them. But it was no time for questions. ‘Do you know how to guide a donkey cart?’ Owen asked the maidservant.

‘I do, Captain.’ She clambered up to the seat and took up the reins.

Waving Crispin and the others on, Owen fell in behind them, Brother Michaelo beside him, the cart following.

Brother Henry, the infirmarian, sniffed the contents of the jar. ‘Milk of poppy and – I am not certain. Allow me to take some to study.’ He tipped a spoonful into a cup. ‘But Dame Lucie might better answer you.’ He nodded toward Alan Rawcliff, who lay on a pallet in a corner of St Mary’s infirmary guarded by one of the king’s men. ‘Whatever it is, he will recover. At present he plays cat and mouse with the king’s man. He opened his eyes quite wide for a moment, fixing them on his guard. When he realized he was no longer a free man, he shut them tight. Rest easy. You have brought an evil man to justice. I will see that he is in sufficient health to survive the journey to Westminster and answer for his crimes.’

Owen retrieved the jar. ‘It is for Gavin’s trial I would know the contents. He used it on his father. Guthlac did not survive it.’

‘Poor man,’ said Henry. ‘The king’s man shared with me the Bishop of Lincoln’s report. Several mysterious deaths linked to our guest. A most dangerous fraud, not only for practicing without sufficient knowledge but for causing so many to shun the skilled midwives in our city.’

Owen thanked Henry and took his leave. Brother Michaelo waited outside the infirmary, peering in for a moment before following Owen out. He had been refused entry, Brother Henry remembering only too well the time Michaelo had poisoned his teacher, the gentle Brother Wulfstan.

‘Do you miss the abbey?’ Owen asked.

‘As I would a thorn in my boot.’

Michaelo maintained a stony silence while Owen recounted his conversation with Brother Henry. It was only when Owen grew quiet that the monk cleared his throat.

‘Einar was slippery about where he had been with that cart,’ he noted.

‘You asked him?’

‘I did. He appeared out of nowhere – did you notice?’

So it was not a matter of Owen being distracted. ‘What did he say?’

‘The donkey was lagging, so he moved off the track and found water for him. When I began to ask more questions he hurried away.’ The monk was quiet a moment. ‘One of Dame Magda’s riddles made flesh.’

Owen remembered Magda and the dragon becoming one. ‘He is her kinsman.’

‘Much more so than Asa, it would seem.’

They had left the maidservant in the screened passage of the abbot’s house, watched by a novice. They found her curled up on a bench, asleep.

While awaiting the mayor’s cart, Lucie searched the house for the medicines she had sent with Owen the other day and clean clothes for Beatrice. She found the medicines untouched, but the only items of clothing left behind were a threadbare gown and an old wool cloak on a hook in the kitchen. They must do for now. With Kate’s help she removed surcoat, underdress, and shift, washing Beatrice as best she could with the little water left in the bottom of a jug, then dressed her in the too-large gown, wrapping the cloak round her for warmth. Kate tucked heated stones wrapped in a torn blanket inside the cloak. She added the strengthening tonic to a cup of rainwater.

‘Why would he take her clothing?’ Kate wondered aloud.

‘None of this makes sense to me,’ said Lucie. The silence of the house had given her chills. It felt as if it were watching, waiting. She was glad to hear a cart rattle into the yard. Even better, it was Owen’s voice calling out to her.

Luke entered first. ‘Look who I found.’

Owen was right behind him. ‘Is she alive?’

Lucie was glad to see him. ‘Barely. If Luke had not found her when he did …’

A woman rushed past him, kneeling beside Beatrice.

‘Mistress! I was so worried.’

‘Her maidservant,’ Owen explained.

Lucie drew her away. ‘You can be of most help by telling me how long she has been so ill. Was this pregnancy more difficult than the others?’

The woman shook her head. ‘The baby was not a problem. We were to say nothing of it. She tried to hide it, and I do not think she ate enough for two, but she had no sickness. What happened?’

‘She lost the child.’

The woman sobbed, ‘No!’ and tried to wrench away from Lucie, who shook her.

‘Go outside and calm yourself. We are taking care of her.’ Lucie let go and nodded to Luke, who led the woman into the yard.

‘Luke told us how he came to you,’ said Owen. ‘The mayor’s cart waits outside. He says you are bringing her home?’

‘I can see to her there.’

‘She may be part of the plot.’

She saw the concern in his eye, knew that he foresaw the pain of giving Beatrice up to the law. ‘I know, my love. But no matter her part in the deception she was abandoned and came close to death. She can be questioned when she is strong enough. I trust that you will ensure the sheriff knows of her ordeal.’