The Riverwoman’s Dragon

2 Homecoming

Late May

Owen was no stranger to leave-taking. During his decade of serving Archbishop Thoresby he was often away from home, and, before that, he had made his farewells to his family in Wales, some for a long while, some forever. But this departure was different, leaving his children at Lucie’s family’s manor, Freythorpe Hadden, after a brief reunion. Both mother and father riding away. They did it for love of those they left behind, yet never had it so wrenched his heart.

It was not that Owen did not trust the stewards of the manor, Tildy and Daimon. He knew they would care for his little ones as they did their own, and they were most excellent parents. Nor would the couple be overwhelmed by the task, for Lucie’s dear friend Emma Ferriby would remain at Freythorpe Hadden with her sons until her husband arrived to take her to their own manor, bringing Alisoun Ffulford to look after Gwen, Hugh, and young Emma. Alisoun was not only beloved by all three children, but she was a skilled healer. All to the good. Yet with the pestilence awakening, Owen suffered continuous showers of needle pricks in his blind, ruined left eye. He prayed it was a natural foreboding in such times, and not a premonition, a knowing, riding away with a heart so heavy he wondered that his mount did not stumble for the weight of him.

Even so, his agony did not come close to that of his beloved wife. Lucie rode with eyes unfocused, her journey happening within. He knew the territory she traversed, her heart doubting their decision to leave the children at Freythorpe Hadden where the two eldest had safely sheltered from the last visitation of the pestilence, rather than bringing them along on their return to York and keeping them close, sheltered in their love. They had chosen what had served them before, a decision they had made that time because her firstborn, her son with her first husband Nicholas Wilton, had died in York of pestilence. But what if this time were different? Owen wished he might carry her worry for her, free her to enjoy the return to her work, her garden, and Jasper, her stepson and apprentice.

He owed her so much. Without her prescience he might have stayed too long at Kennington Palace, ignoring the unpleasant truth about why Prince Edward had summoned him. He had wanted to believe the purported reason, that the prince valued his opinion on the peace negotiations in Westminster. But almost from the moment they arrived in early May there were signs that was not quite true. Lucie had given a sympathetic ear to his complaints about how the prince avoided discussing the negotiations, turning the conversation to Owen’s friendship with Magda Digby, her respect for his insight, his curiosity about what she’d meant by that, whether she believed he had the Sight. It was Lucie’s account of her conversation with the king’s mistress Alice Perrers that had shaken Owen out of his denial.

On the surface, Dame Alice presented herself as a chilly woman of elegance, her gowns and jewels chosen to enhance her subtle beauty, her voice modulated to caress when in the presence of the king, express submission in the presence of the royal siblings and their wives; yet when Lucie had chanced upon her in a garden at Windsor Castle, away from eyes and ears, she found her warm and engaging, eager to ask about the plantings in the apothecary garden in York, what she might suggest for the king’s failing memory and increasing frailty, as well as her own exhaustion and creeping despair. Her candor was a rarity at court.

Alice – she had asked to be called simply Alice – had apologized for all of her questions. ‘Forgive me, but I hope you will soon return home and so I rush to ask now, when I may.’

Lucie admitted that she had been yearning for her garden, thinking of all that she would be doing in this season were she there, hoping that Jasper remembered all that she had taught him. But saying she hoped Lucie soon returned home suggested Alice was eager for their departure. Was she? ‘You hope we soon return home … Have we offended someone?’

‘Forgive me for being unclear. No, you have been the most delightful guests, patient with our demands and far more generous than we perhaps deserve. I wish it for you. I have seen how Prince Edward heaps praise on your husband, as he did me when his father began to fail. With Joan’s cunning assistance Edward has discovered how to worm his way into your husband’s affections. It happened to me. His praise feels like an intimate caress, touching on one’s deepest sources of pride. For your husband, those skills he believes few notice, his observations about the powers in the North gleaned in a decade of serving the archbishop and, lately, the city of York. But the truth is that Edward is most keen to ask of your husband the sorts of questions I have asked you. He had heard of the Riverwoman’s respect for the captain, that she believes his loss of half his sight opened his third eye, giving him the gift of a different sort of sight. He hopes that your husband can advise him in ways that no other man might. Yet I see how the captain squirms when asked about this, how he attempts to draw the prince back to matters of state. You must spirit Captain Archer away before he is hopelessly ensnared in providing a service that will endanger him in the dark times ahead, not only the weakening of the royal family but also the realm. We all know that the Death returns. Already there are rumors of it in the countryside. The Church sees the Death as punishment for our sins, a purging. Belief in those with special powers is heresy. When the prince dies – and we know from Dom Antony, who learned it from your Riverwoman, that he was poisoned too long to recover – your husband will be thrown to the wolves of the Church.’

Lucie had declared herself in Alice’s debt, and asked how the prince had heard of Magda’s talk of a third eye, for she was certain that neither Owen nor Magda would have mentioned that to the princess.

‘By all accounts Bishopthorpe Palace and the grounds were so crowded during her visit that it was easy for a listener to disappear among the servants and gardeners. Her Grace learned much that was not meant for sharing. The royal family sees all the realm as their concern, and therefore nothing should be hidden from them. It is all to the good of the realm, if it be in their interest.’

Lucie used that insight in asking Princess Joan to convince the prince that it was time she and Owen returned to York. She couched the request in terms of the good of the realm, that the return of the pestilence meant that their places were in York, she seeing to the health of the citizens as an apothecary, Owen keeping order in the city. She was not immediately successful, but gradually Princess Joan agreed and spoke to the prince, who concurred with their arguments and arranged an armed escort for their return journey.

‘I cannot have misfortune befall my eyes and ears in the North as he journeys through a countryside rife with fear.’ Prince Edward spoke of reports that the road was teeming with people escaping outbreaks or rushing home to families, peppered with prophets of doom standing by the wayside preaching fear and repentance or bands of thieves preying on the desperate.

The prince had not been wrong, and they had been glad of the addition to Owen’s two armed companions, Alfred and Stephen.

‘I did not think I would miss the prince’s men, but I do,’ sighed Brother Michaelo, riding up to join Owen.

They had parted with the prince’s retainers shortly before they reached Freythorpe Hadden, when one of the men fell ill with a fever. Lucie was quite certain it was not pestilence. No boils or blackened extremities. But she advised them to stay in the small priory in which they stopped that night. One of the brothers seemed skilled in healing. To be safe, Lucie, Owen, Michaelo, Alfred, and Stephen had spent a few nights in a farmhouse on the manor, watching for signs of fever. A difficult wait, with the children so close, but worth the peace of mind when they at last held the little ones in their arms.

‘At least the king’s men had wit, a quality sadly lacking in your own armed men,’ Brother Michaelo declared.

Owen laughed, and, to his surprise and delight, so did Lucie.

‘You miss all the trappings of the prince’s court,’ she said.

The monk sighed again, no doubt remembering the gorgeous fabrics and tapestries, the precious stones, gold, silver, mother of pearl decorating the most mundane objects. And the fragrance of the fires, the scents of lavender and rose, the minstrels who softly played in the corners. Elegant, luxurious. Her Grace, remembering Michaelo’s efficient management at Bishopthorpe, consulted him about her own household, seeking suggestions, including him in discussions with the officers of the wardrobe. For his pains, which he experienced as joys, she had sent one of the prince’s tailors to him to fit him out in a new habit of silk and linen. It was packed in the bag slung on his saddle, handled as if precious cargo. The gift had softened the agony of departure. Princess Joan played his strings with skill, but with respect as well. Indeed, all five in the party returned with gifts. In gratitude for the physicks and instructions to the household in preparing more, as well as advice on dietary changes, the royal couple presented Lucie with a crispinette of gold thread studded with pearls and a brooch in the shape of a linden leaf studded with emeralds and garnets, princely offerings. She also came away with fabric for the children’s clothes in appreciation for undertaking the long journey at such a time. Owen touched the hilt of the sword the prince had presented to him, marking him as a member of his household and that of his son when he passed away. Again he had been offered a knighthood, again he had declined. The prince had scowled for a moment, but then laughed that his wife had prepared him for Owen’s obstinance. ‘I respect you for it. And I trust you will always speak your mind, not what you believe will win you favor with me.’

‘To live in the midst of such beauty even for a short while was a great gift,’ said Michaelo, ‘and I repent being greedy for more.’

‘He would agree with you,’ said Lucie, nodding toward a raggedy man with burning eyes standing on a log at the side of the road shouting, ‘Repent, sinners!’ as they passed.

‘Blessed Mary, Mother of God, pray for all madmen who think themselves prophets,’ Stephen grumbled behind them.

‘I had hoped we had seen the last of them,’ said Alfred.

‘But of course they congregate on the road to York, a cathedral city,’ said Brother Michaelo. ‘They will flock to us, haranguing all the holy brethren and sisters in the city.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘This one certainly smells as if he has been in the hell fire of which he cries. The king’s men would have frightened him off.’

‘God help us,’ Lucie whispered.

Owen moved his horse close, reaching for her hand. ‘What is it, my love?’

‘I feel such dread of a sudden. What if Alisoun has fallen ill? Or Jasper?’

He knew that dread, but he reassured her. ‘It is easy when weary to succumb to the fear such men hope to incite. If anyone in our household were ill, a message would have been sent to Freythorpe.’

‘Yes, of course you are right, my love.’ Lucie did not sound convinced.

The guard at the gate welcomed them with clear relief, saying that the mayor and bailiffs would be glad of his return. As they walked their horses on to Micklegate, Owen prayed the trouble had nothing to do with his family, only his post as captain of the city.

The apothecary garden was a riot of color, the beds ordered, neat. There were tears in Lucie’s eyes as she turned round and round, smiling, thanking Jasper.

‘Alisoun worked in it as well. And Kate,’ he replied, shaking back the lock of fair hair ever in his eyes, standing straight and proud.

All three were well. And it seemed there was no sign as yet of the pestilence in the city except for a woman who returned from Doncaster already sick. God be thanked, though folk were flocking to the apothecary for the customary remedies against the sickness. Would the children have been better here? Owen shut the door on that thought as Jasper drew them into the kitchen, eager to hear about the court, the wonders they had seen. To Owen the fragrant kitchen was far more enticing than his memories of court. The boot bench against the wall, the hooks for cloaks and hats behind the door, the long table at which Kate stood, the kitten battling a small ball of string amidst the benches and stools by the fire – everything in the room conjured memories of family and friends tucked into its familiar warmth.

Suddenly shy, Kate stood back until Lucie rushed to embrace her. Then she burst into tears, sobbing how she had missed them all, asking after the children and her sister Tildy, wife of the steward at Freythorpe. She was more than a maidservant, she was part of the family, as was her sister.

‘Brown as berries and learning a great deal from your nieces and nephews about the countryside,’ said Lucie. ‘And all of them are learning much from the Ferriby boys.’ The pair were older, but had been kind to Gwen and Hugh and the others, including them in their work with the falconer brought from Emma’s manor nearby, asking them to lead them round the property, introducing them to their favorite places. ‘Has Alisoun been a help to you, Kate?’

‘I was glad of her company. But I saw her only in early morning and in the evening. Sometimes in the garden. She spent most of her time in the shop.’

Lucie looked to Jasper. ‘You have been so busy? Has Alisoun time to assist Dame Magda?’

‘She did that as well. But she’s been keen to be in the shop, learning how it works, ordering, how items are delivered, how stored. In the shop and the garden she worked with the plants she would not find in the woods.’

‘I am glad she benefited,’ said Lucie. ‘I hope she will not regret having agreed to now go to Freythorpe.’

‘I cannot speak for her,’ said Jasper, ‘but I think she’s proud to have your trust.’

Owen lifted the pitcher of hot water Kate had prepared and nodded to Lucie. ‘Time to shed the dust of the road.’

‘Just to warn you,’ said Jasper, ‘George Hempe asked to be sent word the moment you returned. Crispin Poole has stopped in the shop several times as well. They are both concerned about the death of Sam Toller, the Wolcotts’ factor, found floating in the river after a storm a week ago.’

‘Why is Crispin involved?’

‘Sam was found upstream, in Galtres. Magda sent for Crispin.’

Of course the pestilence was not the only threat to peace. But Owen had hoped for a moment’s grace. ‘They think it might be more than an accidental drowning?’

‘They said little to me. But from their eagerness to know when you would return, it would seem so.’

Without a word, Lucie took Owen’s free hand and led him into the hall and up the steps to the solar.

Dressed in fresh clothing, Owen stood on the landing listening to a soft rain on the roof, a fresh breeze drifting out from the empty nursery, slipping past him and dipping to find the long window in the hall below. A cart rattled by on the street, children screeched in pleasure, a bell rang, not a church bell tolling a death – not yet. The scent of damp earth rose from the window below. Kate hummed in the kitchen. A momentary solitude, something he had not experienced since leaving home. On the road he traveled in a company, and at Kennington Palace one never had a landing to oneself, for servants, retainers, clerks, dignitaries were ever rushing past, carrying on the business of the prince, of the realm. Yet it was there he had felt alone. Even Lucie had seemed out of reach when not wrapped in his arms, caught up in her own journey of discovery. Here he felt a part of the flow of life.

But he also felt the lack of his children’s voices, the sticky hands reaching for his, the clatter of their wooden toys tumbling down the steps. In time, God willing.

Lucie joined him, offering a bowl of ale. ‘Missing them?’

‘For a moment I felt it more than I could bear.’

‘I know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But already we are called to our work. Alisoun said she has much to tell us before she leaves in the morning. Are you ready to resume your role as captain of the city?’

As if he had a choice.

As the afternoon unfolded Owen felt the weight of his duties in the city pressing down. From Alisoun he learned that folk were turning against Magda, blaming her not only for the return of the pestilence but for all manner of misfortunes, from dough that failed to rise to Sam Toller’s death, some saying the healer made the river take him. He was not surprised to hear that Magda had not been within the walls for a fortnight. But when he learned that her daughter Asa was in York, he did wonder whether Magda’s absence had more to do with that arrival. Alisoun continued the litany of woes with an account of Celia Cooper’s illness, her husband’s accusations about Asa, which seem to have led to an attack as she hurried home. She spoke of the trouble in the Wolcott home, Guthlac’s decline under the care of the leech Bernard, how that might somehow be connected to Sam’s suspected murder.

‘I think Sam’s wife was the one pointing the finger at Dame Magda,’ said Alisoun. ‘Or it might be the leech Bernard.’

‘I am glad to hear that Celia is at St Clement’s, that is good,’ said Lucie, but she did not smile. ‘In the coming darkness I fear for those deprived of Magda’s healing presence. Have people come to you?’

‘They have. I saw a few, but I have made it no secret that I am going away. For the rest I recommended other midwives.’

‘Any change in how people behave toward you?’ Owen asked.

‘Some avoid my eyes when I pass. Custom in the apothecary is down, but only a little. With you here now, that all might right itself.’

Or it might not. He saw in Lucie’s frown that she doubted they would be untouched.

‘This Bernard. I feared he would cause trouble,’ said Owen.

He had not met him, but Lucie had. He’d come to the shop in early April, introducing himself as a physician new to the city, buying a common purgative, leeches, a headache powder, crushed gems. He had said little, vague about where he had lived before but eager to name important names in the city, particularly the Graas – Thomas Graa was the current mayor – and Wolcotts. He had not returned, but he complained to the guild master about the impropriety of a female apothecary. The guild master informed them that he had assured the newcomer that Lucie was a member in good standing and suggested he curb his tongue if he wished to be accepted in the city. They had heard no more of him, but it was enough.

‘Has Magda met him?’ Owen asked Alisoun.

‘No. All he knows of her is secondhand.’

‘There are plenty who will feed him all he wishes,’ said Lucie.

Owen steered them into the plans for Alisoun’s departure for Freythorpe Hadden the following day. She said she would spend the night at the Ferriby home so that they might depart at first light. Peter was eager to see his wife and sons who had been away at Freythorpe Hadden for more than a month.

‘Will you see Magda before you leave?’ Owen asked.

‘Yes. I have already packed all but the physicks that she is preparing. I thought to take my things to the Ferribys and go to Magda just before the closing of the gates this evening, I will be returning after they are barred, but I know the way along the bank at low tide.’

‘No need for that. Carn is the Bootham gatekeeper at that hour. I will tell him to expect you.’

‘Would you care to come with me?’

‘It seems I have plenty to occupy me here. I will see her after you leave. You say Asa is staying with her?’

‘Yes. Jasper says you once met her up on the moors.’

‘I did. She wished to have nothing to do with her mother. What would bring her here?’

‘I know little. She came with her son Einar. He is staying in Old Shep’s cottage. Since they arrived Magda hurries me away. Will you– Is there a way you might set a watch?’

‘Without Magda knowing?’ Owen shook his head. ‘But I will make a point of meeting them. What is it that bothers you?’

‘A feeling. I do not doubt Einar is Magda’s grandson – he has her eyes. But’ – she shook her head – ‘I cannot explain it.’

He found it all unsettling. ‘I will wait for you at Bootham Bar on your return, walk you to the Ferriby house,’ he said.

Alisoun made no protest.

Entering the York Tavern in late afternoon felt the final step in returning home, the innkeepers Tom and Bess Merchet awaiting Owen at the door. Tom stood back while Bess gave the traveler a welcoming hug.

‘I’ve kept Jasper, Kate, and Alisoun supplied with bread and ale.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ said Owen. ‘And I’m grateful. Lucie is eager to tell you about life in Kennington Palace.’ She had laughed about it on the first days of the journey home, before the bleakness of their fellow travelers on the road had cast a cloud over all. As I walked round Kennington Palace I imagined how I might describe it all to Bess – the fabrics, the patterns, colors, gold, silver, pewter, gemstones.

‘And the little ones?’ Bess asked.

‘In good health, and enjoying the countryside.’

‘Praise God for that,’ said Tom. He pressed a tankard of ale into Owen’s hands and pointed toward Hempe and Poole sitting in the back corner. ‘They arrived a while ago. Grim-faced, as they have been many an evening of late, casting a cloud over all.’

Owen took a drink. ‘I tasted nothing so fine in the south, my friend.’

Tom nodded, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. ‘Ale’s not the only thing being brewed in the city at present. Someone’s sickening folk with a dark, ugly mash of lies. I’m that glad you’ve returned. You’re the one to find them and drain the poison before someone dies.’

‘Any idea who?’

‘Look to the friends of the leech Bernard.’

Thanking him, Owen threaded his way through the crowd, smiling at greetings, promising to pass them on to Lucie, all the while noting the ones not smiling about his return. Not that he expected to be welcomed by all, but he thought perhaps he might find some who could speak to the moment, help him understand what lay beneath the ugliness besides fear of plague.

His friends rose to welcome him, teasingly addressing him as ‘Sir Owen.’ Laughing, he lowered himself onto a stool, raising his tankard in celebration. Bess came to top up all three tankards, then left them. Before they distracted him with questions, Owen told them all that he’d learned from Alisoun about Sam’s death, and Jasper’s sense that there was more to the story.

‘I have seen many a man with the back of his skull opened by a hard blow,’ said Crispin. ‘But I’ve never seen such an injury caused by drowning.’ He raised his one hand to ward off argument. ‘Debris in a rushing river might cause further injury, but to hit him just so, I don’t believe it.’

‘You think he was murdered, then tossed in the flood?’ Owen asked.

Both men nodded.

‘I doubted at first,’ said Hempe. ‘But now– There’s the matter of his wife. She claims he went out to confront Magda Digby, to accuse her of poisoning Guthlac Wolcott, and she never saw him again. Implying Magda punished him. Trouble is, two witnesses swear they saw him return that night, heard raised voices in the house, and then him storming out, her rushing out the door and calling down curses on him as he disappeared. “You will be the ruin of us!” They both agree she said that. The curses I left them debating.’ He gave a mirthless chuckle.

‘You’ve asked her about their witness?’ Owen asked.

‘Not yet.’ Hempe looked to Poole. ‘We want to be sure before we go to her that they are speaking the truth, not making it up to defend Dame Magda.’

‘I was the one to tell her of her husband’s drowning,’ said Poole. ‘She showed no surprise, only anger. I thought at the time it might be that his being gone for a few days had prepared her. But she wasted no time in accusing Dame Magda. Nor has any new information moved her to change it. I cannot help but wonder whether she’s protecting herself and her children with a lie. And there is the matter of the leech. My mother has lived all her life in York. I asked her whether she remembers any physician being the subject of so much gossip and she does not. “A physician’s reputation is everything. They are careful.” But not this man, a stranger in the city. I don’t like it. He’s too bold.’

‘I agree,’ said Hempe, ‘as does Lotta.’ Hempe’s wife. ‘As with Sam’s widow, Gemma, the opinion about Bernard falls into those who defend him – Bernard’s side, and those who distrust him – Magda’s defenders. You see why we want to move with care.’

‘And there is the arrival of Magda’s daughter Asa. Folk do not trust her,’ said Hempe. ‘Odd thing is, some say she is the source of darker rumors about Magda than I have heard before, accusing her of sorcery.’

‘Plague fear,’ said Crispin. ‘Even the sisters at St Clement’s are anxious. Dame Marian tries to lift their hearts in song, but she struggles to engage them.’

‘You have spoken to Dame Marian when you visit your mother at the priory?’ Owen asked.

‘She sought me out when she knew I was there to see Mother. Asked what she might do to support Dame Magda, who was good to her. I told her I would send word if I thought of aught, and if it seemed Dame Magda needed her help. She also said to tell you that she prays for you and your family every day.’

‘I am grateful.’ Owen sat back, drinking in all in. He was glad the nun had settled at St Clement’s. He and Lucie had taken her in when she first came to York and he had grown fond of her despite a rocky beginning. ‘Anything else?’ he asked when he’d ordered his thoughts. ‘Surely more has happened while I was away.’

‘The usual thefts, brawls, a missing child – found the next day, at her cousin’s,’ said Hempe. ‘A few folk accosted at Micklegate Bar for fear of bringing Death to the city, one a stranger, one a tinker familiar to most of us. Troublemakers hear someone has come north and accuse them of bringing sickness.’

‘A family down on the river below Clementhorpe is being shunned for rumors that the father returned from the south with the sickness,’ said Poole. ‘The mood is tense.’

Hempe nodded. ‘It’s a tribute to you and Dame Lucie that you caused no stir on your return.’

Owen had been thinking the same.

The business taken care of, they spoke of Crispin’s new wife, Muriel, and their daughter, Lucie. ‘Beautiful as her first godmother,’ said Crispin.

Owen smiled, both at the compliment and Crispin’s apparent delight in his child. It mattered not a whit to the man that she was the daughter of Muriel’s first marriage, her father murdered shortly before her birth. ‘I will tell her godmother you said that. Though I am certain Lucie will visit as soon as all is settled in the shop.’

‘Alisoun leaves tomorrow?’ asked Hempe.

‘She does.’

‘With Dame Magda avoiding the city, Alisoun will be missed,’ said Crispin. ‘But I am glad your children will be well cared for while away.’

‘Please tell Muriel that she is more than welcome to take your child to Freythorpe Hadden. It is a large home, and the Ferribys will be traveling on to their manor.’

‘I will tell her, and I know though she will be as grateful as I am, she will refuse to leave the city.’

Owen understood. Pushing away his own doubt about the wisdom of leaving his children in the country he had asked for more detail about the rumors regarding Magda when a cry went up at the door.

Tom Merchet had his hand on the shoulder of Timkin, an elderly man, not a regular at the tavern, who was holding his head as he cried out, ‘Old Bede’s house is burning!’

There was more, but Owen was already up and moving toward him, thinking of Bede’s widowed daughter Winifrith and her young children, who lived with him. He bent to the man who was now doubled over, gasping for air. ‘Did the family escape?’

‘Don’t know,’ the old man sobbed. ‘I saw folk running to the river calling “Fire!” Rushed after them, saw what was burning. Someone said the men who lit it called it a plague house. A lie!’

Owen needed to hear no more. In a moment he was pounding down Coney Street, his companions falling back – Crispin needed a cane. At King’s Staithe he joined Ned Cooper and several other young men who often worked for the bailiffs. He saw the flames now, licking at a much larger space than Old Bede’s small cottage. Several small buildings in the lane behind the staithe were on fire, moving close to a large warehouse.

He whispered a prayer of thanks when he spied Old Bede, Winifrith, and the two children among a group huddled together as they watched the fire. Ned had paused by them, his fellows rushing on to grab the pots and buckets that neighbors were carrying out of their houses and rushing down to fill them with river water.

Some men were hacking at a burning wall near a warehouse. Beyond them folk were stretched along the staithe and down on to the mudflats to reach the water at low tide, passing along filled buckets in one direction, empty buckets in another.

Owen grabbed two of the axe-wielders and tossed them toward the shore. ‘Water, you fools. Water is what you need.’

‘We are paid to watch the warehouse.’

Picking up an axe, Owen growled, ‘Water.’

The men stumbled off toward the staithe, sputtering curses.

A woman was wrapping Winifrith, Bede, and the children in blankets.

‘You can sleep with us tonight,’ she said. ‘Devils, the ones who did this. We’re all out on the street every day. We’d know if the great sickness was here. Someone did this for spite, they did.’

But who was the target? ‘Did you see anything?’ Owen asked.

Old Bede shook his head. Winifrith was busy with the children.

‘No,’ said the woman. ‘I knew nothing until my son shouted “fire”.’

‘Is your house far enough from the flames?’

‘I pray so, Captain. Go. Help with the fire. I will take them home.’

Four buildings burning, and the sparks were catching the thatch on a fifth. Owen directed a few buckets there, enough to wet it. ‘Keep watch on that,’ he ordered a young woman working the line, skirts hitched up, her eyes aglow with the fire. He moved through the crowd, helping where he could. So far it seemed everyone had escaped their homes, most of them working to put out the fire. Homeless, frightened, but safe. Owen helped the water-bearers until Crispin limped down to tell him that the fire appeared to be under control.

‘Hempe says leave it to the men,’ said Crispin. ‘You need to rest up. You will be busy tomorrow chasing down the culprit.’

After passing a few more buckets, Owen sought out the woman sheltering Old Bede’s family. ‘Did your son see who started the fire?’ he asked the woman.

A young man stepped forward. ‘I heard someone shout “plague house,” and “burn out the Death”, but there was so much smoke.’

‘Did you see or hear anything else that might help us find them?’

‘No. I can ask my friends. Should I come to you if I hear anything?’

‘Me. Or Bailiff Hempe. Good work, calling out your neighbors.’

Hempe waited beneath Ouse Bridge. ‘Ned’s taking charge for the night,’ he said ‘They will watch the fires, keep them low. That’s one of the Graa family’s warehouses at the staithe. His men complained that you ordered them about. I set them straight who you are. They whined that in the smoke they hadn’t recognized you. As if I believed them. They’d note the patch no matter the smoke.’ He spit off to the side. ‘I set them to stand the watch with Ned and the others, told them if I heard they’d wandered off I would fine them.’

‘Unwilling helpers can be more of a nuisance than a help,’ said Owen.

‘I don’t much care if they guard only the mayor’s warehouse. The others will be free to watch the rest.’

‘Clever.’

‘So off home with you.’

‘First I’m off to Bootham Bar to see that Alisoun gets through,’ said Owen, ‘then home.’