The Riverwoman’s Dragon

3 A Deepening Mystery

Alisoun stood on the rock with Magda and Asa, watching the smoke. One of the lads who manned Magda’s coracle had come to report the fire.

‘A plague house, they say. Some say it’s Old Bede’s.’

‘I saw him yesterday,’ said Alisoun. ‘He would have mentioned illness in his house.’ But she remembered with what cruel speed the Death cut down her family, as if with each heartbeat she was more alone. She crossed herself.

Magda took her hand, pressing it for courage as she told the boy to set a watch with his friends through the night in case trouble traveled.

‘Captain Archer returned,’ said the lad. ‘He will see to it.’

‘He cannot be all places at once,’ said Magda. ‘Be his eyes on this part of the river tonight.’

She drew Alisoun back into the house, Asa following close behind. ‘Bird-eye will see to it,’ Magda assured Alisoun. ‘He knows what to do.’

‘All-knowing, all wise, most honorable Captain Archer,’ Asa muttered as she limped past them. ‘Sworn to the city and the crown. He will do as he’s told.’

Alisoun bristled, but before she could compose a retort Magda nudged her back toward the worktable. She watched Asa limp over to her pallet near the fire, using her cane to ease herself down. Even if she had been so inclined, Alisoun knew better than to offer her assistance. Such gestures were met with sharp rebukes. I am no cripple. Did I call for aid?

Magda picked up the mortar and pestle she had abandoned when the boy knocked. ‘Bird-eye does not require her approval,’ she whispered.

Propped up on pillows, Asa resumed watching them, her dark eyes glinting with suspicion, so unlike Magda that Alisoun had to remind herself that this was her teacher’s daughter. Strewn on and around Asa were drawings on bits of paper, women with branches rather than arms, their bodies twined in flowering vines, legs ending in long, tangled roots, stranger even than those Ned had shown her. No wonder folk whispered about her.

Alisoun had felt those eyes on her all the while she’d stood with Magda at the worktable gathering what she might need at Freythorpe Hadden, herbs, roots, barks not likely to be found on the manor lands, as well as sufficient supplies of what she might find to last until she could replenish them. As before the interruption, she struggled to ignore Asa and keep her mind on the work, the lists, Magda’s instructions. Even now, her teacher must tap her hand to bring her attention back to the worktable.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘It is wise to stay alert to a wild one,’ Magda said softly.

Startled, Alisoun met Magda’s gaze. The clear eyes held hers for a breath, then the instruction continued, and now she engaged, asking questions, seeking to understand not only what she must do, but why. Her heart raced as she took in the breadth of the responsibility she was undertaking, keeping Owen and Lucie’s children safe from the pestilence and all other childhood ailments and injuries. She would have neither Magda nor Dame Lucie to advise her. Remembering her family, how quickly they had fallen … She used the fear to push her mind to the task at hand, thinking through every instruction, searching for anything that might be beyond her ken.

Finally Magda declared her ready, with the knowledge and the skill needed to protect her charges. ‘When the Death took thy family thou wast but a child. Now thou art prepared. Thou wilt do thy best. There is no certainty.’ She handed Alisoun the pack.

Slinging it over her shoulder, Alisoun yet hesitated, uncertain how to take her leave.

‘Magda will come out with thee.’

Asa stirred, rising to join them. ‘I wish you a safe journey,’ she said, startling Alisoun by taking her hand. She whispered something unintelligible, blowing on their joined hands, whispering more until Alisoun yanked hers from the woman’s strong grip.

Looking insulted, Asa said, ‘You would refuse a charm against the pestilence, and a spell to assist you in keeping safe the children in your charge?’ The dark eyes in the strong-boned face challenged.

‘Behave thyself, Asa.’

‘You might have asked permission,’ said Alisoun.

‘Come, Alisoun.’ Magda drew her out the door.

Owen carried a jug of Tom Merchet’s finest as he left the York Tavern. He’d changed into dry, clean clothes at home, answering Lucie’s worried questions about the fire. He stopped first at his friend Archdeacon Jehannes’s home, hoping to warn Brother Michaelo about the possibility of trouble on his nightly charitable rounds among the poor who slept on the north side of the minster. But Michaelo had already departed. Jehannes reassured Owen that he had told him of the uneasy mood in the city.

The jug was to be shared with Carn, on duty at Bootham Bar, a genial man known as the Scot for his brawn, his copper hair, and his ability to drink long into the night without effect. Except for the hair color, the rest had nothing to do with Scots blood in Owen’s experience, and Carn’s family had lived near York and guarded the gates for generations untold. Reaching the gate, Owen called out, ‘They tell me Carn the Scot appreciates a good ale. I’m here to test that.’

A rattle as the door unlatched. ‘Oh aye? Is that Captain Archer?’ Carn’s bulk filled the doorway as he peered out, a tuft of red hair standing up at the back of his head as if he’d been asleep. Yet he’d heard Owen. ‘What does a Welshman know of ale?’

Laughing, Owen entered, closing the door behind him as Carn led the way up narrow stone steps to a chamber that looked out on the far side of the gate. A small fire burned in a brazier, more than the space needed. No wonder the man had nodded off.

‘I’m awaiting Alisoun Ffulford.’

‘Bailiff said she’s to come through. You didn’t trust me to recognize the lass who’s seen to Molly and the babe she carries?’

Owen set the jug on the table. ‘As good an excuse as any. Drink from the jug?’

‘I can do better than that.’ Carn plucked two cups from a bench. ‘Will these do?’ He sniffed the air. ‘You were at the fire. Did everyone escape without injury?’

While pouring the ale, Owen gave Carn a dramatic account of the scene on the river. The guard noted that the location, so near Mayor Graa’s warehouse, meant all the city would be called upon to come forward with any information.

‘They’ll soon sort it,’ he said.

There was nothing like Tom Merchet’s ale to loosen tongues. Owen learned much of interest in the course of emptying the jug – Carn drinking most of it, though when someone pounded on the door the man was quick on his feet, descending to the street and returning in short order without breaking a sweat. He cursed the leech who was turning people against Magda Digby, and those who would believe such stories from a newcomer who hoped to steal business for himself. ‘Calls himself a physician, but I hear he does naught but apply leeches no matter the complaint. He’s naught but a barber.’ Of particular interest to Owen was a sighting of Thomas Graa returning from his Skelton property in the company of Gavin Wolcott on several occasions – a curious combination.

‘Not far from there, a family lost their bairn to the pestilence some days past,’ said Carn. ‘I suppose the mayor believes he is protected by his wealth, but the rest of us folk are uneasy about the Death coming so near. I’ll not go to Easingwold soon, of that you may be sure.’

Owen wondered about Magda. Would she be safe? And he meant to have a word with Mayor Graa on the morrow, about many things.

Out on the rock Magda nodded at the questions in Alisoun’s eyes. ‘Yes, Asa’s preference for charms and spells caused the parting. She did not care for the work of learning the healing arts, far more interested in the trappings, being wrapped in a mysterious cloak of power, wishing folk to admire her, swearing vengeance on those who offended her, caring little about healing.’

‘Is that why you discourage my curiosity about charms and spells?’

‘Didst thou think Magda warned only thee from depending on such tricks?’

‘Are they merely tricks? Is she not effective?’

‘Seldom. She is a vagabond, moving on before word of her deception is on everyone’s lips. Or her acts of vengeance.’

Alisoun steeled herself to tell Magda something she feared might be construed as an accusation. She decided to be bold with the name of the one she actually suspected. ‘Asa must be alone in the house often?’

‘She is.’ Despite the fading light Alisoun felt Magda’s close regard. ‘She stole something from thee.’

‘Remember the mandrake root, the one I called a poppet?’

Magda frowned toward the house. ‘She will see a use for that, money to be made. But thou hast mandrake in thy pack, and in several of the mixtures.’

‘I do. I had not meant to use it, but I like to keep it by me, wherever I am biding.’

‘A charm?’

Alisoun bowed her head. How to explain? At first she had meant to keep it, learn a spell or charm that would make use of her treasure. But in time she’d found it comforted her to know it was near. ‘I feel better knowing it’s beneath my mattress.’

‘Thou didst not take it with thee while working in Dame Lucie’s apothecary?’

‘No. I feel safe there. Not that I do not here, but you are so often away, and the river …’ she stopped. Everything she said made it worse.

‘So thou hast not searched for it since Bird-eye and the apothecary went away?’

‘No. Not until tonight.’

Magda touched Alisoun’s shoulder. ‘Such a comfort is difficult to lose. But thou art strong. Mayhap the need is gone. Magda is proud of thee, Alisoun. Thou hast applied thyself, learned from thy mistakes, dedicated thyself to mastering the knowledge. Do not doubt thyself.’

For a moment, Alisoun could not move, could not speak. Was this a jest? But no, she saw the light in Magda’s eyes, heard the warmth in her voice. Words still would not come, so she wrapped her arms around Magda’s slender form and held her close. After a few moments, Magda drew away.

‘The tide comes in as the moon brightens. Go now.’

Now she heard the water slipping across the rocks, and sensed a watcher on the riverbank. Not like Asa’s watching, but disturbing in its own way.

‘Einar,’ she whispered. ‘Come to see his mother?’

‘He is not her son,’ said Magda, ‘though she claims it. Wishes it.’

‘He is not your kin?’

‘He is the grandson of Magda’s daughter Yrsa.’

‘Asa’s sister?’

‘Half-sister. Yrsa died long before Asa’s birth.’

But lived long enough to give birth to Einar’s parent. Alisoun knew that Magda’s history was complex, and had imagined several marriages, but not such an expanse of years between children. Of course it would be so.

‘Why is he here with her?’

‘Mayhap he came upon her and found her useful. Or she him. She was ever one to see to herself.’

‘But why here? With you?’

‘That is not yet clear to Magda.’ She touched Alisoun’s cheek. ‘Thou art wise to distrust their purpose. Magda is not so foolish she believes her wayward daughter has come to respect her. Nor that a young man might be in awe of his elder.’

‘Her drawings frighten me.’

A grunt. ‘She would smile to hear that. Think no more of them.’ A gentle push toward the stone pathway across the rising water. ‘Go now. Walk in thine own wisdom, thine heart open and tender.’

Einar still stood on the bank. ‘He hides behind a veil of courtesy,’ said Alisoun.

‘Yes. There is good in him, but greed as well.’ Magda lifted her head, smelling the air. ‘The fire is out. Now go. The water rises.’

Alisoun picked her way along the stone causeway. As she reached the bank, Einar held out a hand to steady her.

‘Mistress Alisoun.’

‘Einar.’ She nodded, but ignored his outstretched hand, walking on past him, setting off for the city gate. She listened for his footsteps over the sounds of the camps of the poor as they settled for the night. There. He was following.

‘I am sorry you are leaving,’ he said as he caught up to her.

‘Because we are such old friends?’ She glanced at him as she continued, noticing a dagger at his waist and a bow slung over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows. His posture was proud, pleased with himself. ‘A good day’s hunting?’

A low chuckle. ‘You learn Dame Magda’s ways, speaking in questions.’

She did find it useful, serving a double purpose in avoiding inconvenient questions while disconcerting the questioner, unbalancing them. Choosing to ignore Einar, Alisoun called out to a group of boys walking a watch along the edge of the encampment, asking whether they had seen any strangers, other than the one annoying her. The boys had seen none. They offered to walk Einar back to Old Shep’s cottage in Galtres. Laughing, she assured them she could defend herself.

‘They know where I’m biding.’ Einar’s tone was not so proud as before.

‘They consider themselves Dame Magda’s retainers, ready to serve and defend her. You would be wise to have a care not to antagonize them.’

‘I will remember that.’

The road was empty, the gate lit by a solitary lantern at the guard post door off to one side.

‘Magda is nothing like Asa,’ he said after a brief silence.

‘Asa had not told you the reason they had not spoken in such a long while? Had you expected a warmer welcome?’

He laughed. ‘More questions.’

She might say much about their differences, but she chose to say nothing, holding her observations close in an uneasy embrace, still seeking to understand. It pained her to recognize much of herself in Asa, the Alisoun that might have been had she not vowed to try Magda’s way first before setting out in the direction that called to her, the way of charms and spells, far more alluring than committing to memory the lore of healing plants and observing, listening, assisting her teacher. Love and fertility charms, spells against the heir to an inheritance, spells against a competitor, charms to win an invitation to a guild, spells of protection against the pestilence – though such things seldom worked, the desperate still sought them, and paid well. But now, seeing Asa’s bitterness, her inability to prevent her own physical suffering, Alisoun felt ungrateful and not a little foolish.

‘Are you excited to go off to the country?’ Einar asked.

‘I grew up on the river, on a farm,’ said Alisoun. ‘It is the city that still excites me. But the hunting will be better. You want to have a care in Galtres. It is a royal forest. Magda has permission to hunt coney and such small game. A grateful sheriff arranged it by royal consent years ago. If you are caught hunting, you will be fined. Or worse.’

‘Magda will vouch for me.’

‘You asked? If not, I would advise you to do so.’

‘But we’re kin.’

Alisoun said no more. Let him discover the difference between blind loyalty to family and a respect for the law of the community.

Owen stood by the window as he listened to Carn describing the foul rumors regarding Magda. ‘What is the substance of the tales?’ he asked.

‘You will not be surprised to hear the accusers seem unaware of anything but their own fear that God will smite those who seek the help of a pagan healer. He’s not done that before. Why now?’ Carn took a long drink. ‘Edwin Cooper cursed Dame Magda’s daughter for casting a spell that made his wife talk in her sleep. Have you ever heard such a thing? His son Ned says both his parents chatter like jays all the night. Always have. He spoke also of drawings that cursed his wife’s dreams. And there was something about a charm tucked in his wife’s bed, a pagan thing.’

That interested Owen, knowing that although Magda held no truck with such things, Asa favored them. ‘So it is the daughter who might cause God to smite him.’

‘Ah, but Cooper says she does her mother’s bidding. They do say the archbishop has spoken out against Dame Magda.’

‘Archbishop Neville is here?’

‘No. They say he’s written a letter.’

‘Who is they?’

‘Gavin Wolcott.’

‘Graa’s new friend?’ Owen tucked that away. ‘To whom did he write the letter?’

‘To the heads of the religious houses in York.’

Owen would ask his good friend Archdeacon Jehannes about that. Turning toward the window he noticed a familiar figure approaching the gate.

‘I see Alisoun,’ he said. ‘She is not alone.’ Carn joined him at the embrasure. ‘Do you recognize the man?’

‘No. Cannot say that I do.’

Owen clapped Carn on the back and thanked him for the company. ‘If you would open the gate I might engage him before he leaves her.’

‘He cannot enter.’

‘I know. I mean only to speak with him.’

Outside the gate Owen avoided the area lit by Carn’s torch and the one overhead, choosing to watch from the shadows. Alisoun walked more quickly as she grew near, as if to shake off her escort. The man, no taller than Alisoun, walked with the cockiness of youth, a guess confirmed as he moved into the light. Dark hair, light skin, nothing familiar about him. Owen stepped out into the road. The young man drew a dagger and began to stride forward as if to defend his companion.

‘Captain,’ Alisoun called out. ‘How kind of you to meet me.’

The youth hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder, then halted, sheathing the dagger.

‘Forgive me, Captain. I thought someone meant to attack Mistress Alisoun.’

‘Folk in York know better than to threaten me,’ Alisoun said.

Owen laughed. ‘Indeed. You must be new to the city.’

‘Einar.’ He bobbed his head. ‘I have heard much about you, Captain.’ He adjusted the bow slung over his shoulder.

‘You’ve been hunting?’ Magda had permission to hunt small animals in Galtres, and Alisoun as a member of her household, but the privilege extended to few others.

Einar had the good sense to look discomfited.

‘Are you a good shot?’

‘Fair enough. Though out of practice.’

‘Come to St George’s Field on Sunday,’ said Owen. ‘We practice at the butts. For King Edward.’

‘I would be welcome?’

‘If I invite you, yes.’

Einar cocked his head, considering. ‘I might.’

Owen nodded to him and turned to follow Alisoun through the gate.

Carn stood behind him. ‘Poor young fool. He’s not won your heart, eh, Mistress Alisoun?’ he laughed.

‘I hardly think that was his intent,’ she said. ‘How goes your wife, Carn?’

‘Bless you, young woman. Round as she is tall and humming about the house. Young Meg is excited to assist Dame Magda when the time comes. Glad we are we live without the gates.’ He waved them on, wishing her a safe journey.

As Owen and Alisoun walked along Petergate she asked after Old Bede and his family. Already weary of recounting the evening, Owen was glad she did not ask for a full account. Indeed, she said little, seeming to have much on her mind, which he would expect the night before a journey. He welcomed the quiet, thinking about the small items he meant to pursue in interviews on the morrow. As they reached Christchurch, Alisoun told him of Magda’s parting comments about Asa, and Einar’s relationship to her.

‘He has her eyes, did you notice?’ she asked.

‘No, but he was mostly in shadow.’ He was curious about the youth.

‘You will watch over her, Captain?’

‘He worries you?’

‘Both of them do.’ She described Asa’s drawings and how they affected her. ‘The stuff of nightmares. Women becoming trees.’

‘I recall nothing so disturbing in the house on the moors. But I do remember her animosity toward her mother. Small wonder Asa had forged her own path.’

‘She is as unlike Magda as a daughter could be. She may have stolen something from me, a mandrake root shaped like a person. It was hidden, so she clearly searched the house.’

Remembering Carn’s story of the charm, Owen wondered. ‘Did you tell Magda?’

‘I did. She was not surprised.’

Nor was Owen. Asa had impressed him as a woman who did as she pleased with no regard for others. To search her mother’s house for items she might use seemed quite in character. He promised he would make time to visit Magda. His disappointment in the prince’s purpose in summoning him was on his mind, and until he talked to her it would hang over him, clouding his thoughts. ‘I will think how to keep an eye on Einar and Asa,’ Owen said. He sensed Alisoun’s relief. ‘The lads who take turns watching her coracle, do you think? I might ask them to do me a favor.’

‘I should have thought of that. But coming from you, reporting to you, their hero – they will be proud to have your trust.’

He smiled, thinking how much the lads admired Alisoun, how in awe of her they were. She shoots the bow like a man. No fear! No one has ever apprenticed to the Riverwoman. ‘Are you taking your bow?’

‘It is already at the Ferriby house,’ said Alisoun. ‘When Master Peter saw it he asked if he had wasted his money hiring a few men to protect us on the journey. I reminded him that I would be stopping at Freythorpe Hadden, so he would need the men for the completion of his journey to his manor.’ She laughed. ‘My bow is for hunting, helping with the meat supply on the manor.’

‘I count on you to have your bow ready to defend my children when out in the fields,’ said Owen. ‘Warning folk who might wander there that they are welcome to approach the gatehouse to ask for food or work, but should they choose to take without asking, they will pay.’

‘You depend on me to protect them?’

‘I do.’

She walked a few steps before responding. ‘You may count on me, Captain.’

‘We are grateful to you, Alisoun. I would not blame you for wishing you might stay with Magda in this strange time.’

‘I promised. And I love your children.’

They moved down through the Shambles, quiet at this time of night. A stray dog scooted out of their way, a cat streaked across the wet cobbles after a rat. The stench of the butchers’ street was subtler at night, the bloods washed down, the scraps fed to dogs or given to the poor, shops shut, housefires burning. The latter scent seemed stronger than usual. Or was it himself? Carn had guessed he’d been to the fire on the river. Had he smelled it on him despite his change of clothing? Perhaps, but as he turned into Hosier Lane, St Crux Church looming to his left, Owen noticed that the house next to the Ferriby’s was shrouded in smoke.

‘A fire at the Wolcott house?’ asked Alisoun.

‘I see no flames.’ Smoke, yes. Owen blinked to keep his one good eye clear as they passed. Peter Ferriby answered his door on the first knock, as if he had been watching out for them.

‘Burning rubbish in the yard,’ he muttered. ‘Owen, it is good to see you.’ Peter pressed his arm, an unusual gesture for the staid merchant. Though their wives were good friends and the families occasionally dined together on feast days, Peter had treated Owen with distant courtesy. ‘Alisoun, let me relieve you of that heavy pack.’ He set it in front of a collection of such packs piled round chests. ‘I am glad I arranged for a large cart, and still I am uncertain it will all fit.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘You heard about the fire at the staithe? A plague house, they say.’

‘I was there,’ said Owen. ‘By all accounts there is no pestilence on that street, though there are several families who have lost their homes. How did you hear of the fire?’

‘My servant saw it as he came across the bridge after making the arrangements for the cart.’ Peter frowned. ‘Not a plague house? Damn the gossips. But my neighbor had heard the same. Gavin said the victim was his laundress, Goodwife Brown. Poor woman. Folk will be wary of her. A pity. But with so much fear …’ He spread his arms as if to say what can one do. ‘I will be glad to escape the city.’

‘Gavin Wolcott. I wondered whether they’d had a fire,’ said Owen.

‘As I said, fools were burning bedding in the garden this evening and failed to control the blaze. I ran out with a bucket of water to douse sparks on my gate.’

‘Damage?’

‘Nothing to speak of. They were more careful with the children’s bedding in the autumn. A terrible loss for Guthlac and Beatrice.’ Peter crossed himself.

‘Why bedding?’ Alisoun asked.

‘When Dame Beatrice heard that the plague house was Goodwife Brown’s she ordered the servants to burn the bedding delivered this morning. Lettice Brown is their laundress. Gavin – her stepson – was out there as well. A rare truce between the two of them – they are usually at war. He made a right mess of it, but soon had it under control. But enough of them. Sit, sit. Ale? Wine?’

Though Owen would rather head next door to ask about the rumor and then return to the scene to find out whether anyone had seen Lettice Brown – he did not recall any mention of her – he felt it would be discourteous to rush off without expressing his gratitude for Emma Ferriby’s care of the children at Freythorpe Hadden and Peter’s accommodating Alisoun on the morrow. Alisoun joined them, putting their host at ease with questions about his sons Ivo and John. He, in turn, spoke of his gratitude that Emma’s favor for Lucie and Owen had sent her and the boys to the countryside before the mood in the city had grown so tense.

When the conversation wound down, Owen took his leave, repeating his thanks, wishing them both a safe journey.

As he crossed to the Wolcotts’ door Owen considered what he knew of them. He had encountered Gavin’s father, Guthlac, on occasion, a gruff elderly man who had been the gossip of the city four years earlier when he married a pretty young woman, a distant cousin. On all accounts, and much to everyone’s surprise, the marriage was reportedly a happy one, producing two children in quick succession, Guthlac doting on them. And then tragedy struck when both children died of the pestilence in late summer. It was said that Gavin, a son by an earlier marriage, heir to the business, had distanced himself from the couple for the years of their happiness, but had hovered like a carrion bird since his father’s loss, as if sensing that his time had come to take over the business.

At the Wolcott house Owen’s knock was answered by a servant, who had him wait outside. Gavin appeared at once, clearly annoyed though courteous, explaining that his physician was there to see to his burn and it was not a good time to entertain a guest. Owen had noticed that his right sleeve had been cut away to expose a large area of blistering. He was otherwise well dressed, a slender young man with expressive eyes, narrowed now as he impatiently awaited an explanation for the interruption. ‘What business might the captain of the city have with me?’

‘I understand you heard earlier that the fire near King’s Staithe had begun at Lettice Brown’s. Who told you that? How did you hear that so quickly?’

Gavin took a step back, the slight sneer replaced by wariness. ‘Dame Beatrice heard someone calling it out as they rushed past toward the river. Why do you ask? Was it not true?’

‘I wondered how they knew that before they had been to the staithe.’

Gavin said nothing for a moment, his eyes moving as if he were calculating what was best to say. ‘I see why you wished to know. It is unlikely. Was it true? I ask because Goodwife Brown has been our laundress for a long while so of course we are concerned.’

‘As far as we can ascertain there are no plague houses in that area,’ said Owen.

‘God be thanked,’ he said, but muttered a curse. Seeing Owen’s quizzical look he said, ‘Burned good bedding and suffered this burn for nothing. Silly woman. I should know better than to act on her word.’ He nodded to Owen. ‘I thank you for the news, Captain. I will inform the household.’ He began to shut the door.

Owen put out an arm to stop it. ‘While your physician sees to your burn, I would speak with Dame Beatrice about her late factor.’

‘About Sam Toller? She had nothing to do with him. And why now? No. As I said, she is with the physician and my father.’

‘You said the physician was here to see to your burn.’

‘And my father. Now if you will–’

‘Have you learned anything new about Sam Toller’s death?’

‘I– No. I thought it had been established that he drowned.’

‘The rumor about Dame Magda–’

‘Oh that. Women’s gossip. I can see no reason the Riverwoman would push Sam into the water.’

‘Your choosing to replace Dame Magda with Master Bernard was merely a matter of preference?’

‘My– What does that have to do with Sam’s death? What are you implying?’

‘I merely refer to Sam’s widow’s claim that he had gone to confront Dame Magda about your father’s illness.’

‘I’d not heard that.’

‘No? So why did you replace her?’

‘I hardly think–’

‘Folk are seeing a connection.’

‘The truth is Father was not improving under her care. I had heard good things about Master Bernard, so I hoped Father might benefit from a different approach.’

‘Ah.’

‘You heard that it was more than that?’

He read nuances. Owen would watch himself. ‘Your name was mentioned in connection with a letter that the archbishop sent to the abbots and priors of York condemning Magda Digby.’

‘My name? But I’ve never met the archbishop. Why would I have anything to say about matters of the Church?’ Now he was decidedly uneasy. ‘I assure you I have nothing against the Riverwoman.’

‘Perhaps my bailiffs misunderstood.’

Gavin’s expression eased a little.

Owen thanked him for the information. ‘I will return tomorrow to speak with Dame Beatrice. If you would inform her.’ He walked away before Gavin could disagree.

He had much on his mind as he walked through the now-quiet streets. Having not seen Lettice Brown among the neighbors crowding round the fire, he headed back to the King’s Staithe. The cool of evening drew a mist off the river, shrouding the charred buildings, pressing down upon the watchers the grim stench of wet ash, burnt timbers, rushes, and all that burned with homes which hours before had sheltered families.

Holding high a lantern, Alfred led the way toward the charred remains of the Brown home beside Old Bede’s. It looked as if a section of the warehouse wall had collapsed on what had been the Brown house. Owen remembered the warehousemen working to tear it down.

‘Her husband came staggering home to this, drunk as usual,’ said Alfred. ‘We had to drag him away. A family took him in. No one has seen his wife.’

Owen would order a search of the rubble in daylight. For now, he asked who else was unaccounted for. A child, who had been visiting his aunt. People prayed he’d merely lost himself in the confusion and would be found.

‘Smells like rain in the wind,’ said Hempe, appearing out of the mist. ‘I pray someone’s taken the child in for the night. There’s a hope Goodwife Brown is with her daughter out on the king’s road. She is expecting a child any day. Go home, my friend. Sleep. You’ve had a rude welcome home and face a long day ahead.’

Grinding roots, tying sprigs together to be hung from the rafters to dry, mixing powders and lotions for tomorrow’s rounds, Magda did not pause in her work as Einar described meeting Bird-eye and how he had been invited to St George’s Field for archery practice. He had not expected such a welcome, was much taken by Captain Archer. Clever of Bird-eye. She was glad he’d met Einar. Though a brief encounter, the young man was now in his eye. Clearly he meant to gauge the character of the young man, and quickly. He had sensed something. She looked forward to talking to him.

Asa sat up, reciting her oft repeated criticism of Owen Archer. In truth, it had little to do with Bird-eye and much to do with Asa’s long-ago obsession with one of his comrades in arms whom she’d found hiding up on the moors. He had never returned her affection, but she had woven a tale that blamed Bird-eye for his friend’s departure. It was ever the way with Asa. She moved through life dragging behind her a burden of grudges, adding to it with every new encounter, folding each slight with tender care and tucking it away so that she might drag it out at a later date, keeping it fresh and ready should she ever re-encounter the accused. Magda doubted that she need warn Bird-eye. He had witnessed the damage Asa had done to his friend and would remember her well enough. But she would avoid providing Asa the opportunity to attack Owen when he came to call. It was high time she coaxed Asa out of the nest. But as she observed her visitors she saw that she might not need to take such action.

Asa patted her pallet, inviting Einar to perch beside her. Eying the narrow space, he chose instead to crouch down, though it meant Asa must shift so she might not be overheard. Magda counted it fortunate that her daughter assumed her hearing had dimmed with age. Setting aside mortar and pestle, Magda took up a quieter task, blending powders.

‘What have you learned?’ Asa whispered. ‘Any news?’

Einar gave a little breathy laugh. ‘I’ve not gone into the city. But Sunday, with the captain’s invitation …’

‘Move about, listen to the gossip, the rumors.’

‘Do you have a plan?’

‘How can I? I know nothing of his movements.’

‘You wait for me to tease him out? The burden is all mine?’ Einar’s whisper was loud with impatience. When Asa thought to appease him with a pat on the cheek, he flinched. He was not so fond of the woman.

‘I will see to my tasks,’ Asa retorted, her voice breaking. She glanced at Magda, who hummed under her breath as she worked.

‘You will leave here?’ Einar asked.

‘Soon. Some shifting to do.’

‘Into the city?’

‘As you refused to share lodgings.’

Einar said nothing.

An uneasy partnership. Not surprising. Magda did not yet know who they were hunting, and whether Alisoun’s mandrake root was part of Asa’s incomplete plan. For now, she focused on Asa’s ‘shifting.’ She could well imagine all that might disappear from shelves in the night. She added a few new ingredients to the mixture for Asa’s evening tisane. While she slept, deeply, safely, Magda would work.

Einar took the first opportunity to depart, asking if he might accompany Magda on her rounds in the forest sometime soon. She smiled and said he might come any time.

‘Am I also welcome?’ Asa asked.

‘Patience. Magda has a distance to cover and thou art hobbled at present.’ She chose not to mention the donkey cart. She wanted to observe Einar on his own.

When Asa fell into a deep sleep, Magda went to work doing her own shifting, tucking behind the false wall in the darkest corner all that she would need for the next few weeks as well as those ingredients difficult to replace. What was left on the shelves would not be missed, or too heavy for her to carry in her condition. Unless Einar chose to assist her. It would be interesting to see whether he did. Kneeling to the packs next to Asa’s pallet Magda found one empty. Asa would be busy in the morning. From the other Magda drew out the items, putting aside those medicines she would rather not be responsible for having left in her daughter’s possession, including far too much ground willow bark – she had already crippled herself. Disappointing not to find Alisoun’s mandrake root, though she found ground mandrake root, which she also confiscated. Satisfied that she had done what she could, Magda put all she’d removed into the hidden cupboard and closed it up. At peace with herself, she went to feed Holda more milk, then tucked her into bed with her, falling asleep to deep purring.