The Riverwoman’s Dragon

5 Arrows

At first light, Magda packed her basket with all she might need through the morning, including a skin with wine mixed with herbs to warm and calm, and set off upriver. She stayed close to the bank, slipping in and out of the morning mist as she pricked her ears for the sound of someone moving along the far bank. Across from the nest of the swans she settled on a piece of wall to afford the presence she had sensed the opportunity to reveal herself. The wine was for her, to warm her after a night in hiding.

Mother Swan perched to one side of the great nest, a wing draped over the cygnets. She watched Magda for a moment, then tucked her head into her feathers. Father Swan was away, fishing, Magda guessed. Rustlings in the underbrush and in the limbs overhead, the occasional caw or cry, the steady rush of the river lulled Magda to a deep quiet. She was fighting sleep when a louder rustling in the undergrowth on the far bank caused Mother Swan to look behind her, alert to danger. Magda was now wide awake.

A woman peered out from behind a bush, then stepped out onto the bank. Magda lifted a hand in greeting, her heart gladdening to see she had been right in sensing it was Lettice Brown. She need not have bothered putting a finger to her mouth and looking round, for why else would Lettice be creeping about in the underbrush. Magda motioned for her to walk along upriver to a place from which Magda would row her over.

It seemed she might be sheltering many in the forest.

The small coracle, hidden deep within the tangled roots and limbs of an old willow, had served many a friend. Putting the wineskin in the vessel, Magda placed her basket in the hiding place, then carried the lightweight boat and the rough oar to the bank. The river widened and slowed here as it curved, not a challenge at this hour. Within a few strokes she fell into an easy rhythm. At the far bank she held out her hand to steady Lettice as she stepped into the coracle. The woman shivered, the chill deep in her bones. Her damp clothing and exhaustion suggested she had not found shelter for the night. Magda handed her the wineskin with the whispered assurance that it would warm her with but a sip, then set off toward the willow. At the bank, Magda stepped out first, then assisted Lettice, guiding her to lean against the willow while she retrieved her basket and hid the coracle.

‘Dame Magda, I must warn you …’ Lettice whispered as she fell against her.

‘Later. Come now, before thou art seen.’ Magda held the wineskin up to the woman’s mouth. ‘A sip.’ Lettice took more than a sip. Never mind. It was not far now.

Magda grasped Lettice’s arm to steady her after several stumbles. At the tall holly hedge she stopped, lightly touching the glossy leaves, then awaiting a sign of welcome. In the archway a moth hovered, gazing her way for a moment, then turning and leading them in. She led Lettice through the hedge and out beneath ancient oaks.

‘Where are we?’ Lettice whispered, gazing up into the thick canopy.

‘A safe place,’ said Magda, assisting her to a mossy hillock in a clearing. Brushing back thick vines that covered a heavy oak door, she pushed it wide and reached in for a lantern hanging inside, opening a shutter to illuminate a large room beyond. ‘Step within.’ Heavy oak beams supported the sod exterior, vertical beams making possible a dividing wall completed by heavy cloth. It would be snug and warm once the fire dried it out. Lettice moved into the room, touching the table, benches, the few pots, ladle, wooden bowls, cups, and spoons, the cupboard shelves with jars of grains, dried mushrooms, and beans.

‘Thou might rest here,’ said Magda. ‘There are beds in the room beyond.’

‘Who lives here?’

‘Thou wilt live here for a little while.’ Magda smiled at the questions in the woman’s eyes. ‘Few know of this place. It is not easily found.’

‘It is a fairy dwelling?’

‘It is as real as Magda and thee. Come. Sit.’ Fetching a wooden cup, Magda filled it with the comforting wine and handed it to Lettice after she lowered herself on to a bench.

Gazing round with wonder tempered by fear, Lettice drank deeply.

‘There is firewood by the door. From there thou wilt see a brook. The water is fresh and cool. Magda will bring some in now and build a fire to warm thee. Thou shouldst lie down to sleep a while.’ Lettice was already listing and fighting to keep her eyes focused. ‘Tomorrow Magda will bring thee clean clothing and more food and wine.’

‘You are leaving?’

‘For a little while. So that thou might rest. If thou dost wake before Magda returns, do not venture beyond the brook or out of the holly hedge toward the riverbank. Thou shouldst stay out of sight.’

‘You believe I am in danger?’

‘It is thee who believes so, is it not? Why else didst thou hide along the riverbank through the night?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Magda sensed thee across the way in the twilight.’

‘My house was destroyed by fire, and my husband–’

Magda put an arm round Lettice. ‘Come. To bed.’

‘But I must tell you–’

‘When thou art rested.’

As Magda settled Lettice in a bed, layering blankets over her, she asked about her daughter’s delivery, the baby’s sex, the name chosen for him.

Lettice whispered of her guilt about leaving Matthew alone. ‘I could not take him. I could not trust him to refrain from insulting her husband.’ She spoke of Matthew’s drinking, how he was ever disappointing her, but how handsome he had been, how clever. He was her first love. Her parents had disapproved, but he had convinced them with his honeyed tongue that he would go far. He would soon own one of the ships he loaded and unloaded at the staithes. As her words slurred together, Magda told her that what she most needed now was sleep.

‘The end of thy tale can wait until later. Rest now.’

Lettice slept.

Sunday morning mass in St Helen’s was crowded, folk bringing their children for blessings after a boy in the parish of St Denys’, Walmgate, collapsed with fever the previous afternoon, his feet blackening, and by midnight boils in his armpits burst. Within hours, he was dead.

The parish priest, Jerome, had taken Owen aside at the church door to assure him he would not preach according to the dictums of the archbishop, that he had prayed over it and God’s message had been clear, he was a shepherd of his flock and in such times the people needed their trusted healers, not only Magda Digby but all the midwives in the city.

‘The archbishop ordered you to preach against the midwives?’ Owen asked.

‘It is rumored he sent such a letter to the abbeys and priories, and therefore some of my fellows believe we should warn our parishioners against the women. But I will not do so.’

‘Bless you, Father. Our parish benefits by your pastoral care.’

Overhearing and apparently guessing his urge to withdraw and speak to Michaelo, Lucie slipped her arm through Owen’s and guided him in to stand among the faithful. ‘Time to confer after mass. We have much to pray for.’

Knowing she was right, Owen bowed his head and did his best to nudge his mind toward prayer.

With the pestilence now in the city they had left Jasper to see to the customers who would pound on the door of the apothecary despite it being the Sabbath, begging for the cures they believed had worked for them in past visitations. Brother Michaelo attended him. He had offered his services the previous evening when he had delivered copies of the archbishop’s letter and Dom Jehannes’s response.

‘I saw the terror in the eyes of the people in the minster yard, with rumors of sickness in Clementhorpe and Walmgate,’ said Michaelo. ‘And many still believe it was a plague house set fire near King’s Staithe. All the worst for Dame Magda’s absence.’

Owen had puzzled over that, noting that she was just without the walls.

‘A difficult journey for the sick,’ said Michaelo. ‘It is the solitary folk, those left behind, who huddle in the minster yard. They see to one another to a point, but they do not risk going outside the walls seeking help for fear they would be shut out.’ So the monk hoped to learn what he could by assisting in the apothecary. ‘Though I would as lief Dame Magda returned, I am glad she protects herself. I pray I might be of some good.’

Lucie had, of course, offered him simple supplies, which he accepted with gratitude. His charity work touched her. Owen saw it as an extension of Michaelo’s nightly work among the poor in the minster yard, and guessed he might embrace it as penance, atoning for the pleasure he took in his reception in Prince Edward’s household, his reluctance to depart for home. Still, Owen, too, was moved by the gesture.

The archbishop’s letter had also motivated Michaelo. Neville had mentioned the poor who slept in the minster yard, claiming that they offend the dignity of the great cathedral and should be removed. He’d also chided the Abbot of St Mary’s for feeding the poor outside the gate and encouraging the ‘vermin city’. No wonder Brother Michaelo wished to assist in the apothecary so that he might be of help to the poor.

The letter puzzled Owen. Alexander Neville was known to be a litigious man, but King Edward had expected his brother Sir John to prevail upon him to temper his behavior.

Dom Jehannes’s letter to the archbishop was, in contrast, quiet, respectful, quoting the pertinent parts of Neville’s missive as he expressed his concern that news of it might lead the parish priests to preach against the very healers needed as the pestilence returned. He suggested the resumption of penitential processions in the churches on Wednesdays, as had been done in the last visitation of the pestilence to the great comfort and soothing of souls of the people of York. He also addressed the issues of the poor, pointing out that the letter had included no suggestions as to how the religious communities might perform their Christian duty of giving alms to the poor if the poor were banished. Or perhaps a letter would follow suggesting where the people might be relocated? He added that if the purpose was to keep the pestilence from the city, it was already too late.

As Michaelo had said last night, quoting the Sermon on the Mount, Beati mites quoniam ipsi possidebunt terram. Owen had disagreed with putting Jehannes in the category of the meek, thinking him rather fierce in his gentle righteousness. But he did see the point, the meek inheriting the earth having always suggested to him that the humbler, gentler path created a more lasting change.

‘Will you still go to St George’s Field today?’ Lucie asked Owen as they joined the throng leaving church.

He heard in her voice that she already knew the answer. ‘Do you want me to tell Jasper to stay here?’

‘No. I encouraged him because I thought the fresh air and the activity would be good, and that has not changed. He’s been shut up in the shop so much and likely will be so through the summer.’ Lucie looked up at Owen as he held open their front door. She touched his face. ‘But of course I worry. For both of you. And just as I understand why you must go, I feel we must allow Jasper to make his own choice.’

Her morning’s visits completed, Magda headed back to collect the donkey and cart, and then Helen and her family. Lettice’s tale of her marriage made her think of her own first love. Sten. He, too, had been handsome. Tall, strong, his wild dark hair worn long, often braided, rings in his ears, gold bracelets on his arms. A bard, he claimed to be, and a healer, a magician. How she had loved Sten, foolish young twig of a girl as she had been. Maggie, my love, we will sail the seas together. To the ends of the earth we will sail, collecting rare plants, gems, spices, and magical creatures for healing and transformation. She laughed to herself, remembering how his descriptions carried her away on dreams of exotic lands. Lettice’s expectations for her marriage had been as foolish, considering Matthew. In all the years Magda had known of him he’d demonstrated neither the cleverness to move beyond common labor nor the ambition to better himself. Their children had married better men, though humble, thanks to Lettice’s reputation as a hard worker. Magda and Sten’s children were the only beauty resulting from their passionate union. Yrsa, kind, clever with her hands, winning the eye of a carpenter in Scarborough. Kind, that is, to all but her mother, whom she blamed for Sten’s desertion with her twin Odo. Magda had not corrected her, did not try to explain that Sten had proved to be a lazy dreamer who lost his passion when his charms were not enough to coax coin from wary customers.

At the dip in the forest track that marked the path to the sanctuary – a path invisible to those who did not know to search for it – Magda was glad to see no sign of passage since she had covered her tracks in the morning. Lettice was safe as she could be for now, and while walking Magda had come up with a plan that would give the frightened woman more ease in the sanctuary while also providing shelter to the expectant mother and her family, including her crippled husband. Humming, Magda continued on, looking forward to a cup of ale and a bowl of the stew she carried in a pot in her otherwise empty basket, made by the daughter of an elderly patient she knew to be a fine cook.

Jasper chose to accompany Owen, remarking as they walked what a help Brother Michaelo proved, comforting folk as they stood in line and smoothing tempers. The monk had stayed to provide the same service to Lucie. ‘I admire him for his willingness to help the poor, but I’d doubted that he could provide much comfort. This morning he proved me wrong. He says it is a penance and a practice of humility,’ said Jasper, ‘but I believe God called him to this, as he did Brother Wulfstan long ago.’

Not so long ago, in Owen’s mind. Not long enough. God be thanked Lucie needed Jasper in the apothecary or his son would be out ministering to the sick as well, as his mentor Brother Wulfstan had done. Blessed work that took his life.

‘I pray he is sturdier than Brother Wulfstan,’ said Jasper.

‘I believe Brother Michaelo has reserves of strength we never guessed,’ said Owen. Indeed, Michaelo continued to prove himself a talented, resourceful man who helped in innumerable ways. He had promised that after Jasper returned from archery practice he would do some sleuthing among the parishes regarding the perceived orders from the archbishop.

Jasper shifted the conversation to memories of the first time Owen had taken him to practice at the butts, his hair colored a bright red, his clothes padded to disguise his shape. That time the danger had been from a fellow man, the sort of danger Owen understood. Yet he had failed to protect Jasper.

Wishing to speak of something less troubling, Owen described Einar, recruiting Jasper’s help in observing him should he appear.

The day was overcast, but with a subtle warmth beneath the cool of the morning that promised sunshine later. Owen hoped the cloud cover lasted through the practice so that he need not squint with his one good eye. He would prefer not to make a fool of himself adjusting another’s aim.

At first attendance was sparse, but within an hour Owen glanced up while training a particularly challenged young man to see that at least half the usual complement had arrived. He called to Jasper to take over with the young man. Having begun his training with Owen at eight years, his son was now an accomplished bowman with strength and a refined technique.

‘Before you go,’ said Jasper, ‘I wondered if that is Einar.’ He pointed out a young man just arriving, making his way through the crowd, pausing to look round.

‘Good eyes,’ said Owen.

‘I should like to meet him,’ said Jasper.

Owen lifted an arm, motioning to Einar to join him. The young man hurried through the crowd, at the last moment ducking a stray arrow.

‘Dangerous out here,’ said Einar. ‘But I see far more capable bowmen than I’ve seen elsewhere. You’ve led them long, Captain?’ He seemed easy in the crowd. Whatever his reason for running from Magda, it was not that he was being hunted in the city.

‘I’ve had the training of them for over ten years, when I am here,’ said Owen.

‘King Edward should be grateful. Though I doubt he will be leading armies across to France again. Nor will his heir.’

Spoken with a certainty that interested Owen. ‘You know something of the prince?’

‘Rumors.’ Einar looked toward the pair beside them.

‘My son Jasper assists me in training. Now show me your stance, Einar, then shoot.’

Einar took the bow from his shoulder, chose an arrow. Taking his position, he glanced over at Jasper, who was adjusting his charge’s posture, and copied the instructions. He’d understood. The shot went wide, to the edge of the butt. When one of the lads who collected the arrows brought it to him, he thanked him and began to take out a coin.

‘No need. The city pays them,’ Owen said, nodding to the lad as he withdrew behind them.

‘Dangerous work.’

‘I’ve trained them to watch from behind the shooters. More legwork for them, but we’ve not yet had a casualty, though a near one, a fool who did not pay attention to whether the field was cleared.’ Owen stepped closer. ‘Some advice?’

‘I welcome it.’

While Owen adjusted Einar’s stance and his grip on the bow he examined the young man’s clothing. Plain, but well made out of good wool. Dyed after some wear, old grease stains taking the new color unevenly. He suspected livery turned into everyday clothing. With his manner of speaking, northern but with a more recent polish with hints of London, the dyed clothing suggested he’d been in service in the south, and not long ago. Owen wondered what had brought him north. Returning to kin? Asa was not so near a relation. And why?

Einar’s next shot came close to the mark.

‘Well done. You learn quickly.’

A few more adjustments, and on the third Einar hit the mark. He had turned to Owen, but was distracted by something beyond him.

‘Who is that man, the merchant with the blue feather in his cap?’

Owen looked. ‘Gavin Wolcott. How did you know he’s a merchant?’

‘His garb?’ A crooked grin. ‘A lucky guess.’

Owen did not believe it.

Jasper joined them. ‘You’re good,’ he noted after introducing himself.

‘Your father corrected me. Forgive me, I’ve spied someone I have wished to see.’

Jasper leaned over to Owen to whisper, ‘The man standing with Wolcott is Master Bernard, the physician.’

‘You become my eyes, son.’ Owen watched them. The leech seemed to be arguing with Gavin, his gestures clipped, close to his body, but bristling with anger. Tall, slender to the point of gauntness, shadowed eyes.

Einar had lingered. ‘What did you call him?’

‘Master Bernard,’ said Jasper. ‘He’s a new physician in town. The one rumored to have called your kinswoman Dame Magda a heretic.’

‘He calls himself a physician?’ Einar seemed to find that amusing.

‘Do you know him?’ Owen asked.

‘Do I? No. No. But look at him – is he a man to inspire healthy habits?’ Einar glanced up at the sky. ‘It is later than I thought. Next Sunday?’

‘You are staying in York?’

‘Much depends on whether I might find work.’ Einar kept sliding his eyes toward the arguing pair.

‘Where are you lodging?’

‘Old Shep’s house, near Dame Magda’s.’

‘Would you be willing to come into the city for work? I might ask some folk.’

That caught Einar’s attention. ‘Would you do that?’

‘Come to the apothecary tomorrow.’ Owen was thinking about Michaelo. He might observe the lad. A way for Owen to keep him close, possibly second-guess his intentions thereby preventing harm to Magda or others.

With a surprised, Thank you, I will, Einar hurried off. Gavin Wolcott was now setting himself up at the butts being used by other merchants’ sons, but the physician was gone. Einar did not pause by Wolcott, but disappeared into the street.

‘Would you like me to follow him?’ asked Jasper.

‘I would, yes. But stay hidden and do not engage. Just see where they go.’

Leaving his bow, glove, and quiver of arrows with his father, Jasper wound his way through the crowd and out onto the street. He called to a former classmate, describing Einar and asking if he’d seen which way he’d gone.

‘That way,’ he pointed. ‘He’s following the leech with the sly eyes, the one spreading lies about the Riverwoman. Lives across Foss Bridge off Walmgate.’

Calling out his thanks, Jasper hurried on, caught sight of Einar as he crossed the bridge. Running to catch up, he saw Bernard farther along. A woman hailed Jasper, asking whether the shop was open, whether he was headed to someone with the pestilence– Stay away, another one implored, we need you healthy. He shivered, answering with brief but courteous words, as his father would do. Just past St Denys’ church the physician slipped into an alley. Einar seemed to nod to himself and begin to turn away, but he saw a gray-haired woman hurry as best she could on her cane toward the same alley, disappearing into it. Jasper had crept close enough to hear Einar mutter, ‘Merde!’ and follow them. Asking a passing woman whether she knew where the physician Bernard lived, Jasper was told to stay away from that alley.

‘Pestilence,’ she hissed. ‘The Riverwoman has cursed the good leech’s neighbors for spite, pagan witch.’ She spat and crossed herself, hurrying on.

Torn between returning to report to Owen and trying to learn more, Jasper crept to the head of the alley. At the far end, where some light fell through a crossing, Einar paced back and forth, then paused, leaning toward the light, as if listening. Now Jasper, too, heard the voices of a man and a woman, the woman’s coaxing, the man’s whining. But he could not make out their words. Time to return to St George’s Field.

On the way there he encountered his acquaintance and asked exactly where the leech lived.

‘He has lodgings in the Fuller home, next to the plague house. Mark me, he will run away, fearful lest the pestilence see that it missed his lodgings. It’s the one that juts out at the side almost to the roof of the plague house.’

Jasper crossed himself as he hurried on.

Helen and her crippled husband Fergus rode in the cart, Magda and the children walking alongside. The family would protect Lettice Brown from curious eyes, and she would feel useful. Magda had discussed her plan with Fergus, knowing he would consider the burden with care. After some thought, he agreed, setting the family to packing up what little they owned and readying themselves. They would say nothing of Lettice until close to the destination – children chattered loudly when excited. They would be calmer once put to work to right the place and make their mother comfortable. Though there would be little to right, the parents would count on the children to fetch and carry and settle all for the first night.

Bringing the donkey cart near the ramshackle huts, Magda watched as the family approached, friends waving them off with kind words and prayers. Fergus and Helen were loved and respected in this community of folk who found his tragedy terribly familiar. While cleaning a watermill on his landlord’s property he had slipped into the millrace, his leg crushed before his fellows managed to pull him away. Once he could no longer work he and his family were evicted. Magda had worked on Fergus’s leg when he first arrived with his family, but though she relieved much of his pain the leg was mangled and he would always require a crutch, and move slowly.

The children chattered and rushed off to explore the woodland as they moved deep into Galtres, always returning when one of their parents called out to them. But as they drew near the turnoff for the house, five-year-old Tess tugged on Magda’s hand. Her eyes were pools of fear. Magda picked her up.

‘The trees are going to swallow us,’ Tess whispered.

‘Nay, little one, they will shelter thee in loving arms as they do all the creatures of the woodland and the delicate plants that nourish and heal folk. Thou art embraced by them, but they will not hold thee against thy will.’

The child gazed up into the canopy as a wren settled on a branch above them. ‘They take care of the birds?’

‘They provide food and shelter.’

‘Dame Magda, she will tire you,’ Helen said.

‘Tiring is not the matter,’ she said as she lifted the girl up into her father’s reaching arms. ‘Magda must guide thee now along a subtle track. Call for thy sons.’

Handing the girl to her mother, Fergus called the boys to follow the cart closely now.

In a moment, Magda guided the company off the main track onto a path that set the cart bouncing. Just beyond a great oak she directed them to leave the cart and walk the rest of the way, which was not far. The eldest boy helped his father out of the cart while Magda supervised the other two in assisting their mother.

‘Walk with care. Watch the roots beneath thy feet,’ Magda warned. As they walked she took the girl’s hand and, pointing out the abundance of beauty all along the path, led the family through the ancient hollies, where they came upon Lettice sitting on a rock beside the beck, leaning to rinse out a pot.

Seeing the little family, Lettice rose with surprise. Magda made her introductions, explaining how they were to help one another.

When Magda departed a while later she hummed to herself, content with her morning’s work.

As he left St George’s Field with Jasper, Owen shifted through what he had learned from his son and from Harry Green, one of the night watchmen, who had been standing near Bernard and Gavin as they spoke and overheard some of the exchange. According to Harry, the leech blamed Gavin for the temper of the sermons preached in the churches that morning across the city. They know my name. I told you I must not stand out. I told you. Gavin had shushed him, assuring him that folk would be grateful for the warning, but Harry said from the look of him Bernard was not appeased and went away angry. He was not certain where Bernard lodged, but had heard it was in Walmgate. ‘Doubt you will long find him there, that is how frightened he was.’

Jasper’s news that the leech lodged with the Fullers concerned Owen. Jack Fuller’s work as master of a small trading vessel meant he was often away for long stretches, leaving Janet Fuller alone with her daughter, an invalid. And what did Asa want with Bernard? For it was surely she whom Jasper had seen following Bernard down the alley, then speaking to him. He might be wrong in concluding that Jasper had overheard Asa and Bernard talking, but Owen felt in his bones he was right.

As they turned into St Helen’s Square, he wondered at the quiet. No one stood without the apothecary awaiting entrance. Jasper noticed it as well, and, hurrying to the door, found it locked. Owen was already pushing open the gate to the rear of the shop off the York Tavern yard when Jasper caught up to tell him. The workshop door was shut as well.

‘The house,’ said Owen, hurrying to the kitchen door, which was open on the pleasant summer day. That Kate glanced up from her spinning with a smile was reassuring. God be thanked. No bad news, no one ill.

‘Captain, Jasper, I will bring your bowls to the hall. Dame Lucie and Brother Michaelo are there, sharing a meal.’

‘They shut the shop?’

‘Someone in the parish complained about the apothecary being open on a Sunday. Father Jerome came to warn them.’

‘You see, Da? Everyone’s gone mad.’

Owen clapped Jasper on the back. ‘We cannot tell folk how to think. We can only go about our business. Come. Eat with us and tell your tale.’

Lucie and Michaelo sat in the window open to the garden. On the table were a loaf of bread, a dish of cheese, a tankard of ale. With a happy sigh Owen poured himself a bowl and settled at the table, breaking off a chunk of bread and helping himself to cheese.

‘The archbishop’s letter?’ Owen asked, nodding to the document in Lucie’s hands.

‘Yes. I’d not read it earlier.’

Jasper took his ale over to Lucie, reading over her shoulder.

‘He chided the abbot for giving alms to the poor? I cannot believe it,’ said Jasper. ‘For such a thing to come from the pen of an archbishop, a condemnation of charitable acts.’ His voice broke in his distress.

Owen felt for this son of his who oft felt the pull of a religious calling. ‘Neville seems bent on antagonizing the heads of the religious communities in York. His brother Sir John will not be pleased to hear of this.’

‘Am I to inform him?’ asked Michaelo.

‘I believe I am duty bound to inform the prince, who will undoubtedly inform Sir John.’

Owen and Michaelo exchanged a look.

As Lucie joined Owen at the table, sitting down beside him, she asked Jasper about his time at St George’s Field.

‘He has quite a tale to tell,’ said Owen, nodding to Jasper to take the floor.

‘Might Dame Magda’s daughter have thought to convince the leech how wrong he is about her mother?’ Michaelo suggested when Jasper was finished recounting his adventure.

Owen agreed that might be so but for the enmity between Magda and Asa.

‘A daughter’s resentment can fall away when others attack her mother,’ said Lucie. ‘And so it might be with Asa. Did she not come seeking Magda’s healing?’

‘Or was it an opportunity?’ asked Owen, more to himself than to the others. ‘Magda herself is uncertain about their purpose in coming to her. And there is the matter of the stolen mandrake root. In any case, we’re more likely to learn something from Einar than from her.’ Owen described his idea about the young man assisting Michaelo among the poor.

The monk sniffed. ‘You believe I might need help aiding the poor in the minster yard?’

‘If that were my purpose, any extra pair of hands would do to carry your basket and lantern,’ said Owen. ‘I am asking you to see what you make of Einar, whether he is here for good or ill, whether he poses a threat to Dame Magda.’

‘I think it a good plan,’ said Lucie.

Michaelo stared out the window for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘If he comes to you and agrees to the work, tell him where he might find me.’

‘As for this troublesome leech Bernard, do you know the priest at St Denys’?’

Michaelo turned from the window. ‘You think to learn more about the leech from Dom Jerome?’ A sniff. ‘I know him well enough. The sort of cleric who connects all the ills of the world to Eve and her daughters. I would not be surprised to hear it was Jerome who inspired Bernard’s accusations regarding Dame Magda, or fanned the flames.’

‘Even more reason to speak with him.’

‘You would be wasting your time. Besides, I’ve only just returned from speaking with several parish priests, both those who heeded the archbishop’s call to strike out at Dame Magda and those who did not. Quite a few did. And went further, extending the condemnation to all those women who gather herbs in the hedges and woodlands to concoct what they deem “unholy potions”. They threaten to refuse the sacraments to such healers and any parishioners known to consult them.’ Michaelo looked to Lucie.

‘You believe I might be considered in that group?’ she asked.

‘I fear so.’

Owen cursed.

‘God help all in the city,’ said Lucie. ‘With people already eyeing their neighbors with suspicion and fear in this summer of pestilence, such sermons would cause more tragedies like the fire near King’s Staithe.’

‘Apparently the sermon at St Denys’ was particularly vicious.’ Michaelo nodded to Jasper. ‘The woman who warned you no doubt listened to Dom Jerome’s slander this morning. Or heard of it. Someone is spreading chaos in the city.’

‘Some one? That would be quite an effort,’ said Owen, ‘and to what purpose?’

‘I do not know. Yet how else to make sense of it?’ asked Michaelo.

‘Who would wish to turn folk against healers when all are so frightened by the pestilence?’ asked Jasper.

Who indeed?

Michaelo rose. ‘I must go. I need to complete the letter to His Grace.’

‘You anticipated my agreement?’

‘I know you well, Captain.’ Michaelo departed through the garden door, turning left toward Davygate.

‘What have I done,’ Owen muttered.

Lucie laughed.

‘It amuses you?’

‘You begin to seem natural partners. Such a face! Do you pretend you are not glad of it?’

Was he glad of it? Michaelo’s efficiency would speed the message on its way, and the sooner the prince took action, the better for all. Time and again while with the prince and his lady Lucie had steered Owen to a clearer understanding of the undercurrents in the conversations, the glances exchanged about the table, the whisperings, the subtle gestures. He’d thought himself trained in noticing all this, but Lucie oft corrected him, and saved him from not a few missteps.

‘You are right. I will learn to catch myself in my complaints of him.’

It was Jasper who now laughed as he rose from the table. ‘He has a way with him at times that would madden the mildest of men. We will not chastise you for moaning now and then.’

‘I thank you,’ said Owen. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘The workshop. To finish a few tasks for the morning. Then the garden to dig out the drainage ditch behind the garden shed. It collapsed in the last storm.’

‘Leave the digging to me,’ said Owen. Tiring his body often cleared his head and he had much to ponder.

When they were alone, Owen told Lucie of Michaelo’s promise to light a candle for Martin this evening.

‘I thought he might have seen me at their grave,’ was all she said.

They sat in a loving silence while he completed his meal, then she led him out into the garden to offer guidance on the digging. Listening to her, seeing the soft sunlight brighten her brown gold hair, he fought the temptation to beg her to stay away from the shop for a while, until calmer heads prevailed in the city. He had no right to deny her autonomy. And for all he knew, her presence would inspire more than it angered, might draw some folk back to their senses. But what of visiting the Wolcotts?

‘About calling on Dame Beatrice …’

‘I meant to say, considering this morning’s sermons it would be best if you were the one to offer the Wolcotts my medicines.’ Lucie smiled and touched his cheek. ‘Forgive me for not saying so sooner. I will go prepare them for you.’

He took her hands and kissed them.