The Riverwoman’s Dragon

6 Service

As the shadows lengthened in the garden, Ned Cooper had burst through the gate breathing hard as if from a brisk walk. While Owen wiped down the spade and put the tools in the garden shed he’d listened to Ned’s account of finding Magda’s coracle hidden in the underbrush near where Asa and Einar had made the crossing. While his partner had returned it, Ned had waited to see whether someone might come for it. He’d witnessed Einar searching, then cursing as he saw the boys crowding round the coracle on the north bank. Owen had sent Ned off with praise, and now, after cleaning off the worst of the mud clinging to him and changing his clothing, he was on his way to call on Gavin Wolcott. Bernard seemed the key and Owen was determined to learn what he could of the man.

The servant who’d answered the door stepped aside for his master. Owen saw the unease in Gavin Wolcott’s posture and the set of his jaw before he put on the crooked, self-effacing grin meant to charm. ‘Come within, Captain, share a bowl of ale with me. You must forgive my appearance. I have been in the garden seeing what I might do to repair the neglect in father’s illness.’ Though he was sweaty and disheveled, no soil clung to the man’s clothes or shoes, only cobwebs in his hair and a smudge of ink on his chin and right hand.

Dame Beatrice entered the hall and came swiftly toward them. Noticing Owen watching her she gave him a nod, but her focus was Gavin.

Owen commended his host on his apparent skill at gardening. ‘After an afternoon digging in our garden I am covered in dirt.’

‘No doubt you apply yourself more heartily to the task than I do,’ said Gavin, gesturing to the servant who brought a jug and three bowls to the table to pour and leave them. When she was gone, he sipped the ale and asked what he might do for Owen.

‘I’ve a simple question. I understand it was while you were away on business that you met the physician Bernard. Where? What town? Or was it at a fair?’ As a merchant, it would have been one or the other.

‘Who told you this?’ Gavin asked, his genial mask slipping.

Beatrice had taken a seat beside him. ‘I fear I erred in speaking of it to the Captain on an earlier visit. With your father so ill I forgot to tell you.’

Gavin scowled. ‘Taking it upon yourself–’ He stopped. ‘We will discuss this when we do not have a guest.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘I do not consider the first encounter a meeting. I was at an inn with a group of merchants when one of our party fell ill. Master Bernard presented himself as a physician and offered the man assistance. That was in Lincoln.’

‘Who fell ill?’ Owen asked.

‘Why the devil–?’

‘Surely it is a simple request,’ said Beatrice, giving Owen an encouraging smile as if to smooth any feathers ruffled by Gavin’s curtness.

‘God’s blood, woman, you don’t know what you ask. The man in question has suffered the loss of his infant son to the pestilence. I would not have him bothered.’

‘Do you mean John Stone of Easingwold?’ breathed Beatrice. ‘May heavenly angels watch over the baby’s tender soul.’

Gavin glared at her.

‘I assure you I will not intrude on his grief,’ said Owen. ‘Regarding Bernard, those in your company were pleased with his care of your friend?’

‘We were,’ Gavin said through his teeth. ‘Quite. And I might have said something to the effect that we were ever in need of skilled physicians. At least, that is what Bernard claims.’

‘I sense you are no longer satisfied with him?’

‘I understand you have seen my father, how he hangs on to life by a thread.’ Gavin looked away.

‘Yes. I was sorry to see him brought so low. I pray you, my wife prepared a few items, one that might help strengthen him, the other to ease his breathing …’ Owen placed the pack on a small table beside him.

‘How kind,’ said Beatrice. ‘Do thank Mistress Wilton for us.’

Gavin cleared his throat. ‘I hesitate to try anything more. He has suffered enough.’

‘The tincture sealed with blue wax might, as I said, ease his breathing. I will leave them here. A gift. Yours to use or not.’

‘We are grateful,’ Gavin said, sounding anything but.

Rising, Owen thanked them both and took his leave. But for what was he thanking them? The exchange felt false to him, both Gavin and Beatrice hiding far more than they revealed.

He was still taking apart the conversation, the gestures, the glances, searching for the hidden truth, when he returned home.

‘Will you march through the kitchen with nary a greeting?’ Lucie asked, startling him out of his tangled thoughts.

He had walked right past both Lucie and Kate without seeing them. ‘God help me,’ he groaned, bowing his head.

‘So troubling?’ She took his arm. ‘Come into the hall and tell me everything.’

Kate handed him a jug of ale and two bowls.

Shamefaced, he apologized to her as well.

‘I saw your face and knew you had no idea where you were,’ said Kate. ‘I am sorry the city hangs all our troubles on you.’

He followed Lucie out into the hall, where she sat them at the table near the garden window. A bowl of ale and a long narration later, he felt drained, but grateful for Lucie’s deep listening. She agreed with his suspicion, though she had no suggestions as to what he was missing.

She had returned to her tallies and lists at the table while Owen paced, still considering the tensions at the Wolcott home, when someone knocked at the door. Owen hurried to answer, surprised to find Einar on the doorstep.

‘You came. No, I did not mean you are not welcome,’ Owen hastened to say when he saw Einar’s hesitation.

‘I know you said tomorrow, but– I hoped– Have you any news of work for me?’

‘I do.’ Inviting him in, Owen described Michaelo’s evening work among the poor in the minster yard. All the while he felt the young man’s eyes – so like Magda’s – boring into him, trying to fathom his purpose.

And, indeed, his first question was, ‘Why are you offering this to me?’

‘You seemed eager for work. Was I wrong? Does the work of a healer not appeal?’

‘It does. Very much. And I need the work. If I show myself worthy …’ Einar shifted on the bench to face Owen more fully, squinting at him. ‘But by now you have heard I stole Dame Magda’s coracle to row Asa across the river.’

‘I have.’ He was curious how the young man would explain himself.

Einar looked down at the hat he held in his hands. ‘I witnessed Asa’s suffering on our journey here, pain in her feet and an old injury to one leg. Since then I have bowed to her requests. I know Dame Magda urged her to wait awhile, allow herself to fully heal, but Asa would not have it. I tell you this not to excuse my action, only to explain it. I was helping a kinswoman in need. I meant only to borrow it. But someone returned it before I had the chance. Now I cannot prove it.’

‘Why her hurry?’

‘Why does Asa do anything?’

Owen saw no point in pursuing that. ‘Are you willing to do this work I propose? There is no money in it. But if you please Brother Michaelo, he will help you find a place.’

‘I understand. You still extend the offer?’

‘I do. Well?’

‘If the monk is willing to have me I welcome the work.’

‘He is willing, and he could use you now.’ Owen told Einar where he might find Michaelo. ‘Anyone in the minster yard will guide you to him. He will have been there for a time, I think.’

Rising to leave, Einar turned back to ask, ‘Do you have any advice for me in making amends with Dame Magda?’

‘Be honest. She will see into your heart, and know the truth of it.’

When he was gone, Lucie said, ‘He has her eyes, strangely knowing for so young a man.’

‘And a presence,’ Owen agreed.

‘Not so powerful as Magda’s.’

‘No. Nor might it ever be.’

‘Is Asa the same?’

‘Not that I recall.’

As Owen resumed his pacing Lucie said, ‘You chose not to warn him of Michaelo’s sharpness.’

‘Why spoil Michaelo’s fun?’

With a smile and a nod, she resumed her work.

Seeing the Riverwoman collect her basket and slip out the door, Lettice followed into the soft light of early afternoon, propelled by her sense of guilt. By confessing her fears to Dame Magda she hoped to prevent more violence. She should have gone at once to Bailiff Hempe to tell him what she had seen and what she believed it portended, the dread that had seeped into her bones, but instead she had run for that very terror.

At first when the healer paused Lettice thought it an invitation. ‘Dame Magda, I must tell you …’ But she stopped as the wizened woman seemed to sniff the air, then look sharply toward the river. ‘What do you–’

‘Hush,’ Magda said, ‘not now.’ She resumed walking, picking up her pace.

Lettice lifted her skirts and hurried to catch up. ‘Dame Magda, I must warn you …’

The healer paused, glanced back, her blue eyes sharp and clear. ‘Magda is needed elsewhere. Smoke. Danger. Not here. She will return when it is Helen’s time. Be of comfort to her and to the children.’

And she was gone, disappearing through the holly hedge toward the main track through Galtres.

At the home where Magda stabled her donkey the child’s father said he’d noticed a crowd on the riverbank near her rock.

‘Much talk of flames, but I saw none. Have a care, Dame Magda. I will escort you.’

‘Thou art kind, but there is no need.’

The crowd still clustered on the bank, milling about, mostly children, though some adults among them, all looking toward her rock and chattering.

‘Someone shot a flaming arrow onto your roof!’ one of the boys shouted as she approached.

‘The dragon’s breathing smoke!’ another added.

She saw it, a trail of smoke from her dragon’s mouth that twisted against the deepening blue of the evening sky.

‘The dragon ate the flame and breathed it out,’ explained a lass. ‘That’s why he’s smoking.’

From others she gathered an idea of what they had seen. A shadow on the far bank, a flaming arrow that appeared to pierce the roof but then tumbled off, the flame put out. It was then that folk noticed smoke streaming from the dragon’s mouth. As it still did, rising in slow, languid curls. How excited they all were, and anxious for her safety. She thanked them all and asked after Twig, the lad seeing to her kitten.

‘His mother waded out to fetch him. Found him fussing over the fire, worried that he had made a mistake in stoking it in preparation for your return at day’s end and caused the bit of smoke,’ said a woman standing on the bank. ‘He would not come back with her. Must stay with the kitten, he said. Though he did step out to gawk at the smoking dragon.’

As she set her things in the coracle on the shore they told her of the return of her own, assuring her it was back on the rock. She was a little disappointed it had not been Einar thinking better of falling into Asa’s ways. But there was time for that. She rowed herself over to the house so the lad might row himself back.

On the rock, she made straight for her door with a nod to the dragon and silent thanks. Within, she praised the brave lad and took the kitten into her arms, holding her close to her heart for a moment.

‘Back tomorrow?’ the lad asked.

‘Magda will consider and let thee know in the morn.’

She had shared a bit of broth with Holda and was relaxing by the fire with a sip of brandywine when Einar came calling.

‘So late?’ she said.

‘I could not sleep without admitting my guilt and apologizing for the theft of your coracle.’

‘Go on.’

He spoke of Asa and her insistence on leaving, though he claimed not to know what called her to the city with such urgency.

Partly true, but he knew far more than he cared to say. Still, she forgave him, for what was the point of begrudging him when the coracle was back in her possession? He swore he would not betray her in such wise ever again.

In such wise, but he clearly continued to do so in others.

‘Wilt thou accept Magda’s hospitality?’ She indicated a high-backed chair by the fire.

‘Your best chair?’

‘Thou art a hesitant guest.’ She offered him a dram of the brandywine.

He accepted with puzzled thanks, explaining that he had found work that had prevented him from coming earlier. He spoke of helping the fussy crow with the poor in the minster yard, where he had heard whispers of something happening on her rock.

‘They spoke of a wonder. Your dragon breathing fire.’

She smiled.

‘It is not true?’

‘Folk enjoy tales of wonder.’

‘On the riverbank I heard the lads speak of a fire. They would not tell me, not after I stole the coracle, and I paid three pennies for one to row me out here.’

‘Magda will speak to them. As for the fire, as you can see, the house is untouched.’

‘But someone meant to set fire to your home? I hoped to attend you in your healing visits, but I might be of more help guarding the house during the day.’

‘Why wouldst thou wish to attend Magda?’

His tongue loosened by a few sips of the brandywine, he spoke of his work with his father, and how he had assisted Asa in Lincoln, how good it felt to help Michaelo. ‘I hoped you might teach me more.’

At most but a partial truth. Magda had not sensed him cowed by Asa. Yet there was the one they followed. ‘Thou art called to be a healer?’

‘I believe I have some skill. I hoped with your guidance I might see whether that is true.’

‘Why Magda?’

‘We are kin. I have your blood.’

‘Skill is not carried by blood. It is learned.’ She was not ready to tell him about his great-grandfather and the slender thread of inheritance she sensed in him. Time for that if, once she knew him better, she thought he might make good use of it. It was only a valuable skill if used for good.

‘I thought–’ He looked down to his hands, seemed to notice how tightly he clutched them, spread his fingers wide. His great-grandfather’s hands. ‘Would you teach me?’ he asked.

‘Magda will consider it. Hast thou more thou wouldst speak of?’

He hesitated, then set aside his bowl and rose. ‘I am grateful you did not send me away.’

‘Art thou biding with Asa in the city?’

‘No. I thought to stay upriver.’

She would have a care when she went to the sanctuary in the early mornings. But she had a task for him.

‘Wouldst thou sleep here tomorrow night, while Magda is at a birthing? Feed Holda, see that young Twig stays only until thou hast returned from the minster yard.’

‘Thank you for trusting me to guard your home.’ His smile was as dazzling as Sten’s. ‘I will not fail you again.’

Magda grunted. ‘Easily said.’ The smile faded. He appeared to understand that he must prove himself. ‘Return tomorrow in the late afternoon to assure Twig thou wilt return at dusk. Bring thy bow.’

‘So you do fear trouble?’

‘Magda does not fear what is coming. But she is not certain when it will happen. Trust thyself.’

She observed his unease and understood, yet the test might show him who he wished to be.

On a Sunday evening in fine weather Lucie and Owen were accustomed to sitting out in the garden with the household, this night consisting only of Jasper and Kate. The absence of Gwenllian, Hugh, and Emma muted Owen’s pleasure as random noises had him glancing round to see what the little ones were about. He was glad when first Hempe and then Poole wandered in, providing a distraction.

Hempe came to report a rumor going round that the archbishop was plotting to rob the folk of their healers so they might succumb to the pestilence and clear the city, allowing the nobles, Churchmen, and wealthier merchants to expand their townhouses and enjoy the amenities of York. No one was surprised by that, considering the day’s sermons.

‘The fools are stirring trouble, suspicion, resentment, all manner of bad feeling,’ said Poole as he caught the gist of the conversation. ‘My wife caught one of the servants spinning a tale about Dame Magda as a servant of Satan and lectured him on all the good the Riverwoman has done for us and so many in York. He claimed he was only repeating what some priest said to his parishioners this morning. I say we must not need him if he’s so idle he can hear about such so quickly, but Muriel had given him leave to attend church with his family at St Mary’s on Castlegate.’

‘The mayor’s parish,’ Owen noted.

‘He is not likely to bother himself about it,’ said Hempe. ‘So, Crispin, did you send the churl off to fend for himself on the streets?’

‘No. Muriel believes him sufficiently chastened to continue working for us. I doubt it, but I have assigned him so many tasks he’ll not have the breath to spew more poison in my household, nor spread it elsewhere. Such untruths – they cannot be unheard, and they work on folk as they wake in the night and sense Death approaching.’

The mention of Mayor Graa reminded Owen of what Carn had said of his apparent friendship with Gavin Wolcott. ‘What business might Graa have with Guthlac’s son?’

‘Interesting question,’ said Hempe. ‘I will ask Lotta. She sifts through merchants’ gossip with an eye toward what might be of value to our undertakings. If there is something there, my wife will know of it.’

‘If it’s one of Gavin’s schemes she might not see the whole of it,’ said Poole. ‘He delights in his own cleverness, misdirecting his fellows so that he has few competitors.’

‘Lotta has warned me to pay no heed to Gavin’s chatter,’ said Hempe. ‘She says his own father distrusts him – or did so before his illness. It’s why he kept Sam Toller on.’

Owen thought of the shadow of Guthlac lying in the great bed. Poor man if that was true.

Lucie was asking Crispin about her godchild when the garden door creaked once more. ‘This will be Brother Michaelo? Or Alfred?’ she said.

But it was Einar, hesitating when he saw the company. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude.’

Owen welcomed him, motioning to an unclaimed stool, making introductions. In the dark, with only a small lantern adding a soft light, it was impossible to see Einar’s expression, but he perched on the stool as if uneasy. Because of the presence of a bailiff and coroner? Lucie offered him ale, but he declined with thanks.

‘I thought you should hear what happened at Dame Magda’s this evening, Captain. You will all wish to know of it.’ He described what he’d heard about the attack on Magda’s house, as well as her amusement regarding the tale of the dragon spouting fire or smoke. ‘Though it all came to naught I thought you would wish to know.’

Owen thanked him, as did the others.

‘You heard about it while assisting Brother Michaelo?’ Owen asked, and when Einar nodded he asked whether any had suggested the culprit, or the motive.

‘A priest or the leech who started the trouble, that’s who most think behind it. Neither seems likely.’

Poole laughed. ‘Agreed. From the south bank to Magda’s roof? I would like to see any of our parish priests manage such a shot. And the leech – you mean Master Bernard? He strikes me as a weakling.’

‘Someone shot the arrow,’ Lucie said, sobering all. ‘Have you a place to stay, Einar?’

‘I do. Old Shep’s, upriver from Dame Magda’s.’

‘And Dame Asa?’ she asked.

‘She wished to find lodgings in the city. She has some coin to pay.’

‘Does she know anyone in the city?’ Jasper asked.

Owen nudged him quiet as Einar said he did not know, then rose, again apologizing for interrupting their evening, and took his leave. Owen walked him to the gate.

‘Did you find the work to your liking?’

‘It felt good to be of use – at least, I think Brother Michaelo found me useful. He said little to me. I am grateful you, Captain.’

‘The poor deserve our help. I thank you for telling me of the incident on the river. I plan on visiting Dame Magda in the morning.’

When Owen rejoined the others they were voicing the question that loomed large in his own thoughts – who benefited from attacking Magda?

‘I fear that someone more important than the Wolcotts and the itinerant leech are behind this,’ Crispin was saying, ‘someone who has the ear of the archbishop.’

‘But why extend the accusations to midwives and other women?’ Lucie asked.

‘I don’t like to think that someone powerful is behind this,’ said Hempe. ‘We should set a watch on Magda’s house.’

‘The poor who depend on her care will be watching out, particularly the lads who guard her coracle,’ said Owen. ‘But it would not be amiss to have someone watching from a distance. I will pay a visit in the early morning, see it in daylight.’

As Poole took his leave, he asked if he might accompany Owen.