‘How she fights to stay awake,’ whispered Lucie.
‘Tonight Magda will turn this child toward healing. On the morrow, she becomes thy work, and Alisoun’s. Magda must see to Muriel Swann.’
Stepping into the room, Magda nodded to Lucie to shut the door behind her. She busied herself placing the items on a squat table, then settled on a stool beneath the shuttered window to wait. ‘Pay Magda no heed until thou art finished with thy prayers,’ she said when Sandrine glanced up. She hoped it would not be too long, or both the broth and the water would grow cold, the ingredients settle. But healing could not be rushed.
Her head level with the kneeling woman, who remained bowed, Magda noticed her pallor, even to the long lashes resting on her cheeks. Lack of food and rest, perhaps. But she would be curious to see the woman’s eyes, whether they were pale. And weak.
She waited. In a short while, the woman raised her head. Pale eyes. She blinked, then focused on Magda with ease, saw her. Still, her lack of color was more than depletion.
‘You were with Dame Lucie and Captain Archer,’ said Sandrine, ‘but they did not say who you are.’ A resonant voice. Strong.
‘Magda Digby, midwife, healer, friend to Ambrose, thy minstrel companion. He asked me to watch over thee, see that thou art in good hands.’
‘You are the one they call the Riverwoman?’
‘He told you of Magda?’
‘I heard him asking about you, whether you still lived on your island in the river. He asked you to watch over me?’
‘He did.’
Magda lifted the jug. ‘Warm water with just enough honey to ease thy voice.’
‘I am fasting.’
‘Thou hast been entrusted by thy god with this body, yet thou hast tested it almost beyond repair.’
‘Penance,’ Sandrine whispered.
Magda sensed her wavering. ‘A harsh penance. Dost thou take it upon thyself to make amends for others’ sins against thee?’
‘You sound like Dom Jehannes. He said I have been sinned against, and that is no sin.’
‘A wise man. It is not for thee to decide whether or not to end thy life.’
‘That was not my intention.’
‘Intention is the key, but all acts are best undertaken with compassion and a willingness to accept help. Magda understands thou hast dedicated thy voice to prayers to thy god. Is that so?’
‘You speak as if you are not a Christian.’
‘Magda honors all creation, and lives to serve. Such a voice as Ambrose describes is not to be neglected. Thou must care for such a gift.’
The pale eyes lowered. Good teeth bit back the full lower lip. The woman would quickly regain her health if she wished it. But her spirit was caught in confusion and weighted by a darksome fear that the confession had failed to calm. Magda stirred the honey water and poured a little into the bowl, held it out.
‘Wilt thou drink?’
Sandrine took the offering, tasted, then drank deep, emptying the bowl, handing it back with thanks.
Magda bowed to the young woman. Setting aside the bowl she took Sandrine’s hand, holding it for a moment while looking into her eyes. Yearning, sorrow, fear. Yet also strength. Remarkable strength from which arose a deep, simmering anger. After a time Magda released the hand, her gaze. She sat in silence, eyes closed, until the young woman chose to speak.
‘I lived to serve as well. I meant to dedicate my voice to God.’
‘Heal and return to thy work.’
‘I do not think I can.’
Magda waited.
‘I have not bled for a long while. Since I was–’ Once again Sandrine bowed her head.
Here was the source of her fear. ‘Might Magda touch thy stomach?’
‘No spells!’
‘Magda wishes to examine thee, no more.’
A nod.
Kneeling to the woman, Magda placed her hands on her stomach, closed her eyes. Tightness, anger, fear, sorrow, but no extra heartbeat, no sign of life. Opening her eyes she touched Sandrine’s cheek.
‘No child swims in thy womb. Thou hast suffered much, but not that.’
A gasp that became a sob.
Rising to sit beside the troubled young woman, Magda put a warming arm round her, took her hand. ‘Have men forced themselves on thee?’
‘The first one never touched me. Others have tried. I fought them off, always I thought in time. But when I did not bleed … I feared that in my ignorance I had not been quick enough.’
She pressed Magda’s hand, the heat of her anger flushing both of them.
‘Canst thou feel thy strength?’ Magda smiled.
‘You have given me hope. If I could prove to the sisters I am chaste, perhaps I might do as Dom Jehannes advised, seek sanctuary at the priory, with the sisters.’
‘Dost thou desire that?’
‘More than anything.’
‘Thy voice will delight them. But to prove to the sisters thou art untouched – what dost thou seek for this?’
‘To bleed. And the witness of someone whose word they would accept. Dame Lucie?’
Out of the bag hanging from her girdle Magda pulled the pouch of blood-strengthening roots and herbs she had prepared.
‘If Magda adds herbs to thy honeyed water to encourage thy womb to renew, to flush out the old blood, wilt thou drink?’
‘It will not sicken me? You swear there is no child? You are not killing it?’
‘Magda spoke truth about there being no child. Her purpose is to heal, only to heal.’
Sandrine looked into Magda’s eyes. ‘I will drink.’
Magda invited the young woman to watch as she mixed a few pinches of the powder with the water in the jug. ‘Thrice daily, until thy womb responds.’ She poured the fresh mixture into the bowl.
Sandrine took it with thanks, sniffed, sipped, drank it down. ‘Bless you. It slips down my throat with ease.’
‘More?’
A nod.
When she set the bowl aside, Sandrine blinked. ‘My eyelids feel heavy. You swore no spells.’
‘Magda uses the earth’s bounty to heal. No more, no less. We are of earth.’
‘Our bodies, yes. But not our souls. They are of God.’ A frown.
This touched her fear. Magda did not argue. ‘A bit of broth now? To nourish thy body.’ She held out the bowl.
Sandrine sipped it.
‘Sandrine is not thy given name, is it?’
A searching look. ‘How–?’
‘Magda listens, as do all in this house caring for thee.’
‘My name is Marian,’ she said, softly.
‘So many Marys. Thy name will not betray thee.’
Marian fought to remain upright as she drank the broth. ‘Why is the captain angry?’
‘He has taken on the burden of keeping safe all he loves, and his heart encompasses much. Now he has three deaths to resolve before the powerful Nevilles arrive. The city is grateful, though not so grateful as before they learned he also serves the king’s heir, the fair Joan’s husband, Prince Edward. To whom is the captain loyal, they wonder? They fear. And they are silent when he only wishes to help. Benighted creatures.’
‘Dame Agnes says we are clumsy babes always tripping over our own feet because we will not look into each other’s eyes, where truth resides.’
‘A wise woman.’
Marian swiped at tears. ‘Is Ambrose a good man?’
‘He is, despite himself. A tale for another day. Tomorrow Magda must see to the lying-in of a widow bearing her only child. But Alisoun will know all that Magda has mixed for thee. She, too, is a healer, and gifted with a voice that softens her sharp wit. She is nursing thine hosts’ children. A fever threatened the lives of all three. Only last night did the last break, Hugh with the fiery hair. That, too, has shortened the captain’s temper, and Dame Lucie’s as well. She is an apothecary, but she cannot work miracles, even for her beloved children. She has of late lost an aunt. There has been much heaviness in this household. Be patient with them, tell them what they need to know, and they will be valuable allies.’ As Magda spoke, she helped Marian ease down onto the bed. ‘Sleep now.’