"What has happened?" demanded Eadwine Aethelhard.
"My child, lord!" the woman wept. "My child has been injured. I cannot stop the bleeding!"
Wynne reached the little cluster of women and children and pushed her way through to kneel by the frightened mother. "I am a healer," she said quietly, her musical voice authoritative and comforting. "Let me see the child's hand."
Fearfully the mother released her hold on her daughter's hand and blood gushed forth, causing her to shriek once more.
"Be silent!" Wynne commanded her fiercely as she reached beneath her skirts and tore a strip from her chemise. "You are but frightening your daughter." She began to carefully and tightly wrap the little girl's hand to stem the flow of the bleeding. "Will you take her to the hall, my lord?" she asked Eadwine Aethelhard. "I must prepare a medicinal paste for this wound." She turned to the mother. "Give your child to the lord, woman, and then follow along."
The thegn took the little girl from her weeping mother and turned his horse toward the manor house. Behind him Wynne and the other women followed.
"Ealdraed, I will need onions, salt, vinegar, rue, and honey, as well as a mortar and pestle," Wynne told the old woman. "Can you find these things for me? And clean cloth cut into strips, and a basin, and a kettle of boiling water as well."
Ealdraed nodded, all business, and said, "Aye, lady! At once." Then she began to run ahead of them on surprisingly agile legs for one of her advanced years.
When they had reached the manor house and entered into the hall, Ealdraed had already marshaled the house serfs into action. They scurried to and fro seeking the items she had asked them to obtain.
"Place the child on the bench by the fire pit," Wynne told Eadwine Aethelhard as he set the child gently down, standing back to watch her. "Comfort your daughter, woman," she told the serf mother. "You will make my job easier for me if you do."
"Will she die?" quavered the frightened woman.
"No, we have stopped the bleeding," Wynne told her quietly. "The salve I make will prevent infection and bad humors from setting into the wound." Wynne moved over to the high board, where Ealdraed was setting out all the ingredients necessary. "Peel the onions," she told a young house serf, "and then cut them fine." She quickly assembled the rest of what she would need.
The hall was quiet as, wide-eyed, the serfs watched Wynne pound the onions into a thick paste, which she then mixed with course, ground salt and a splash of vinegar. "Get me another mortar," she commanded. It was quickly brought to her. Wynne took the leaves of the summer rue plant and ground them into a fine powder. Next she added honey and carefully blended the mixture. When she was satisfied that the rue and the honey were well-mixed, Wynne added it to the onions, salt, and vinegar, combining all the elements of her salve neatly. Satisfied, she asked that the child be brought up to the high board.
Gently she unwrapped her improvised bandage from the little hand, saying as she did so, "I am going to wash your hand, child, and then flush away all the evil humors with a bit of wine. 'Twill sting, but you will be brave, I know." Then Wynne smiled at the small girl and, as carefully as she could, cleansed her injured hand, cooing sympathetically when the little one winced. When the hand was cleaned to her satisfaction, Wynne said, "You were very brave, my dearie. Now I will put my good healing salve on your wound and bandage you with a clean cloth." She worked quickly as she spoke. "Come to me tomorrow morning, and I will check to see how your injury is faring. There," she noted, finishing the bandaging. "You are done. Go back to your mother and tell her that I am well pleased with you."
The little girl ran quickly back to her parent, and the mother approached Wynne as she stepped down from the high board, falling to her knees. "Lady," she said. "I thank you for healing my daughter. May God bless you!" Then scrambling to her feet, she departed the hall with her child, the other serfs following behind her.
"Ealdraed, find me a stone jar and store the rest of that salve. I will need it tomorrow," Wynne told the servant.
"Aye, lady!" came the reply.
"You are indeed a healer," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and you know how to keep a cool head in a crisis. I think old Ruari Ban has done me a greater favor than he knew. You may have whatever you need to make your medicines, Wynne. There is a small room off the hall that has been used for storage. Ealdraed knows the place. You may have that as your pharmacea, and whatever you want to stock it."
"Thank you, my lord," she answered him coolly.
He turned about and went out again into the fields.
Wynne spent the remainder of the day cleaning out the little room that the thegn had given her for her pharmacea. The house serfs brought her a wooden table and a bench to furnish the room. Wynne, old Ealdraed by her side, sought out jars, bowls, and pitchers for the pharmacea.
"Where did you get the rue?" Wynne asked her companion.
"From the cook," came the reply.
They hurried to the cook house, where Wynne found that the child whose hand she had tended that morning was the cook's granddaughter, and the apple of his eye.
"I've herbs and spices aplenty, lady. Take what you need. I am grateful to have a healer at Aelfdene," he said.
Ealdraed shook her head in wonderment. "That old Heall is usually a bad-tempered creature. I held little hope of your getting what you needed easily."
"I will need far more than these few things," Wynne told her. "We will go out tomorrow, and I will see what I can gather myself. Though it is November, the weather is still fair, and the plants I need have not yet died back."
The dinner hour approached and Ealdraed said, "Come, lady. You must return to the Great Chamber to repair yourself," and when they had entered the room, she brought a basin of water that Wynne might wash her face and hands. Then she began to undo Wynne's thick, heavy braid.
"I have no brush or comb," Wynne said.
"The lord said you were to use those which belonged to lady Mildraed," was the reply, and Ealdraed began to brush out Wynne's long black hair, saying as she did so, "The lord has also had fabric brought from the storeroom, that you may choose several for your gowns. I will help you with the sewing." Then her gnarled old fingers began to rebraid Wynne's hair, cleverly weaving a bit of colored wool into the plait as she worked. When she had finished, she said, "We will return to the hall now. The dinner hour is upon us."
When they reached the hall again, Wynne saw that Eadwine Aethelhard and his family were already seated at the high board. She stood silently at the opposite end of the hall waiting, and finally the thegn, an amused look in his eyes, called to her. "Come, Wynne, and sit by me. Baldhere, give up your place and move down that Wynne may sit next to me."
"You would seat a slave at our table, Father? Have you gone mad?" demanded Caddaric angrily of his parent, his eyes all the while undressing Wynne as she came toward them.
"It is my table, my son," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and, aye, I would seat Wynne by my side. She has found favor in my eyes."
"By spreading her legs for you?" Caddaric replied insultingly. "Any whore would do that for you, Father."
Before the thegn might answer his son, Wynne said sweetly, "If I had spread my legs for you, Caddaric Aethelmaere, would that have made it all quite different? In future you will speak to me with respect. I have done nothing to merit your disrespect. You will also speak to your father with respect, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord." With a swish of her skirts she seated herself at the high board.
"What is happening here?" Caddaric's voice was tight with his inability to wield any authority. "This woman has been here but a day, and you not only seat her at our table, I have heard that you have given her a place of her own. This Welsh witch has ensorceled you, Father!"