He grinned. ‘She likes the milk. I sat out in the sun with her a while this afternoon. She slept on my lap.’
Magda gave him a penny for his day’s work. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Dame Magda!’
‘Have one of the lads await the guests’ departure in a few hours.’
‘I will.’
Stepping within and shutting the door, she invited her guests to help themselves to the ale she had set out, and the pot of stew. Einar served Asa, then himself while Magda saw to the kitten, who drank well.
‘Your kitten?’ Einar asked as Magda helped herself to food and drink.
‘Mayhap.’ She took a seat across from the young man, Asa between them.
‘I have long wished to meet you, Dame Magda,’ he said.
‘Asa spoke of Magda to thee?’
‘It was my father who told me of you.’
‘Magda knows him?’ She guessed that his father was Yrsa’s son. Or perhaps Odo’s, though he would know little about Magda. He had been very young when Sten left with him.
‘No, he never met you, but he heard much of you.’
‘From thy dam?’ Magda asked, smiling at Asa, who would not meet her eyes.
Einar shrugged.
Magda sensed a deep, restless force held in check. Disciplined. Unlike Asa, though much like his grandmother, if she was right about Yrsa. Asa had ever been headstrong, impatient … Magda stopped the thoughts. Better to rein in judgement. Life might have taught Asa the wisdom of temperance.
‘I took it upon myself to set the kettle over the fire,’ said Asa. ‘Would you prepare me a soothing tisane?’
‘Thy leg is painful.’ Magda knew better than to mention the attack. Asa must choose whether or not to speak of it.
‘All my bones. The long walk, the coming storm …’
Magda set aside her bowl and fetched a powder, mixed it with hot water and wine, proffered the cup to Asa.
Her daughter placed a hand over Magda’s and closed her eyes. Magda felt her reach out, and did as well, a mutual sensing that continued long enough to enable her to assess the extent of her daughter’s injuries. A bruised arm, sore neck and shoulder, but the worst of it was the already injured leg, and her feet. She was most curious about the feet. This was an older, ongoing trouble.
With a murmured thanks, Asa freed Magda’s hand and sipped. ‘You are much as I remember.’ A familiar bitterness in the low, arresting voice. Magda had never been to her daughter’s liking. Knowing that her mother had uncanny gifts, she had hungered for signs of it in herself. From early youth Asa drew, later painted, landscapes to hold the eyes, then the heart and mind. Magda praised her gift, but the child felt it a paltry thing. She could not see how her drawings affected people – for good or ill. She scoffed at Magda’s attempts to advise her to hold it close, making use of it only when nothing else would suffice. But the child said anyone could draw and blamed her mother for keeping her true gift from her.
‘Magda is glad to see thee.’
A dark laugh. ‘Are you?’
‘If thou dost doubt it, why hast thou come?’
‘A question for a question for a question.’ Asa eyed her warily, yet her weariness softened the challenge.
‘Magda has sensed thee near. Art thou lodging in the city?’
‘I have been. But Einar has offered to share his lodgings.’
Magda looked to him.
‘Old Shep’s house. A villager upriver told me that his friend had died and left the house empty.’
‘A good choice,’ said Magda. It was near the river in a copse that hid it from curious eyes– Shep had his reasons. ‘Art thou in need of anything? Cushions? Blankets?’
‘Einar has been to market,’ said Asa. ‘But another blanket would be welcome.’
Her guests were wary, taking care with their words, sometimes glancing at each other, as if easing toward their purpose, fearful lest they say too much too soon. They spoke of the body in the river. Magda added little to Einar’s description, admitting only to knowing Sam Toller. Some additional talk of the city, nothing of substance.
Uninterested in their dance, Magda rose. ‘While Magda sees to the little one, decide who will explain thy purpose in coming to York.’ She went to her worktable, taking her time preparing the nipple of milk, then resumed her seat, the kitten in her arms, and bent to the feeding.
‘I was always the one to care for the animals,’ Asa noted.
Magda said nothing, waiting for more, giving her attention to the life in her arms. Already she felt the bond, her own heart softening. Holda, she thought, the wise one.
‘In Peterborough folk talked of pestilence, the certainty that this was the summer it would return, and I regretted waiting so long to come to you,’ said Asa.
Einar mouthed the word Peterborough with a frown.
‘And thou didst wait again once here,’ Magda said, softly, without censure.
‘The journey was difficult for me,’ said Asa. ‘I needed to rest before coming to you. And to understand how it went with you. I know that I come asking for your help when you have little time.’
‘Help for thy leg?’
‘It is an old injury made worse by a recent fall. For a long while I have eased the pain so that I might continue my work. But the comfort is now my curse.’ She nodded to Einar, who knelt to her, removing her boots. Black toes.
‘Thou hast eased thy pain with willow bark,’ said Magda. Far too much. As a healer, she would have been aware of the danger.
‘Yes.’
‘Magda trusts there was none in the physick for Celia Cooper.’
Asa hissed. ‘No. I know better. Who told you I attended Dame Celia?’
‘Her son. The one who helped thee.’
‘Then you know her husband attacked me.’
‘And that thou wast beaten afterward by two men. The same two who had been in Cooper’s yard and heard what Edwin said to thee?’
‘I did not notice them.’
‘A pity.’ Magda lifted a hand to stop Asa when she would defend herself. ‘Magda is not blaming thee. She would that thine enemies be apprehended.’
‘Thee, thine, never using me and I– I wish you would speak as others do.’
Gently Magda drew the nipple from the sleeping kitten, smiling down on her, grateful for her presence. Thou wilt be Magda’s balance, Holda. Meeting Asa’s petulant gaze, she said, ‘Rest. The blood must be allowed to drain from thy feet. A careful, gradual change in the physick to thicken the blood, but slowly. Thou wilt move little for a time. Better for thee to bide here rather than Old Shep’s.’
Relief softened Asa’s expression. So great had been her fear. Perhaps the journey from wherever she had been revealed to her the folly of her stubbornness. And the attack. This would not be easy. Magda knew her daughter, knew that soon she would regret revealing her weakness. Yet Magda was a healer.
‘I did not wish to intrude,’ said Asa. ‘You have little room.’
‘Easier if thou art here.’
‘And Einar?’
‘Magda prefers to keep a bed ready for one in need.’
‘Of course,’ said Einar. ‘I am settled in Shep’s cottage. It is close if I am needed.’
For what? Magda wondered. The young man interested her. It seemed he meant to bide there awhile, which meant he’d had his own purpose in seeking out Magda, something beyond escorting Asa.
‘That young woman who comes,’ said Asa, ‘the brown-haired one, is she your helper? Would I be taking her bed?’
‘Alisoun is Magda’s apprentice. She will not be needing her bed here for a while.’
‘But with the sickness coming–’
‘Others need her more at present.’
‘Perhaps I might attend you on your rounds, be of some use,’ said Asa.
‘Not until thou art out of danger.’ Even then … Asa had ever been a lazy healer, preferring to satisfy her patients with spells and charms – the very things to stoke the fires of the pious against herself and Magda. Indeed it appeared she had already caused suspicion with her drawing. And considering her incautious use of willow bark … No. Magda would not be so foolish as to accept her daughter’s offer. But that confrontation could wait.