‘What of the dead man?’ Einar asked. ‘You seemed to know the men who came. Will they tell the people in the city it was you who raised the hue and cry? Will there be trouble?’
‘Nothing Magda cannot bear.’
‘If I can help in any way,’ he said.
‘Do not worry.’ She returned her attention to Asa, who stretched her blackened toes toward the fire. ‘Dost thou accept Magda’s plan?’
‘With gratitude.’ She looked up at Magda. ‘Do not look so surprised. I am grateful. I have given you little cause to love me. Though I did bring your grandson to meet you.’
Einar rose. ‘I will fetch your things, Dame Asa.’
Asa reached for his hand, pressing it, but not in thanks, in warning.
Magda returned to her workbench, settling Holda in her basket so that she might gather what she needed for Asa’s treatment. Her daughter might deny her suffering, but Magda would do what she could to ease it.
‘Do you need help?’ Asa asked.
‘No. Rest now, daughter. Rest.’ She would need her strength. Magda saw far more suffering for her daughter in the days ahead.
2
Homecoming
Late May
Owen was no stranger to leave-taking. During his decade of serving Archbishop Thoresby he was often away from home, and, before that, he had made his farewells to his family in Wales, some for a long while, some forever. But this departure was different, leaving his children at Lucie’s family’s manor, Freythorpe Hadden, after a brief reunion. Both mother and father riding away. They did it for love of those they left behind, yet never had it so wrenched his heart.
It was not that Owen did not trust the stewards of the manor, Tildy and Daimon. He knew they would care for his little ones as they did their own, and they were most excellent parents. Nor would the couple be overwhelmed by the task, for Lucie’s dear friend Emma Ferriby would remain at Freythorpe Hadden with her sons until her husband arrived to take her to their own manor, bringing Alisoun Ffulford to look after Gwen, Hugh, and young Emma. Alisoun was not only beloved by all three children, but she was a skilled healer. All to the good. Yet with the pestilence awakening, Owen suffered continuous showers of needle pricks in his blind, ruined left eye. He prayed it was a natural foreboding in such times, and not a premonition, a knowing, riding away with a heart so heavy he wondered that his mount did not stumble for the weight of him.
Even so, his agony did not come close to that of his beloved wife. Lucie rode with eyes unfocused, her journey happening within. He knew the territory she traversed, her heart doubting their decision to leave the children at Freythorpe Hadden where the two eldest had safely sheltered from the last visitation of the pestilence, rather than bringing them along on their return to York and keeping them close, sheltered in their love. They had chosen what had served them before, a decision they had made that time because her firstborn, her son with her first husband Nicholas Wilton, had died in York of pestilence. But what if this time were different? Owen wished he might carry her worry for her, free her to enjoy the return to her work, her garden, and Jasper, her stepson and apprentice.
He owed her so much. Without her prescience he might have stayed too long at Kennington Palace, ignoring the unpleasant truth about why Prince Edward had summoned him. He had wanted to believe the purported reason, that the prince valued his opinion on the peace negotiations in Westminster. But almost from the moment they arrived in early May there were signs that was not quite true. Lucie had given a sympathetic ear to his complaints about how the prince avoided discussing the negotiations, turning the conversation to Owen’s friendship with Magda Digby, her respect for his insight, his curiosity about what she’d meant by that, whether she believed he had the Sight. It was Lucie’s account of her conversation with the king’s mistress Alice Perrers that had shaken Owen out of his denial.
On the surface, Dame Alice presented herself as a chilly woman of elegance, her gowns and jewels chosen to enhance her subtle beauty, her voice modulated to caress when in the presence of the king, express submission in the presence of the royal siblings and their wives; yet when Lucie had chanced upon her in a garden at Windsor Castle, away from eyes and ears, she found her warm and engaging, eager to ask about the plantings in the apothecary garden in York, what she might suggest for the king’s failing memory and increasing frailty, as well as her own exhaustion and creeping despair. Her candor was a rarity at court.
Alice – she had asked to be called simply Alice – had apologized for all of her questions. ‘Forgive me, but I hope you will soon return home and so I rush to ask now, when I may.’
Lucie admitted that she had been yearning for her garden, thinking of all that she would be doing in this season were she there, hoping that Jasper remembered all that she had taught him. But saying she hoped Lucie soon returned home suggested Alice was eager for their departure. Was she? ‘You hope we soon return home … Have we offended someone?’
‘Forgive me for being unclear. No, you have been the most delightful guests, patient with our demands and far more generous than we perhaps deserve. I wish it for you. I have seen how Prince Edward heaps praise on your husband, as he did me when his father began to fail. With Joan’s cunning assistance Edward has discovered how to worm his way into your husband’s affections. It happened to me. His praise feels like an intimate caress, touching on one’s deepest sources of pride. For your husband, those skills he believes few notice, his observations about the powers in the North gleaned in a decade of serving the archbishop and, lately, the city of York. But the truth is that Edward is most keen to ask of your husband the sorts of questions I have asked you. He had heard of the Riverwoman’s respect for the captain, that she believes his loss of half his sight opened his third eye, giving him the gift of a different sort of sight. He hopes that your husband can advise him in ways that no other man might. Yet I see how the captain squirms when asked about this, how he attempts to draw the prince back to matters of state. You must spirit Captain Archer away before he is hopelessly ensnared in providing a service that will endanger him in the dark times ahead, not only the weakening of the royal family but also the realm. We all know that the Death returns. Already there are rumors of it in the countryside. The Church sees the Death as punishment for our sins, a purging. Belief in those with special powers is heresy. When the prince dies – and we know from Dom Antony, who learned it from your Riverwoman, that he was poisoned too long to recover – your husband will be thrown to the wolves of the Church.’
Lucie had declared herself in Alice’s debt, and asked how the prince had heard of Magda’s talk of a third eye, for she was certain that neither Owen nor Magda would have mentioned that to the princess.
‘By all accounts Bishopthorpe Palace and the grounds were so crowded during her visit that it was easy for a listener to disappear among the servants and gardeners. Her Grace learned much that was not meant for sharing. The royal family sees all the realm as their concern, and therefore nothing should be hidden from them. It is all to the good of the realm, if it be in their interest.’
Lucie used that insight in asking Princess Joan to convince the prince that it was time she and Owen returned to York. She couched the request in terms of the good of the realm, that the return of the pestilence meant that their places were in York, she seeing to the health of the citizens as an apothecary, Owen keeping order in the city. She was not immediately successful, but gradually Princess Joan agreed and spoke to the prince, who concurred with their arguments and arranged an armed escort for their return journey.