The Riverwoman’s Dragon

Dirk offered, but Owen insisted Magda see to his wound first.

‘Fen will do it for thee,’ said Magda. The lad had a keen memory for detail.

The lad grinned.

‘Tell the gate keeper you are working for me,’ said Owen. ‘And I count on all of you to let me know at once if the coracle disappears again. I will tell the gate keeper that you are working for me.’

Five proud lads vowed he could count on them.

‘Come, Dirk. Magda will see to that,’ said Owen. He nodded to the others. Fen hurried off on his mission.

At the river’s edge Magda paused, sensing a presence on the far bank. Einar? Asa? She closed her eyes, reaching, reaching, but failed to grasp any clear image.

Before joining Magda in the hut Owen circled the rock, checking that her heavier boat was still hanging beneath the eaves. He stood for a while, taking a good look at the shore on either side, upriver and down. The lads said it was the young man and the older woman who walks with a cane. Owen did not need to guess who they were. They said Einar had come along the bank from the forest as he had done of late, scooping up the coracle to carry it with him to the rock. Asa had come out of the house dragging two fat packs. Einar had lifted them into the coracle loudly complaining about the weight of the packs, then helped her in. They had been low in the water as he rowed her across the river. On the far bank they moved into the underbrush, Einar carrying both packs on his shoulders and the coracle over his head. He was strong. But then he would be if he was good with the bow. Owen wondered whether Einar would come to St George’s Field the next day.

Crossing by a window he heard a lad, not Dirk, telling Magda how Dame Asa had ordered him to leave. A higher voice than Dirk’s. The lad said he’d taken Holda with him, fearing for her safety. Because of the stolen coracle he’d had to wait until the tide was out to return her.

‘She had milk and a bit of gruel at my house. Did I do right?’

Magda assured him he had.

When Owen stepped into the house he found a tow-headed urchin holding out his hand for the coin Magda held.

‘Canst thou return early in the morning? On thy Sabbath?’

An enthusiastic nod. ‘Ma says Sabbath is for those with full bellies, not the likes of us.’

The two lads left, the younger one clutching his coin, Dirk sporting a tidy bandage and clutching a small pot of salve. Owen watched them slog back to shore, ready to come to their aid if the water overwhelmed them. But, though wet, they made it to the bank unscathed.

‘The lad was caring for someone here?’ he asked, settling onto a stool near a dying fire. Magda nodded to a kitten in a basket lined with a bit of blanket. It could not be much more than a few weeks old. ‘She is a patient?’

‘Child feared the kitten would be drowned. Brought her to Magda for safekeeping.’

‘You will keep her?’

‘It is never a matter of choosing a kitten, but of being clear that one would welcome a willing companion. Time will reveal Holda’s decision.’

That Magda had already named her suggested she knew what the kitten would decide. A wise young being, to choose such a companion. ‘Shall I stir the fire?’

Magda nodded as she poured ales for both of them. When the fire began to snap she placed a small pot on a stone near it. ‘A patient’s fee.’

It smelled good. He would not keep her.

‘Thou art looking well after thy long journey, Bird-eye.’

‘The prince’s hospitality could not be faulted, and both the journey and the sojourn were the better for Lucie being at my side. Another time I would speak with you about it at length.’

‘Thou art ever welcome. Thy children are well at Freythorpe?’

‘They are. Eager to see Alisoun.’ He took a long drink, then set aside his bowl. ‘You’ve heard about the fire in the city? Lettice Brown’s house destroyed, and no sign of her, though it’s possible she is away caring for her daughter.’

‘Magda heard.’

‘Just a few hours ago we found her husband Matthew in the rubble. Murdered. Stabbed in the back. He had been alive this morning, drinking at a tavern until mid-afternoon.’

‘The house set fire one day, Matthew murdered the next.’ Magda looked troubled.

‘I do not believe it is chance,’ said Owen. ‘But why? Do you know the Browns well enough to help me in any way?’

‘Lettice’s daughter’s time was close. She may well be away. Matthew was a man disappointed by the challenge of life. Thou dost carry a heavy burden, Bird-eye. The folk look to thee for salvation. Wouldst thou speak of the other cares that weigh on thee?’

She listened without comment to Owen’s litany of problems, unless asked. About Beatrice Wolcott’s behavior she said, ‘A young woman who learned early that men treat her well if she is ornamental, keeps a household running well, and never questions or contradicts them.’ When he was finished, she said simply, ‘Caught up in the storm so soon. Yet the worst is ahead, the manqualm and the fear.’