The Riverwoman’s Dragon

In truth, it was early to rejoice. Much could happen before and during the birth. ‘The pains will ease, return, ease, return. Breathe deep and allow thy body to do its work. Magda will return before sunset.’

‘I must endure this all day?’

‘Thou hast a long wait ahead of thee. Wilt thou allow the woods to ease thee? Walk about the clearing with thy children supporting thee, rest when thou wouldst, then walk again. Listen to the music of the woodland. Watch the wind in the leaves.’

Helen’s heart slowed and her breathing lengthened. ‘Yes, I will do that, Dame Magda.’

The boys dropped their chores and came running to assist their mother, but it was young Tess who arrived first, eager to show her mother her discoveries.

‘As long as I do not need to bend down,’ Helen laughed, taking her daughter’s hand. The little procession moved off into the dappled sunlight. Fergus smiled after them.

Stepping back into the dim interior, Magda tidied the bed. On a shelf in the outer room she arranged all she would need when she returned at the end of her day. She took a wooden cup from a stack on her way out. ‘Watch for Magda just before sunset,’ she told Fergus. ‘The births will come in the night.’

‘Bless you, Dame Magda.’

She found Lettice in the grass by the beck. Kneeling, with hands covering her face, she wept. Magda scooped up water in the cup and added a tonic. With a swirl of the bowl the tonic dissolved and she touched Lettice’s hand. ‘I brought something to refresh you and lighten your heart.’

While Lettice drew her hands away and accepted the offering, Magda lifted her face to the breeze and listened to the creaks and sighs of the woodland canopy, the bird calls, the rustling of animals and birds foraging in the undergrowth, the chuckling of the beck.

‘Dame Magda, I–’

Magda took the empty cup from her hand, set it aside. ‘Splash thy face to cool it.’ When Lettice had done that she sat back, blinking as if awaking from a dream. ‘Now tell Magda what is in thy heart.’

‘I frightened poor Helen in the midst of her pains.’

‘She says that thou dost fear thy husband’s murderers will find thee here? And Helen’s family?’

‘Yes.’

Magda took the woman’s hands, cold from the water. ‘What didst thou witness?’

‘Only the men discovering poor Matthew in the ruins of our home. One shouted that he had been stabbed again and again.’

‘And thou hast a thought to who did this?’

‘I fear– I begged a favor that cost my husband his life. I am laundress for many merchant households, as you know. Some for a long while. Guthlac Wolcott’s – I have worked for them so long I felt I might ask. Master Gavin was complaining about the men who work in the warehouse. He said what could he expect when they were paid by the mayor, not by him. When I was leaving – I do not know now how I was so bold – I told him my Matthew might see to all the work he needed. He chided me for listening, but surprised me then, telling me to send my husband to the warehouse the next morning.’ She swiped at tears. ‘Matthew was grateful for the work. But something happened, as it ever does. Matthew was there but a week when Master Gavin stopped me as I delivered the laundry and said to tell Matthew he should not return. Why did he tell me? Matthew would not believe me. He went along as he had every morning. When I came home from collecting my work that day I found him sprawled on the floor, his nose broken and an eye swollen shut. Two of the warehouse workers accused him of stealing and ordered him out, but he refused, telling them he worked for the Wolcotts. So they beat him and threw him out, threatening him with worse if he returned. My poor Matthew,’ she whispered, the tears falling freely. ‘The next day he went to the Wolcott home, but they would not see him. The servant called him a thief under her breath and slammed the door.’