The Riverwoman’s Dragon
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: Owen Archer #13
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Severn House
- ISBN: 978-1-4483-0563-6
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Riverwoman’s Dragon». Краткое содержание книги:
When the wise woman Magda Digby is suspected of murder, Owen Archer sets out to prove her innocence in this intricately plotted medieval mystery.
May, 1375. Owen Archer returns from London to find York in chaos. While the citizens are living in terror of the pestilence which is spreading throughout the land, a new physician has arrived, whipping up fear and suspicion against traditional healers and midwives. With the backing of the new archbishop, he is especially hostile towards Magda Digby, the wise woman who has helped and healed the people of York for many years. At the same time, Magda is uneasy about the arrival of two long-lost kinsfolk. Though they say they are seeking her help, she senses a hidden agenda.
Magda’s troubles deepen when she discovers a body in the river near her home – and finds herself under suspicion of murder. Days later, fire rips through a warehouse in the city. Amongst the charred debris lies the body of a man – not burned, but stabbed in the back. Could there be a connection to the corpse in the river?
Determined to prove Magda’s innocence, Owen sets out to find answers – but the more he uncovers, the deeper the mystery becomes…
The man mistook this for a conversation. ‘Are you aware that Guthlac Wolcott received the last sacraments today?’
Bernard hesitated, caught off balance. ‘Yes, poor man. He was so far in decline there was little I could do. That is for whom I prayed when you interrupted me. May God watch over Guthlac’s devoted wife. To lose him now, as the Death enters the gates of this great city …’ A sigh.
‘Guthlac wasted away over a matter of weeks, losing strength even to an inability to speak. What struck him down so swiftly? What did Dame Magda not see?’
‘His humors were awry. It is the common cause of mankind’s ailments, worsening as we age.’
‘And bleeding should have balanced his humors?’
‘I was too late. By the time I saw him the bleeding could but ease his suffering.’
‘There was nothing else? A tonic to strengthen his blood, a–’
‘Do you question my training? I know you are friends with the Riverwoman. Or is it your wife, the apothecary’s widow, whose conjectures you spout? Does she believe the midwife might have cured Guthlac?’
‘The late Archbishop Thoresby would have no other at his side when he was dying.’
‘A man on his deathbed should not be permitted to choose his healer.’
Owen was about to retort when he felt a shower of needle pricks over his scarred, sightless eye. Danger. Not here. ‘You are clearly of no use to me,’ he said.
‘Good evening to you …’ the leech was saying when the door slammed behind Owen.
As he stepped out of the church he looked round, getting a sense of where the danger lay. Not here, and it was not a threat to him. He hastened down the twilit streets toward home, the prickling gaining strength. He was almost running by the time he reached the garden gate, but the sense was still at a distance. Bootham. Outside Bootham. Magda Digby’s home. Shaking his head at Kate’s offer of food, he plucked his bow and a quiver of arrows from the hook by the door, and asked her to tell Lucie he was headed to Magda’s.
At Bootham Bar, Carn eyed Owen’s bow. ‘You’re wise to head out armed. Folk gathered out there one by one, men and women. A cart went through earlier and stopped beside the road. When folk started gathering round it and moving away with torches in hand I sent for the bailiffs. Hempe and several young men are out there now.’
‘How many with torches?’
‘Twenty, thirty. I could not see all of them from the tower, but they were moving toward the river, torches lit.’
Outside the gate Owen moved off the road toward the river, seeking out a high spot where he might look out over the shacks of the poor toward Magda’s rock. Shouts, bobbing points of light, but the only large fire he could see from his vantage point was in the center of the settlement and it was clearly a bonfire. Stringing his bow, Owen hooked it over his shoulder and moved toward the disturbance. He collected a growing gaggle of children nudging one another and whispering his name. One of them told him that Twig was out on the rock, caring for Magda’s kitten.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ he said, hurrying off.
He came upon a woman yanking a scrawny lad by the arm and shouting about her ruined dress, which was far too fine for the settlement. From the boy’s arm dangled a sloshing bucket.
Owen grasped the woman’s arm and squeezed. ‘Unhand him and return to your home.’
She let go the lad, glaring at Owen. ‘I will report you to the sheriff!’
Stepping out of range of the lad’s swinging bucket, having caught the stench of urine and shit, Owen grinned. ‘You are most welcome to reveal that you were here, threatening these folk who have so much less than you.’ Releasing her, he continued on.
‘Captain!’ Alfred hastened to join him.
‘One of the lads is on the rock. Have you seen him?’
‘No. Someone just started rowing over, then fell back in the vessel.’
Owen pushed his way through the crowd, Alfred on his heels. They passed a line of folk passing empty containers to two women standing in the shallows to scoop up river water and hand the filled containers up another chain that disappeared among the shacks.
‘Back there they add piss they’ve saved. The Riverwoman’s idea.’
Clever. Glancing toward a shout he saw one of the small shacks take light, burning brightly. But not clever enough. He called to the line of folk with buckets of water and pointed to the fire. The snake turned. The air was thick with smoke now and he cursed at his intermittent blindness with one good eye.
A small cluster of lads about Jasper’s age stood on the shore, one of them holding a torch, several others holding buckets, facing a group of the rioters with torches who were shouting, ‘Heretic!’ ‘Curse!’ ‘Burn her!’ ‘Burn the dragon!’ A cleric appeared to be leading them.
‘Is there piss in this water?’ Owen asked one of the lads. At the nod, he plucked the bucket from the lad’s hands and drenched the cleric. The fool reared back, cursing most unclerically, his torch sputtering. Grabbing another bucket, Owen aimed at the man who stepped up to take the cleric’s place, and, when his mouth was wide open, flung the water and piss. Choking on it, the man dropped his torch at the water’s edge. Owen plucked it up and waved it at the shouting group as he backed them into Hempe, Ned, and several others waiting to chase them back to the city. Once that commotion moved away Owen headed upriver toward several men who were running to keep up with Magda’s coracle, spinning wildly in the incoming tide. Two of them waded out as the current swung the vessel close, trying to grab it with a long hook. But the current shifted and spun it away. They shouted for the injured rower to rise up and row. Squinting in the twilight, Owen watched the man struggle to sit up. Lifting the torch to illuminate the would-be rescuers, Owen called out to the man in the coracle explaining what they were attempting. Listing to one side, the man grabbed the oar and began to row toward the light, at last bringing it close enough they were able to snag it with the hook. Handing the torch to his neighbor, Owen went into the water to help pull the boat to the shore.
Only when Owen lifted the wounded man and set him upright beside him did he recognize Einar. An arrow pierced his upper left arm. He held him steady until he found his feet and caught his breath.
‘Bless you all,’ he gasped.
‘You gave us a good chase,’ one of the men said, laughing with relief.
‘Can you describe what happened?’ Owen asked.
‘I was rowing out to the rock. Was shot from behind.’
‘Could you see who?’
‘No. Shoved the oar inside and bent down to shield myself.’
‘Come. I will row you to Magda’s.’
Alfred had joined them. ‘The shot came from our side of the river,’ he said.
‘Find out if anyone saw another with a bow,’ said Owen. ‘Send someone to tell my wife I will watch through the night. Those who live here, see to your homes. I will guard Magda’s.’
Launching the coracle, Owen rowed out to the rock using the incoming tide to assist.
Twig greeted them at the door cradling the kitten. ‘How can I help?’
‘Sit with Einar on this bench until I call you in.’ He would need to search Magda’s secret store for brandywine, pastes, and lotions, as well as a tincture to add to the wine. Once he had it all assembled, he stepped outside to fetch them. He found Einar relieving himself in the river. Twig stood near him facing toward the shore. Several homes were alight. Damn those who had so little care for the poor. Damn them.
‘Is yours aflame?’ Owen asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ Twig hugged the kitten.
‘God be thanked. Come. I will need your help.’
The lad seemed glad to turn away from the destruction.
While Twig heated a pot of water and searched for sufficient rags, Owen settled Einar on a cot near the fire, giving him a cup of brandywine fortified with the tincture to help with the pain.