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…
He was glad of that. ‘Worry kept you wakeful?’
‘Asa’s suffering. The beatings of healers. That man hiding somewhere. You need not whisper. I convinced Kate to sleep up in Philippa’s old room. You were telling me about Gavin Wolcott’s plan.’
He rose and stretched, poured a little more ale. Stood leaning over the back of the settle. ‘I believe he is running off with his father’s, and possibly others’, goods. To Graa’s property in Galtres? Would anyone think to search there for him? I will be watching for him at Bootham.’
‘You believe he has more to hide than Jack Fuller’s chest?’
‘Luke Ferriby believes so.’ He told her what Luke suspected. ‘But I wonder whether Fuller’s chest had been put there by Alan for his own use. I expect to find Alan hiding in the cart. Or the chest was a payment for his trip out of the city.’ But Owen was not satisfied with that. There was more, he was sure of it.
Someone knocked on the kitchen door.
‘So late?’ Lucie whispered, crossing herself. Of course she would fear the worst.
Owen opened the door to Brother Michaelo. The monk looked worse than Owen felt, agitated, his face drawn, his eyes pleading.
‘Forgive my calling so late, but the poor in the minster yard–’
‘You would not be here without good cause,’ said Owen, standing aside, motioning him in.
‘Dom Jehannes wished me to inform you that two of the king’s men arrived at St Mary’s tonight, asking about a Master Bernard, lately a barber in Lincoln.’
‘He is suddenly much sought after,’ said Lucie.
‘I hope to find him in the morning,’ said Owen.
‘You know where he is hiding?’ Michaelo asked.
‘I believe so, though it might involve a chase. But this concern I see on your face – surely it is something else?’
‘Anna, the cook. She has fallen ill. We fear it is the Death.’
‘Come, join us at the fire,’ said Owen.
‘Have you what you need to ease her?’ Lucie asked.
‘She– Her husband asked if you might mix the headache physick for her. It calms her, and she trusts it.’ He stood near the fire, but did not sit.
‘I am happy to do so.’ Lucie rose, staying Michaelo when he would follow. ‘I will not be long.’
‘Is she showing signs?’ Owen asked. ‘Boils?’
‘Not yet. She is wheezing, fevered, muttering of demons.’
From the door Lucie said, ‘That might be many things. Do not despair.’ She stepped out.
‘If my work among the poor in the yard brought it into the house–’ Michaelo’s eyes watered.
Such an affection for a woman about whom he often complained.
‘I think with shame of Brother Wulfstan, a man I poisoned, who lived only to die among the sick in the last terrible visitation of the pestilence,’ said Michaelo. ‘He kept himself apart from his fellows so that the abbey suffered few deaths. And I witlessly return every night to Dom Jehannes’s home.’
‘As do so many others,’ said Owen. ‘Where else might you go?’
‘I might bide among the poor.’
‘Have you discussed this with Jehannes?’
‘He said I would do no such thing.’
‘Let that be an end to the idea.’
Michaelo lowered himself on to a chair, shaking his head at Owen’s offer of food or drink. He spoke of Einar, how helpful he was proving. He had assisted Michaelo this evening, with less vigor than usual but still attentive, speaking as they walked of Asa’s injuries, Magda’s skill, Owen’s calming presence.
‘Mine?’ Owen asked. ‘Magda anchors me. And Lucie. Has the pestilence taken any of your poor?’
‘Several in the past few days. It has sunk its claws into the city.’
‘May God watch over us all.’ Owen wondered about Freythorpe. No manor was completely an island unto itself. If the air carried it, why could it not move from farm to farm? Or if folk carried it, villagers might go to market, bring back the sickness, a child working elsewhere bring it home to the family, traveling tinkers, friars … If it were in the water … His stomach complained. He pushed himself to think of something else. ‘How did Jehannes hear of the king’s men?’
‘He supped with the abbot.’
‘Did he meet them?’
‘He was introduced as he made his departure. Not the two who escorted us north. King’s men, not the prince’s. But they met you at court, intend to consult you.’
‘I would beg a favor. Would you meet me at Bootham Bar at dawn with two horses? Hempe will be bringing men on foot, but I mean to ride out after Gavin Wolcott and would like your company.’
‘Wolcott? Why?’
‘I want to see where he is taking a cartload of goods, not all of it his.’
‘I am no soldier, Captain, you know that.’
‘You proved an excellent tracker when last we rode out into Galtres.’
A small smile, a nod as if to say, So I did. ‘I am happy to be of service.’
Lucie returned, handing Michaelo a wrapped parcel. ‘You said she trusts my physick. Did she try something she thinks she should not have trusted?’
‘I would not know.’
‘You might ask. Fever would be unusual from a potion, but it is possible.’
‘I will.’ Michaelo rose. ‘I am grateful, Dame Lucie.’ He touched Owen’s shoulder. ‘Dawn at Bootham, two horses.’
When he had departed, Lucie pulled Owen to her, holding him for a long while. He stroked her head, understanding that she, too, had been worrying about the children at Freythorpe.
When she released him she reached for his hand. ‘Come to bed?’
‘Oh yes.’
On the way she asked about Michaelo’s parting comment. Owen explained. They spoke of the king’s men, wondering whether Alan was aware of his danger.
‘I pray he is not,’ said Lucie. ‘A cornered animal is all the more vicious.’
Asa had awakened after sunset, thirsty and in pain. Magda made a soothing tisane, adding more milk of poppy. Sleep is what her body needed, and her heart. Rest. Forgetfulness. She sang to her daughter, songs Asa had loved long ago.
Einar returned from his evening work with Brother Michaelo about to fall asleep on his feet. Magda fed him and put him to bed, then sat with the kitten. In the quiet she gathered her thoughts, how she would proceed for the next few days, testing whether she still felt at ease with her decision to send Einar with the cloth. She could not judge without such a test how strong Sten’s blood was in him. If he returned with the cloth, having failed to find the glade, he need not know she had tested the strength of the bloodline over time. If he should succeed, she would present it as a choice he might make. She did not prefer one outcome over the other. He had steady hands, moved quickly but with care when called on while she and Bird-eye had worked today, calm despite Asa’s moans and the extent of her injuries. If he wished to learn at her side, she would agree, no matter what happened in the morning, but not at once. He must spend time alone to discover the path to which he was called.
When Holda grew so limp that she almost slid off her lap, Magda settled her in her blanket-lined basket and stepped outside. A few fires burned on the bank, but elsewhere the dark enveloped the city and the river. A heaviness in the air, little breeze, a slight scent of rain. Dry until morning, then a drizzle, no storm. She closed her eyes and let her senses travel far and wide. Within the city walls she felt the pulse of fear and sorrow. A few points of joy, soft, not buoyant. Anger crawled in the shadows, pointing, blaming. In her mind’s eye she saw the sisters of St Clement’s downriver kneeling, heads bowed in prayer, rising to join their voices in song. She smiled as the dragon slipped into the water, closing her eyes to follow her down into the cool depths.