also brew some bark from a willow tree to reduce her fever, and give her a mite of poppy syrup if she is in pain. I presume you know of them, for they are common enough.” As she spoke, she was busy grinding herbs into a fine powder. “I shall add a little honey to sweeten the mixture, and some ale, which will help my lady to relax. I shall encourage her to sneeze, and also massage her back and her stomach to help her expel the remains of the afterbirth. So you may go home now to Wiltune, Master Fulk, and leave Dame Alice to my ministrations.”
“She will only see you if you are in my company; I will need to reassure her that you are to be trusted,” Fulk protested.
Eadgyth gave a contemptuous snort and continued about her business.
“I’ll have to tell Dame Alice that you are in my employ and that I am training you,” Fulk persisted.
Eadgyth dropped the bowl of herbs and turned to face him. “Then you may take me to the manor and introduce me as your new partner,” she said evenly. “You can also tell Dame Alice that, in the future, I shall be taking care of all the women who come to your shop, no matter what their troubles might be.”
Not believing what she was hearing, Janna had spun around from the fire to confront her mother. A level glance from fine gray eyes showed Janna that her mother was in deadly earnest. It seemed she was prepared to abandon Janna, and all those villagers who had come to rely on her help, in order to cut a fine figure at the apothecary’s shop in Wiltune. It was too much to bear. Pausing only to snatch up the flaming resin torch brought by the apothecary to light his path to their cottage, Janna had raced out into the moonlit night and plunged into the forest.
Chapter 2
Another high, wild cry shattered the silence. Was the wolf alone? Hunger might make it bold, but she’d have a better chance of survival than if it was hunting as part of a pack. Janna stopped once more to listen. A secretive rustle, the hoot of an owl, then silence. Go on—or turn back? She tilted her head and the moonlight fell on her face like a blessing. “Keep me safe,” she whispered, then hurriedly crossed herself, knowing she should more properly be asking God for help, or even St Edith, the patron saint of nearby Wiltune Abbey. Yet she felt comforted as she held the torch a little higher and hurried on.
The trail dwindled to little more than a thin depression of flattened leaves and grass, barely discernible among the shadows. Although Janna knew this part of the forest well, it looked quite different on this dark, shining night. She kept her head bent, looking for the signs that told her she was going the right way. She had walked this path only yesterday, hoping to snare a small something to add to the pot for their dinner, although she would have given the king’s forester a different answer if she’d been caught by him so close to the king’s hunting lodge. She had seen the wild strawberries growing amid a tangle of bindweed and the beautiful blue flowers whose shape gave deadly monkshood its common name and her mother the ingredients for an ointment to ease stiff and aching joints. Knowing the importance of her find, for it was still early in the season, Janna had told her mother, and Eagyth had vowed to visit the place, to dig up some strawberry plants and repot them in their own herb garden.
“God’s bones!” Janna muttered crossly now as she realized that, in her haste to leave the cottage, she’d also left behind a digging trowel and a bag to hold the plants. She would have to make do with picking only the berries. She patted the woven purse that hung from her girdle. There was room enough—if she packed them in carefully she could carry the fruits home without squashing them.
She was moving uphill into a dense grove of beech and oak. Great branches closed over her head, their leafy mantle blocking the moon’s light. The flare from the torch was bright as, step by cautious step,
“She will only see you if you are in my company; I will need to reassure her that you are to be trusted,” Fulk protested.
Eadgyth gave a contemptuous snort and continued about her business.
“I’ll have to tell Dame Alice that you are in my employ and that I am training you,” Fulk persisted.
Eadgyth dropped the bowl of herbs and turned to face him. “Then you may take me to the manor and introduce me as your new partner,” she said evenly. “You can also tell Dame Alice that, in the future, I shall be taking care of all the women who come to your shop, no matter what their troubles might be.”
Not believing what she was hearing, Janna had spun around from the fire to confront her mother. A level glance from fine gray eyes showed Janna that her mother was in deadly earnest. It seemed she was prepared to abandon Janna, and all those villagers who had come to rely on her help, in order to cut a fine figure at the apothecary’s shop in Wiltune. It was too much to bear. Pausing only to snatch up the flaming resin torch brought by the apothecary to light his path to their cottage, Janna had raced out into the moonlit night and plunged into the forest.
Chapter 2
Another high, wild cry shattered the silence. Was the wolf alone? Hunger might make it bold, but she’d have a better chance of survival than if it was hunting as part of a pack. Janna stopped once more to listen. A secretive rustle, the hoot of an owl, then silence. Go on—or turn back? She tilted her head and the moonlight fell on her face like a blessing. “Keep me safe,” she whispered, then hurriedly crossed herself, knowing she should more properly be asking God for help, or even St Edith, the patron saint of nearby Wiltune Abbey. Yet she felt comforted as she held the torch a little higher and hurried on.
The trail dwindled to little more than a thin depression of flattened leaves and grass, barely discernible among the shadows. Although Janna knew this part of the forest well, it looked quite different on this dark, shining night. She kept her head bent, looking for the signs that told her she was going the right way. She had walked this path only yesterday, hoping to snare a small something to add to the pot for their dinner, although she would have given the king’s forester a different answer if she’d been caught by him so close to the king’s hunting lodge. She had seen the wild strawberries growing amid a tangle of bindweed and the beautiful blue flowers whose shape gave deadly monkshood its common name and her mother the ingredients for an ointment to ease stiff and aching joints. Knowing the importance of her find, for it was still early in the season, Janna had told her mother, and Eagyth had vowed to visit the place, to dig up some strawberry plants and repot them in their own herb garden.
“God’s bones!” Janna muttered crossly now as she realized that, in her haste to leave the cottage, she’d also left behind a digging trowel and a bag to hold the plants. She would have to make do with picking only the berries. She patted the woven purse that hung from her girdle. There was room enough—if she packed them in carefully she could carry the fruits home without squashing them.
She was moving uphill into a dense grove of beech and oak. Great branches closed over her head, their leafy mantle blocking the moon’s light. The flare from the torch was bright as, step by cautious step,
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