Dreamer's Pool (34 page)

‘Tell me, Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Lady Sochla, giving me a shrewd look across the room full of women as I sat at my little desk trying to look busy and listen at the same time, ‘what are the questions folk most often ask you? What are the most common ailments they bring to you?’

I guessed she was asking out of genuine interest, not in an attempt to make me feel welcome. Though if the prince’s aunt was as astute as I suspected, she’d have noticed the sideways looks some of the other women were still giving me, days after I had first joined them, as if they thought me as out of place as a fox in a rabbit warren.

‘It depends on the circumstances, Lady Sochla. A wise woman tends to all manner of injuries and ailments. There can be combat wounds; limbs broken in farm accidents; burns. Heads cracked in foolish brawls over nothing in particular. Agues, fevers, ill humours, complications in childbirth. We see new life into the world; we hold the hands of the dying and lay out the dead.’

Lady Sochla seemed to be waiting for more, and now all the others were listening too.

‘Then there are the chronic ailments, such as persistent rashes or weakness of the stomach or maladies of the mind. For those who suffer in that way, we have a range of preparations that can be made up regularly.’ I would not mention headaches; it was too soon. ‘For instance, on the day the young woman, Ness, was rescued – you’ll have heard the tale at the last council – I was at Branoc’s bakery tending to his sore neck and shoulders. That was a genuine ailment, and I had taken a salve with me, prepared for the purpose.’

A buzz of talk broke out among them, in lowered voices. I applied myself to a drawing of the various parts of thyme: root, stem, leaves, flowers.

Someone was breathing down my neck.

‘Oh, that is pretty!’ exclaimed Deirdre. ‘You are clever, Mistress Blackthorn.’

‘It’s not meant to be pretty. The drawings provide a record. Each is an accurate depiction of the herb – or as accurate as I can manage, not being a skilled artist – with notes to illustrate how it is used and for what purpose.’ I reminded myself that of them all, Deirdre had been most civil to me on the day of the drowning. ‘But yes,’ I made myself say, ‘some of the herbs are very decorative. Though at this time of year, only a few are in flower.’

‘I’d say you are something of an artist, Blackthorn,’ put in Lady Sochla’s maid, Sinead, who had wandered over to have a look. With two of them crowding me, I gave up the attempt to draw. ‘You have a fine hand with the pen.’

Lady Flidais whispered in Mhairi’s ear, and they both smiled.

‘One cannot perform tasks such as sewing up wounds or extracting foreign bodies from folk’s ears or noses without a certain delicacy of touch,’ I observed, suppressing the urge to kick someone. ‘Just as one cannot set a broken limb to rights or pull out a diseased tooth without a certain brute strength. A wise woman needs both.’

‘Does your man help you?’ enquired Mhairi, lifting her brows.

I did not like her tone. Nor did I like the look on her face, which was mirrored on Lady Flidais’s. They were ready to mock me, the two of them, at the first opportunity. Never mind that. I had endured far worse in my time.
Don’t snap. Don’t bite. Remember why you are here.

‘You mean Grim?’ I said lightly. ‘It is sometimes useful to have the assistance of a person who is physically stronger, yes. To restrain a patient who is thrashing about in pain, for instance, or to hold a severely broken limb straight while I splint and bandage it. Grim has helped me once or twice.’

‘Only once or twice?’ Mhairi was not letting this go. ‘Surely you’ve needed help more than that.’

‘Grim and I have not been travelling together long.’ I turned my attention back to my notebook. It was hard to work with Deirdre and Sinead standing right beside me; they were still too close, and it set my teeth on edge. ‘What are you working on?’ I asked, with a glance intended to take in both of them.

They did as I’d hoped, retreating to fetch their work so I could admire it. Sinead was embroidering a border of ivy around the hem of a skirt. It seemed a waste of time to me – wouldn’t it soon get muddy? – but the result was pleasing enough. Deirdre was making a little gown for a baby, with birds on it. I muttered a comment, finding it impossible to be kind. She could not know what images had flooded my mind when I saw the garment. My baby in a gown almost twin to this. Brennan in my arms, his slight, sleeping weight, the sweetness of his breath, his mouth hungry on the breast. My baby gone. Gone to the flames.

‘Mistress Blackthorn?’

Someone had been talking and I had not heard a word. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
Pull yourself together. Listen. Learn.
If only I hadn’t told Grim the story. I’d had it well locked away before. Now it was close again, a darkness on the edge of everything.

‘It was a foolish question.’ Lady Sochla sounded repressive. ‘Teafa asked whether folk come to you for spells. Magical potions and cures.’

Teafa was one of the young seamstresses. She was blushing now, her head bent over her work. Had I seen her before, perhaps asking for something to make a certain youth notice her? I couldn’t remember; one silly girl tended to fade into another after a while. ‘They ask, yes. Cures for broken hearts. Love potions. Sometimes they want curses to be cast on an enemy, or spells to make them beautiful or to help them please their wives better.’

Now I really had everyone’s attention.

‘And do you give them what they want?’ asked Fíona.

‘I give them what they need.’

Sinead’s eyes had gone wide. ‘You can do magic?’ she breathed. ‘Real magic?’

‘I didn’t say that. These matters are not as simple as they may sound. If by magic you mean the right gathering of plants, the thoughtful preparation of draughts and suchlike, and the wise dispensing of the same, then yes. If you refer to a person waving a hand and conjuring coloured lights or heaps of gold coins, then no.’

‘But a love potion,’ said Sinead, ‘or what you said, a curse on an enemy, have you given folk those things? They are magic, surely, or any one of us could find the ingredients and make up the mixture ourselves.’

‘That way lies disaster. Get the smallest component wrong, or make a slight error with the proportions, and you might find yourself charged with unlawful killing. That’s if the draught was for someone other than yourself.’

‘And if it was for yourself,’ put in Lady Sochla, ‘you might be dead. I think that is what Mistress Blackthorn is telling us.’

‘Indeed so. That is why the details of potions and charms are kept secret. Always.’

They looked suitably impressed, and for a little while there was silence. Then Lady Flidais spoke up. ‘Don’t you have them written in your little book, Blackthorn? You’re always scribbling in there.’

Count to five before you speak
. ‘This is a record of my daily work, my lady. My book does include some cures and remedies, but it is by no means a comprehensive guide. It contains nothing of a magical nature.’ Not strictly true; but only a person of some wisdom and skill would recognise that.

‘Isn’t one of the village girls learning from you?’ one of the women asked. ‘I’m sure I heard someone say you were training a girl up to be a healer.’

‘Emer. Yes, she is learning the skills.’ This was starting to feel a little like an interrogation.

‘But if they’re secret,’ said Deirdre, ‘how can she learn them?’

‘Some are secret. Those, a wise woman learns only when she is ready. That may take many years of study, many years of practical work. Not every student achieves the wisdom and good judgement that allows her to be trusted with the most arcane learning. But some do, or there would be no wise women to teach the next generation, and the one after that. From what I have been told, I believe the last one at Winterfalls – Holly, was that her name? – died without leaving a successor.’ This might turn the conversation away from me and onto more general lines.

‘By successor you mean a student, not a son or daughter, I imagine,’ said Nuala. ‘Can wise women marry?’

Seems my attempt had failed. ‘We usually don’t. Best if our whole energy is devoted to our craft. Besides, the work of a healer requires her to be often away from home, and calls for our help can come at any time of the day or night. Babies are born in their own time; old folk often pass away at dawn. Accidents happen when they happen. We must be able to drop everything and go.’

‘Not easy for a mother, then.’

‘As you say.’

‘But aren’t you and Grim . . . ?’ This was Mhairi.

I turned a level gaze on her. ‘Aren’t we what?’ I asked coolly, taking a certain pleasure in her surprise. She had expected me to blush, perhaps, and mumble an awkward response.

‘Perhaps I am wrong,’ Mhairi said, ‘but as you both live in the cottage, and as you’ve moved in here together, I assumed . . .’

I lifted my brows in query and waited for her to finish.

‘
Mhairi
,’ murmured Deirdre, frowning.

‘Assumptions can be dangerous,’ put in Lady Sochla, looking up from her handiwork. ‘They can lead us down pathways we’d be better to avoid. I’m sure Mistress Blackthorn has better things to do than answer a lot of personal questions.’

‘Blackthorn is a stranger among us, Aunt.’ Flidais’s tone was sweet. ‘We know little about her. Mhairi wants to fill in the gaps, that is all.’

Lady Sochla had provided me with time to gather my wits. ‘Why don’t we do it this way?’ I asked. ‘I answer your question, and then you answer one for me.’

‘I?’ Lady Flidais sounded shocked; clearly she thought this most inappropriate. Or she was afraid.

‘You, my lady, or Mhairi, whichever wishes to reply.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Mhairi.

‘Very well. The answer is, Grim and I met on the road here. We are travelling companions.’

‘But you’re not travelling now.’

‘Is that another question?’

The whole chamber had gone silent.

‘If I answer two,’ I went on, ‘then you must answer two as well.’

Mhairi tossed her head. ‘This is silly.’

‘It sounds perfectly fair to me,’ said Lady Sochla. ‘I would most certainly count that as a second question.’

‘I have stayed in Winterfalls because there’s a need for my services here,’ I said. ‘It helped that there was also a place to live: the old cottage. Grim stayed on to help make the cottage habitable. It turned out there was work for him in the district as well. There’s your answer, and now it’s my turn to ask. Mhairi, what does the work of a lady’s personal attendant involve? See, I am only asking you the same question you asked me. Absolutely fair.’

‘Surely you can guess the answer.’

‘Maybe so. But it’s for you to tell me.’

‘I look after Lady Flidais’s clothing. I help her dress and bathe. I’m on hand whenever she needs me.’

‘Mhairi took over all of Ciar’s duties,’ said Nuala. ‘She’s with Lady Flidais night and day.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, giving her a smile. ‘My second question is for Lady Flidais. My lady, I have noticed you are often indisposed with headaches. I am expert in dealing with such maladies. It is very likely I could help you. But your personal attendant has not sought me out on your behalf. I will not risk offending anyone by asking why not. I will simply say that I am well qualified to help, and that my services are at your disposal if you wish to use them. I believe I could cure the headaches quite quickly, allowing you to live your life to the full, as before. Would you allow me to try?’

Lady Flidais turned her wide blue gaze on me. ‘I have no faith in old wives’ remedies,’ she said.

There were a few gasps around the chamber – the barb in this comment was hardly subtle. Lady Sochla opened her mouth, then closed it again. She might have reprimanded one of the waiting women if she’d spoken with such discourtesy, but she would not do so to the lady of the house. And, hard as it was to believe, Flidais was that lady.

I held my tongue. In this girl’s opinion I was a crone. I could have protested. I could have told her that despite appearances, I was still of child-bearing years. I could have said that under the worn-out, beaten-down exterior, the woman I might have been still lingered. An old wife would not have cared about Mathuin’s crimes. An old wife could not have contained such a burning will for justice. But what was the point? Flidais and her kind would care nothing for that. She would still see me as the shrivelled, desperate hag of Branoc’s unsavoury speech. If I argued the point, I’d be letting her know that her comment had struck home. And while I might be physically capable of it, I had no intention of ever lying with a man or bearing a child again. There was only so much heartbreak a person could carry.

‘That is your choice, of course, my lady.’ With some difficulty I kept my tone coolly courteous. ‘If you change your mind, please let me know. It seems I will be staying here until the cottage is fully rebuilt, and since Brid has so kindly allowed me to set up my stillroom near the kitchen, it’s now easy for anyone in the household to consult me. It would be sad if you were still afflicted in this way at the time of your hand-fasting.’

‘It’s not for you to express an opinion on the matter.’ Flidais rose abruptly to her feet; Mhairi caught the embroidery as it fell from her lap. ‘Tend to the grooms and kitchen folk and gardeners, of course, if they want you. As for the headaches, I need no remedy. They will pass.’

For a moment, looking at her, I wondered if she could possibly be with child. Some women did suffer headaches in the early stages; could that be the cause? But no. A high-born lady, young, unwed and always surrounded by serving women – it could hardly be so. I could not for the life of me imagine Prince Oran, that poetic dreamer, anticipating his wedding night. And if Flidais had been despatched from home already pregnant, which would have provided the prince with the perfect justification for cancelling his wedding, she would by now have been showing.

‘If my offer of help offended you in some way, Lady Flidais, I am sorry.’ The words stuck in my craw, but I got them out. There was indeed something very odd going on here. Why would she refuse the only help on offer? Maybe, many years ago, her old nurse had been poisoned by a wise woman’s remedy gone wrong. I looked around the chamber, where most of the women were again industriously bent over their work, no doubt wishing the awkward conversation was over. ‘Of course, anyone in the household is welcome to consult me if they wish, or not to do so. I do not pretend to have the answer to every question, or to be able to effect a complete cure for every ailment. But folk will tell you I do a good enough job.’