by Jacky Gray
Cora’s eyes shot up. “Jarl is working for Farmon? That must mean he’s living there, from what you said. But someone is staying in his house – we saw candles flickering there last night.”
Nodding, Senna couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze as she imagined her reaction. “It’s Lyran. He was concerned about the possibility of the disease affecting the baby, so he went to live with his cousin.”
As predicted, her friend had several questions about when this had happened and why she’d not mentioned it.
“I knew how you would react and with all the arrangements for next moon you have enough to do. Mother has visited every day, and I know how hard she’s been working you, trying to grow the business. This royal commission is a huge thing for them, and they couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. That husband of yours needs a stiff talking to for leaving you alone to cook and clean and everything. Let alone as taking over all the human patients while he’s out treating the farm animals.”
“Calm down, my love. It’s been nothing like that. Every day, dinner has been provided by his customers and, because I’ve not had to cook, there has been no mess for me to clear. I’ve been able to please myself and sit by the fire all evening if I want to. More often than not, I go to bed early, so I’ve been getting lots of rest, which I never seem to do when he’s in the house.”
“I cannot disguise the fact I’m hurt you didn’t mention it, but you are perfectly right, it has been hard.” Cora shifted in her seat, plucking at her kirtle. “Even after your mother returned, she has left much of the organisation to me while she and your father visit the markets and deal with that side of the business.”
“Mother mentioned she’d had a word with Kerise about what Dagda said. Has the situation improved at all?”
Senna was alarmed when her friend’s face wobbled at the name. “What has she been saying?”
“Nothing to my face. I overheard her bleating to the other girls that I’d tittle-tattled.”
“Which we know is a lie.” Senna wanted to support her friend and an insight stung with nasty energy. “What did she call you?”
Cora covered her face with her hands.
“A fat pig.”
The sharp intake of breath evidenced Senna’s shock. “How dare she? You are not fat at all, nor a pig.”
“She dares because everyone loves her, and I’ve seen sparrows with more meat on them than her.”
Senna frowned. “Since when is being scraggy a good thing? Most suitors would think her impoverished and possibly flea-ridden if her family could not afford to feed her properly.”
As Cora giggled, Senna tried tact – not normally a ploy which worked for her, being so forthright. “The important thing to remember is that Alfun loves you no matter what size or shape you are. Just as you love him.”
Instead of the expected reaction, Cora sobbed, allowing her friend to comfort her. When she calmed down, Senna tried again. “I have heard about brides who experience severe anguish before the big day. I’m sure once you and Alfun are wed, it will all work itself out.”
“Oh, Senna. Right now, I’m not even sure I should get wed.”
This time, she gasped, unable to stop her natural reaction. “Really? I find that difficult to believe. I cannot think of two people who are better suited than you and …”
“Don’t say it. I know you are trying to make me feel better, but if he loves me so much, why won’t he talk to me?”
Taken aback by her friend’s vehemence, Senna needed time to gather her wits, so she refilled the beakers with the lemongrass and mint infusion. Offering one, she started with the obvious question. “Why do you think he won’t talk to you?”
“Because he always seems so unhappy, but when I ask what’s wrong, he merely smiles and says, “Nothing.”
Senna needed no insight to work this one out; she’d observed it many times before. In almost every married couple she knew. “Have you told him anything about your concerns?”
“Which ones?” Cora’s muttered response suggested the problem ran deep.
“Does he know you don’t want to marry him?”
Genuine shock crossed her face. “What? No. I mean, of course I want to marry him. Just that this might not be the right time.”
“Good. I mean good that you are not so upset you might cancel altogether.” Pretending to be mollified, Senna sipped her infusion as she formulated her approach. “My darling, I can see this is upsetting you beyond comprehension. If you cannot share your concerns with him now, do you honestly believe it will get better after you wed?”
As Cora pondered on this, Senna reflected on how she and Lyran shared everything after his confession that, on the day of their handfasting, he’d worked himself up into a state about her relationship with his cousin. He vowed never to let that happen again by always being honest with her and voicing any doubts rather than allowing them to fester. She decided to risk meeting with him to see if he could persuade Alfun to open up to his betrothed.
7 – Queen of the May
Lyran had mixed feelings about the message from his wife asking to meet him for an urgent discussion. Senna was the most capable person he knew, so it would not be a trifling matter. His heart clenched as he imagined all manner of circumstances which she might denote as urgent. But only for an instant as he read her assurance that she and the baby were both in good health, naming Alfun as the subject of the discussion.
He had huge concerns about the risk of passing on disease from his work with the animals, but having read her account of Farmon’s precautions, he adapted them to ensure no part of his body could carry any infection. Shrugging into the clean clothes she brought from their house, he stood in the porch where the purifying smoke from the sage, thyme, lavender and rosemary bundles surrounded him. He stayed there for twice the time she’d suggested before dowsing the bundles for use again.
She’d wanted to meet at Jarl’s house, but he insisted they should go somewhere neutral and the nearby woods seemed a perfect compromise – the abundance of yew trees would keep out any infected animals.
As he approached the tree stump, he watched intently, trying to ascertain her state of mind. The cleverly fashioned seat was often used by courting couples because it gave a romantic view of the setting sun. Although her back was to him, he could tell by the set of her shoulders that whatever vexed her did not impact on her general health.
Good. For the past fortnight, he’d kept a daily watch as she went about her business in the village – or rather, their business – and saw nothing to worry about. He’d quizzed every patient who had delivered a meal, hungry for details of how she’d looked, what she’d said.
Being away from his wife for so long felt like torture, but he consoled himself with the thought that neither she nor their babe – he did not share her certainty it would be a girl – would come to any harm due to his negligence. Of course, he had no power over whoever else she came into contact with, but he’d instilled in her the need to double her doses of crystal elixir and smudge herself after every visit or visitor. And to wash her hands and change the sluice pail frequently.
The more he dealt with animals, the more he understood about the need for hygiene in dealing with human illness. He thought wryly to himself that it ought to have been the other way around, but he had learnt so much from the farmers, particularly Farmon and Alfun’s parents.
Senna turned and her smile filled Lyran with such happiness he felt as though he might burst. It took every ounce of self-discipline not to hug her and keep her close no matter the risk. But the potential consequences of such a momentary pleasure were grim, and he restricted himself to blowing a kiss.
“Lyran. My love”
“Sennalina. My life.” He skirted round her outstretched arms and sat as far away as he could. “I’m sorry, my love, but you understand why it must be so.” The disappointment on her features cut him to the quick, but he steeled himself against w
eakening. “How are you?”
“So much better for seeing you, but …” She shrugged.
“I’m sorry, my love. This is how it must be until we are free of this outbreak.”
“If only we knew more about how it is carried from farm to farm, we could understand how to stop the spread.” She told him about her visit to tend Farmon’s lad and the precautions the man had taken.
“You are right. And his methods, although they might appear extreme, build on the advice I gave you. But he seems to be the only one who has embraced the importance of washing after dealing with sick animals and keeping everything clean.”
Senna shrugged. “You are right. The fact he is the only untainted farm creates a persuasive argument for the others.”
Lyran nodded. “Unfortunately, many of them are too lazy to spend the extra time it takes to boil the water and clean up properly. Or too miserly to spend the extra coin on the herbs needed to purify.”
“Well that’s silly. Most of them are growing in their gardens or could easily be grown if not.”
“The trouble is, many of them are easily swayed by arguments that it is all at the whim of the gods. They put their own misfortune at the door of higher powers.”
Senna frowned. “I’m sure Alfun’s father is not like that.”
“Not at all. He was unlucky that a sheep from a neighbouring farm crossed onto his property and died in the stream, polluting his whole water supply. This was at the onset, when no-one had any idea of the outbreak. By the time he discovered it, a quarter of his flock had been affected.” Lyran shrugged.
Timing was everything. A moon earlier, it would have been Tyrel’s problem, but the extra work was welcome right then. It was almost a blessing that he’d quit his job as animal healer to pursue a career as marechal in Oxford. The man’s reputation with horses was second to none, but he’d taught Lyran a lot about cattle and other livestock in the two weeks before he left.
“Anyway, enough about my problems. How are you coping?”
“Well. Thankfully, this is the quietest time of year. There is plenty of food and sunshine to keep the villagers well.”
“Not forgetting the healing power of the henge. So, how can I help with Alfun? I’m assuming it has to do with him and Cora.”
“Yes. First let me ask you: how do you think he is feeling right now?”
A mischievous sparkle lit Lyran’s eye as his mind constructed several playful answers, but he could tell by her reaction that now was not the time for teasing. “By my honour, I would not attempt to say. I have not seen him for over a week; I have been somewhat busy.”
Her expression demanded more, so he tried to put himself in his friend’s shoes. “I imagine he’s already feeling nervous about the handfasting next moon, and this disease is causing extra burden, not merely at his father’s farm, but it will impact on the celebrations in a big way.”
He slid a glance in her direction. “Speaking from experience, I think he will also be anxious about the idea of spending the rest of his life with a woman, even one as sweet and gentle as Cora. And the obligations of being the head of a household, responsible for everything that goes wrong. All in all, he’s probably feeling quite out of sorts. Did you have something particular in mind?”
Senna nodded her head slowly. “Cora thinks something is wrong with him, that he’s regretting the idea of marrying her. It’s making her fret, because each time she asks what the problem is, he dismisses it as nothing.”
Lyran shrugged. “That is the way of men. We do not generally subscribe to the female way of ‘a problem shared is a problem halved.’ Most men prefer to work things out for themselves.”
“Well there needs to be a compromise, because a wife cannot help her husband if she does not know the strain he is under.”
He could not disguise his shock at the vehemence of her reply.
She breathed in, calming her tone. “I hope you will talk to him and find out if there is an underlying cause for his sorrow.”
“I can try, but it will not be easy to ask what ails him when he is always so cheerful whenever I see him.”
“Cora thinks some of it may be to do with the way he is pushing himself to reduce the size of his belly. Ever since Jarl’s remark …”
“Jarl? What would he have to do with Alfun eating less? That makes no sense.”
Senna glanced away. “You must have heard Jarl talking about resembling a prize-winning bull.”
This did not feel right. “Jarl would never say something like that to Alfun; he knows how sensitive he is about his appearance.”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t always like that. It was a thoughtless remark at our wedding feast. It was not aimed at Alfun, but he took on the hurt of it and has been making every attempt to exercise more and eat less ever since. And he has Cora doing the same.”
Lyran found it difficult to believe his wife’s version of either man’s motivation or behaviour, but he knew better than to raise scepticism. And it provided him with a reasonable way to start a conversation.
The following day, he called in at the farm to find Alfun’s father in a great state of excitement. “How fortuitous you should come along just as I was about to send one of the lads to find you. Alfun has … No. I’ll let him show you himself.”
He gestured at the barn, and Lyran prayed this would be what he hoped for – a cure everyone could use against the disease. He found his friend dribbling a dark liquid from a spoon into the mouth of a very sick sheep.
“Lyran. You won’t believe this, but I think I’ve found a cure.”
Smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm, Lyran quizzed him about the contents of the remedy, and was not surprised to find it contained ginger, dandelion, parsley and onions, all known to have great benefits at fighting infection, but he was surprised about the red clover, mallow and burdock.
“I know. It’s very exciting. I noticed that three of the sheep did not succumb to the sickness, so I allowed them to follow their normal grazing habits and noticed they always returned to a particular corner of the field where those three plants grew.”
“A smart strategy. I cannot say I would have done the same.”
“I’m sure you would have made the connection eventually. Anyway, Mother is busily brewing up more of the mixture if you want to take some to the other farmers.”
“Would you come with me? I’m sure they will want to know details I cannot provide, such as the incense you are burning and the quantities of each herb. Not to mention the best way of brewing a tincture, I suspect this is not something most families are experienced in doing.”
Alfun’s natural instinct made his face fill with all manner of reasons why he should not do this. He named every one, from how much he was needed on the farm to the folly of traipsing from farm to farm, spreading the disease even further.
Lyran regarded his friend steadily, waiting for the litany of excuses to end. “I believe there is a solution to each of those objections, none are insurmountable. However, I do not understand the underlying reason for your reluctance. Tell me honestly why you cannot help me.”
Alfun stared at the ground for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he huffed a sigh. “You always were good at knowing my inner thoughts, and you are right. I am afraid the other farmers will not respect anything I say because I have no talent for farming. Ask any of my father’s workhands; they will tell you of all the mistakes I make. I’m sure they talk among themselves so by now the entire village will know of my ineptitude.”
The depth of feeling slumped his shoulders and made his voice waver, and Lyran chose his words with care. “Very few people are cut out for every aspect of an occupation like farming, but no one can hold a candle to your skills when it comes to dealing with animals. And you know so much about the healing properties of herbs I often feel you should be doing my job.”
Alfun scoffed. “Now I know you are teasing.” He straightened. “All right, you’ve convinced me. I will come with you.”
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~*~
Senna knocked on the door, sending up a prayer that this visit would be short as she’d had a busy day, dealing with an unusual number of trifling maladies at opposite ends of the village. On the third request for “a little of Lyran’s magical tonic,” she made the connection.
Before he left, he’d pointed out a store of what he called his “sabbat tonic,” suggesting that she never went far without it on the day after a celebration.
“I’m afraid I’ve made a rod for my own back with this potion – it’s nothing more than a concoction of blood purifying herbs, along with cloves and a little valerian to dull the pain of a thumping head.”
Senna frowned. “Why would people need that after a sabbat?” She closed her eyes. “Unless they had celebrated a little too hard and brought on a headache due to ample liquor consumption.”
His sheepish expression made her smile, even as she clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Why would you advertise such a remedy? These people will never learn to curb their excesses if they know you will provide them with relief. I hope you charge an appropriate price.”
“Ah well, that’s the beauty. Mostly they need to drink water to replace what they have lost through the effects of liquor. So I only allow them a small amount of my tonic and tell them if they put more than a couple of drops in each beaker of boiled water, it will poison their body.”
“Which means you will make a good profit from it. Very smart.”
“And they will pay the penance of having to fetch lots of well water and boil it. Make sure you remind them to boil the water, particularly with this outbreak. I’m hoping this will result in people getting used to the idea of safe water for drinking.”
Shaking her head at her husband’s cunning mind, Senna wondered why people were asking for it before the event. She could only imagine they did not want to wait in line on the day. Unless they thought her too narrow to dispense cures for self-inflicted ailments. They would not be far wrong.
