healing place. As a girl she had seen such chambers hung with foul-smelling roots, and pieces of hare's foot, newt, and dried frog. Her own place, she promised herself, would have no noxious tubs of tallow fat and dung, jars of bats' eyes, or the shrunken remains of infants who died in the womb. All her herbs and salves stood in well-ordered rows, clear aromatic liquids and fiery lotions the color of amber and gold.
Brangwain followed her gaze. "Woundwort, feverfew, all-heal, my lady," she said quietly. "They're all there."
"Yes." Isolde nodded. "Everything we'll need for his injuries." The Queen strode in and began feverishly pacing the floor.
And heartsease for my mother
, she thought sorrowfully,
at the end of this
.
Swiftly she laid out her instruments, blessing the old Druid who had taught her all he knew. Before he died, Gwydion of the Welshlands had traveled as far as the land where bodies were kept sweet for their spirit's return with rich spices and unguents and yards of linen wraps. He had taught her the way to relieve pressure on a damaged skull, how to set bones, to cure an ague, to deliver a child. But here in Ireland, in a land at peace, she had never learned how to treat the wounds of war.
"In here, my lady?"
The knights bearing Marhaus were at the door. As they brought him in, a mighty storm darkened the sky. Soon the casements were washed with rivulets of rain, and bright streaks of lightning split the summer clouds.
"More light!" Isolde ordered as Marhaus was placed on the table under Brangwain's care.
Goddess, Mother, help me…
Isolde tensed as Brangwain slit open Marhaus's tunic to reveal the bloodied mess beneath. The raw gashes on Marhaus's chest were too numerous to count, some weeping pus, some gaping like open mouths. But as she took up her instruments, feeling the cold clean metal in her hand, her calm returned.
Wherever your spirit walks, Lord Gwydion, be with me now
.
In the silence that followed, the old man's voice dropped quietly through the air.
First deal with the lesser wounds to the chest and neck, then move to the cleft in the head
…
Steadily she set to work with Brangwain at her side, probing and salving the cuts great and small. As she worked, she felt herself rising above her work and drifting away. Suddenly she was walking the astral plane and old Gwydion was coming toward her, wreathed in stars. His eyes had the kindly gleam she remembered so well, and the light from a thousand moons shone around his head.
You have done well, brave heart
, he said fondly to her without words,
and there is more to come. But do not judge yourself by the fate of this man
.
She worked on. Marhaus's knights huddled silently by the door, and she shut her ears to the pacing of the Queen. Then she heard a noise that could not be ignored. At the back of the room, two old women of the household were struggling in with a smoldering fire in a thick clay pot. A third carried a bundle in her arms, which she handed to the Queen.
Isolde had seen them before, but never like this. In place of the plain gowns and head coverings they wore in the Queen's household, they were garbed in dark draperies, with their hair unbound. Three grizzled manes floated wildly down their backs, and three pairs of glittering eyes peered out through the tangled locks. The Queen rushed forward with shrill cries and welcomed them in. Isolde drew a breath and tried to hold her temper down.
Have pity, try not to blame her, think what she must feel
…
The crones set the firepot down on the floor and strewed herbs and crystals over the glowing coals. A rich, thick odor began to seep through the room as the Queen opened the bundle and shook the contents out. With a lurch, Isolde saw a pair of round, dead, painted eyes and the stunted body of a man-doll crudely carved out of wood. Its oversized member jutted like a thumb, and its stare would have mocked the undead. But the Queen clasped it raptly to her breast and rocked it to and
Brangwain followed her gaze. "Woundwort, feverfew, all-heal, my lady," she said quietly. "They're all there."
"Yes." Isolde nodded. "Everything we'll need for his injuries." The Queen strode in and began feverishly pacing the floor.
And heartsease for my mother
, she thought sorrowfully,
at the end of this
.
Swiftly she laid out her instruments, blessing the old Druid who had taught her all he knew. Before he died, Gwydion of the Welshlands had traveled as far as the land where bodies were kept sweet for their spirit's return with rich spices and unguents and yards of linen wraps. He had taught her the way to relieve pressure on a damaged skull, how to set bones, to cure an ague, to deliver a child. But here in Ireland, in a land at peace, she had never learned how to treat the wounds of war.
"In here, my lady?"
The knights bearing Marhaus were at the door. As they brought him in, a mighty storm darkened the sky. Soon the casements were washed with rivulets of rain, and bright streaks of lightning split the summer clouds.
"More light!" Isolde ordered as Marhaus was placed on the table under Brangwain's care.
Goddess, Mother, help me…
Isolde tensed as Brangwain slit open Marhaus's tunic to reveal the bloodied mess beneath. The raw gashes on Marhaus's chest were too numerous to count, some weeping pus, some gaping like open mouths. But as she took up her instruments, feeling the cold clean metal in her hand, her calm returned.
Wherever your spirit walks, Lord Gwydion, be with me now
.
In the silence that followed, the old man's voice dropped quietly through the air.
First deal with the lesser wounds to the chest and neck, then move to the cleft in the head
…
Steadily she set to work with Brangwain at her side, probing and salving the cuts great and small. As she worked, she felt herself rising above her work and drifting away. Suddenly she was walking the astral plane and old Gwydion was coming toward her, wreathed in stars. His eyes had the kindly gleam she remembered so well, and the light from a thousand moons shone around his head.
You have done well, brave heart
, he said fondly to her without words,
and there is more to come. But do not judge yourself by the fate of this man
.
She worked on. Marhaus's knights huddled silently by the door, and she shut her ears to the pacing of the Queen. Then she heard a noise that could not be ignored. At the back of the room, two old women of the household were struggling in with a smoldering fire in a thick clay pot. A third carried a bundle in her arms, which she handed to the Queen.
Isolde had seen them before, but never like this. In place of the plain gowns and head coverings they wore in the Queen's household, they were garbed in dark draperies, with their hair unbound. Three grizzled manes floated wildly down their backs, and three pairs of glittering eyes peered out through the tangled locks. The Queen rushed forward with shrill cries and welcomed them in. Isolde drew a breath and tried to hold her temper down.
Have pity, try not to blame her, think what she must feel
…
The crones set the firepot down on the floor and strewed herbs and crystals over the glowing coals. A rich, thick odor began to seep through the room as the Queen opened the bundle and shook the contents out. With a lurch, Isolde saw a pair of round, dead, painted eyes and the stunted body of a man-doll crudely carved out of wood. Its oversized member jutted like a thumb, and its stare would have mocked the undead. But the Queen clasped it raptly to her breast and rocked it to and
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