The Silver Bowl by Diane Stanley

is,” Tobias said. “It’s only been a little time. Even a prince cannot heal that fast.”
    â€œLet me have a look.” Winifred knelt on the other side of the prince and peered at his bloody shoulder. “Aye, it’s a real mess, ain’t it? A couple of really nasty gashes there what need to be stitched up. Fold your apron, why don’t you, with the cleanest part out, then press down hard. That’ll slow the bleeding some.”
    I thought this sounded wise and did as she said.
    â€œWill he die of it, Winifred, do you think?”
    â€œMost likely not. Though you can never tell with these things.”
    â€œYou have a lot of experience with ‘these things,’ then?”
    She shrugged.
    We continued to float silently down the river with the current.
    â€œWe need to find him a leech or a wisewoman,” Tobias said. “There’s little gain if we save him from the wolves only to have him bleed to death on the river.”
    â€œTrue enough,” I said, “only I don’t know any leeches or wisewomen, not here nor anywhere else.”
    â€œMy mother is a wisewoman,” Winifred said. “I told you that already.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t. You said she taught you sommat about herbs. It’s not the same. Every housewife knows a thing or two about—”
    â€œHush, Molly,” Tobias said. “Let her speak. Is your mother truly a wisewoman, Winifred? Or only—”
    â€œNo, she’s a real one, all right. Even highborn folk sometimes call her to their bedsides. She can all but raise the dead.”
    â€œAll right, then,” Tobias said. “How do we get there? Is it close to where we are now?”
    â€œClose enough,” she said, pointing downriver. “Past Oughten, past Kerrig, then just a little ways more.”
    â€œInland, Winifred, or on the river? I shall have to carry him, you know.”
    She gave a joyful little snort.
    â€œâ€™Tis right on the river,” she said.

Chapter 16
    The Wisewoman
    THE PRINCE DID NOT WAKE until morning.
    While he’d slept, Winifred’s mother had looked after his wounds, treating them first with bishops-wort and egg white, then stitching up the gashes that gaped most horribly with a common bone needle and thread. When she’d done all she could, she bound his shoulder with clean bandages, then waited beside him for the rest of the night, feeling his forehead now and again for fever.
    Through all of it he had lain insensible. From time to time he’d moaned and moved a little, but he never once opened his eyes, nor showed any sign that he knew what had befallen him.
    Now he woke to find himself on a straw pallet on the floor of a dark, smoky cottage—undressed to the waist, covered in bandages, and throbbing with pain.
    â€œWhere am I?”
    He asked this of me, for mine was the first face he saw.
    I’d been there since daybreak, giving Winifred’s mother a chance to rest. Behind me were two little girls, Winifred’s youngest sisters. They’d been there for a while already, gazing in wonder at the sleeping prince and remarking on his curls and his eyelashes. When he stirred, they took fright and scrambled to hide behind me.
    â€œYou’re safe here, my lord,” I said to assure him. “You’ve been wounded, but well looked after. Now you must rest and regain your strength.”
    â€œI dreamed of wolves,” he said, his voice scarce rising above a whisper.
    â€œYes, Your Highness.”
    His eyes opened wide. “They were real, then?”
    â€œIt is true you saw wolves; but I cannot say they were real, not such as are found in nature. They did much grievous harm, my lord.”
    A shadow passed over his features then. “Were many killed?”
    I hung my head. “The king, your brother,” I said.
    â€œMy brother?” he snapped as though I were responsible.
    â€œAye, my