The Silver Bowl by Diane Stanley Page A

lord.”
    â€œDead?”
    I nodded.
    â€œYou are sure?”
    I nodded again. “I was there.”
    He closed his eyes.
    â€œWhat about my mother? And my poor sister whose wedding day it was?”
    â€œI don’t know, sire. I didn’t see. I suppose we could hope . . .”
    He snorted and turned aside. I shooed the little girls away and waited to hear what he would say next.
    The girls must have run to tell their mother that the prince was awake, for soon she came in and knelt beside me.
    â€œThis is Margaret,” I said. “She is a wisewoman, well known in these parts for healing gentlefolk as well as common. She tended to your wounds last night and gives you safe hiding here in her house.”
    Winifred’s mother bowed as deeply as she could while kneeling. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, “I would touch your cheeks and forehead, if I may. To see if you are feverish.”
    â€œAll right.”
    She did it with the back of her hand.
    â€œAm I? Feverish?”
    â€œSomewhat. I would look at the wound now. If I may.”
    â€œGo ahead. Do whatever is needed.”
    She bowed low again, got up, and went to a chest that stood in the corner. Soon she was back with a wooden box filled with small vials and little clay pots. She sent one of the younger girls, who’d been lingering in the doorway, to bring in a bucket of water. Then she began carefully unwrapping the bandages. She needed my help with this. The prince had to be lifted so the bands could be unwound; he was too weak to do it himself.
    â€œYour shirt and doublet we have put away, my lord. I was able to get most of the blood out—but I fear they will never be such as you would want to wear them again.”
    â€œI don’t care about my shirt and doublet,” he said. He looked down at his shoulder, and his face went pale, for indeed it was a dreadful thing to look upon. The flesh was red and swollen, and here and there blood seeped out from between the stitches.
    But Margaret did not say a word. She took a clean cloth, and wet it from the bucket, and washed the shoulder well. Then she opened one of the vials, which held some precious fluid as red as blood but perfectly transparent. I did not much care for the smell of it. It reminded me of my father and the cheap liquor he drank at night.
    With great care, she poured this potion over the angry wounds. The prince started.
    â€œDoes it sting, my lord?”
    â€œNo, it was only cold, that’s all. It took me by surprise.” He closed his eyes, and I saw the muscles tighten in his jaw. Margaret smiled sweetly, for she knew as well as I did that it hurt him plenty. But he was almost a man, practically a knight. He was determined to bear it nobly.
    When she was done, she laid a clean cloth over his shoulder and bid me lift him again so she could put the bandages back on.
    â€œSuch redness and swelling are to be expected,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I’ve seen it many a time after an animal bite. But you are young and strong. You’ll be swinging a sword with that arm ere long. But for now you must rest and let your body heal. I have a potion, if you wish to take it, sire, that will ease your pain and help you sleep.”
    â€œWhat’s in it?”
    â€œWine, poppy syrup, powder of mandrake root. A few other things.”
    â€œWell, I shall take it then, and gladly. But first I must have a word with whoever it was that brought me here, for there are things I need to know.”
    â€œThe young maid who sits here beside you was one. The other was a boy named Tobias. And also my daughter Winifred.”
    â€œWho are you?” he asked me.
    â€œI am Molly, my lord.”
    â€œAnd how was it you found me and came to my rescue?”
    And so I told him.
    When I had finished, he turned to the wall and did not look at me for many minutes so that I wondered whether I ought to leave him alone