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HALFREDA IS MY FIRST thought upon waking; always my first thought when I need help.
Halfreda is the wisest woman I have ever met; reputation has it that she is the wisest woman the Realm has ever seen. She is known everywhere. She is far more learned and powerful than me, maybe than I will ever be.
She has been at the castle since I have lived in my little cottage, and I usually visit her every week. She used to visit me when I was younger, in my little cottage, she knew my parents, I guess. They are no longer with me. They went to the Ashes many years ago.
I can’t remember not knowing her.
I have a lot to learn and she has a lot to teach me. She helps me with my craft and shares her knowledge with me.
Often, we go out to the woods together to collect herbs for our medicines.
She is a clever, clever woman.
And I need her help now.
Yesterday the cloaked man came to me and asked me for a death draught. As if I would even dare to keep one in my little cottage.
How many men and women intent on revenge and filled with the immediate hatred that anger brings would eagerly break in to my little cottage and steal it from me?
And in the heat of anger, an action can easily be taken that would lead to torment and regret. Even my poisons, and I have many, are prettily packaged up in little vials, tied with shiny ribbon and labelled as something else.
Of course, the problem there can be someone stealing a love potion and ending up killing the very person they yearn for. Well that would be their just reward for stealing I suppose. But there are many things to think about when you offer people help and answers like I do.
So Halfreda. I haven’t been to see her yet, but it’s my plan to. I slept fitfully, with awful dreams. I woke many times thinking I had heard a noise, seeing shadows that weren’t really there. This cloaked man has me spooked. I don’t like it. I have always been at peace.
My little bag of coin lies on the table where I left it yesterday and there it sits watching me. Sitting in judgement on me, little bag of coin. Questioning whether I will sin or not. Is it really my sin to sell something to someone for the purpose of killing another or am I merely an innocent trader?
After all a smith can make an axe that he knows will be used to chop off a man’s head. Does that make him a murderer?
Or am I trying to justify something that I know is so wrong to make myself feel better for earning blood money?
And who is the cloaked man? Who is he wanting to kill? Why disguise himself if he would not be easy to recognise?
My mind is so full of unanswered questions that I made myself a sleeping draught last night. For the first time in my life I needed my own remedy.
I will visit Halfreda in the morning, as though it is my usual weekly trip. It won’t be suspicious should anyone – cloaked or otherwise – be watching me.
After all, if this cloaked man will pay for my silence before he has even done business with me, he may well be watching me to ensure that his coin is well spent, and while that threat is in my mind, I pick up a rosemary lotion and slip next door to see my neighbours.
I like to keep to myself; I don’t want to interfere in anyone else’s affairs; I know too much of what goes on in this village anyway. I know who has ailments and who is love sick, but I like my neighbours. They keep to themselves but look out for me, as I try to do for them.
I knock the door and wait for an answer. I don’t like to be too familiar and they return the favour. “Della?” I call out.
She opens the door and smiles when she sees me. “Ginny.” She folds me in to a big hug. “Come in.”
I follow her inside. Her cottage is the same as mine, but with a cobbled together extension on the back. She lives with her brother and so they are probably glad of the extra space.
I pass her the lotion. “It’s good for your hands,” I tell her. She works as hard as her brother on the land, and so I know she’ll use it. “I wanted to ask the both of you to keep an eye out. I had a customer yesterday and he was a little unsavoury. Just for you to be aware.”
Della smiles, sniffing the lotion as she does so. “Thank you. I’ll tell Finn when I see him.”
“He’s out?”
“Always.”
We chat for a while and then I leave her before I outstay my welcome.
Back in my cottage with no sign of any more customers, I throw some herbs on my fire, calming herbs, to fill my little cottage with sweet smells, to try to calm my thoughts and let me rest.
I am open for custom today, but I feel a little bit detached from the gossip and worries that people are bringing me. I have sold some tonics and philtres, some cordials and stimulants. My pockets are full of coin, but my mind is filled with turmoil.
I fill a cup with ale and sit in front of my sweet-smelling fire, to let the herbs do their job, if they can, if my mind is not too distressed.
I will wait until the morning, leave as I always do, although my feet are itching to carry me to the castle right now.
My hope is that my sleep tonight will come sweet and peaceful to me once again, as it has always done before.
I need to feel calm.
I need to share my worry.
A death draught indeed.
Who would need one?
A death draught, you see, is a sneaky little thing.
If a man is angry with his neighbour, he may fight him.
If a man is angry with his wife, he may hurt her.
If she is angry with him and strong enough to stand up to him, she may hurt him back.
A knight may kill another.
A traitor is beheaded.
A thief has his hands chopped off.
Who uses a death draught?
A sneaky, cowardly killer who does not want to be caught.