Candace Robb
The Owen Archer Series:
A Short Story
THE BONE JAR
2016
The Bone Jar
The tide was in. The Ouse River swirled round the small island of rock on which stood a solitary hut fashioned from bits of flotsam and jetsam, crowned by a much patched, no longer seaworthy Viking longboat from York’s past. Owen Archer folded his long legs into the coracle left for him on the muddy bank. The back of his neck tingled, as if someone was watching him, but he turned too late to see clearly the dark figure that disappeared into the smoke of the cooking fires. He told himself it meant nothing, the man had no doubt been staring at the water, not him. But why had he then dropped out of sight when Owen turned? He was uneasy as he fought his way across the rushing current.
On the other side, Owen pulled the coracle onto the rock, tied it up, passed under the dragon that leered upside down from the prow of the longboat, and knocked on Magda Digby’s door. When he received no answer, he opened the door gingerly, peered round it. As he had thought, Magda Digby, midwife and healer, was bent over a patient.
“Draining old Daniel’s wound, Bird-eye. Thou canst wait quietly.”
The hut was smoky and dusty from the herbs that hung drying from the planks of the longboat. “I’ll wait without.”
Magda nodded, intent on her work.
As Owen sat down on a bench facing back toward York, he felt the watcher’s eyes upon him, but could pick out no one on the bank. Though he breathed in the damp river air and tried to relax, a shower of needle pricks across his blind left eye revealed his tension. He rubbed his scarred eye beneath the patch that hid the worst of the disfigurement.
It was not the watcher on the bank that worried Owen. Magda’s messenger had not known why the Riverwoman wanted Owen, just that “thou must come today.” Owen feared Magda had bad news about his wife’s health or that of the babe she carried. His stomach churned. He could not bear the thought of losing Lucie. And something of her spirit would die if she lost this child.
Not a man who could sit still for long in the best of circumstances, Owen rose from the bench to pace.
At last Magda appeared, rubbing her eyes, stretching with a satisfied sigh. She wore a colorful dress made from the squares of wool on which she tested dyeing plants. Sewn together they formed a shapeless gown that confused the eye of the beholder when Magda moved quickly, which she invariably did despite her great age. Her grizzled hair was tucked up into a clean kerchief.
“Old Daniel’s shoulder will heal?” Owen asked.
Magda squinted up at him. “Aye, Bird-eye.” Gnarled fists on hips, she leaned back and studied Owen’s face. “Such a frown thou wearest! Art thou so concerned for old Daniel?” Her deep-set eyes teased, though her mouth was stern.
Owen sank down onto the bench. “In truth, it’s your purpose in calling me here that worries me.”
“Magda might ask thee to imperil thy soul, is that what thou fearest?” She threw back her head and gave a loud, barking laugh.
“No. I fear you’ve summoned me because something is amiss with Lucie.”
“Thy child’s coming is the center of thy world at present.” Magda shook her grizzled head and sat down beside Owen. “Thy wife is a Master Apothecary, Bird-eye, she knows to take care of herself. And with Magda assisting – who has delivered more babes than thou canst imagine – all will be well.” She patted his knee.
Owen closed his eye and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
Magda grunted, folded her arms, leaned back against the wall. “Magda must go up into the Dales. She asks thee to guard her house for two nights.” She snorted as Owen glanced back at the ramshackle building with a puzzled expression. “What is to guard against but wind and flood, eh? Magda reads thy mind, Bird-eye.” She rose, motioned for him to follow her round the house. Under the stern of the old ship that capped the hut stood a jar almost as tall as Magda herself. “Magda’s bone jar, that is what’s to guard. The bone man comes in two days.”
Owen laughed. Who would steal such a thing? He had once shifted the jar for her and knew its heft. “You fear the bones will walk before the relic dealer arrives, do you?”
Magda frowned. “Laugh not. A man has been watching Magda’s house, waiting for her to leave. He knows of the bone jar. He knows a leg and part of an arm wait in the jar for the bone man, who gives them a Christian burial.”
“You have the bones buried? Is that common practice?”
Magda shrugged. “It’s Magda’s way.”
“Why not make some profit on them?”
The sharp eyes bored through him. “Thinkst thou art clever? Pah. Magda pities the poor wretches who pray to dried skin and bones, expecting miracle cures. She won’t be part of such traffic.”
“This thief won’t come for them while you’re here?”
Magda shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Thou knowest why, Bird-eye. Some folk think that because they do not see Magda in church she is a spell-casting heathen. They fear Magda.”
Owen could not deny that. “I could dispose of the bones for you.”
The Riverwoman shook her head. “Magda’s bone man prays over them as he buries them. Magda does not have the prayers. Nor dost thou, not the proper prayers.”
The Riverwoman’s beliefs puzzled Owen, though Lucie seemed to understand them. She said that faith came hard to Magda. She must see to believe. But Magda understood that most folk needed the Church to comfort them and keep them on the path of righteousness. “Your bone man is a priest?”
“A friar.”
Magda placed her trust in the oddest creatures. “Friars are not opposed to relics. Why trust him?”
“He understands Magda removes curséd limbs. They must be left in peace.”
Generous man; there was money to be made in relics. Owen hoped Magda was not being cheated. “And you want me to sleep here and scare off anyone who lurks about?”
“Aye.”
“Why me?”
“Thou art a good man, Bird-eye. Thou’lt let thy God guide thee.”
God guide him in catching a thief. A strange way of putting it, but in the end it was God’s hand guided all men in their work. Owen shrugged. “You have done much for me and asked naught in return. It’s time I returned the favor.” It was a change from the political webs in which the archbishop was wont to snare him.
The wrinkles deepened about her mouth and eyes as the Riverwoman smiled. “Magda knew thou wouldst aid her. Though thou lookst a rogue thou art a gentle man, Bird-eye. See thou takest care. Thou hast a family would miss thee and curse Magda if aught happened to thee.”
“Lucie is close to her time. What if the babe–”
“Peace, Bird-eye. Magda knows the signs. Lucie is not ready. Magda will return in time. See that thou comest tomorrow evening.”
“This thief will stay away during the day?”
“Young Jack will watch during the day. Easy for the lad to draw attention in daylight if he needs help. Not so easy at night.”
Owen should have known Magda would think of everything.
Long before sunset the next day Owen passed out the gates of the city. He picked his way down to the riverbank through mud and the ramshackle huts of the poor, looking for the man who had watched him the previous day. A cat sniffed and followed, hoping to trick him out of the sweet he carried in his bag. Children watched him uneasily, his height, his dark beard, and the patch over his scarred face all fearful. Would his own child fear him so?
He searched the vermin city and found no one as well fed as a relic dealer. At last he gave up and rowed the coracle over to Magda’s rock.