Page 27 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Further down the street, two women were talking but stopped abruptly as I drew near, looking at me with ill-concealed distaste. I waved my hand in greeting but they turned away, retreating into the house without a backward glance. The door banged behind them.
It will take time, I reminded myself.
The kindly woman had been right about Astrid waiting for me. She appeared at my first knock.
“Thank the gods you’ve come.” She shifted the baby to her hip as she drew me in. She’d been weeping, her eyes ringed red.
“What is it, Astrid?”
Ylva was sitting with her back to us, carding wool, her younger brother playing at her feet.
“It’s been only two days. It’s no worse, surely? You’ve been using the salve I gave you?”
Astrid’s eyes beseeched me. “You’d best look.”
As soon as Ylva turned, I understood Astrid’s fear. What had been no more than a rising welt upon her daughter’s cheek had begun to blister.
“Show your shoulder,” Astrid directed her.
Ylva peeled back cloth stained yellow. The wound beneath oozed wet, the smell unwholesome.
“And those on your neck?”
“There’s a throbbing in them.” Ylva’s lip trembled.
She was a beautiful young woman, her eyes the same delicate grey as her mother’s, large and pleading, her hair long and flaxen.
“I’d hoped for improvement,” I admitted. “But I’ve brought something stronger, today.” I threw the old strip of bandage into the fire. “Don’t try to wash this. Better to use new cloth each time. If you run out, at the very least, boil the old ones in the hottest water, then hang them to dry.”
I took a pot from my apron pocket and spread a thick layer of green unguent onto the sore. “It’s elm bark and yarrow, mixed with sage. It should bring down the swelling and draw out the poison.”
“Thank you,” whispered Ylva, her eyes welling wet.
I smiled but kept my voice firm. “Wash your hands before you change your dressing, and afterwards.”
“I’ll have water warming all through the day,” promised Astrid.
As I removed the dressings, one by one, Ylva winced, the soiled cloth pulling at her tender skin.
“We’ll soon have you better,” I promised, doing my best not to grimace.
Astrid, too, was attempting to be cheerful, watching me closely and asking about the making of the balm. Despite her valiant efforts, I could see her distress. When all was done, I squeezed Ylva’s hand and bid her be brave.
“Have you heard from the women who came to you before?” I asked Astrid. “Ylva can’t be the only one suffering with this.”
It occurred to me that it might be a reason for the relative hush of the street. How many families were harbouring a secret?
“I can’t say,” said Astrid. “If they share our troubles, they haven’t told me, but I feel sure you’re right. If they return to unburden their hearts, I’ll tell them of your treatment. They’ll need your help.”
“And I’ll be happy to give it.”
I set the new pot of salve upon the table. “Twice a day, remember, and I’ll come back soon, to see how Ylva heals.”
Astrid placed the baby in his crib and walked me to the door, indicating for us to go outside a moment. She closed the door behind her and drew me close, speaking in hushed tones.
“I did have visitors but not the sort you’re thinking of.” She worried at her lip. “Ylva was betrothed to be married but the parents of the boy have broken the contract.”
“They know?” It was a redundant question. Of course, they knew.
