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still.’
    ‘Will I be enough against his strength?’
    ‘Thou seest how little he moves. Magda has given him much of the drink.’
    Her heart pounding against her ribs, Lucie took a deep breath and placed her hands on either side of Poins’s head. Magda knelt down beside the pallet, felt about the upper part of the burned arm, prodding so much that Lucie expected Poins to jerk and cry out, but he merely moaned softly once as he moved the arm. Magda bent close, whispering calming words to him, and smoothing his brow. The muscles in his face relaxed beneath the Riverwoman’s touch. Gently, Magda arranged the arm over the block and tied off his upper arm with the last length of rope, tugging it tight. Lucie shivered and realized she was sweating with fear. Holy Mary, Mother of God, give me strength to help this suffering man .
    Magda moved back to the table, brought another cup of the dwale, set it beside Lucie. ‘If he cries out, get him to drink more.’
    And now she brought the knife. It was large, with a wide, heavy blade suitable for the preparation of meat. Lucie watched Magda’s face as she weighed the knife in one hand, moved it to the other, trying its heft, experimenting with how she might wield it. She saw no emotion, only deep concentration. Suddenly Magda met Lucie’s eyes. ‘Ready.’ She held the knife blade just over the upper arm for a moment, then lifted it with a deep intake of breath and brought it down with great force. Lucie gasped at the sound, and the shudder thatwent through Poins. He barely stirred. But sharp though the knife was, and powerful as Magda’s cut had seemed, the arm was not severed. She took aim again, struck once more.
    The sickening sound of the bone splintering caused Lucie to cry out, ‘Holy Mother!’
    Magda set the knife beside the arm, took a flask of wine from the table, passed it to Lucie. ‘Drink, just a little, so that thou mayest still hold him while Magda seals the wound with the hot metal.’
    Magda took up the knife and went to the fire.
    Lucie took a cloth, wrapped the severed arm in it, put it aside on the blood-spattered rushes. With another cloth she dabbed at the blood that had splashed on Poins, the bed, the cup and spoon. She set the bloody rag on the wrapped arm and took her place again as Magda returned with the red-hot blade. As the heat touched Poins’s stump he shuddered and cried out.
    ‘Go out now,’ Magda told her. ‘He will be still. Magda will fetch Dame Phillippa, then join thee in the garden.’
    ‘I should take the arm.’
    ‘Magda will see to it. Go without, thou hast need of air.’ She nodded at Lucie. ‘Wipe thy chin.’
    Lucie did so, her hand coming away with blood. She did feel faint. Crossing the rush floor seemed a long journey. The house felt as if it was tilting, righting itself, then tilting the other way. When she reached the door she fumbled with the latch, her hands trembling, her vision still uncertain. At last she felt it slide up. Pushing the door wide, she stumbled out into the night, doubled over and retched.
    Someone guided her to a bench under the stars. A moment later, Magda placed a cup in Lucie’s hands.She sipped, and though the first taste of the brandywine made her cough, she sipped yet again. As Lucie set the cup down, she noticed a man standing beside Magda, pale of hair and wearing the archbishop’s livery. She remembered the strong hands guiding her. ‘What are you doing here, Alfred?’
    ‘The captain sent me. Colin watches on Davygate.’
    ‘Why? What does Owen fear?’
    ‘That Poins might be a witness someone might wish to silence.’
    ‘For a fire?’ Magda said.
    ‘The Bishop of Winchester has many enemies.’ Alfred bowed to Lucie. ‘With your leave, Mistress Wilton.’
    ‘Keep your watch, Alfred. The captain must have his reasons.’
    Magda joined Lucie on the bench and helped herself to some of the brandywine. When she moved, her gown seemed to glimmer in the darkness and when she faced