business. In turn, Janna stared at his portable table, fascinated by the strange seeds, berries and plants upon it. She stepped closer, then bent over and inhaled, savoring their fragrance. “What are these?” she asked, pointing at a pile of light brown sticks.
“Cinnamon.”
“And those?” Janna gestured toward a crock of small black balls.
“Cloves.” His manner thawing in the face of Janna’s interest, the merchant kept on pointing out various spices, perhaps hoping that she might buy something. “My wares come from across the sea, from the east,” he told her, speaking loudly so that his voice might be heard above the hubbub of the marketplace. “It is a long journey, and my spices are highly prized because of it. See—I have yellow saffron, cardamom, peppercorns and caraway seeds.” While he answered Janna’s questions, the merchant kept a sharp eye out for passing trade. She became aware that he was using his answers to her questions as a means to tempt others to inspect his wares. His ruse was working, for first one and then another woman drew closer. There was quite a crowd of observers around when Janna pointed to a small phial of brownish oil, and asked its purpose.
“It is a marvel, a miracle cure, most efficacious for aching joints. A little of this oil rubbed in at night, and you’ll be as agile as a young spring lamb come morning.” His eyes twinkled. “Not that you’ll need it for quite a while yet, lass.”
“But what is in the oil?” Janna persisted, refusing to be either diverted or beguiled by his flattery.
The man hesitated for a moment, then said, “It is a substance of such danger that I am loath to sell it to any other than those who are skilled in the art of healing and who know well the care that must be taken in its employment.”
Was he sincere, or was he merely building up the mystery and therefore the desirability of his liniment? Janna wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care. Curiosity drove her on. “My mother is a healer, and would be interested to learn more of such a substance. Pray tell me what is in the oil?”
The man tapped the side of his nose, but stayed silent.
“Answer the lass,” said Bertha.
Janna hid a smile. No doubt Bertha was after the secret ingredient so she could cure her own aching back rather than continue coming to Eadgyth for a special liniment.
A sergeant-at-arms had joined the swelling crowd around the spice merchant, and now he stepped closer. “Give us your answer, trader, and tell it true or I’ll send you on your way. There’s no place for quacks and charlatans here in Wiltune.”
“I mean no harm, I mean merely to warn.” The spice merchant stood his ground, looking self-righteous.
“Then warn away, and tell us what it is we need to fear.” The sergeant moved even closer, dwarfing the spice merchant by many inches both in height and girth.
“It contains Aconitum napellus . The root is ground and mixed with oil and hot mustard and then rubbed into aching joints. It brings almost instant relief. It really is a wonder cure—but it is for external use only. Ingested, it may well prove fatal.” The man was anxious to ingratiate himself now—and perhaps to make a sale in spite of his warning.
Aconitum napellus . Aconite. The man was making the herb sound more important by giving it the Latin name—unless it was a ploy to keep a common plant a secret? Janna was willing to wager that no-one present knew what it was but she knew what he was talking about. Her mother had instructed her well in the properties of herbs and the art of healing. The merchant could not bluff Janna with fancy Latin names. Aconitum napellus was known by several common names: monkshood, blue rocket, wolfsbane, helmet flower. Janna suppressed a shudder as she recalled the last time she’d seen it. It was the plant that grew near the strawberries she had risked so much to pick.
There was no secret here, for her mother already knew the properties of
“Cinnamon.”
“And those?” Janna gestured toward a crock of small black balls.
“Cloves.” His manner thawing in the face of Janna’s interest, the merchant kept on pointing out various spices, perhaps hoping that she might buy something. “My wares come from across the sea, from the east,” he told her, speaking loudly so that his voice might be heard above the hubbub of the marketplace. “It is a long journey, and my spices are highly prized because of it. See—I have yellow saffron, cardamom, peppercorns and caraway seeds.” While he answered Janna’s questions, the merchant kept a sharp eye out for passing trade. She became aware that he was using his answers to her questions as a means to tempt others to inspect his wares. His ruse was working, for first one and then another woman drew closer. There was quite a crowd of observers around when Janna pointed to a small phial of brownish oil, and asked its purpose.
“It is a marvel, a miracle cure, most efficacious for aching joints. A little of this oil rubbed in at night, and you’ll be as agile as a young spring lamb come morning.” His eyes twinkled. “Not that you’ll need it for quite a while yet, lass.”
“But what is in the oil?” Janna persisted, refusing to be either diverted or beguiled by his flattery.
The man hesitated for a moment, then said, “It is a substance of such danger that I am loath to sell it to any other than those who are skilled in the art of healing and who know well the care that must be taken in its employment.”
Was he sincere, or was he merely building up the mystery and therefore the desirability of his liniment? Janna wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care. Curiosity drove her on. “My mother is a healer, and would be interested to learn more of such a substance. Pray tell me what is in the oil?”
The man tapped the side of his nose, but stayed silent.
“Answer the lass,” said Bertha.
Janna hid a smile. No doubt Bertha was after the secret ingredient so she could cure her own aching back rather than continue coming to Eadgyth for a special liniment.
A sergeant-at-arms had joined the swelling crowd around the spice merchant, and now he stepped closer. “Give us your answer, trader, and tell it true or I’ll send you on your way. There’s no place for quacks and charlatans here in Wiltune.”
“I mean no harm, I mean merely to warn.” The spice merchant stood his ground, looking self-righteous.
“Then warn away, and tell us what it is we need to fear.” The sergeant moved even closer, dwarfing the spice merchant by many inches both in height and girth.
“It contains Aconitum napellus . The root is ground and mixed with oil and hot mustard and then rubbed into aching joints. It brings almost instant relief. It really is a wonder cure—but it is for external use only. Ingested, it may well prove fatal.” The man was anxious to ingratiate himself now—and perhaps to make a sale in spite of his warning.
Aconitum napellus . Aconite. The man was making the herb sound more important by giving it the Latin name—unless it was a ploy to keep a common plant a secret? Janna was willing to wager that no-one present knew what it was but she knew what he was talking about. Her mother had instructed her well in the properties of herbs and the art of healing. The merchant could not bluff Janna with fancy Latin names. Aconitum napellus was known by several common names: monkshood, blue rocket, wolfsbane, helmet flower. Janna suppressed a shudder as she recalled the last time she’d seen it. It was the plant that grew near the strawberries she had risked so much to pick.
There was no secret here, for her mother already knew the properties of
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