The King's Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

blinking lashes were full of tears. “I hate Johanna. She hate me. I alone. All alone.”
    Gently Edythe pressed the little Queen down into the chair. She understood this, after the terrible sea journey here; sometimes the idea of getting on a ship again made her heart gallop. But there was no use for it. They would take Berengaria along like baggage, if she wanted or not. Some anger stirred in Edythe at this, but she forced it away. The thing was to help Berengaria.
    Berengaria said, “Help me.”
    “My lady, you aren’t alone. And Johanna doesn’t hate you, she’s only high-spirited. I—I will find a potion.” The herbal she had found here was full of recipes.
    The little Queen chewed her lip; the tears spilled down her cheeks.
    “Something against seasickness. And—and—to make you easier of mind.” She knew nothing that did that, not without terrible consequences.
    “Please,” Berengaria said. Her hands still lay on Edythe’s forearms.
    “I will,” Edythe said. “I promise. I will.”

    The market stretched under its awnings all along the top of the beach, rows of open stalls stacked with bread and jars of oil and heaps of onions, chickens squawking helplessly from cages, folded stacks of cloth. Edythe had brought the herbal; she trailed after Johanna, looking for the right vendor.
    Johanna was buying something everywhere she stopped, and the merchants crowded toward her; the two men-at-arms with her stood forward with their pikes to hold them away. Johanna lifted an embroidered shawl from a pile on a little crowded counter. The man behind it bobbed and bowed to her, grinning.
    “Lady—” He spoke some French; they all spoke a little French now. “Lady like? More here. Many many.”
    Johanna haggled with him, using her fingers, her hands, nods and wags of her head more than words. Edythe found a little stall heaped with bunches and sprigs of herbs and turned and beckoned to Gracia, with the basket.
    Gracia came over; Edythe bought a jar of honey, some green maid’s-apron, thyme leaves. When she had put these in the basket, she held out the herbal to the vendor.
    “Zingiber? Where can I find this?”
    His brown finger poked at the drawing, the leaves and stems. “Zingiber.”
    “Yes! Where can I find some?”
    He shrugged, his whole body seeming to rise up and then down, shoulders, eyebrows, hairline. She paid him and went on after Johanna.
    Beside her, Gracia nudged her and nodded toward Lilia, who was dawdling along, trying to catch the eye of one of the men-at-arms. Edythe laughed and exchanged a look with Gracia, who shook her head, her lips pursed.
    Onward, at a stall selling scents and unguents, the Queen had found someone who spoke better French; he uncorked a bottle and held it under her nose and said, “King Richard glorious. Make—” He swept his hand into the air. “All Cyprus him.”
    “Good. Then we will be leaving soon. Have you heard anything about Isaac?”
    “Isaac,” the man said. He was offering her another bottle, withdrawing the glass stopper with flourish. “Isaac noplaces.” He spoke with force. “Richard glorious. Richard lord now. No Isaac. No matter Isaac.” His voice was edged. “All taxes Richard.”
    Johanna said, “Good.” She pointed to the bottle in his hand. “I want that.” She opened her purse and began to count out the silver.
    Edythe leaned across the counter with the herbal. “Zingiber? Where can I find this?”
    The man stared at the drawing, looked at her, and rubbed his belly. “Zingiber.”
    “Yes! Yes. For stomach ills.”
    He pointed, not into the market, but up to the town. “ Iatros. Sick house. Hospil. ”
    “A hospital,” she said, relieved, and straightened. Johanna gave her new bottle to Gracia to tuck into the basket.
    Beside them, Lilia said, with a sigh, “I can’t wait for the men to come back.”
    Johanna snorted at her. “Yes, my dear, we know that.”

    The King of England, now master also of Cyprus, sat on a balcony