Candace Robb: A Vigil of Spies

Thoresby had grown fond of Magda. It was such an unlikely friendship that he smiled to himself thinking about it — a pagan healer and an archbishop. Magda Digby was a pagan as far as Thoresby could decipher, always quick to reject his prayers for her, though she gave of herself in a most Christian way. She was a midwife and healer, preferring to work among those who could not afford to pay her. She lived outside the city walls, close to the ramshackle huts of the poor, on a rock that was an island when the tide rolled upriver — many called her the Riverwoman. Owen Archer and his wife, the apothecary Lucie Wilton, had worked hard to convince Magda to come to Thoresby at Bishopthorpe. She had argued that he had the wealth to hire the best physicians in the realm. But Thoresby had observed first-hand her skill as she worked with a badly burned man a few years earlier, and the experience had opened his eyes to her profound work as a healer among the folk of York and the shire. He had decided he wanted none other caring for him at the end. He also knew she would not fuss, nor would she lie in an attempt to cheer him. There was a time when he’d condemned her, for he knew she helped women prevent unwanted births, tended some people with injuries they wished to hide from authorities, and performed other questionable services for those who could afford it in order to finance her work among the poor, but Thoresby had come to believe that her good works far outweighed those he must disapprove of as a leader of the Church.

All must come to understand Magda Digby for themselves. She was unique.

Unfortunately, his peaceful time in her care was soon to be interrupted. Later this day Joan, Princess of Wales, wife of Edward, the present King Edward’s eldest son and thus the future king of England, was coming to Bishopthorpe, bringing with her a highly recommended physician as an offering. Thoresby did not wish to see the physician, but to refuse him might cause too much official interest in Magda Digby’s presence. Some might consider her a heretic and oppose her presence or wish her harm, and he would be sorry to cause any discomfort to his new-found friend.

He knew Princess Joan was bringing the physician as compensation for the advice she sought from him. In her letter proposing the visit, she had mentioned how the late Queen Philippa had sought Thoresby’s advice in both matters of state and personal issues, and had advised Joan to place her trust in him. Indeed, she had written, he was widely respected for his sage counsel. She need not have bribed him with compliments, for such a journey was not lightly undertaken, and he knew the seriousness of her situation. Her father-in-law, the king, was aged and vague, her husband, Prince Edward, had been suffering a wasting sickness for several years, her eldest son had died two years earlier and she feared her remaining son, Richard, might be called to the throne too soon, being but six years old. Thoresby’s goddaughter, Gwenllian Archer, was that age, and he could not imagine saddling her with adult cares. She was so young, so unformed, so vulnerable. He understood why the princess worried.

Take the boy and your ailing husband and return to Bordeaux, where you were happy , Thoresby was tempted to advise. But Joan was the granddaughter of Edward Longshanks, the present king’s grandfather; the daughter of Edmund of Woodstock, who had given his life for his brother; and she had been wed to two members of the Order of the Garter. She was not a woman who would run from her duty.

Nor would Thoresby neglect his duty, despite Magda’s advice to refuse any visitations. In one of his first conversations with Magda he’d realised she had no idea of his status. She was unaware of the extent of his power as Archbishop of York, and hence the fierce competition among the various court and Church parties to have their representative chosen as his successor. Nor did she grasp the weight of his responsibility towards the Church and the government of the realm. No wonder she treated him as an equal, he’d thought, somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t a sign of a strong sense of her own personal worth. But, when her behaviour did not change after he’d explained his standing to her, he was strangely delighted.

‘You realise that the Church of Rome is more powerful than any individual kingdom?’ Thoresby asked her.

‘Magda is aware that churchmen use fear of terrible suffering after death to control most of her countrymen. That has been sufficient understanding of thy power for Magda’s purpose.’

Thoresby did not for a moment believe that to be the true extent of her knowledge, but he’d proceeded to explain that his see, or archbishopric, included half of the souls of the realm, and that he controlled an immense wealth as well as the spiritual conscience of half the kingdom. ‘And, as former Lord Chancellor, I have considerable knowledge of the powerful families in the realm, their alliances, their ambitions — these same families expect me to use my influence to guide the dean and chapter of York Minster in their choice of my successor.’ Although the selection of the next Archbishop of York would affect not only the Church in the realm but also the political climate, it was the duty of a small group of men, the canons and the dean of York Minster, to choose Thoresby’s successor. ‘I’ve no doubt that they’ve spies everywhere trying to discover my intentions, whether or not I’ll push harder for votes for my nephew, so that they might know whether to support or undermine me.’

‘This does not sound spiritual to Magda.’

‘No. If the pope and his archbishops and bishops are carrying out their duties, they have little time for the spiritual life.’ He dropped his gaze, embarrassed by this admission. In boasting of his temporal power, he’d emphasised his spiritual poverty. It was then that he’d realised that he’d sought out Magda not just as a healer but also as a spiritual guide, sensing in her a depth of soul that he no longer found in himself.

‘And the princess?’ Magda had asked. ‘What is her purpose in disturbing thee?’

Something in her voice suggested that she sensed his discomfort and meant to change the subject. Thoresby was grateful.

‘Princess Joan might also wish to influence the chapter’s vote, but her main purpose is to hear my thoughts on whom she might trust to support her young son if his father dies betimes.’

‘These are heavy matters for thy sickbed,’ said Magda.

‘Ah, but there is a promise of blue sky behind the impending clouds — Princess Joan is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever encountered, fair of face and figure, gentle and kind. She will light up this pathetic sickroom. That is a measure of God’s grace.’

Magda had found that amusing.

‘You leave shortly, Dame Magda?’ he asked now, though as he spoke the words he heard them echo in his mind and knew that he’d asked this already, her response lost in his sometimes muddled mind.

‘In a little while, Thy Grace,’ she said. ‘Magda and Alisoun will go to Lucie Wilton’s apothecary for physicks and a rest, and then return in a few days, when thy royal visitor is not so likely to take note of common healers.’

She looked him in the eyes as she spoke, not alarmed that he’d forgotten her plans, steady in her resolve, in all things a comfort to him.

A few days. He prayed that he lived so long and was still awake and aware upon her return.

‘You will remind Dame Lucie to bring my godchildren?’ Gwenllian, Hugh and Emma Archer, the children of Lucie Wilton and Owen Archer, his captain of the guard, were his godchildren, and he was very fond of them.

Magda nodded. ‘They will kiss thy brow before thou dost take thy leave, if Magda can make that possible. Thou mightst pray to thy god for that as well.’