The stench is musty and sour as I crush them in a bowl, mix them to a paste. My heart patters and stutters, in time with the prowling of the dog. It will be easy. I shall lace his food. Or pierce a wild strawberry and smear the potion within, then offer it and he’ll take it gladly. And he shall know me for who I really am, the respect he shows me as dairymaid shall be shown to my true self, before the end. And never shall he scorn me or my family again.

It’s not a potion I’ve used before, nor even one I’ve seen Mam make, but she has told me of it should I have desperate need and I know the effect it will have. She has taught me well. He shall suffer spasms and his limbs shall set until he cannot move. Before long his breath will be stopped forever.

I hold the bowl, stare down at the potion I can barely see past the hackles and teeth and burning eyes that obscure my vision, that fill my mind and beat through my body. I stand this way as my feet numb on the cold floor, as my fingers stiffen from hours of gripping, and the dog, little by little, recedes until I’m free. I stand all night.

The sun has almost risen when at last I step outside, tip the paste away and wipe down the bowl. Return to my room and dress; pin my hair, place my coif, pull on my stockings. Wear once more the costume that hides me, and keeps me safe.

Turning of the Air

It was sheep-washing day. Daniel shivered with cold, despite the warmth of the June sun on the back of his neck, soaked as he was from standing in the river. His hands were red-raw and aching from hours of washing and gripping struggling, water-logged sheep. The buzz and bite of insects was ceaseless.

Released by Gabriel’s need to take a piss, Daniel staggered to the bank and gulped down some of the posset Bett always prepared for this task, the milk still warm, the ale and spice spreading much-needed heat. His shoulders ached from the constant bending and the skin on his hands was loose and wrinkled.

‘Ah, there’s the lad himself,’ Gabriel said, though they had worked together all morning, slapping Daniel on the back. Too hard, voice straining to achieve jollity.

It was not the words but the false tone that stopped Daniel mid-swallow. He shaded his eyes to see Gabriel’s face, twisted into an unaccustomed smile.

‘You – you’re wanting to carry on?’ he asked.

‘I ah – no, no. Just thinking we can speak a little.’ Gabriel cleared his throat, glanced to the sky and then back again. ‘Man to man, like.’

Nothing in Daniel’s experience of Gabriel had prepared him for such words. He adjusted his expression from astonishment to mild interest.