‘I didn’t say that. These matters are not as simple as they may sound. If by magic you mean the right gathering of plants, the thoughtful preparation of draughts and suchlike, and the wise dispensing of the same, then yes. If you refer to a person waving a hand and conjuring coloured lights or heaps of gold coins, then no.’

‘But a love potion,’ said Sinead, ‘or what you said, a curse on an enemy, have you given folk those things? They are magic, surely, or any one of us could find the ingredients and make up the mixture ourselves.’

‘That way lies disaster. Get the smallest component wrong, or make a slight error with the proportions, and you might find yourself charged with unlawful killing. That’s if the draught was for someone other than yourself.’

‘And if it was for yourself,’ put in Lady Sochla, ‘you might be dead. I think that is what Mistress Blackthorn is telling us.’

‘Indeed so. That is why the details of potions and charms are kept secret. Always.’

They looked suitably impressed, and for a little while there was silence. Then Lady Flidais spoke up. ‘Don’t you have them written in your little book, Blackthorn? You’re always scribbling in there.’

Count to five before you speak. ‘This is a record of my daily work, my lady. My book does include some cures and remedies, but it is by no means a comprehensive guide. It contains nothing of a magical nature.’ Not strictly true; but only a person of some wisdom and skill would recognise that.

‘Isn’t one of the village girls learning from you?’ one of the women asked. ‘I’m sure I heard someone say you were training a girl up to be a healer.’

‘Emer. Yes, she is learning the skills.’ This was starting to feel a little like an interrogation.

‘But if they’re secret,’ said Deirdre, ‘how can she learn them?’

‘Some are secret. Those, a wise woman learns only when she is ready. That may take many years of study, many years of practical work. Not every student achieves the wisdom and good judgement that allows her to be trusted with the most arcane learning. But some do, or there would be no wise women to teach the next generation, and the one after that. From what I have been told, I believe the last one at Winterfalls – Holly, was that her name? – died without leaving a successor.’ This might turn the conversation away from me and onto more general lines.

‘By successor you mean a student, not a son or daughter, I imagine,’ said Nuala. ‘Can wise women marry?’