It was, perhaps, not all personal. Consulting a wise woman when you needed a remedy of some kind was all very well – the local folk seemed to have no difficulty in approaching me at such times. They knew they should be courteous, ask politely, offer something in return even if it was only an apple or help to bring in a basket of firewood. But having a wise woman staying in your house, sleeping in a bed close to your own, sitting across the room, perhaps listening as you chatted to your friends over needlework, that was another matter. It was all about power. And fear. My power to ease a painful death, to bring new life safely into the world, to cure an illness or mend an injury; my ability – hah! They did not know how rusty it was – to change things by means of spellcraft. Their fear that I might take it into my head to do just that. Render them as lumpy as toads, perhaps, to punish their pride. Make them suddenly old and withered. Turn golden hair white, rosy cheeks sunken, fair skin shrivelled parchment-dry. It was a long time since I had ventured down the deeper pathways of my craft, and I was not sure I wanted to visit them again. But I was fairly sure most of the women of the house believed I would, and could, do so whenever I chose. No wonder they were reluctant to talk.

It was a surprise, then, when on the afternoon of the day the druid arrived there was a tapping on the door of my makeshift stillroom, and when I called out ‘Come in!’, the person who entered was not Brid or Fíona or one of the men wanting a remedy, but Nuala, the oldest of Flidais’s three personal attendants.

I had been stringing up herbs to dry; I was standing on a bench with my arms stretched high. ‘I’ll just finish this,’ I said, keeping my tone coolly courteous. ‘Can I help you with something, Nuala?’

‘It’s not for me. It’s for Lady Flidais.’ She stood awkwardly, hands clasped before her, feet shifting on the rush-strewn floor. ‘Her headache is bad today.’

I concentrated on knotting the twine firmly, wondering if this was an opportunity or some kind of trick. I had given up any hope that Flidais would ask for my assistance as a healer. ‘I thought Lady Flidais did not trust my kind,’ I said, securing the ends of the twine, then climbing down. ‘What was it she said – I have no faith in old wives’ remedies?’

Nuala had the grace to look discomforted. ‘She was in pain that day, not watching her words,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if you were offended.’