The priests hold torches around the bed as Coifi uses tweezers to pluck threads from the wound. He encourages more blood to flow, stanches it, and smears the wound with a concoction of honey and salt. Then he sews the edges of the wound together.
I can’t see how far the dagger penetrated, but I know if the thane hadn’t taken the blow, the king would be dead.
Coifi begins wrapping the wound in fresh cloth. Then he gives the king a drink. When I ask, I’m told it combines carline thistle, meadow sweet, and agrimony boiled in ale and fermented with yeast. King Edwin makes a face, sees me, and shouts, “Praise to Goddess Eostre for her protection!”
“To Goddess Eostre,” the men repeat enthusiastically.
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