"Help my child, Faerie queen. And I will pay in good Roman silver." The woman held the coins in one open palm.

Dorelei studied her coldly as the rest of fhain walked their horses to flank her. "How does wealth ail?"

Her questioning was distant, even superior. The woman was on Prydn ground. Here Dorelei was mistress, and the woman must know it. The Taixali mother fumbled at the child's swaddling, no cleaner than her own greasy garment.

"My bairn cannot pass his water. Two days now. Those of my husband's house say an evil spirit followed me when I entered the house in marriage. Take it away and the silver is yours."

"What hast done to drive away spirit?"

"A bronze penny in the uisge a chronachadh," the woman answered. She was not much older than Dorelei but already shapeless with child-bearing. "No good did it bring. Take my silver, cure my bairn."

Dorelei motioned to her sister. "Second daughter, will thee drive out this trifling spirit?"

Neniane slid from her pony and approached the woman who instinctively shrank back. "Put no evil on us."

Neniane bit off the words. "Will nae harm it. Have born wealth of my own like thee. Unwrap the bairn. Lay't on the ground."

Padrec was to see this more than once. As Roman physicians specialized in certain ailments, so did Faerie

women. Guenloie dealt in love charms and potions to restore virility, a subject that much interested her. Neniane's magic, as her love, was all for children. But always in the women seeking aid was the same need and fear mixed in their eyes. Protective as a lioness over a cub, the woman did as she was bidden. Her protruding eyes singled out Padrec, questioned the sight of him. "You are not Faerie."

"Roman. A Christian priest."

The woman's stiff red braids bobbed in understanding. "The Jesu-Christ. We have heard of him."

"When I am welcome in your village, I will tell you more." By habit Padrec lifted his hand to sign a blessing over the squirming, miserable child. The woman's warning hand shot out.

"Do not curse my bairn!"

"I only give him the blessing of my God, who loves children above all else."

"And well a might," Neniane muttered over the baby. "For do lose so many."

From a pouch at her waist, she took a smaller bag of rabbit skin and laid it beside her as she bent to the child. It was cranky and uncomfortable in its soiled swaddling, which the slovenly mother had not thought to change. The baby's little rump was cruelly chafed. Neniane bit her lip at the negligence: those with good fortune did not always deserve it. The boy's genitals were fiery red, some of it from chafing but mostly with the irritant of a full bladder. Little magic needed here, unless something was blocking the passage. More likely the muscles were confused, sometimes unable to hold or at others unable to let go as needed. Truly, one had to work at children.