Infinite Sacrifice (26 page)

The city is at war but with the
invisible enemy within. We get to the nobleman’s house in no time
due to the small number of carts on the road. Hadrian holds up his
smelling apple and grabs his leather supply bag, forgetting to
assist me. I jump down but splash foul water up the hem of my
kirtle.

Hadrian looks at the hem with
disdain. “You should be more careful, Elizabeth.”

The servant who opens the door
looks ill himself. Sweat beads on his pale forehead. Hadrian pulls
me away, noticing the signs of sickness, asks him to lead the way,
and keep his distance. The man pulls the tapestry aside that
conceals the grand bedroom; only the finest fabrics and tapestries
decorate the cavernous room. We can hear labored breathing and
moaning emanating behind the drawn bed curtains of the massive,
carved canopy bed.

The nobleman is sitting beside the
bed. He stands up to shake Hadrian’s hand, but Hadrian shakes his
head at the request. “Not the time for such things.”

The nobleman pulls his hand back
and goes to open the bed curtains. He reveals a terrible sight that
makes me freeze. There, on silk-tasseled pillows, lays a pale,
sweating form with large black-and-blue splotches around her mouth,
neck, and legs. Hadrian turns at the half-dressed sight and steps
back behind the bed to respect her modesty, though it appears she
cares little. Her eyes are glazed and fixed on the ceiling, not
even noticing our arrival. Breathing seems to take every bit of her
energy, and the lumps under her armpits are so swollen they caused
her to keep both arms above her head. I’ve never seen such a
terrible sight. I wish I had the strength to leave.

Hadrian calls out, “Check her neck,
underarms, thighs, and groin for buboes and tell me how many she
has.”

I walk up hesitantly with my
smelling apple close to my nose and mouth trying to breath
sparingly. Drawing near, I expect her to look at me, but she
remains fixed. Even when I pull down her bed coverings to search
her thighs and groin, she doesn’t flinch.

“I count three buboes, two underarm
and one on her thigh.”

“Are they seeping?”

“Two are seeping.”

“Then we must drain the
third.”

My heart quickens at this task I
never thought I would be asked to perform.

“Come here, Elizabeth.” I walk
around the bed as Hadrian is pulling out a thin iron rod. “Heat
this up in the fire until it is red hot. Puncture the bubo dead
center with only enough pressure to break the skin. Do not apply
much force or it will erupt all over you.” I hesitate, yet he
shoves the handle of the poker in my hand and says, “Do as I
say.”

I heat the iron as he instructed,
walk over to the feeble woman, and lean over the large unbroken
bubo. As I apply pressure to the purple lump, the flesh sears, and
I gag as thick, yellow liquid squirts out. I pull back and hold my
apple up but can still smell the rancid smell of pus.

“What else do you need?” I choke
out.

“Does it have a smell?”

“Yes, like a cesspool!” I gag
again. “Hadrian, I cannot do this,” I beg.

“We are almost finished.” He says
to the man, “Please excuse my wife; women are undoubtedly the
weaker sex.”

I feel I am failing him, so I go
back over to her bedside. “Forgive me, husband. What else do you
ask of me?”

“What color is her
spittle?”

I lean in yet again and can smell
her vile, rotting breath. “I see no color.”

“Does she have any other
markings?”

I search her body with breath held.
“There are black splotches on her chest.”

“That is all. Close the curtains,
Elizabeth. I would like to speak to the lord.”

The tired, forlorn lord stands up
to meet him over in the corner of the room.

I overhear him say, “Lord, I do not
think she has the extremely deadly pneumonic plague. Victims cough
up blood and die within three days.”

I hear a sigh of relief from the
lord.

“However, that is only good news to
us, since it spreads more rapidly than the other form of plague.
The lady will surely die.”

I hear crying.

“She has what we call ‘God’s
tokens,’ those blue or black splotches. Those who present with
these are sentenced to die within hours.”

“There is no remedy?” he sniffs
out.

“Well, there is something that
might work, but it is exceptionally expensive.”

I can’t believe he is trying to
profit from this; clearly the woman is at death’s door.

“I will pay anything. You must give
it to her!”

“Elizabeth, come to my
side.”

I obey him. The lord looks
foolishly hopeful as Hadrian holds out a small vial of golden
liquid.

“This is made from theriac,
mithridate, bol armeniac, and terra sigillata from the finest
apothecary in Paris. Her four humors are out of balance, evidence
of the pus that is pooling under her skin in bubo form. This serum
is her only hope at correcting it.”

Before he gives it to me, he holds
his hand out to the lord.

“Three gold coins, my
lord.”

The lord digs into a satchel tied
at his side, brings out five, and places them in Hadrian’s
outstretched hand. “I want two vials.”

Hadrian agrees, gives me one vial,
pulls another one out of his bag, and gives it to the
lord.

He speaks to me. “Drop the whole
contents of the vial into her mouth and make sure she swallows.
Hold her mouth closed and stroke her throat if she does not do so
willingly.”

I reopen the curtains to find her
breathing even shallower. I feel terrible pouring the liquid into
her panting mouth but do so. She lays there with the fluid pooling
under her tongue. I put down my apple, take a deep breath as I
close her mouth, and I’m relieved to see her swallow. She then
convulses, and I jump back. She goes into a coughing spasm, no
doubt the result of forcing the liquid. I break out in tears and
run from the room. I don’t stop until I’m outside the estate.
Hadrian comes out after a few minutes without a glance in my
direction.

He hoists himself on the cart,
looks down at me, and says, “Get on.”

I don’t eat dinner that night but
choose to sit out in my garden. I see from the walls of my
courtyard that the sun is setting red on the horizon. I decide I’m
going to try to talk Hadrian into leaving tomorrow. I don’t want to
become that woman. I don’t want to see my mother like that. We must
get far away from this rotting city.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I’m flying away from the burning
city when a powerful gust of wind blows me back to the center of
Cheapside. I hit the ground hard and, dazed, get up to see Hadrian
digging. I walk over to see hundreds of dead bodies all lined up,
heads to the west and feet to the east, side by side. They all
stare vacantly at me. Two small children are thrown down, one with
purple eyes and another with curly brown hair. Then Hadrian shoves
me from behind, and I can’t stop falling.

I awake in a sweat to Hadrian
calling for a servant to come and empty his chamber pot. No one
comes. He leaves the room and returns minutes later and shouts, “No
servant has showed!”

I stand to throw on my
clothes.

“Elizabeth, empty my chamber pot.”
He goes back downstairs.

I walk over to the steaming pot
with nose pinched, open the window, and yell, “Look out below!”
three times, as required, and pour the contents on the street
below.

Upon entering the kitchen, I see an
agitated Hadrian pacing. “The fire has gone out, and not a one has
come.”

“Can we find more
servants?”

“Not a one!” he screams as he
throws his hands up into the air.

My mother comes to see what the
shouting is about.

“I was paying ours twice the going
rate, and they still stopped coming!”

Mother senses an opportunity.
“Well, we still have most of our staff at Windsor. This only tells
us that we must leave today.”

He’s searching the shelves for
something. “I agree. We leave today.” Still searching, he fumes,
“As soon as we find some bloody breakfast!” He throws down a
stone-hard loaf of bread and sounds as if he cracked the slate
floor.

“Elizabeth, go into town for your
husband and fetch him his breakfast.”

I can’t believe she would send me
out. “I cannot drive the cart myself!”

“There is no need to bring the
cart; few people are out. It is safe to walk into Cheapside now.”
She opens her eyes wide in demand. “Go now and fetch him his
breakfast!”

As I throw my coat on, she presses
coins into my palm. “Hurry back. I will pack up everything we
need.”

“Why can’t he go?” I say under my
breath as she crams my veiled headdress on.

“He is not in a state to go right
now. I want to make sure he packs up and leaves before he can
change his mind. Godspeed!”

She shoves me out and closes the
heavy oak door behind me. I hear her slide the iron bolt so I won’t
be able to go back inside. I pry my apple out and venture carefully
into the muck.

Chapter 4

If I hadn’t been prepared for the
desolation, I would’ve thought I was in the wrong place. Cheapside
is empty except for the occasional person covering their mouths and
dashing through the streets. Hadrian talked about farmers
boycotting the capital because they feared exposure. There is a
deep silence. The nearest bakery is closed.

I peer into the store. The shelves
are bare, and no one is to be found. Searching all the boarded-up
stores, I worry breakfast can’t be found. Down the lane, a large
cart is being pushed toward me. To my horror, I see two half-naked
bodies, strewn like sacks of flour, in the cart. I hold my apple
up, suck in my breath, and start running the other way in search of
an open shop.

Someone opens a window above and
calls, “Sexton! We have a body here!” They wave a black plague flag
out the window to signal a plague victim lies within. I run even
faster.

Finally, I watch another
hunched-over person run straight to a shop around the corner, and I
follow. It is an open bakery! I never was so excited to see such a
sparse assortment of simple wheat and rye loaves. The person in
front of me gets as far away from me as he can and eyes me
suspiciously. He snatches his loaf and runs out of the store. I ask
for six wheat loaves, and the baker turns his back to wrap up the
package quickly. One lane down, I feel the parcel and wonder how
there could be six inside, and upon peering in, count that the
baker gave me only five. I turn around, reenter the store, and put
the parcel on the counter.

“Baker, there has been some
mistake. I paid for six loaves but have only received
five.”

“This parcel’s open. How do I know
you didn’t eat the loaf and come back to cheat me?”

He throws the package on the
counter and turns his back. He cheats me and will get away with it.
I have to get out of London. Grabbing my inadequate package, I set
my mind to hurrying back to the house. A cruck house door slams up
ahead on the row. A tall lean young man walks out and starts up the
lane. The door reopens, and a boy of about eight runs out after
him.

“Father! Where are you going?” he
screams frantically.

The man picks up his pace, and the
boy grabs on to his arm. He throws him off, sending him into the
putrid gutters, and yells, “I can’t do this! I’m done! We’re all
done!”

He keeps walking and turns the
corner without looking back. The boy sits in the filth and starts
to cry, rubbing the dirt all over his face as he wipes his tears.
Uncomfortable with witnessing what occurred, I plan on turning down
the lane, trying to avoid the boy. But as I pass the decrepit house
the boy ran from, I see a small face peering out.

My feet stop as I see a beautiful
little boy with ringlets of brown curls around a perfectly shaped
porcelain face. He has large, honey-brown eyes and a faint scar in
the middle of his forehead. His face streams with tears, and he
searches worriedly to the whereabouts of his father and brother.
I’m compelled to look in on this distressed child. I open the
squeaky, slight door and catch the little cherub’s attention. He
seems even more frightened at my invasion, hops off a little stool,
and darts to the next room.