Plague Land (18 page)

I nodded. The stew was good. ‘Will you lead me back to Somershill tomorrow?’ He hesitated. ‘I’ll pay you.’

‘What with?’ I showed him the silver ring on my little finger, but he pointed to the signet ring. ‘I’ll take that one.’

I felt the band of gold and amber. ‘My father gave me this. You can’t have it.’

‘Find your own way back then.’

‘Take the silver ring. It’s valuable.’

He shook his head.

I sighed. ‘Very well. But take me the back ways. We mustn’t cross de Caburn’s land.’ He held his palm open, expecting me to drop the ring into it. ‘I’ll give it to you when we get there.’

He bowed with a mocking flourish. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ But then his face darkened. ‘But you must never talk of me. Do you understand?’ I nodded. ‘I will only take you to the border of your parish. No further.’

Now we had finished eating, Leofwin rebuilt the fire near to the entrance and then threw me a second sheepskin to lie on. A blanket followed, which was of the finest wool. I wanted to ask him how he came by such sumptuous belongings, but I suspected the answer would be the same as for the gown.

‘Tell me how you survived the Great Mortality,’ he said, when I had settled down upon the sheepskin. ‘How were you cured?’

I hesitated. ‘I don’t know. It must have been good luck.’

Leofwin huffed. ‘You want to keep the cure to yourself? Is that it?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then tell me your story.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I like stories.’

‘I could tell you about something else.’

‘No. I want to hear about the Plague.’

In some ways it would be a relief to tell this tale, since Brother Peter had sworn me to secrecy. He had feared my position as lord would be placed in jeopardy if the truth were known. So I had not told a soul. Not even Mother. Or perhaps I should say, especially not Mother. There would be some, like Leofwin, who would consider me tainted and at risk of spreading the contagion. But there would be others who claimed I had been cured by magic or witchcraft.

I sighed and pulled the blanket about my neck. ‘It was September last year when the Pestilence finally reached our monastery. I was a novice and apprentice to the infirmarer.’

‘I thought you were a lord.’

‘Do you want to hear this story?’ He grunted and I continued. ‘I left the abbey with Brother Peter after the first of our order died. We thought we had escaped the Plague, but it seems it had come with us. I developed a fever as we travelled.’

‘Was it as painful as they say?’

‘Yes. At first you sweat, but soon you are trembling until your legs are too weak to bear your own weight. When I reached this state, we could not continue our journey.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Peter found an abandoned cottage where he could nurse me.’

‘He didn’t leave you?’

‘No.’

‘But he risked death himself.’

‘He wore a mask that protects a physician from the deadly miasma.’

Leofwin laughed. ‘They don’t work.’

‘Once again that’s not true,’ I said. ‘Peter tended to the abbot and did not catch the Plague. And he did not suffer after treating me, though he nursed me through the whole sickness.’

‘So it was his treatment that saved you?’

I sighed. ‘He cooled my brow with water and gave me infusions to drink. But it was not the potions that saved me.’

‘What was it then?’

‘The buboes grew in my armpits and groin. Bigger and blacker by the hour. Peter feared for my life, but he would not administer the last rites, even though I wanted to die.’

‘But you didn’t.’ The boy opened his eyes. ‘So it was sorcery?’

I shook my head. ‘No. It was science.’ The fire created shadows on the ceiling and somewhere outside an owl hooted. Thinking I heard scratching again near the entrance to the cave, I sat up. ‘What’s that? Is something out there?’

Leofwin waved his hand. ‘It’s nothing. Go on with your story. I want to know the end.’

I settled down again, trying to feel reassured. ‘There is only one way to save the patient once the buboes have grown so large. But it’s a dangerous cure that may kill the patient as quickly as the Plague. And it’s hazardous to the physician himself.’

‘Why?’

‘It releases a poisonous vapour that spreads through the air and infects the lungs.’

‘So what did he do?’

I thought back to that moment. Stuck in that dirty cottage with death at my shoulder. I hardly wanted to speak of it.

‘What did he do?’ insisted Leofwin.

‘Peter lanced each of the buboes and drained them of their pus.’

Leofwin now pulled a face of disgust. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘Of course it did! It was the worst pain I have ever endured.’

‘And what did it look like? The pus.’

These questions were beginning to annoy me. ‘I don’t know. Black, I suppose.’

‘And did it smell?’

‘Probably! I can’t remember. I was dying.’

‘But you didn’t.’

I smiled to myself. For the memory of survival was still sweet. ‘No. Once I was freed of the contamination, my fever began to cool. And then, after a few days I was able to walk again.’

‘And then you were cured?’

‘Yes.’

Leofwin whistled. ‘He must love you. This monk.’

‘He’s a man of God. He wouldn’t have abandoned me.’

‘You’re lucky to have such a friend.’

I caught his eye and for a moment we exchanged a look that might even have developed into a smile. ‘I’ve told you about the Plague, so you must tell me about the creatures we saw earlier at the pit.’

Now Leofwin stiffened and his smile disappeared. ‘I know nothing of them. I told you that before.’

‘Did you see their faces?’

‘No. It was too dark.’

‘It seemed to me they had the heads of dogs.’

He stoked up the fire. ‘I saw nothing like that.’

‘But you must have seen something, Leofwin. Otherwise, why did you come to save me?’

His face darkened and I even would say he growled. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘But—’

‘I told you. I saw nothing!’

The day had been arduous and the sheepskin was soft. I watched Leofwin secretly for a while. He had positioned himself with his back against the wall, sitting near to the fire in order to replenish it with wood when necessary. As he pulled his long tunic he rubbed an abscess on his leg, which was red and swollen and crusted by a scab the size of a beech leaf. Leofwin dabbed it with some ashes from the fire, but this would not cure the infection. When he caught me watching, he pulled down his tunic and turned away, telling me crossly to mind my own business.

It was my intention to stay awake, but my heavy eyes soon betrayed me and I fell into a restless slumber, dreaming of the shadowy creatures by the pit. At first light, I woke to find Leofwin treading down the last of the flames.

He scraped back the hair from his face with his awkward fingers. ‘I can use a knife and shoot an arrow,’ he said without looking up from the sooty embers. ‘I don’t need your pity.’

‘I don’t pity you,’ I lied. ‘But the abscess on your leg needs draining.’

He stumbled forward and thrust his strange face into mine. ‘It’s not some plague bubo. I know how to drain a boil.’

‘Do you?’

‘I don’t have my own devoted monk to nurse me, my lord. I treat myself.’

I ignored his sarcasm. ‘How many times have you drained it?’

‘Many times.’ He backed away from me a little and dropped his hostility for a moment. ‘But it won’t heal.’

‘Then some contamination must remain lodged under the skin. A small object you haven’t removed.’

‘What would you know about such things?’ The words rolled off his tongue contemptuously.

‘I was apprentice to an infirmarer. Remember?’

He scrutinised me for a few seconds and then slowly lifted his long tunic to present the abscess on the shin of his left leg. Perhaps he expected me to recoil from the red and swollen boil, as he had recoiled from the description of my plague sores? But I did not, even though his abscess smelt unpleasant and was oozing a thin trail of pus. His leg was hot to the touch, and when I pressed my finger into his skin he flinched.

‘Do you have a sharp knife?’ I asked him. ‘If it is silver, all the better.’

He dropped his tunic again and walked away from me distrustfully.

‘Leave it then,’ I said. ‘Wait for the corruption to spread into your bones and your blood. Nobody but the crows and flies will know you’ve died.’

He stopped, though he did not turn to look at me. Instead he shuffled about at the back of the cave and appeared to be searching for something under blankets or behind stones. When I realised he was looking for a knife, I also asked him to bring me some vinegar and honey.

‘I don’t have honey,’ he said.

‘Lard will do. And I need some linen. And garlic.’

He soon returned, clasping the items I had asked for. The knife was a whittle tang with a blade of silver and a handle of horn. I didn’t ask how he had acquired such an expensive blade but he read my thoughts.

‘I found it,’ he said.

‘And the leaf lard? It’s from a sheep’s kidney, isn’t it?’ Once again he was reluctant to answer me. ‘Did you poach it?’

‘The animal was nearly dead already.’

I placed the knife in the embers of the fire to warm it a little, while I washed down his abscess with some linen and vinegar. ‘How did this happen?’

‘I was shot in the leg. I thought I had removed all of the arrowhead.’ His face grimaced as the acid of the vinegar stung at his skin.

‘How long ago?’

‘In the spring.’

‘Did you see who shot you?’

He looked away. ‘No.’

‘Was it de Caburn?’ He was silent. ‘Did he catch you taking his sheep?’

‘None of your business.’

I took the knife from the fire and blew the ashes from the blade. ‘Do you have something to dull the pain? Brandy perhaps?’

He puffed out his cheeks and tried to laugh. ‘Brandy? Who do you think I am? A Dutch merchant?’

‘I thought you might have
found
some.’

He pulled a face at my words. ‘Get on with it.’

I had perforated an abscess before, though usually under the supervision of Brother Peter. At the infirmary we had lancets to pierce the crust of the boil, and glass cups to draw the poison. We dressed the cavity with poultices of lavender and rosemary oil, and then we sprinkled the wound with dried yarrow to stem the flow of blood. But none of these herbs was available to me, so it was fortunate Leofwin was a brave and stoic patient.

I opened the sinus hole of the boil and allowed the pus to drain more freely until I could scrape away the dead matter, soon finding the small shard of arrow that lay embedded deep within his skin. He only screamed when I washed out the wound with vinegar, but the paste of lard and garlic formed a cooling ointment, and the intensity of his pain seemed to diminish. I could only hope the wound would heal, since I could not stitch it.

Leofwin then slept, but woke in a delirium. His fever was high. I left the cave when it was safe and found some willow bark for him to chew upon. His teeth were healthy enough, if not exactly in the conventional position in his jaw. He did as I bade him and slowly the fever broke.

While he was exhausted and bewildered I tried to converse with him. To find out where he came from and who cared for him. Who was the person who brought him flour, dried peas and sausage – all of which I found in a small alcove carved into the wall? He knew of Dutch merchants and of nursery rhymes and the Bible, so something of the outside world reached this lonely hermit hole.