And Kerlew stood stunned, unable to believe that voice and those words had come out of his own mouth.
The sick woman opened her eyes, uncomprehending. “Who are you?” the young man croaked.
“A stranger,” Alea said, “and a friend.” She turned to Hazel. “You’re right—it’s blood loss. I think she’s picked up a fever, too.”
“Childbed fever,” Hazel sighed. “Happens too often, I fear.”
“Too often indeed, but you have fruit juice, don’t you? And liver.”
“Well, we’ve apples,” Hazel said in surprise, “and cider, of course. We can get liver soon enough, if you think she needs it.”
“Cow’s liver is best, though that of pigs or chickens will do,” Alea told her. “Tell someone to start boiling it for broth, and we’ll spoon it into her. In the meantime, let’s try that cider.”
“Hard or soft?”
“Soft, definitely soft! Hurry, Hazel—we may not have much time.” She turned to the young man. “Get you to bed. You can’t do anything for her, and we’ll waken you if she gets worse.”
“I won’t leave her,” the young man said stubbornly. “She could pass any minute.”
“Not yet,” Alea said, “not if she can still groan.” Then she relented and said, “You can make up your pallet right here, so you can be beside her if she needs you, but you’re no help to her exhausted.”
The young man tried to hold her gaze, but his own strayed back to Linda. “You talk sense, I guess. Well, I’ll go get blankets.” He rose stiffly, then held out a hand. “Thank you. I’m Martin.”
“And I’m Alea.” She took his hand. “Go get your blankets.”
By dinnertime, Linda had absorbed half a gallon of cider and been able to sip two bowlfuls of salted broth, and Martin was so soundly asleep he didn’t waken at the sound of feet moving to and from the bed. Alea sat by Linda in his place, mind reaching into the young mother’s body, to stimulate blood production, but feeling very helpless nonetheless.
Hazel came in. “Time to come to dinner, Alea.”
“I’ll wait.”
“No, you’ll go now,” Hazel insisted. “I’ll wait. Tell me what signs to watch for.”
Alea shrugged. “There isn’t much—only if she begins to get some color back, and we probably won’t see that until tomorrow. Keep a cold cloth on her forehead, though. If her breath gets much more shallow or her pulse fades, call me right away.”
“I will,” Hazel promised. “Get you to supper, now, and then sleep, for I imagine you’ll be up with her the whole night if we let you.”
“I’ll want to take the midnight watch, at least.” Alea rose unwillingly.
“We’ll see to it she’s tended, and call you if there’s any change for the worse.” Hazel shooed her toward the door. “It’s good of you to care so for someone who isn’t one of your own.”
Alea stopped and turned back, looking her in the eye. “We’re all each other’s own, Hazel—every woman in the world.” Hazel gave her a long silent look, then nodded. “We’ll see what you have to say about the men if she gets better. Eat now, for you’ll need your nourishment as much as she does.”
Alea woke on her pallet by the hearth and saw a girl of about twelve kneeling nearby, feeding small sticks to a shrunken fire. She glanced at Alea, saw her open eyes, and smiled shyly. “Morning, Miss Alea.”
“Good morning,” Alea said, and was about to ask the girl’s name when a knock sounded at the door. They both turned to stare at it. The girl said, “Only strangers knock.”
Three clansfolk hurried to the door with rifles ready but not leveled. An older man pulled it open, stared in surprise. “Versey!” He turned to call to the people inside, “It’s Versey the Druid!” Then he turned back, pushing the door wide and bowing the visitor into the house. “Be welcome, Reverend!”
Alea stared and held her breath, waiting for a tall, whitehaired man with a long beard and a snowy robe, with a golden sickle at his belt and mistletoe in his hair.
8
May Lugh’s light shine on all in this house,” Versey said, stepping in and Alea was very much disappointed. Here was no august holy presence, but an ordinary middle-aged man in woolen jacket and baggy trousers, pulling a wide brimmed hat from his head. He had a beard, but it was trimmed short and grizzled, as was his close-cropped hair. He looked like any of the clansmen, except that his jacket was dove gray instead of plaid.
Hazel came hurrying out of the sickroom, waving another woman in. She bustled up to Versey, wiping her hands on her apron. “Be welcome, Druid! What news?”
“Why, only that Linda’s at death’s door,” Versey said. “The whole valley knows it.”
Hazel’s face hardened. “Yes, I suppose a Mahon sentry might have eavesdropped on someone from the house talking about it—and if one Mahon heard, they’d all know in an hour, and the whole valley by the end of the day.”
“As they should,” the Druid said firmly. “The danger of one is the danger of all.”
“Well, I’ll agree with that,” one of the men said, “but not the way you mean.”
“I’ll settle for any agreement at all,” Versey sighed. “I’ll pay my respects to your grandfather, if I may.”
“Surely, Reverend!” Hazel turned to discover most of the clan surrounding her. They opened an avenue to the hearth and the old man’s great chair beside it.
Versey strode down that alley and gave Grandpa a small bow. “The gods keep your house safe, Esau!”
“And may they keep the wind at your back, Versey,” Grandpa said. “Come to join us for the deathwatch, have you?”
Alea couldn’t help herself. “She’s not going to die.”
They both turned to stare at her. Then storm clouds gathered in Grandpa’s face, anger warring with ingrained courtesy toward a guest, but Versey said, “I’ve not seen you before. Who be you, lady?”
Hazel stepped forward. “This is Alea, a peddler—only she seems to know something of healing, too, and has been doing what she can for our Linda.”
Alea shrank inside. One way not to get along with the local priest and healer was to set up in competition with him.
But Versey seemed interested, not antagonized. “For loss of blood? What have you been doing, then?”
“Feeding her soft cider,” Alea said, “for it’s sweet, and the blood carries sweetening to the rest of the body.”
“And it’s wet, like blood, so it might help fill up the veins.” Versey nodded. “What else?”
“Broth,” Alea said, “of liver, to strengthen the blood.”
“And water, again to fill the veins.” Versey nodded. “It may work, if we can keep her alive long enough for the heart to fill her veins again.” He turned back to Grandpa. “It may be that I haven’t come for a wake, after all. May I pay Linda a visit?”
“If you think it will do any good, Versey, of course,” Grandpa said, somewhat unwillingly.
“Thank you, Esau.” Versey gave the old man a bit of a bow, then turned back to Alea. “Show me, young woman.”
Alea led him to Linda’s room, reflecting that the Druids had come down in the world very badly. Instead of the household bowing to him, showing him deference, and clinging to his slightest pronouncements, they treated him with courtesy only, and seemed to be happy to see him because he was a visitor, not because he was a holy man.
Versey sat down by the bed and took Linda’s hand. He inspected it closely. “The nails look well enough, though pale. The skin is dry and flaking, but that’s what you’d expect with so much blood loss.” He touched her wrist and gazed off into space for a few minutes, and Alea realized he was taking Linda’s pulse. He nodded. “Slow but strong.” He looked down at the sleeping face. “She breathes lightly but easily. So pale, though! Is her color any better than it was yesterday?”