‘Shall I go to her?’ I suggested. Lady Emma clearly meant well, for hadn’t she just sent for me? However, there was little good I could do for Lady Claude standing there chatting in the hall.
‘Of course, of course!’ She shook her head at her own thoughtlessness and, gathering up her skirts, hurried away, with me on her heels. We left the hall, went along the passage and up the steps to Lady Claude’s room, where Lady Emma tapped gently, listened for a moment and then carefully opened the door.
I followed her into the room. Lady Claude sat straight-backed on a stool, dressed as before in black, the stiff white linen framing her face covered by a long black veil. She looked more nunlike that ever. Her face was deadly pale, her mouth was a small, tight line, and her eyes were dulclass="underline" the grey semicircles beneath them seemed to extend halfway down her cheeks. There was a young woman attending her — one of Lady Emma’s maidservants — and, with an imperious wave of her hand, Lady Claude dismissed her. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘The healer is here now.’
The maid scuttled out. I caught sight of her face as she passed me. She was young, not much more than twelve or thirteen, and it was clear from her expression that she couldn’t wait to get away.
Studying Lady Claude, I didn’t blame her.
Lady Emma bent over her guest. ‘Would you like me to stay, Claude dear?’ she asked.
Claude shook her head.
Lady Emma followed the maid out of the room, and I sensed it was only her good manners that stopped her relief from being equally visible.
I approached my patient. I knew how much pain she was in, and I was already calculating potions and proportions. ‘I will give you a mixture for your headache,’ I said, keeping my voice low and even. I have often heard skilled grooms soothing restless horses, and I sometimes think a healer speaks in much the same tone.
Lady Claude looked up at me. I read horror in her eyes, and I wondered how I could best reassure her. It was an interesting phenomenon, I thought absently, how her distress at the death of her seamstress and, now, of some man she didn’t even know, had somehow got tangled up with the abrupt end of her hopes of being a nun and her fears concerning her impending marriage, knotting her up so tensely that the searing pain in her head was the result. I realized that her life just then must be all but unendurable. Edild and I often talk all evening about the human mind. All we ever resolve is that its mysteries are so far beyond us that the solution might as well be hidden away on the furthest star.
My present task, however, was not to speculate on the workings of the mind, but to alleviate my patient’s agony. Quickly, I set up the tools of my trade on a small side table placed against the wall, going over in my mind what else I needed. I put my head out of the door and, seeing Bermund hovering in the passage below, asked him to send up both the hot water I would need for mixing certain ingredients and also some very cold water, with which to make a compress for Lady Claude’s head.
While I waited, I suggested she lie down on her bed. To my surprise, she agreed. I helped her, for she staggered as she stood up, and took her hands. They were icy-cold and shaking. I supported her while she lay down, then covered her with a soft woollen blanket. As I straightened up from my ministrations, my eye caught something different in the room; something that I knew had not been there on my previous visit.
Behind the wooden bed head a small square of embroidery had been pinned to the wall. I peered closer; Lady Claude had closed her eyes, probably from the relief of lying down, and would, I hoped, not notice my curiosity.
I thought at first that it was another in the Seven Deadly Sins series, for some of the figures were recognizably similar: Lust in her scarlet gown, Wrath with his furious, cruel face. Then I noticed that the intricate, beautifully-worked border was made up of tiny letters. Concentrating hard, I began to make them out, and then I knew the subject of this little piece that Lady Claude had chosen to hang over her bed. She had embroidered the Ten Commandments.
My first reaction was a stab of pity for Sir Alain, who was to take as wife this peculiar, fanatical, devout woman. My second thought was that the pity surely belonged rather to Lady Claude.
The hot and cold water arrived, brought by a manservant under the watchful eye of Bermund. I needed privacy now. I thanked the servant, nodded to Bermund and, as they left, firmly closed the door. Then immediately I bent to my task.
We call the extraordinary substance that leaks out of the white poppy lachrima papaveris, for it does indeed resemble the poppy’s tears. It can be found in our country, although it is rare, with nowhere near the spread of its cousin the red poppy. Only the white poppy will do in cases such as the one I now tackled, and healers generally conserve their supplies of its tears jealously, for it is costly and hard to come by. I mentioned this once to Hrype, and he went off into a sort of trance and told me an extraordinary tale, of traders from the east who brought with them out of the mysterious lands there great blocks of a magical substance that took away pain, brought beautiful dreams and, if taken to excess, brought about a sleep from which you didn’t wake up. Edild, when I told her, sniffed and warned me never to experiment with this miraculous substance, although she refused to say why. Pressed, she merely said that repeated use would give me diarrhoea so badly that I would not dare to venture more than five steps from the jakes.
That was back in my early days as a healer, before I understood that one of our basic rules is that we never use our precious materials for anything but the desire to heal. That was what I was doing now: with careful hands I prepared the raw drug, then mixed it in hot water with a little honey to sweeten it and took the cup to my patient. Hardly aware now — I sensed her pain from two paces away — she obediently swallowed the drink and slumped back on her pillows.
The poppy juice itself induces sleep, but I added one or two other ingredients that take effect more swiftly. Lady Claude needed rest; I fervently hoped I had just given it to her.
I stood by her side for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her narrow chest. I wondered, looking at her, if she had bound her breasts or was naturally flat. Her waist was insignificant, her hips angular and jutting under the soft, silky folds of her black gown. I eased the veil away from her headdress, careful to stick the pins that had secured it into the little pincushion by the bed. Then, gently turning her head, I undid the ties that held the stiff white wimple in place and removed it. She would sleep more peacefully without it. I noticed how tightly she had fastened it; no wonder the poor woman had a headache.
Her light-brown hair was greasy and smelled slightly unpleasant; the odour was a little like rancid lamb fat. I fetched a bottle of blended lavender and rosemary oils from my satchel and, mixing some in the hot water — still warm — I shook some drops on my hands and spread the liquid through the thin hair. Lady Claude stirred in her sleep, and I thought I saw a fleeting smile on her narrow mouth.
I retreated to the stool and sat down. I would watch over her a little longer, then leave her sleeping. I could soon be back if I was needed; Lady Emma knew where to find me.
A deep peace descended. The chamber was pleasantly cool, and I felt myself drifting into a doze. I shook myself — it would never do for Lady Emma, or even worse, Bermund, to discover the healer as deeply asleep as her patient. I stood up, quietly gathered my bottles, jars and potions together and slipped out of the room.
SEVENTEEN
It was late afternoon by the time I was back at Edild’s house. I was physically exhausted, and I realized, with mild surprise, that I had not had any food all day. I pushed the door open and went in, the thought uppermost in my mind that I must find something to eat.