How unfortunate that the pilgrim mistook for a murderer the man who had come to save him. A murderer the pilgrim thought he'd killed. Was that why he had been so certain Nicholas Wilton was dead? He had tried to kill him? Gentle Mary and all the saints, no wonder Nicholas took alarm. But as Wulfstan kept watch over the suffering pilgrim, he convinced himself that it was all fever dreams. He could not imagine the gentle pilgrim attacking Nicholas Wilton.
Wulfstan watched in the smoky darkness. His heart sank as the pilgrim's faint stretched on and on. His breathing was shallow, with now and then an explos shy;ive gasp, as if he could not get enough air. Wulfstan propped him up higher and prayed. Henry returned from Lauds and knelt with him.
But for all their care, the pilgrim's shallow breathing ceased at dawn.
Heartsick, Wulfstan retired to the chapel to pray for his friend's soul.
Henry came to Wulfstan as he nodded over his prayers. Archdeacon Anselm's Summoner, Potter Digby, wished to speak with him.
Wulfstan could not imagine what Digby might want with him. It was a Summoner's dreadful duty to investigate rumours of sinners who'd broken dioc shy;esan law, and to summon those he judged guilty to the Archbishop's consistory court to be fined. For this he earned a commission. And for this Digby was disliked among the townspeople, who knew he waited to catch them in marital infidelities, marriage being a sacrament and infidelities his most lucrative charges. The lay clergy seldom had much money to pay for their sins. Many said it was the Summoner's unholy diligence that kept the stonemasons and glaziers busy on the cathedral. Wulfstan thought it a pity that the beautiful minster should be linked to such greed. In truth, he disliked Potter Digby with a sinful energy. As Wulfstan followed Henry to the cloister, he wondered what unpleasantness brought the man to him.
Potter Digby, it turned out, was on private business. He'd found Nicholas Wilton in a faint near the abbey gate the night before and hailed a passing cart to carry him home. Wilton was in such a state he did not rec shy;ognise his own wife. Digby thought Mistress Wilton would appreciate Brother Wulfstan's presence.
'Nicholas? How strange.' Wulfstan thought back on Nicholas's abrupt departure. 'He did behave oddly last night. But you must forgive me. I have been up all night. I lost a patient and friend. I cannot come. I would be no good to them.'
'Wilton is bad. His wife is frightened.' Digby shrug shy;ged. 'But perhaps Master Saurian — '
'Saurian? He'll be no comfort to Mistress Wilton.' Wulfstan wavered. Though trembling with fatigue and a long fast, he could not abandon gentle Lucie Wilton to the cold Master Saurian.
'Then whom do you suggest, Brother Wulfstan?'
The Infirmarian shrugged. 'I will ask my Abbot's permission.'
Once more Wulfstan braved the snow, his old bones chilled and aching. It did not matter. He could not leave Lucie Wilton alone at such a time.
He need not have worried. Bess Merchet, proprietress of the York Tavern, around the corner from Wilton's apothecary, met him at the kitchen door. Wulfstan was pleased to see her competent bulk in the doorway. She was a sensible woman, regardless of the brandywine on her breath, and a good friend to Lucie.
'She'll be that pleased to see you, Brother Wulfstan.'
Bess hustled him in and set a cup of something hot in his hands. 'Drink that up and catch your breath. I'll see how things stand up above.' She disappeared up the stairs.
Wulfstan sniffed at the mixture of brandywine and herbs, then decided it would do him a world of good. It soon settled his heart back in its caging and dulled the pain of loss.
Upstairs, one look at Nicholas told Wulfstan that he might soon suffer the loss of another friend. 'Merciful Mother, what has happened to you?' Wulfstan knelt beside Nicholas's bed, taking the man's hands, which lay limp upon the covers, and trying to rub warmth into them. Nicholas stared ahead, moving his lips but making no sound.
'He has been like this all night.' Lucie sat on the other side of the bed, dabbing at her husband's tears. Shadows beneath her eyes bespoke a night as terrible as Wulfstan's. 'He left here yesterday afternoon as you saw him, clear-witted and healthy enough to work in the garden, cold as it was, and returned crippled and bereft of speech, tormented by some horror I cannot know and so cannot comfort him.' She bit her lip. There was no time for tears.
Wulfstan's heart overflowed with pity for her. He knew his own pain over the pilgrim. How much greater must hers be, seeing her husband like this. He must find a way to help. He tucked Nicholas's hands under the covers and drew Lucie away from the sickbed. Tell me everything you can.'
She could tell him little, only that Digby had helped Nicholas inside, for he seemed unable to support him shy;self on his right leg. The right arm also seemed useless. And he'd made no sound but down in the throat. She clenched her hands and looked desperate for comfort.
But Wulfstan could give little. 'It sounds to be a palsy. Whether it be temporary or permanent, only time will tell. It is in God's hands. Perhaps if I knew what caused it.' He thought of Nicholas's behaviour as he questioned Wulfstan about the pilgrim, and later when Nicholas had glimpsed the pilgrim's state. 'He was agitated when he left the infirmary. Perhaps in the dark he fell. A blow to the head could cause such a palsy. Or to the spine. An extreme shock.'
'A shock.' Lucie glanced at Nicholas, then bent her head away from him so that only Wulfstan could hear. 'Could it be the pilgrim?' She asked it in a soft, tense voice.
Wulfstan remembered the dying man's accusations. But he had no proof. And now that the man was dead he could see no reason to frighten Lucie. 'My patient's appearance disturbed Nicholas, to be sure. He said he'd not expected the man to be so ill. But that is not shock enough.' He looked at Lucie's bowed head. 'What is it, my child? What do you fear?'
'It was Archdeacon Anselm's visit this morning.'
'Anselm? Came here?'
'They have not spoken in years. Since before we were married. It is odd that he should come today. There he stood in the doorway, so early, before any customers. He'd already heard that Nicholas was taken ill. He expressed concern, for all the world a worried friend. After so many years. He did not come when our Martin died’ Their only child. Dead of the plague before he ever walked.
Something in this disturbed Wulfstan. For last night he had been visited by the Archdeacon. At the time he had given it little thought. The Archdeacon was to dine with Abbot Campian. Before supper he had stopped in the infirmary, curious whether it had changed since he was last bled there. Anselm had been schooled at St. Mary's. Last evening he had been pleasant enough, asking after Brother Wulfstan's health, telling Henry how frightened he had been of Wulfstan, who had been broad in the chest in his younger years. Anselm had asked about the pilgrim, the only patient. It seemed a mere politeness.
Wulfstan drew Lucie down on a chest by the little window. Tell me about the Archdeacon's visit.'
'He had heard Nicholas was ill. He asked if it were serious. I told him I did not know, that I could tell him no more than his Summoner had told him. Nothing had changed. He seemed surprised. He asked why I assumed his Summoner had told him. I told him how Digby had found Nicholas. He did not like that. "The abbey infirmary? What was Nicholas doing there?" He said it as if it were an enemy camp, a place Digby should have known not to go’
'My infirmary?' Wulfstan did not like that.
'The Archdeacon alarmed me with his questions. I told him Nicholas had taken a physick to a patient. "The soldier?" he asked. I said yes, the one who called himself a pilgrim. The Archdeacon's face lost what little colour it has. He put a hand on the counter to steady himself. I asked him what he suspected. He asked what had happened at the abbey. Of course I did not know. I suspected that the Archdeacon knew more than I did. I asked him who the pilgrim was. I am sure he knows. He blinked and looked away. "I have not seen this pilgrim, Mistress Wilton," he said. It is the sort of half-truth the sisters told to shield us from the world. I persisted. He pulled himself up straight and said he would come back. "Who is he?" I demanded. "I will come back," he said again, and hurried out.