“But my lord,” David insisted, “I feared the worse. And some hours ago the marks of the pestilence, although never fully developed, were clear enough to see. But now the rash is almost disappearing. My lord, we are all saved.” He sat back on his heels, breathing fast, as though excited. “There’s little bleeding. And no diarrhoea.”
Nicholas tried once more to sit, failed, and fell back again, closing his eyes. “But I see the world through scarlet streaks and my lips are cracked. My throat burns and I have a terrible thirst. Every bone in my body spites me.”
David hurried to pour ale, and held the cup to his master’s lips. “Beer for the thirst, my lord, then wine for the pain.”
Nicholas drank, winced, but drained the cup and said slowly, “The pestilence for sure then? And you are safe, with no signs – no fever?”
“Nothing, my lord.” David refilled the cup.
“And you?” Nicholas looked up at Rob, now relighting the fire after another fall of soot. “I forget the name, and have no notion why you’re here. Are you ill?”
“Nor a hair nor a feather,” Rob assured him. “I was in the Clink ten years back, and the pestilence had the poor buggers dropping like fleas in a flood, both them behind the bars and the keepers alike. But me – no. I got a sore head and a nose bleed, and that were all. This time I reckon on the same. It’s the good Lord, far as I can see, that don’t want me mucking up His nice clean heaven nor dragging through purgatory complaining too loud and setting up a beer stall. So’s the worser I curse and steal, the safer I am.”
Nicholas smiled weakly. “An interesting thought.” He drank the second cup of ale, and leaned back again. “The same, I suppose, might apply to me. If you call indiscriminate dalliance a sin, then I’ve sinned my share. But I feel half dead, and death might be preferable to the way I feel now.”
“You won’t die while I’m here to prevent it,” objected David. “And you’re better, my lord, a whole mountain better I assure you, at least than you were some hours back.”
“I could not feel worse,” Nicholas said.
“Them buggers in the Clink,” Rob told him, “was screaming and wailing. I saw one poor wretch, just a little mite he was, but then so was I at the time. His whole scrawny body went to mush. Black bruises outside and no control inside. Bowels like water, and that weren’t pleasant in a small space. And bleeding – well, there weren’t no place he didn’t bleed from in the end. Common blood first, red as you’d expect but then dark and smelly. He lay on his straw, crying. Weeping blood he was. Then blood out his arse and his prick, his gums and his ears. So nasty, it put me off crime for a twelvemonth.”
Nicholas gazed up at him, blue eyes hooded. “An eloquent description, my friend. But I have my own memories of the suffering this disease brings, and to those I loved. If I die, then so be it. But I have no wish to listen to the horrors of times past.”
“My lord,” David again held the cup to his lips, “the day is almost over and if you are in pain, you should sleep. Sleep is always a good medicine. So next I’ll bring wine.”
“Have I already slept for days?” Nicholas wondered. “I remember a procession of dreams, passing ghosts and a feeling of dread.” The twilit shadows were growing heavier through the lightless window, and his bed was left in darkness. He closed his eyes. “The light burns and the dark is most welcome but now the thought of sleeping is dreary, not restful. I’ve no wish to dream of misery and foreboding.”
David shook his head. “I doubt you were asleep at all, my lord. You were ill, delirious at times, and unconscious at others. Now, perhaps, you can sleep as a healthy man does, and wake refreshed.”
“Healthy? Perhaps.” Nicholas sighed. “But the pain in my legs and back is severe, so I’ll sleep to escape, and take the wine you spoke of. But am I recovering, or will I worsen in the night? Have you checked for buboes?” He slipped his hand up around his neck, feeling, fingertips tentative.
David shook his head at once. “I checked, my lord, and there is nothing but the rash.” He again lifted the sweat grimed shirt. “Here,” and touched, very gently. “The wretched rash of pale bruises still cover your chest. But only that.”
Nicholas winced when touched, then peered down, though through the gloom and the pain in his eyes, he could see little. “Painful – but no worse than other pains,” he sighed. “And I could weep for a bath.”
“Not possible here, my lord.”
Rob was sitting a little apart, the wine jug in his hand. “There’s the bathhouse not more than a stride away. But that’s more for the pleasure of other things, as you might say. ’Tis more whores than soap you’ll find there.”
Nicholas drank the wine brought to him, and tried to smile. “I’ve no strength for that – nor for much else at present. And I pray I’ve passed the vile sickness to none of you, whoever you are. So I’ll sleep again. Perhaps all of us will wake to a bright new day.”
Chapter Sixteen
Not the next day, nor the next, but in three more days Nicholas woke without headache or rash remaining, stretched both legs, flexed his toes, and breathed deep. The air was still with a mild warmth, recognising spring. The fire had gone out and the smell of the soot and the sweat sodden straw beneath him were nauseating. But he did not feel ill. He felt joyously alive. His muscles obeyed him and at his first attempt to stand he remained on his knees only moments before rising. David was instantly beside him. Nicholas stretched. “It’s a good morning,” he said, “Let’s have that foul curtain down, and see the sun.”
David obeyed. “Your voice is strong, my lord. This is a wonderful awakening. But it’s too soon, I think, to be out of bed.”
“But there is no bed,” Nicholas pointed out. “That heap of rank effluence counts as neither mattress nor pallet. I’ve no doubt ruined it myself, with shit and sweat – but ruined it is.” He looked up suddenly. “And who on earth is that?”
“Never thought meself so easy forgot,” said Rob, ambling over. “But seeing as how we’ve met a good few times now, reckon I might as well introduce meself again. I’m Robert Bambrigg, your lordship, being a neighbour in this tenement. And a right helpful one too, as it happens.”
“Then I’m very much obliged to you,” said Nicholas, leaning back heavily against the support of the wall. “What have you done exactly?”
Rob thought a moment. Then he said, “Well, come to think of it, not much. But I were willing.”
“He kept me company,” David interrupted, “and stopped me going insane with worry. He may have done little to alleviate your suffering, my lord, except to hold a candle when I needed it, and light the fire when it blew out, but nor could I do more myself. And his presence stopped me falling into dread and madness, convincing myself you were dead or dying. He showed courage too, and did not run.”
“Then I’m doubly obliged,” Nicholas said. “And it seems luck has blessed us all, since neither of you show the marks of illness, and I am, without doubt, recovering. I can believe it now.” He accepted the cup of warmed hippocras which David had prepared, and drank deep. “It’s strange, though,” he continued, “that the pestilence is such a terror, and each outbreak kills so many, yet we three have escaped as if this room carries some special charm.”
“This room? But this is the worst slum in the city, my lord.” David smiled, drinking his own hippocras. “My father always said folk would be better off in The Tower dungeons than living here – but for thieves and whores, well, this is almost freedom.”