Ralph Cole lay on the straw pallet he had made up for his wife beside the fire. The fire had gone to ashes. There was no sign of the dead woman. He tried to scramble up as Nicholas entered. “In honour of my wife’s promise,” Nicholas said softly, “I have brought medicines. Your actions were dishonourable, but you are dying and I understand your pain. Some of what I bring will help that pain.” He strode over, kicking the fire back to sparks. “So I’ve no kind words to give you. You tried to help your own wife at the cost of mine, and destined her to ostracism and possible misery. I’d not have come except for my lady’s insistence. So thank her, who you might have killed, not me.”
The man had no strength to plead, nor to apologise, not even to stand. He struggled to sit, gasping for breath. “Forgive me, my lord, before I die,” he said. “I carried my Maudie upstairs, and she’s all comfy on our bed like a queen sleeping. I was so scared I’d drop her, and let her tumble down them steps, but I managed it, and laid her all tidy. Them black lumps went away after a time, but the rash has stayed, and all her skin is spoiled. But I remembers her as she used to be, and that’s how I pray she’ll be when I sees her next.”
Nicholas nodded. “I see you have the rash yourself, and the mark of a bubo growing under the jaw. I have brought two medicines to lessen that pain. One is the most commonly used, the other is the strongest. Use one, use both; the choice is yours.” He opened the door slightly, looked out and signalled to David, instructing him to collect firewood. Back in the single chamber, the smoke had dissipated, but a smoggy stink smothered everything inside.
Ralph choked, gasping for breath. “I wish to God,” he sighed, “I had this before, for my Maud.”
“If there is still water in the bucket,” Nicholas told him, “you must dilute the willow bark potion and take it weak at first, then afterwards stronger and undiluted as you feel you need it. But the poppy juice is very strong. It’s here,” and he placed the tiny tub on a stool, “for when you need it. I believe it will kill all pain, even the worst, but it could kill you too if you take too much.” Nicholas turned towards the door. “What else needs to be done? Have you food?”
“I’ve no appetite, my lord,” Ralph shook his head, “but have stale bread and a pot of old soup back there on the shelf, if I wants it. Which I don’t, nor couldn’t if I wanted, for it’s swallowing, even for medicines, hurts my throat now.”
“Then I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else can be done for you.” Nicholas knelt suddenly, speaking very softly. “You must cope alone now. But listen to me, for I know a good deal about this vile sickness, and you should follow the advice I give. The pain will get worse. Take the diluted willow bark now, it’ll give you some relief, but that won’t last long. Take it again when you need it. This evening take it undiluted and hopefully it will help you sleep. In the morning you’ll know. You’ll feel better or a good deal worse. If it’s better, then you’re one of those lucky enough to throw it off, as I did. But you show signs of a bubo growing, and that is not lightly thrown off. It you feel considerably worse, then you take the poppy drink. All of it. Then you stamp out the fire, you lie down and you wait to die. You’ll sleep quickly, deep and dreamless. You will feel no pain, no pleasure. Nor have knowledge of day or night. You’ll never wake. It’s the easiest way.” He paused, raising his voice a little. “Do you understand?”
Struggling, wide eyed, Ralph mumbled, “But my lord, you advise me to force my own passing, but this is a mortal sin. I cannot risk – and my Maud waiting at heaven’s gates – I won’t do anything to spoil –”
“Sin?” Nicholas interrupted. “It’s this vile illness is the sin, dragging the innocent into an agony they cannot have deserved. I simply bring a medicine to relieve all pain. If you die peacefully in your sleep, then it’s the Lord’s gift. No guilt, no sin, no risk. The choice is yours. But do as I say, for otherwise you choose pain over peace, and there’s no virtue in that.” He turned abruptly. “Enough. It’s time to leave while I’m still able.”
Ralph Cole looked over to Nicholas, now standing by the door. “I’ll do as you said, my lord, if you’re sure it’s not a wickedness. For I saw the pain my wife bore, and she were stronger and braver than me. Nor I ain’t alone, not with my Maud waiting upstairs.”
Nicholas pulled the door shut behind him, muttering, “If the man has any sense he’ll take the poppy juice at once, and finish himself off before the pain’s any worse,” and he swung himself into the saddle. He waved to David who was waiting by the village green. “Time to be off, and quickly,” he called.
It was a pale blue sky, almost cloudless and strangely benign. Yet it gazed down on a lifeless and tragic silence. But it was only moments before Nicholas was stopped.
The men spread out, blocking both the road and the grassy banks either side. On his liard, Nicholas might have leapt the blockage, but the placid old mare he was riding could barely jump a ditch. Nicholas once more sighed, and stared down at the angry patrol.
The tallest man stepped forwards, waving a stout stick. “What’s this then?” he demanded. “Come to rob the poor dying folk as they lie defenceless, is we? There’s no folk can leave the village, not for pity nor money, you can’t. And be spreading tales, and carrying the pestilence wide and afar? No you won’t, sir, grand dressed nor otherwise.”
Nicholas looked down with some disdain at the tousled head below him. He said, “I am heir to the Chatwyn earldom, and you have no authority to keep us here, although I have some sympathy for your cause, its reasons and its aims. So I’ll tell you I’ve a place set well apart from other folk, and have every intention of staying there until the sickness comes or time passes without sign of contagion when I and my companion will consider ourselves saved. We’ll speak to no one else about the situation here, nor risk spreading it. You will therefore now let us pass.”
The man scowled. The other four huddled, worried, muttering together. The horses kicked up dust, impatient. The first man, cudgel raised, did not stand aside. “We can’t allow it,” he said. “Tis as the abbot told us, not to let nor man nor child pass nor out nor in.”
“Being as your lordship seemingly be a proper lord,” said another, shifting uncomfortably in the dust, “mayhaps you could come tell the abbot yourself, sir, and let him decide.”
A third man grabbed at the horse’s reins and Nicholas swore. “Touch me again, and my sword will be at your throat,” he said between his teeth. “I’ll kill no man doing his duty, but you go beyond your rights.”
Once again, they were interrupted. There was a call, loud and urgent. Every man turned and looked towards the village square. In the middle of the lane David stood, holding his fractious horse, but pointing back behind him. “Quick, you fools,” he called. “It’s fire. Every thatch will be ablaze in moments. Is there rainwater in the butts? Will you let your people burn?”
Chapter Forty-Two
An interruption of almost similar magnitude spoiled the late morning dinner which was at that moment being served in the hostelry’s small private parlour. Grouped around the table and already holding their tempers as they ate, were the baroness, her younger daughter Avice, her son-in-law’s cousin Sysabel, and the ageing Lady Elizabeth. Joan, Bess, Hilda and Petronella were helping to serve since the hostelry staff were over stretched, and the ladies preferred the presence, under the circumstances, of those they trusted. Upstairs the family nurse, Martha, was reorganising the large chamber her mistress would now share with those existing occupants, Avice and Sysabel. It was at the precise moment of serving the roast beef slivers wrapped in smoked salmon beneath a herb crust, that the door slammed downstairs, a voice was raised, and everybody in the parlour put down their spoons and knives with a clatter and stared at each other.