'You may deceive others with that fragile look of yours, my girl, but you don't fool me. You're as strong and wiry as a mule.'
Her daughter muttered rebelliously beneath her breath, but struggled obediently with the pack, which fortunately was none too full just at that present. As for me, I was too far gone to suffer any pangs of conscience. I had been rescued by two Good Samaritans, and that was all I knew or cared about. As we all set off down High Street, Hob and Bull each carrying one end of the litter, my long-suffering body jolted roughly from side to side as they made for 'home', wherever that was, I thankfully let my worries slide and gave myself up to the prospect of a warm bed and the ministrations of a pair of capable women. As we plunged into the dark canyon of Bristol Bridge, the houses and shops rearing up on either hand, I was once again violently sick before mercifully losing consciousness.
Chapter Two
During the next few days, I lay in that twilight state, half waking, half sleeping, between sanity and nightmare, when evil seems to gibber at the edges of the senses and has to be fought with might and main to be held at bay.
Only on three occasions before the fever finally abated did I have moments of conscious clarity.
The first time, I think, must have been briefly on the morning following my arrival, for just long enough to remember what had happened and to take in my surroundings. I had been undressed and was wearing a clean linen shift a size or so too small for me. The material was strained across my chest and had already split a little near the top of one of the sleeves. I was lying on a straw-filled mattress, covered with a couple of rough blankets which smelled sweetly of dried lavender, close to a central hearth. A fire of driftwood and sea coal, both doubtless scavenged for along the shores of the tidal River Avon, belched smoke through a hole in the roof of the cottage's single room. An adjustable pot-hook hung from the metal crossbar of a cooking crane, and from the hook was suspended a sizeable iron pot which made bubbling noises as well as giving forth the smell of a good broth; an aroma which at any other time would have made my mouth water, but then only made me heave.
I closed my eyes for a moment and did not open them again until my stomach had settled. This second glance informed me that a spinning-wheel stood near the only window whose shutters were open, allowing the pallid daylight of a January day to filter through the oiled parchment pane. The dim outline of a bed, large enough to a accommodate two people, could be seen at one end of the room, while a chest, a table, two stools, a wooden bench and a narrow cupboard were ranged around the walls. Recollecting the direction in which I had been carried in the litter, down the gentle slope of High Street and across Bristol Bridge, my previous experience of the city, nearly three years old now but still vividly remembered, told me that I was in the Redcliffe district where the weavers had their quarters, huddled in the lee of St Thomas's Church. There were rich dwellings here, as I recalled, but this was a weaver's cottage. Or had been, I guessed, when Mistress Walker's husband was alive; and it said much for the master that he had not turned her and her daughter out after the man's untimely death, although she was undoubtedly valuable as a spinner.
That was my last thought as I drifted once more into a semi-conscious state. The soft, low tones of women's voices, the rustle of their feet among the floor rushes, were only dimly heard; their gentle touch, as they washed mid fed me and attended to more intimate needs, only vaguely felt. I had retreated again into darkness and a world where I either burned or froze, but which was never free of demons.
The second time I came to myself, it was night. Rushlights burned in candle-holders set on table and chest.
Shadows flickered and curtseyed across the walls.
Margaret Walker was spinning by the light of a dying fire, while the girl Lillis sat and watched her. I realized with a shock that I had been moved to the comfort of the bed, and that the mattress I had lain on formerly was rolled up, together with the blankets, against one wall, and was, presumably, being used by the women. Had I been so ill that such a sacrifice was necessary? It must have been so, and indeed, when I made an attempt to move and call out, my limbs and voice refused to obey me. The most I could achieve was a feeble motion of one hand and a kind of mangled croak.
It was enough, however, to attract Lillis's attention and to bring her immediately to my side. 'He's awake, Mother,' she said, and the chatter of the spinning-wheel ceased.
Margaret Walker crossed the room in her deliberate, unhurried fashion, and smiled down at me. 'Don't try to talk,' she instructed, placing a soothing hand on my forehead. 'I expect you're thirsty. Lillis, fetch water and put some of that dried lettuce-juice powder in it. It'll make him sleep and that's what he needs just now. You've been very sick,' she added, confirming my own suspicions, 'and it will take a day or so yet before you're fit enough to be allowed out of bed.' She took the beaker handed to her by Lillis and held it to my lips. 'Get this down. It will do you good.' She propped up my shoulders while I drank, then lowered me back on to the pillows. 'Can you manage to tell me your name?' she asked. 'It's difficult not knowing what to call you.'
'Roger,' I whispered and closed my eyes. It worried me that I felt so weak, and that so little effort left me exhausted. I needed to get back on the road as soon as possible and to stop imposing on the charity of these good women.
Margaret seemed to read my thoughts. 'You're not to worry,' she admonished me. 'You must stay here until you are completely well. It's no hardship to us. In fact, it's a pleasure to me to have a man to look after again. I've missed the sense of purpose since my father died…' She broke off short, as though she had said more than she intended, and got up from her seat on the edge of the bed. 'There! Try to sleep now.'
She returned to her spinning-wheel, calling sharply to Lillis, who showed a tendency to linger at the bedside, smoothing my forehead with small, cold fingers. I smiled at the girl and let my eyelids droop, but continued watching her from beneath my lashes.
Lillis Walker was slight and very dark. Thin and plain, her huge brown eyes and coils of thick black hair were her two redeeming features. Her skin was sallow, her face elfin, and her body had the sharp angularity of a child's.
I still remember the surprise I felt when I learned that she was less than two years younger than myself, and was approaching her twentieth birthday. Her movements were quick and birdlike as she darted impulsively from one thing to another, her bright, inquiring gaze taking in everything around her. She had a strong Celtic strain, derived from her maternal grandmother, a Cornishwoman, and her father's people, who had originally come from Wales. All this, however, I learned much later, when I was up and about. That evening, as I lay and watched her as she returned reluctantly to her mother's side, I simply thought her a rather odd child.
The dried lettuce juice was starting to work its potent spell, lulling me once more into a troubled sleep, when there was a knock on the door which jerked me awake.
Both women stared silently for a moment, first at the door, then at each other.
'Don't answer,' breathed Lillis.
The tapping came again, soft but persistent. With a resigned sigh, Margaret rose to her feet and drew back the bolts and bar before opening the door a crack. From where I was lying, the aperture was just wide enough to help me make out a shadowy form and the gleam of a lantern, partially obscured by a drape of black cloth. Whoever stood outside was evidently at pains not to advertise his presence as he went about his business through the dark streets. This reticence might simply have been the result of its being after curfew, but somehow I did not think so. Obedience to the bell was no longer as strictly enforced as it had been once upon a time, any more than curfew's original purpose of damping down fires was nowadays regularly observed.