He was still watching me, a slightly quizzical look on his handsome face that bore the dignity of ancient kings. He was, I realized, checking to see if I had understood. I gave him a quick smile and nodded — just at that moment, I could find nothing to say — and he murmured, ‘Good.’ Then he braced his shoulders and strode on up the long rise to the abbey.
When we were still some distance away and out of sight of anyone watching from the settlement or the abbey, we paused, stepped off the road into a small copse of willow trees and resumed our old man and daughter guises. It was Hrype’s idea — I had, in truth, been far too preoccupied with thoughts of my sister to think about the dangers that might or might not be posed by a fanatical priest to a cunning man and an apprentice healer, but Hrype was clearly taking no chances. When we were ready, he looked me over with critical eyes and then gave a curt nod.
We went on, at a much slower, more painful gait, Hrype bowed over and shuffling as if every step hurt, to the abbey. There were a few people moving around in the forecourt, and I looked out for my cheese-seller woman. She did not seem to be there. Hrype was at the gates and already knocking with his staff.
After a few moments the small side gate opened an inch or two, and a nun looked out. It was not the big, hatchet-faced woman who had admitted us before. This one was thin and pale and looked harassed. ‘Yes?’ she said impatiently.
Hrype nudged me. ‘We’re friends of the novice Elfritha, who we’re told is very sick,’ I said, my voice shaking despite my efforts to control it. Now that we were there at the abbey, my anxiety was pressing on me so hard that it was all I could do not to throw myself on the ground and start wailing.
On hearing my sister’s name, a transformation came over the sharp-featured face of the nun. Her eyes softened, and she reached out and took my hand. ‘Come in,’ she said, opening the gate more widely and ushering us through. ‘I will take you to her straight away.’
‘Is she — she’s not-?’ I could not get the question out.
The nun was still holding my hand, and now she gave it a squeeze. ‘She still lives,’ she said. ‘We are praying for her every hour, and our infirmary nuns are doing what they can to help the healer who has come to tend her. She is from Elfritha’s village, so you probably know her.’
I did not know whether or not to say that Edild was my aunt. I sent out a silent question to Hrype, but received no answer. I decided to keep silent. My instinct was to trust this kind nun, but, on the other hand, Hrype and I had just taken some precious time to disguise ourselves, and if we revealed our true identities, our efforts would have been for nothing.
The nun had been hurrying us along, and we had now reached a long, low building across the cloister from the big church. The nun opened the door and led us inside. It was clearly the infirmary, and rows of simple cots lined the walls on each side, about a third of them containing patients. The nun strode down the long room and, at the far end, turned down a little corridor that led off to the right. There was a door in the wall in front of us, which was partly open and led to the cloister. She strode on, coming after a few paces to another, smaller room. Its door was ajar, and the window set high in the wall was open. There was a faint scent of lavender mixed with the tang of rosemary, and I guessed that my aunt had been busy with her precious oils.
Neither open door and window nor sweet perfumes could do much against the stench. Even before I dared risk a glance at my sister, I knew from the smell that she was very, very ill. Anyone expelling that much from their body — from their suffering, heaving stomach and their constantly voiding bowels — must surely be in the last extremities of life.
I stepped inside the little room and looked down at the figure on the bed. Before I could prevent it, a gasp of horrified pity escaped me. My aunt, on her knees beside the low cot, turned round sharply and gave me a frown. One of Edild’s maxims is: never to do or say anything to let a patient know how ill they are. Although my exclamation hardly counted as actually saying anything, she was quite right to admonish me.
I swept down beside her and knelt over Elfritha.
My sister had her eyes closed. They seemed to have sunk in her head, and the eyeballs stood out very round behind the pale, almost translucent lids. Her cheeks looked strangely flat, as if her face were falling in. Her skin was as white as the sheet on which she lay, and her short hair, swept back from her forehead, was soaked in sweat. She appeared to be wearing a thin shift, and that too was soaking, sticking to her body. A sheet was pulled up over her breasts, but I could see her neck, throat and shoulders. The bones stood out stark under the flesh; already, she looked more like a skeleton than a living woman.
I made myself take a few calming breaths. When I was sure I could trust my voice, I turned to my aunt and said, ‘How is she?’
Edild shrugged. ‘She is as you see her,’ she said shortly. You’re a healer, she seemed to be implying. What do you think?
Anyone who did not know my aunt might be forgiven for judging her as detached and unfeeling, considering it was her niece who lay dying on the bed. But I did know her, rather well. I was all too aware that it was her habit to adopt a chilly demeanour at the very times when her heart and her emotions threatened to force her sobbing to her knees.
I put out a hand and gently laid it on my sister’s hot forehead. It might have been my imagination, but I thought she moved, just a tiny amount, as if in response. ‘She is very hot,’ I said. ‘She has sweated a great deal, and her body must be desperate for water.’
‘It is,’ Edild agreed. ‘Yet whenever she takes a decent mouthful, she vomits it up again almost instantly, thereby losing more than she has absorbed.’
That was even worse than I had thought. ‘Oh, but then how-?’
‘I am feeding her tiny amounts at a time,’ Edild interrupted. ‘Watch.’
I moved aside to let her take my place by the bed. Edild took a cup of cold water — I could see how cold it was, for it had formed beads of moisture on the outside of the cup, and I guessed that a concerned nun had just drawn it from some deep well that was their water supply — and dipped a small spoon into it. Very gently, she put the spoon against Elfritha’s slightly open mouth and let one tiny drop fall on to the lower lip. After a moment, the tip of Elfritha’s tongue emerged to lick it away. I wanted her to do it again immediately, over and over until my sister had taken in a decent amount, but Edild sensed my impatience and, turning to me, shook her head.
‘We must not hurry,’ she whispered. A very sweet smile swiftly crossed her face, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. ‘I do know how you feel,’ she added.
I watched as Edild put two more minuscule drops of water on Elfritha’s lip. I fought my desire to grab the cup from her and do it faster, faster. Slowly, I felt the anxiety leave me, until I knelt at Edild’s side, quite calm.
Then she handed me the cup and told me to carry on.
Intent as I was on my sister, I was aware of Edild’s movements only on the edge of my attention. She went to stand beside Hrype, and he put his arms around her. She leaned against him — or, to be exact, she seemed to collapse into him — and for a little while he just held her, as if he were putting some of his formidable strength into her. Then, with a little smile just for him that went straight to my heart, she disengaged herself and stood away from him. I heard them muttering, and it appeared from what I picked up that she was describing the course of Elfritha’s sickness.
‘Is it some disease from which others too are suffering?’ Hrype asked.