The Plague Tales

by Ann Benson

  He needn’t have worried. Caroline mistook his confused and guilty stare to be one of disgust over her appearance, so she pulled the folds of her robe around her more tightly than before. “I look awful, I know,” she said. “Let me clean up a little.”

  Thinking that it was truly amazing what one could accomplish with a properly disapproving look, he said, “Nonsense,” and entered the hotel room. “You just look a little tired, that’s all. That’s only to be expected. A few days’ rest will take care of that.”

  But she was already stumbling off to the bathroom clutching a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, and a few minutes later she emerged looking somewhat fresher. Her hair was neatly combed and pulled back into a ponytail, which worried him, because now that it was off her neck, he could see that the discolorations there were no longer faint. It would be only a matter of time before she took notice of them herself.

  “There, that’s a little better, I hope,” she said. She sat down slowly on her rumpled bed and Ted could see the stiffness with which she eased herself into a sitting position. “I feel a little more human, but not much.” She rubbed her neck with one hand and winced visibly. Looking up at Ted, she noticed he was staring at her, and began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of it. She smiled weakly, hoping to break the spell he seemed to be in. “Tell me about this medicine,” she said.

  What’s to tell? he thought. It’s very simple. I’ll shoot you up, and you’ll either get better or you won’t. But either way, you won’t be leaving this room for a while.…

  “I’ve brought two antibiotics, and I’ll give you an injection of both. I’ll have to give you follow-up injections again tomorrow.” One of the supposed “antibiotics” was in fact a heavy-duty timed-release sedative intended to keep her immobilized for a while. “They’re both pretty powerful. I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt quite drowsy as a side effect.”

  Her face took a cast of suspicion. “I’ve never heard of an antibiotic that had drowsiness as a side effect.”

  It took Ted a few seconds to come up with a plausible explanation. “Er—” he stammered, “it’s, uh, not exactly drowsiness as you’d normally think of it, it’s just that one of these medicines is very powerful, and it can sometimes ‘shock’ the body to the point where the patient feels quite tired. You really should stay in bed while you’re recovering, if that’s at all possible.”

  It was clumsy, he knew, but it seemed to satisfy her. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better,” she said. “But pretty soon I’m going to have to be up and about. We’ve got a deadline and Janie’s going to need my help. And I don’t want to make her any more unhappy than she already is.”

  Ted had no doubt that Janie would be unhappy, but not for the reasons Caroline thought. He hadn’t answered any of the messages Bruce had left from Leeds, nor had he made the requested call to the storage facility on Janie’s behalf. When they finally got back to London, there would be some accountability expected, but Ted had already decided that he would explain to Bruce (confidentially, of course, and with the hope of understanding) that he’d been ill and didn’t want to reveal it. He’d say that he’d stayed home with his beeper shut off so he could recover without being disturbed. Bruce would understand. He didn’t care whether or not Janie understood.

  “Well,” he said, moving his chair closer to the bed where she sat, “let’s get you better so you can get back to work on your project and I can get back to work on mine. Roll up your sleeve, please.”

  She did as he requested. He tore open an alcohol wipe and swabbed an area on her upper arm. He filled one of the syringes with antibiotic from one of the vials, then tapped the side of the syringe until the air bubbles floated to the top. He worked the plunger slightly until all the air was expelled and then took hold of Caroline’s wrist. “Hold still, now,” he said. “This will just take a second.” He pressed the tip of the needle quickly into the flesh of her upper arm and pressed the plunger home.

  Caroline hated injections; it always felt to her like a tiny little rape when the probe entered her skin. She watched Ted’s emotionless expression as he held her arm and pulled out the needle.

  “One more, and then you’re through,” he said.

  Thank God, she thought. She felt the twinge and felt the liquid disperse into the muscle of her upper arm, and finally, blessedly, the needle was out. Ted placed both used syringes and the used alcohol wipes in a plastic bag and then put the bag in his pocket.

  “Now I’ll just stay a few minutes until I’m sure you don’t have a reaction, and then I’ll be off. I’ll call you in the morning to see how you’re doing. You won’t need to see me out. I can make sure the door locks behind me.”

  Caroline felt herself slipping into sleep, and was shocked that an antibiotic could have such an effect on her. She lost more and more control as the seconds ticked away, and finally she closed her eyes and slipped over the edge.

  She fell instantly into a renewed dream state; again, she was the dark young man in her dream, and she found herself in a manor house or some other large stone building. She was watching someone who looked just like her as she dried her hair before a fire. As the dream man, she looked at the dream woman with aching love and she groaned in her sleep as she struggled with the conflict of her discomfort and his desire.

  Ted watched her from a chair near the bed and wondered why her hand suddenly went to her throat as if concealing something. Perhaps she’s dreaming about her bruises, he thought. He was incredibly tired; he could barely move from the chair. It had taken almost all his energy to get through his ersatz treatment of Caroline without collapsing from his own illness. His own heart beat rapidly, but he couldn’t tell if it was from sickness or anxiety.

  With effort he went to Caroline’s refrigerator to look for the fabric sample. He poked around, moving things roughly out of place, his anger and frustration deepening as it became plain to him that the object of his search was just not there. He knew he would use up whatever reserves of energy he had if he allowed his anger to keep a grasp on him, so he sat back down in a chair by the bed and tried to calm himself. He stared at Caroline as she slept.

  She tossed and turned in her fever. She threw off the covers, revealing a long pale leg where her nightdress had become disarranged. The sight of her naked leg brought forth feelings he wouldn’t normally have associated with a situation such as the one he now found himself in. It stirred him, made him want to touch her, and he was momentarily ashamed of himself for such inappropriate sensations. Was this the beginnings of the dementia the medical book had promised? He shuddered briefly, an involuntary spasm, and shook his head to try to clear it. Then he leaned forward and reached for the bedcover; when he finally had it in his grasp he pulled it toward him to cover her again.

  Fatigue and discouragement overwhelmed him. With every moment he could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into depression and fear—yet another symptom, according to the book. The antibiotic he’d given himself didn’t seem to be having much of an effect, and he wondered if it would be a good idea to double the next dose. He considered the idea for a moment. There was little danger that he would react badly to the drug, and some hope that it would do its work more quickly. He peered through slit-eyes at the clock on Caroline’s bedstand and saw that it was nearly time for another dose. Perhaps I ought to go home first and get settled, he considered, maybe take in some nourishment. But as soon as the idea of eating crossed his mind, he began to feel nauseous, and he decided that this was as good a place as any to inject himself with the curative drugs. Why wait? he thought. It will just get to work faster if I do it now.

  With a heavy sigh Ted rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and swabbed the surface of his skin with an alcohol wipe. He pulled a vial out of one pocket, and a clean syringe out of the other, and drew ten milliliters of liquid, double the required dose of five, into the clear plastic vessel of the syringe. Squeezing his eyes shut, for he, too, hated injections, Ted pressed the plunger in as qu
ickly as possible, then pulled the needle out again.

  It was only after he’d pulled the needle out that he took a closer look at the small vial. Instead of the name of the antibiotic, written across the front of it was the name of the sedative. Instead of the recommended one-milliliter dose, Ted had unwittingly injected himself with a ten-milliliter dose.

  In that instant he knew that he had no choice but to call for help, for the sedative was powerful and fast-acting; he had chosen it specifically for those properties. He wasted a few precious seconds in clawing at the skin of his arm as if he might scratch out the lethal liquid, which was now silently but steadily spreading into his body. Everything he had tried so carefully to cover up would soon come to light as a result of his blunder; the truth would have to be revealed to those who answered his call for help. He would be ruined—there could be no doubt about it. So be it, he thought to himself as the sedative began to take hold. I’d rather be alive and ruined than a well-respected dead man.

  These woeful thoughts passed through him in a mere instant, and he surprised himself with how easily he decided to give up everything he’d worked for in exchange for just a few more breaths. I am the Anti-Faust, he thought with some amusement, bargaining with God so I can keep my soul. I’ll do better with another chance, he promised. In a desperate attempt to maintain his life he rose up from the chair and headed toward the small table on which the telephone, his lifeline, sat waiting for his dying fingers to dial it.

  He almost made it, but the sedative finally overtook him in the few steps needed to cross the small room. His knees began to buckle and he felt his consciousness slipping away. His last recognizable thought was an angry Too damned short. He slumped down at the side of the bed, still trying to balance himself, though he was completely unaware of his own instinctual efforts to remain vertical. After a few seconds more of precarious teetering he fell forward and came to rest sprawled across the sleeping Caroline, who was too drugged herself to notice the weight of his body. He breathed his last with his head on her chest.

  Thirteen

  Alejandro regarded the king’s troops as they filed past him in the courtyard at Windsor, every one eager for some task that would take him outside the walls, out to freedom. At his side was Sir John Chandos, who wore the subdued look of one who has resigned himself to some distasteful obligation, but still prays privately for a reprieve.

  “How eagerly they line up to brave this pest,” Chandos said sadly. “They think it some honor to make this ill-omened journey.”

  They are so young, Alejandro thought; every one of them younger than I myself. He turned to Sir John and said, “Who among them is likely to return unscathed?”

  The knight’s eyes wandered down the line, scrutinizing each volunteer, and came to rest on a hearty-looking, handsome young man. He regarded the soldier soberly for a few moments, then barked out an order.

  “Matthews, your king does you great honor. You will represent him on a mission of some importance to the Princess Isabella. Come with me.”

  Alejandro used the last of the herbs he had brought from France to make two protective masks for the riders. He admonished Matthews to drink nothing, eat nothing, touch nothing, and to keep moving at the swiftest pace possible.

  He and Adele watched from a parapet window as Matthews mounted his horse, then turned to his observers and saluted. He rode quickly out of the gate, vanishing in his own trail of dust.

  “May God be with him,” she said.

  “And keep him steady on the path,” Alejandro added.

  Alejandro sent a message to Kate canceling their chess match that evening, for it was his duty to see that Matthews and the tailor Reed were settled into their temporary quarters, and Sir John had told him to expect their return by sunset.

  As he fussed about the converted chapel seeing to last-minute details, the physician wondered if either man would ever emerge alive. Outside Windsor’s walls half of all humanity had perished, and it was therefore only logical that one of the two travelers should contract the pestilence. God alone knew which one it would be. Alejandro said a silent prayer that both would be spared.

  But if the plague ends, I will have no purpose at Windsor, and my welcome will grow thin. My service here will be forgotten by those who will owe me their very lives and futures. And I will not see Adele.

  He thought of Kate, who at a tender age was already hardened by the uncertainty of her position. How had this small child found the strength to thrive in the face of her own powerlessness and anonymity, while all the others around her could command what they wished by simple virtue of their birth? Her bastardy, my deception—they are not unalike, he thought. Neither of us is who we are; we are nameless. It was that possibility of namelessness, that he would live his life without memorable accomplishment, then die alone and unmourned, that Alejandro feared most.

  “Riders approaching!”

  The lookout’s cry was heard in the last few minutes of daylight, and resulted in a flurry of excited activity in the castle’s courtyard. Squinting into the fading light from one of Windsor’s towers, it was a few minutes before Alejandro could discern the red doublet worn by Matthews when he had left earlier. The man riding beside him was bouncing up and down on a horse that was far too heavily laden with parcels. Wearing their hawkish masks, the pair were a bizarre sight indeed.

  But they were no less welcome for their foolish appearance. So starved were the castle’s occupants for news of the outside world that they waited as if for some foreign dignitary or high church official.

  The physician hurried down the stairs to the courtyard. He found Sir John and instructed him on the procedure for their reentry. “Matthews and Reed must unload all of their possessions and lead their horses to the outside holding pen. There they will remove their outer garments and boots. Upon entering through the portcullis they must walk directly to the chapel, touching no one. Inside they will find fresh clothing, and can once again assume a state of proper modesty.”

  Despite Alejandro’s seriousness Sir John chuckled. “I think Matthews has little dislike of being unclothed, even before the ladies, for he is well aware of his own charms, and can be quite the braggart about his abilities with women. He’s more likely to strut like a peacock than slink through the courtyard in shame.”

  “Nevertheless, the man must not stop or approach anyone. His path must be swift and direct.”

  He turned his attention to the gathering crowd, which had grown in size quite dramatically in the last few minutes. Both Isabella and the Black Prince were already among the curious and excited onlookers. Adding to the confusion was the crier’s announcement that King Edward himself approached. Even though he was heavily occupied with the business at hand, Alejandro could not keep himself from looking around for Adele. His searching eyes were rewarded with a glimpse of the gleaming copper hair, and when their eyes met, she flashed him a smile, a momentary respite from the confusion surrounding him.

  It strengthened him. I must gain control of this crowd! he thought, panicking. Otherwise, the reentry will not go as I have planned! He leapt up onto a stone bench and waved his arms frantically, shouting out for the buzzing crowd to listen carefully. When the noise finally abated, he surprised the listeners by making his statement in halting but understandable English.

  “All those who do not wish to risk infection by the plague should stand clear of the path.”

  There was an immediate hum of alarm, and Alejandro jumped down to the dirt again, then strode firmly to the portcullis. Borrowing a flagpole from one of the guards, he drew a line in the dirt, directing the crowd back out of his path as needed, from the gate to the chapel. Then he drew a parallel line back from the chapel to the gate, creating a wide path on which the riders would make their way to the chapel.

  “Clear the way for these men. Their progress must not be impeded for any reason; do not reach out to them or pass any object to them or accept an offering they may make to you. Anyone who steps over this
line will most certainly be afflicted with any contagion carried by either of these men.”

  The onlookers quickly rearranged themselves behind Alejandro’s imaginary wall and soon settled down in quiet anticipation. Alejandro approached the king, who with Queen Philippa stood well back of the line in the center of the courtyard.

  “Your Majesty, I regret this inconvenience. We will have the men settled in just a few minutes and the guards will disperse the crowd if it is your pleasure.”

  “In truth, Dr. Hernandez, I would have a word with both men when they are at last in place. And I would not deny the crowd their pleasure. They are as eager as I am for outside news. It is quite impossible for me to rule my kingdom without knowing what is happening in it.”

  Alejandro knew he should have anticipated this obvious possibility, but he had not, and had no response prepared. Now he would have to rush things to please the king. “Your Majesty,” the physician said, making up his explanation as he went along, “it will be some time before they are ready to see you. They must be properly secured; their belongings must be dealt with. I implore you to be patient.” But Edward, already nearly as tired of his own confinement as his impetuous daughter was of hers, glared at Alejandro with a distinctly hostile look, and spoke in a restrained voice. “Very well,” he said, “I shall return to my private apartments now. But within the hour I shall expect your summons for my interview with our ‘guests.’ They had best be prepared for my arrival. Good evening, Physician.”