by Ann Benson
When Janie opened her eyes again, they were at the far side of the field. “We’re almost there,” she said, shifting her position in the bucket seat. She sat up straighter and started giving directions. “You have to drive around, that way,” she said, waving her hand frantically. “There’s a drive on the opposite side. We can get pretty close to the cottage.”
He turned down the drive and brought the car to a skidding halt as close to the thicket as he could. Acorns flew out from under the tires, striking the undercarriage with sharp pings. They jumped out of the car and headed down the dirt path.
As they hurried toward the twisted oaks, the same wind that had challenged Sarin earlier came up to protest their intrusion. Bruce pulled his jacket tighter around himself, and Janie shielded her face from flying twigs and leaves.
“Where did this wind come from? Do you remember this from when you were here before?”
“No!” Janie shrieked. “There was nothing like it! We just walked right through the trees.”
Another gust blasted through the opening between the oaks, pushing them back. “It’s like something doesn’t want us to go through there!” Bruce yelled.
Janie stopped, paralyzed. “Oh, God, I’m so scared …” she shouted. She stood in the wind, clutching her jacket around herself, her eyes closed to protect them from the flying debris.
Bruce turned around and took her arm, pulling her forward. “Come on,” he shouted above the howl.
She just stood there trembling as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “I can’t go any farther,” she shrieked.
He pulled her forward again, but she resisted. The wind swirled furiously around them, chilling them. She started to turn and run. Bruce grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Shouting to be heard, he said. “You have no choice. And I’m in this as deeply as you are now. And I’m just as afraid. We need to get this finished.”
He pulled her forward toward the cottage. “Ready?” he said.
She gave him a tentative and unconvincing nod, but it was good enough for him. With a mighty effort they leapt through. As they passed between the trees, the wind died completely. They stood together in the warm, calm air and brushed away the leaves and twigs that clung like seed burrs to their clothing and hair, then they took each other’s hand and proceeded at a fast run to the cottage door. Without knocking Janie pushed it slowly open with one hand and they stepped through with great caution, ducking their heads as they entered.
They stood in the small main room of the cottage and looked around silently. Bruce was awestruck by what he saw before him. He pursed his lips and made a low whistle of amazement. “Hello, Middle Ages,” he said.
Everything was old, and small, and very carefully arranged. A stone fireplace stood with a slate hearth before it; a steaming kettle hung from a hook in the center. There were no electric lights, only lanterns and candles; the only sign of modern civilization was an old black metal telephone of the stand-up type with a rotary dialer.
“I feel like I just stepped back in time,” Bruce said.
The room was only dimly lit, but Janie noticed immediately the striking changes that had been made since the first time she’d been there. “This looks like a completely different place,” she whispered. “When I was here before, it looked like no one had cleaned in about ten years. Now it’s as if it’s been turned into some sort of a shrine.” She glanced around anxiously for the old man who’d summoned them. “I wonder where Sarin is.”
Her eyes were drawn to the soft light of many candles, spilling from a small room off to one side. “Look over there,” Janie said, pointing in the direction of the open door. Like a moth she was instinctively attracted to the light and found herself crossing the room. Bruce followed and was soon at her side in the doorway.
Janie drew in a soft gasp. Lying on the bed, her red hair glowing, in crisp linens festooned with red bows, was the still body of Caroline Porter.
Janie whimpered and brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God, Bruce,” she said as she clutched him for support. “We’re too late.”
Bruce gently removed himself from her grasp and went to the bedside without her. The woman who lay there was barely recognizable as Caroline. Her skin was as pale as chalk, but around her neck was a hideous necklace of pus-filled blackish lumps. Her lips were cracked to bloodiness, and her fingers, neatly folded around a bouquet of dried herbs, were nearly purple.
Janie stepped forward timidly and came to his side. When she saw the extent of Caroline’s deterioration, she began to cry again. She reached out and would have embraced Caroline’s still form, but Bruce restrained her.
And though what she saw with her eyes was Caroline, what appeared in her mind were the bodies of her child and her husband. They died too quickly; I never touched either one of them. Her personal tragedy came crashing back again with the devastating force of a freight train, and she began to struggle against Bruce’s grip, trying to reach the bed. “Please let me go. I just want to touch her for myself, just once,” she pleaded.
Bruce grabbed her more tightly, but he was surprised by the strength of her resistance. “Janie, no,” he said. “You can’t. We’ve already been too close to this.” He held her back almost fiercely. “You can’t risk it.”
Finally she gave in and let him hold her. They stood there in the silent glow clinging desperately to each other. Janie’s nightmarish memories of the Outbreaks flooded through her, but she fought them off bravely, surviving the horror again by getting through first one second, then the next, with a strength she did not recognize as her own.
There was no sound but Janie’s quiet crying, until a low soft moan came out of the darkness. Bruce looked around quickly, sure that he’d heard something, a human sound, but he saw no one. He listened intently for another moment and heard the sound again; this time he paid attention to the direction from which it came. He let go of Janie and moved to the end of the bed. As he looked downward, his eyes came to rest on an old man, who rocked back and forth, cradling a motionless dog in his arms. He touched Janie’s arm and said urgently, “Look! At the end of the bed!”
Shocked back to the present, Janie wiped the hot tears away from her eyes and rushed to Sarin’s side. She crouched down next to him and touched him gently on the shoulder.
“Mr. Sarin?” she said. He kept rocking, ignoring Janie’s attempt to get his attention. “Mr. Sarin!” she said more forcefully. “Please, Mr. Sarin!”
He looked at her blankly, dazed and confused, but soon a weak smile of recognition appeared on his face. “Oh, hello, miss,” he said slowly. He cradled the dog’s head and raised it a little, as if offering the animal to her. “Look, here. My dog’s passed over.”
Tentatively, she reached out and touched the dog’s head, not knowing what to say. She finally said, “I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s a hard thing, death, when it’s not expected.…”
His statement brought a new flood of tears from the woman beside him. “I know, I know,” she sobbed. “My friend over there …”
Sarin looked at her quizzically, still dazed. “But she’s not dead,” he said.
Twenty-Five
Isabella’s ladies chatted gaily as they attended to the unpacking of the baggage. Their lives had been bleak and colorless since the arrival of the plague, and the bright new finery represented the long-awaited end of its dismal influence. Thrilling tournaments and brave knights awaited them on the morrow, and the ladies of the court could barely contain their excitement. Only Adele had not given herself over to the pleasantries in which her companions now readily engaged, for her thoughts were focused on extricating herself from her own indelicate predicament.
“Despite your malaise, I do not excuse you from the festivities,” Isabella had said to her. She had firmly insisted that Adele attend, asserting that it would lift her sagging spirits, and that her own pleasure would be increased by Adele’s presence.
But how can my heart be light and gay, how can I
add to her pleasure, when Isabella herself has been the cause of so much of my unhappiness? Even after their supposed reconciliation Adele could not forget that it was for Isabella’s comfort that the king had decided to send her along on the long journey to Bohemia.
With great pain Adele realized that she no longer trusted the princess, and that their once deep friendship had been replaced by uneasiness. I do not trust that she will petition her father on my behalf, Adele thought to herself, and as the truth of the realization dawned on her, she began to feel great anger toward the woman she had once loved as a sister.
Another suspicion gnawed at her even more deeply, one she hardly dared voice, even to herself. Was it truly your father’s idea to send me, she wondered, or was it yours? Would you sabotage my happiness because you have none of your own?
But the princess went about her preparations for the festivities as if their once intimate sorority remained intact. Nothing further had been said of the proposed betrothal, nor was there any mention of plans for Isabella’s promised attempt to help Adele overturn the king’s decision. Each woman went about her separate business, with no unnecessary words passing between them.
Old Nurse watched these goings-on with a heavy sense of resignation. She had always feared that it was within Isabella to be heartless and cruel, for she had witnessed the cruelty with which the queen had treated Kate, and doubted not that the princess was made of the same stuff.
Adele lay low while the other ladies saw to the tasks of adorning their mistress. For some time they huddled around her, tucking and pinning and smoothing, until all but Isabella’s jewelry and shoes were in place.
“I shall just be a minute in seeing to the final touches,” Isabella said excitedly, and left the huddle of ladies to enter her private chamber. And true to her promise, she returned shortly, completely decked out in the official robes of the Order of the Garter. Her long gown was entirely made of shimmering velvet, in a deep sapphire, the same wondrous clear blue as the precious gems set into the crown upon her head. Small silver embroideries decorated the bodice, sleeves, and hem of the magnificent garment, and a filmy veil trimmed in silver cascaded down the graceful curve of the princess’ back. She lifted the skirt of her gown, causing a flurry of giggles among the observers, and showed her dainty feet, shod in embroidered silver slippers, the toes encrusted with tiny gems.
Applause rose up from the ladies in the room, and the gown was examined minutely, for each lady would wear a less ornate but similar dress of her own, furnished at royal expense, as a gift from Isabella. All praised the fine workmanship and intricate detail, all except Adele, who sat quietly, too preoccupied by her rising nausea and her growing revulsion for Isabella.
Her disdain was not unnoticed by the princess, who walked through the group of ladies toward her favorite. The conversation hushed, and there was complete silence by the time Isabella stood before Adele, whose skin color was once again as white as the linen of her chemise. Isabella turned a graceful circle in front of her pale companion, and the hem of her gown rustled softly as it settled back around her. Adele made no comment.
Her eyebrows raised in suspicion, Isabella said, “You are strangely quiet, Adele. Are you still unwell?”
“More so,” she said, “for now my heart is breaking too.”
Isabella eyed her curiously. “I do not understand,” she said.
“It is your doing, so you must understand,” she said. Then, quietly, Adele revealed her suspicion. “It was not your father’s idea to send me along with you. It would do him no good to do so. It must have been yours.”
Isabella’s smile faded. “We shall take this up with my father at another time, dear friend, for tonight we shall celebrate.”
“And why should I celebrate?” Adele said bitterly. “What wonderful things will happen to us that we should celebrate? You are to be betrothed to a man you do not love, and I am to be dragged away unwilling at your pleasure from the one I do love. What cause for celebration is this?”
“Adele,” Isabella said, “this matter shall be discussed at another time.”
Her anger now fully blown, Adele said, “There shall be no other time, for I shall leave your service immediately.”
Isabella stiffened and said, “I forbid it. My father shall forbid it.”
“You and your father be damned.”
Isabella reached out her hand and slapped Adele firmly on the face. As Adele stood there, her hand to her cheek, tears welling up in her eyes, Isabella smiled and said, “Lady Throxwood, I am still waiting for your opinion of my gown.” She looked Adele straight in the eye, and asked, “Am I not a fair sight to behold?”
Adele stared back, battling back the rising bile, returned her lady’s rude stare with equal malevolence, and said, “Truly, Princess, you are beyond all description.”
She noted with great satisfaction the furious look on Isabella’s face when the true meaning of her reply became clear. Shocked into speechlessness, Isabella picked up the hem of her gown as if she were going to depart. But before the princess could turn to leave, Adele gave in to the plague within her and, laughing bitterly, vomited all over Isabella’s dainty silver feet.
As he crossed the drawbridge into Canterbury Castle, Alejandro saw the workmen erecting observation stands in the field nearby, and knew that soon many brave knights would be showing their skills before the crowds. Adele had told him so on one of their last nights together, trying to prepare him for the benefits and obligations of knighthood.
He explained himself to the warder, and was directed to the captain of the guard, who he was told would know the king’s whereabouts. He took only his saddlebag with him and left his horse loosely tied to the post, with instructions to the groom to leave the animal there until he sent word to stable it.
“He’s out on maneuvers with some of his troops, I’m afraid,” said the captain. “There’ll be no audiences until tomorrow.”
“Is there no minister I can see? I bring word of the resurgence of the pestilence in the countryside.”
The man’s jaw dropped in stunned surprise. “God in heaven!” he cried. “Truly, then, this cannot wait. You must speak with Master Gaddesdon! He’s physician to the whole royal family, just returned from Eltham with the younger children. He’ll know what to do.”
Alejandro finally found his unmet colleague in the anteroom of the king’s quarters, and introduced himself immediately, saying he had urgent business.
“Ah, yes, Master Hernandez! The king speaks generously of your medical skills. I am honored to meet you.”
“No, kind sir,” said Alejandro, keeping in mind the rituals the English used in their socializing. “It is I to whom the honor of our meeting belongs.”
Alejandro hastened to give a detailed accounting of the events that had led him to think the plague had resurfaced in the outlying areas, and explained his theory of how new victims might be cured. “I have written it all to His Majesty in my letters. Surely he showed them to you.”
“He did,” Gaddesdon said, “but pray elaborate.” He gave the appearance of listening carefully, nodding gravely when it was appropriate for him to do so, seeming to pay strict attention.
Alejandro finally concluded, “I have good reason to believe that these cases are the beginning of the widespread return of this scourge, for it begins as it did in Europa, progressing several leagues each day, until its effects are felt to the very edge of the ocean. There is no reason to think otherwise.”
Gaddesdon was briefly silent. “Master Hernandez,” he began, using the title that equalized them, although Alejandro’s education was far superior, “we are of the opinion here that the few isolated cases you report do not indicate enough of a threat to alarm the citizenry. King Edward is anxious to see that things get back to normal as soon as possible, for his revenues are projected to be quite poor this year as a result of last year’s events. We are waging a war, which I am sure you know to be an expensive pursuit. I’m afraid there is nothing to b
e done until there is much greater proof.”
“Is not the demise of an entire monastery enough? And what of the family who perished previously? Is not that sufficient evidence?”
Gaddesdon said, “How can you in fact be sure that those inside the monastery did not perish last autumn and remain unburied?”
“The smell was that of new death, not old.”
“All death smells vile, and enclosed in a hot edifice, I daresay even the keenest sense could not discern the difference.”
“And what of the cure? Will the king support me in this discovery?”
“His Majesty is of the opinion that it would be a great sacrilege to further harm those who have already died. I have advised him that I know of no such cure for any other malady, and that I doubt the merit of your treatment. But he has agreed to give it his consideration, as I believe he has already informed you. You must be patient, and await his pleasure.”
Then the sting of unwelcome understanding hit him and Alejandro thought, This man believes I usurp his position with the king! And because of his pettiness many will die. Furious at Gaddesdon’s unwillingness to support his theory, he said, “I shall take this up with the king personally upon his return.”
“Of course you may do so,” Gaddesdon said, “but you will find him quite busy this evening, and disinclined to listen to your tales. Tomorrow he will be busy with the installation of many new knights, yourself among them, I am told. You are to be congratulated, of course, and I have no doubt that the honor is richly deserved. But as to this other matter, bring us more proof, and then you will have his ear.”
He did not know what to do. He would have to find Adele, and with her usual wisdom, she would advise him.
Twenty-Six
Janie gripped Sarin by the shoulders and shook him. “What do you mean Caroline’s not dead?” Her eyes were wild with disbelief.
Sarin recoiled, frightened by her sudden explosion of anger. He was confused; he’d been certain she would be pleased to hear what he’d told her. He repeated himself, hoping she would not react so violently. “She’s not dead.” His own voice sounded distant to him, as if he had drifted off somewhere. “There’s something I’m supposed to do, but I can’t remember.… I’m so tired.…”
