Mist Over the Water

by Alys Clare

  There must have been hundreds of workers there on the island, all of them connected in some way with the new cathedral build, all of them housed in temporary lodgings. Was there, then, a specific area where they were putting up? It seemed likely. I looked swiftly around me. Spotting a plump and cheerful woman of about my mother’s age, holding the hand of a small child, I approached her.

  ‘Good evening,’ I said, and she returned the greeting with a smile. ‘I’m looking for the workmen’s quarters – my cousin is wounded, and I’ve come to help him.’

  Her smile widened and I could have sworn she winked. ‘Have you now!’ she said. I realized, suddenly, what sort of a girl she thought I was, and I felt the hot flush spread across my face.

  ‘Yes,’ I said simply.

  She studied me and her salacious grin slowly faded. ‘Oh.’ Then, shortly, ‘Sorry. My mistake. The workmen lodge down there.’ She nodded down the alley that ran along the abbey wall. ‘Cross the marketplace then take any one of the streets leading off it to the south. There’s a huddle of lodgings down there towards the water, set up in the shelter of the abbey wall.’

  She was gone before I had finished thanking her; it was her turn to blush.

  Sibert grinned hugely. ‘She thought you were a—’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sibert, I know what she thought I was.’ I didn’t want to dwell on that so I set off down the alley, and I heard his footsteps as he fell in behind me. We strode across the marketplace – empty now – and hurried down the first of the alleys leading off it. Presently, the more solid, permanent houses petered out, and we found ourselves in the workmen’s quarter.

  You couldn’t really call the dwellings houses. Some were not too bad, although the walls looked flimsy and the roofs must surely let in the rain. Some were no more than lean-tos, and although we tried not to it was all but impossible not to catch glimpses of men huddling round small, inadequate hearths, with cloaks, blankets or even sacks wrapped round their shoulders to keep out the all-pervasive damp. Down towards the water, the plump woman had said, and now I realized what she meant. Space was in short supply on the island of the eels, and the only place to house the suddenly expanded workforce was down on the low ground where nobody else – nobody in their right mind – would want to live.

  A man pushed past us, presumably making for his lodgings, then quickly apologized. ‘Didn’t see you there,’ he muttered.

  I stopped him. ‘I’m looking for my cousin,’ I said for the third time. ‘His name’s Morcar and he’s injured. I’m a healer,’ I added, in case this man thought, like the plump woman, that it was other comforts I was offering.

  The man spun round, and I thought I saw relief in his face. ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ I snapped out.

  ‘Oh, yes, I certainly do,’ the man replied angrily. ‘He lodges next door to me, and his moans and groans have kept me awake these past nights!’ Then his better nature got the better of him. ‘I’m right glad to see you, girl, and so will he be,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the way.’

  He set off at a trot along an alley that led off to our right, and we passed several dwellings that gave the impression they were leaning on each other for support. Their walls were made of hazel hurdles on which daub had been haphazardly slapped, and not one of them had a properly fitting door. The man stopped at the one that was almost at the end of the row, and pushing open the door – I noticed that he did not bother to knock – he jerked his head towards a long shape lying on the floor and said, ‘There he is.’

  He was about to leave – I could sense how much he wanted to be away from the foetid, stinking little space – but, again, he must have listened to the voice of his conscience. He leaned close to me and said softly, ‘If you need anything, my door’s next one down.’

  There were two things I needed immediately. ‘I must have water and I need to mend the fire,’ I whispered. There was a hearth in the middle of the floor – my cousin lay curled around it – but the circle of stones enclosed little more than faintly glowing embers.

  The man nodded. ‘Firewood’s behind the house. Water you’ll need to send your man to fetch –’ I realized who he meant, and I almost laughed as Sibert’s faint snort of protest indicated that he did too – ‘from the end of the track. You’ll find a bucket and pots in the corner there.’ He indicated to where the vague shapes of cooking pots and other utensils lay in a heap.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very kind.’ I realized he was swaying with exhaustion. ‘Go and get some rest.’

  He bowed briefly and hurried away.

  Sibert had struck his flint and was putting a light to a tallow lamp on the floor beside the insensate Morcar. I smelt the fat and registered it as one more unpleasant aroma in the midst of all the others. Then I gathered my courage and looked around me.

  The room was filthy. There were the remnants of very old straw on the beaten earth floor, and from the stench I knew it must be sodden with urine and worse. Morcar lay on a thin piece of sacking, and that, too, was soaking. I could see suspicious stains spreading out from his backside. It looked as if he had tried to wrap himself in his cloak, but then the heat of his fever must have made him push it off, for now he was naked except for a linen shift, torn open to the waist, and his hose.

  His face was deadly pale. He was soaked with sweat and shivering like a wet dog. I made myself look at his wounded foot and then wished I hadn’t, for it was caked with black blood, oozing yellow pus and it stank of rot.

  I glanced at Sibert. He was staring fixedly down at Morcar, his expression a mixture of revulsion and compassion. Before revulsion could win the upper hand, it was time to get him busy.

  ‘Sibert, please would you build a good fire?’ I said, gratified to note that my voice sounded calm. ‘As quickly as you can, for the first thing to do is to prepare hot water and lots of it.’

  Sibert turned his eyes to me. He looked as if he were about to be sick, and I could not blame him. Through my work with Edild I was starting to get used to the various stenches of disease, but all the same I could feel my mouth filling with water as I desperately quelled the heaves that rose up from my stomach.

  ‘We’re going to clean up?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ I said firmly. ‘We’re going to make this little room smell as good as Edild’s house, and we’ll wash poor Morcar till he’s fresh as a newly baptized baby.’

  Sibert put aside his squeamishness and worked tirelessly, splitting wood, building up the fire steadily until he could put on larger logs. Then he took the bucket down to wherever this community drew their water, following my instructions and first filling the vessels in which I would make the infusions, suspending them on a tripod above the heat. Next he filled a larger pot for washing water. While he was busy with this I rolled Morcar off his sacking and on to the cleanest of the straw, which I had heaped up ready. Then I swept out not only the space where he had been lying but also the rest of the floor area, what there was of it, right down to the bare, beaten earth. In his foraging Sibert had located the clean straw supply, and he dragged in a bale, cutting the twine around it and strewing it on the clean floor. We padded it up as best we could, and then I took a sheet from my pack and laid it on the makeshift palliasse. Sibert took Morcar’s blanket outside and gave it a good shake – it was not soiled because, like his cloak, he must have pushed it off as he burned with fever – and folded it up out of the way until we needed it.

  Then I turned my attention to my cousin.

  It was fortunate that I did not know him very well for the tasks I had to do for him now were of the most intimate nature. He was my patient before he was my kinsman, and I found it easy to find the necessary detachment, focusing only on caring for him. Sibert helped me strip off his foul garments, taking them outside the house. I would see to them later. Then I dipped a length of linen in the hot water and began to bathe the stinking, sweaty, soiled body. It took two cha
nges of water until I was satisfied. I had thrown a handful of dried lavender flowers into the water as it simmered and now at last the sweet, sharp smell was overcoming Morcar’s stench.

  The water in the smaller vessels had come to the boil, and I paused in my washing task to make the febrifuge, making up a brew of white willow bark. As soon as it was sufficiently cool, I tried to feed a little to Morcar. Sibert propped up his head, and I put some drops on his cracked lips. As I had hoped, he licked them off with his poor, dry tongue, so I dripped some more. Slowly, I warned myself. Slowly, for probably he has not drunk for a long time, and too much all at once will only make his stomach clench so that he vomits.

  Then at last I looked at his foot.

  I had not yet even washed it, merely covering it with linen while I attended to the rest of him; I was afraid that the wound would start to bleed as soon as I touched it, and I wanted to be sure that both he and the room were as clean as I could make them before that happened. I was ready now. I nodded to Sibert, and he came to kneel beside me at Morcar’s feet, holding the lamp so that its light shone down on the wounds.

  I removed the piece of linen. I dipped my washing cloth in the lavender-scented water and, taking a steadying breath, began to bathe Morcar’s right foot. As the crust of blood and pus came away I saw that there were not one but two wounds, one deeper than the other and torn around its edges. As gently as I could, hoping that my cousin was too deep in his unconsciousness to feel the pain I must be causing, I delved into the bloody holes in his flesh.

  I had almost forgotten about Sibert when he spoke. ‘Looks as if he speared himself with a pitchfork,’ he whispered.

  I only remembered then that he didn’t know the details of Morcar’s accident. ‘Almost right,’ I whispered back, ‘but it wasn’t a pitchfork, it was an eel gleeve.’

  ‘Er—’

  I smiled. ‘It’s what they call the three-pronged thing they catch eels with.’

  ‘You would know,’ Sibert remarked. As I’ve said, my father is an eel catcher, but he invariably uses willow traps rather than a spear. It was not really the moment to mention it though so I just nodded.

  I concentrated on the wounds, trying to bring to mind everything Edild had ever told me about deep cuts. Stop the bleeding. Well, it had stopped now, or at least it had till I’d started poking at the holes, and now the blood was only welling up slowly as if in token protest. Clean out pus and dirt. Yes, done that. Check for damaged bones. Hmm. Trickier; if I eased open the wider wound I could see pale bone, but judging whether or not there was any break was beyond my skill. I would just have to hope there wasn’t. Stitch if necessary. Oh, Edild, must I stitch the bigger wound? If there is play in the edges of the cut, then yes. I don’t think I can! I’ve only ever practised on a pig’s bladder! You must. Do it now.

  I was used to obeying my aunt and even now, when the authoritative voice only existed inside my head, I did so. I asked Sibert to fetch my pack and rummaged in it for my bone needle and the thread made of gut. Then, working from the middle outwards, I put five stitches in Morcar’s foot.

  I sat back on my heels looking down at what I had just done. Then suddenly, the tension and the fear caught up with me and my head swam. Don’t you dare faint! said Edild in my head. You haven’t finished yet.

  But it was not my aunt but Sibert who brought me back to myself. He was staring at Morcar’s foot, then looking up at me, slowly shaking his head.

  ‘What is it?’ I demanded urgently. Had he spotted something I’d missed?

  He smiled, then a soft laugh broke out of him. ‘Lassair, you just sewed up someone’s foot,’ he said, still smiling. ‘You really are a healer, aren’t you?’

  I was absurdly pleased, so much so that I could have hugged him. I didn’t. Instead I repeated his words silently to myself, my confidence rising with each repetition. Then, before I could get carried away with my own importance, I reminded myself that there was still a long way to go.

  ‘He’s not better yet,’ I said quietly. I rested a hand on Morcar’s leg. ‘He’s aflame with fever. I’m going to dress these wounds –’ I reached for comfrey to make a poultice – ‘and then we’ll try to get some more of the willow bark infusion into him.’

  It was a very long night.

  Once Morcar was clean and bandaged, Sibert and I laid him on the clean sheet and wrapped him up in his blanket. He was burning up and shivering at the same time, and I did not know whether to cover him to keep him warm or to remove the bedding to cool him. I compromised by tucking him up but removing the blanket frequently to sponge him down. All the time I kept dribbling more and more of the febrifuge into his parched mouth; soon he was actually drawing the liquid in, which I hoped was a good sign.

  When, amid the sponging and the administering of the medicine, I occasionally had a moment’s rest, I closed my eyes and prayed as hard as I could to the friendly guardian spirits who help healers in their work, begging them to guide my hands and make me do what was right. Recalling that we were cheek by jowl with a great Christian abbey – the second-largest in all of England, men said – I also appealed to the good Lord as well. I muttered Edild’s favourite incantation, over and over again. Whenever I felt my eyelids droop, I made myself get up and feed some more of the infusion into my cousin.

  Sibert was fast asleep, curled up in a ball on the far side of the hearth. I did not blame him; he had worked as hard as a man could work, and I was enormously grateful. Besides, Morcar was my patient; it was up to me to sit vigil by him.

  I think I dozed for a while for suddenly the little room seemed brighter. Not exactly light; just not quite so dark. I guessed dawn must be close. Feeling guilty that I had slept, I rolled closer to Morcar and stared down at him. The tallow lamp had gone out, its fuel exhausted, but there was enough light from the glowing fire for me to see him well enough.

  I studied the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing more deeply now, and that frightening gasp, pause, gasp as he struggled for air had eased. His face was not so deathly pale and his brow no longer had the sheen of sweat. Tentatively, hardly daring to hope, I stretched out my hand and put it on his forehead. He was still hot, still full of fever, but no longer burning up.

  Perhaps it was time to hope that he just might live.

  I sat down cross-legged beside his head and prayed.

  Some time later Morcar opened his eyes. He looked at me, and it was instantly apparent that he had no idea who I was. Well, he hadn’t seen me for quite some time so that was not necessarily significant. I smiled. ‘Hello, Morcar,’ I said softly. No need to wake Sibert yet.

  ‘Hello,’ he responded. He stared around him, frowning.

  ‘You are in your lodgings on the island of Ely,’ I said. ‘You came here to find work, and you had an accident. You stuck an eel gleeve into your foot, and you have had a high fever.’

  He absorbed that in silence for some moments. Then he said, ‘My head hurts.’

  Yes, it would. ‘I’ll try to relieve it.’ I got up and squeezed out a fresh piece of linen in cold water, placing the cloth on his forehead.

  ‘Nice,’ he whispered. His eyes drooped closed.

  I left the cloth in place until it grew warm, then removed it and plunged it back in the water. Then I put a drop of lavender on the fingers of each hand and, making small circles, very gently worked across his face from temples to the middle of his forehead and back again. He murmured and stirred but did not speak. Presently, I wrung out the cloth again and replaced it, leaving him to sleep.

  I set about preparing the next batch of medicine. Now there were other ingredients to add besides the willow bark, and I frowned in concentration as I brought to mind Edild’s instructions. I was absorbed in my task, and when Morcar’s great cry rang out it made me jump so much that I scattered the contents of a sachet of dried hemp all over the floor.

  I rushed to his side, reaching out to push him back for he was twisting and turning, trying to sit up, and I feared for the stitche
s in his foot if he went on moving so violently. ‘There, now, there, lie back, Morcar,’ I said, trying to make my voice steady, for I read pure horror in his wild eyes.

  He collapsed back on to the bed, his face an agony of fear. ‘Don’t let it get me!’ he moaned. ‘Oh, they are there, and they are so dark! I am afraid – so afraid!’

  I put my hand on his head, holding it down, my other hand resting against his shoulder. ‘Be still,’ I crooned, ‘rest, Morcar.’ I sensed Sibert behind me. ‘We will look after you.’

  ‘Don’t let it get me!’ Morcar whimpered again.

  They? It? I wondered what ghastly enemies he saw in his feverish mind. Suddenly, he caught sight of Sibert, and his terrified scream hurt my ears.

  ‘Hush, hush!’ I said. ‘Don’t be alarmed, it’s only Sibert. He’s my friend, and he has been helping me look after you.’

  ‘I have, she’s right!’ Sibert piped up anxiously. ‘You’re safe,’ he added.

  Morcar stared from one to the other of us, his eyes still dark with fear and his lips moving soundlessly. Then he said, ‘Is it nearly morning?’

  I was close to tears, pity for him undermining me. ‘Yes, Morcar.’

  I saw him relax slightly. ‘They will not come while it is light, will they?’

  ‘No.’ I hastened to reassure him, although I had no idea what he was talking about. He went on staring up at us, and then slowly his eyes closed. His breathing deepened. He was asleep.

  Slowly, I stood up, turning round to Sibert.

  ‘What on earth was that about?’ Sibert whispered.

  I shrugged. ‘He’s still feverish. He was probably just rambling with delirium.’

  Sibert looked down at him. ‘Poor man.’ Then, after a moment, ‘What shall I do now?’

  I was so grateful for his support. So much so that, following on so closely after my moment of emotion over Morcar, for the second time I almost broke down. That, however, would have been self-indulgence, and, as Sibert had just reminded me, there was work to do.