by Speer, Flora
“Lady Gina, please,” Fardulf coaxed, tugging at her sleeve, “come to the church as Count Dominick ordered.”
“I can’t leave Dominick!” she cried. “Let me go, Fardulf!” She pulled away from the deacon, seeking the one man who mattered to her.
Dominick and Harulf were shoulder to shoulder, fighting off the horsemen as best they could, but Gina saw that it was hopeless. Their opponents were too many, and there was no way for barely armed men on foot, no matter how brave they were, to win against well-armed, mounted warriors.
So much shouting and violent action could not go unnoticed for long, and, after the many disruptions of recent weeks, the king’s guards were bound to investigate any suspicious uproar. Or perhaps one of the fleeing pedestrians had reached the main gate of the palace and there sounded the alarm.
Without warning a band of men-at-arms erupted around the corner of the palace wall. They were on foot, wearing chainmail, with their swords drawn and ready for battle, and they wasted no time setting upon the horsemen. There were so many men-at-arms that hope blossomed in Gina’s bosom. Surely sheer numbers would overcome the advantage the attacking riders had so far held over their opponents. She saw horsemen dragged from their mounts to fight on foot, while the riderless horses reared and neighed in panic, thus adding to the noise and confusion. In the resulting tangle of men and horses, Gina lost sight of Dominick.
“Gina, you’re bleeding!” Lady Adalhaid caught her arm and held on with a tight grip. “We must get to the church. We can take shelter there. Fardulf, help me with her.”
Fardulf stopped trying to argue with Gina and grabbed her other arm, pulling her in the direction of the church. Both he and Lady Adalhaid were bleeding.
“Dominick!” Gina gasped. “Where is he? I can’t leave him.”
“Dominick is well able to take care of himself in a battle,” Lady Adalhaid said. “Do as he wants, so he doesn’t have to worry about you.”
Reluctantly, knowing Lady Adalhaid was right, Gina allowed herself to be drawn toward the church entrance. They climbed the wide, shallow steps, pausing when they reached the door. While Fardulf was pulling on the heavy handle, Gina looked back to where the fighting continued. From her vantage point three steps above the square she had a good view.
She spotted a man in a bright blue tunic lying face down in the middle of the square. The burly man who stood over him, still laying about with his sword though covered with blood, was unmistakably Harulf – Harulf, who was valiantly protecting his master’s body with his own. But was that master dead or alive?
“Dominick!” Gina screamed. Lady Adalhaid and Deacon Fardulf together were not strong enough to hold her. Breaking away from their restraining hands, she headed straight for Dominick, dodging among the combatants, leaping over a motionless body, barely escaping the downward slash of a rearing horse’s hooves.
“Dominick!” She was kneeling beside him, touching his shoulder, noting the blood that stained his tunic and afraid to turn him over lest she inflict greater damage by moving him. She couldn’t feel any pulse in his neck, and she couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not.
“How is he?” Harulf was squatting beside her, his blood-smeared sword still in his right hand.
“I don’t know.” Gina caught her breath, repressing a sob. She was not going to cry, not while she cherished a hope of helping Dominick. “Why is it suddenly so quiet?”
“The battle’s over,” Harulf said. Raising his voice, he called, “Bring a litter at once! Count Dominick is wounded.”
They had to move him, of course. He couldn’t remain there in the square, with his face in the mud. The men-at-arms were accustomed to such duty. As gently as they could, they rolled Dominick over onto his back on the litter. One of his arms slipped off the litter, to dangle lifelessly until Gina lifted his hand and laid it on his chest. His lips were blue. Gina could feel her heart breaking, quickly and silently, yet she must have appeared calm, for the men-at-arms were asking her where they were to take Dominick. She couldn’t speak to answer them.
“Take him to the church,” said Fardulf in a firm voice. The usually timid deacon then proceeded to prove himself the hero Gina had once insisted he was, and a competent organizer of weary men and women, as well. “There is an infirmary in the priests’ lodging house, where there is room enough to take in the wounded or the sick. We have no patients at present, so it will be private. We will need a guard at the door to protect Count Dominick and his companions from further attack. Someone should notify the king of what has happened. The bodies will have to be removed from the square and their identities established. Charles will want to know who did this.”
“I can guess who’s to blame, and so can you,” said Harulf. To the officer who was leading the men-at-arms he added, “Let’s do as the good deacon says. Dominick needs immediate care, and the ladies are both hurt. I don’t think we ought to risk carrying Dominick down that narrow street to his house. There may be more men waiting for us along the way, in case we escaped the attack and decided to run for home.”
“Any wounded man is welcome to use the services of the infirmary,” Fardulf said to the officer. “That includes the attackers, for Christian charity requires us to aid anyone who suffers, regardless of the cause. Besides, there is a purely practical consideration. Charles is going to want those men in good health when he interrogates them.”
With this advice the commanding officer agreed, and he issued his orders. Half a dozen men-at-arms surrounded Dominick and his friends, another group began to pick up the wounded and the dead, while a third contingent was sent to round up the horses and see to their welfare. Finally, the officer left to report the incident to Charles.
Lady Adalhaid was swaying on her feet. Blood dripped from a gash on her forehead. When she crumpled toward the steps, Harulf, himself blood soaked, simply caught her by an arm and a leg, slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder, and marched through the church door after Fardulf, who was leading the way.
So numb was Gina in the aftermath of violence, and so fearful that Dominick was dying if not already dead, that she saw nothing the least bit amusing in the way Harulf was carrying the elegant court lady as if she were a sack of dried beans.
Chapter 21
The infirmary was a white-walled, quiet place with a row of narrow beds for the patients. According to Fardulf, the infirmarer, whose name was Brother Anselm, was skilled with herbal remedies and could neatly sew up almost any wound. He was also shorthanded, so he was willing to allow Gina and Fardulf to assist him once their own wounds were bandaged.
“You are the fortunate ones,” Brother Anselm said. “Fardulf, this gash on your upper arm is but a shallow flesh wound. It ought to heal quickly.” He finished tying a cloth around Fardulf’s arm. “Go yourself, good deacon, or send one of the guards you’ve brought here, and inform Father Theodulf of what has happened. Ask if he will release some of the younger priests and deacons from their duties so they may come and help us here. Then return, yourself, I beg you. We will want all the help that Father Theodulf will allow us.”
While Brother Anselm spoke to Fardulf, he was cleaning and bandaging the wound on Gina’s shoulder.
“I have put an herbal poultice on it,” he explained. “Now you may begin to assist me.”
“I think Count Dominick’s injuries are the most urgent,” Gina told him somewhat impatiently, for she thought Brother Anselm should have seen to Dominick at once and let herself and Fardulf wait.
Dominick had been laid on one of the beds, and Harulf, though still bleeding from his own wounds, was busy cutting off his master’s tunic to reveal the damage beneath the blue wool.
“When we moved him to bring him here, he started to breathe again,” Harulf said, sending an encouraging glance in Gina’s direction. “See? His lips aren’t blue anymore.”
“He’s been stabbed in his side,” Brother Anselm said. He pressed on the flesh that surrounded the gash just under Dominick’s left r
ibs, then moved on to touch a bruised area a little higher. “One, and possibly two, ribs have been broken. They can be bound tightly until they heal. That’s a minor concern. It’s the open wound that worries me.”
“Did the sword thrust open his guts?” Harulf asked, not mincing words. “If so, he’ll swell up and die, for no man can survive such a wound.”
Gina couldn’t move for shock. She was incapable of uttering a single word of objection to what Harulf had just said. The gash in Dominick’s side was only three or four inches wide, yet in a world without antibiotics or sterile instruments it could mean the death of a strong and vital man.
Brother Anselm examined the wound more closely, putting his nose right against the torn area to smell the flesh beneath, then poking his fingers into the opening until Gina gagged and had to look the other way.
“I don’t think his innards have been opened,” Brother Anselm declared. “I will wash the wound with wine and water, and then I’ll sew it closed, after which we can only pray to the Good Lord for Count Dominick’s recovery.”
“Just a minute,” Gina said. She’d had time to recover from her initial shock, and she was now prepared to do whatever was necessary to help Dominick to survive. She supposed prayer was a good idea, though it certainly wasn’t the first defense against a raging infection. She didn’t know much about twentieth-century medicine; in fact, most of what she knew was derived from television shows, and she wasn’t sure how accurate her information was. But she did know one thing beyond dispute.
“Cleanliness is absolutely essential,” she said to Brother Anselm. “I want to watch while you boil the needle and thread you are going to use. Your hands are to be scrubbed with the strongest soap you have. And you are going to clean that wound thoroughly before you start sewing it.”
“As always before repairing an open cut, I will cleanse the area with cool water infused with herbs .and wine.” Brother Anselm spoke as if he was addressing a hysterical woman who needed calming so he could then get on with his work.
“If the wine comes from a freshly opened bottle it will likely act as a mild disinfectant,” Gina said, trying to sound as if she knew whereof she spoke. “But any water that touches that wound is going to be boiled first. Any herbs you use will also be washed first in freshly boiled water.”
“I have years of experience in these matters,” Brother Anselm protested.
“I am not questioning your skill,” Gina said. “I am merely telling you how these problems are handled in my country, where only rarely do the doctors lose a patient from a simple wound like Dominick’s.”
“Really?” Brother Anselm frowned, looking doubtful. “I must tell you that in Francia, death is a common outcome when the area between ribcage and groin has been opened.”
“All the more reason for you to try my methods.” Gina’s mouth was dry with fear. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could continue the argument. Then Harulf added his male authority to her insistence.
“We will treat Dominick as Lady Gina suggests,” Harulf declared with great firmness. “If he dies, she and I will take the blame.”
“It’s not a matter of blame,” Brother Anselm responded. “The will of the Lord will determine whether Count Dominick lives or dies.”
“If that be so, then where is the harm in trying a new treatment?” Harulf asked.
“Very well,” Brother Anselm said, casting a sympathetic look at Dominick’s inert form. “I do confess, I am curious about the effects of such excessive cleanliness. Harulf, hold this compress over the wound and press hard to stop the bleeding. Come with me, Lady Gina, and show me the methods of the physicians of your country.”
He led her to a little room off the infirmary, where a vile-smelling concoction was simmering over a charcoal brazier. Lined up neatly on shelves around the room were the herbal medicines that Brother Anselm said he made himself or with the help of two assistants. At the moment, those two younger men were attending to the wounded men-at-arms from the palace, and to the horsemen who had attacked Dominick and his friends.
Lady Adalhaid, who was resting on one of the beds, was complaining of a severe headache, which was being treated with moist cloths dipped in cool water infused with lavender and mint. The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding, and she didn’t appear to have any other injuries.
Gina observed all this activity while she was overseeing Brother Anselm’s preparations. When the threaded needle and the knife he was going to use had boiled for what Gina guessed was twenty minutes, she placed the pot on a linen-covered tray. Brother Anselm added to the tray a bowl of clean herbs and a bottle of wine he had just opened, along with a pile of clean linen bandages. Gina carried the tray to the infirmary and set it on a stool.
Having done all she could to try to prevent infection, Gina nodded, and Brother Anselm began to repair the gash in Dominick’s side. Dominick was so deeply unconscious that he did not waken or move or even moan. He just lay there on the bed that was stained with his blood and the mud that had been on his clothing. Harulf had finally removed all of his garments and had slipped a clean piece of linen under him beneath the area of the wound. Only a cloth draped across Dominick’s loins covered his nakedness.
Gina watched everything Brother Anselm did and tried to keep herself from becoming sick. She counted each stitch in Dominick’s flesh, telling herself she was responsible for seeing to it that Brother Anselm did his very best, so Dominick would have a chance to heal. She was forced to admit that Brother Anselm knew what he was doing. He drew the edges of the wound together so skillfully that she knew there would be only minor scarring -assuming that Dominick lived.
“There.” Brother Anselm cut the thread with the sterilized knife and packed the fresh, cleaned herbs over the wound. He laid a piece of folded linen on top of the herbs. “I’ll wrap a bandage around him to keep the compress in place. I can do no more.”
“Thank you,” Gina said when he was finished, and stretched out both her hands to him.
“I must see to the other patients,” Brother Anselm said, as if embarrassed by her gratitude. “Harulf, come and let me tend to your injuries. You’ve been standing too long; that’s why you are so pale.”
“Go on, Harulf. Ill stay with Dominick,” Gina said. She thought his pasty, clammy-looking skin was more the result of watching Brother Anselm work on Dominick than of standing. All the same, Harulf ought to sit down.
Left alone with Dominick, Gina pulled a stool to his bedside and sat on it. Dominick appeared to be breathing normally, but he gave no indication of returning consciousness. The skin was drawn tight over his finely chiseled features, and when she took his hand it was limp.
“Wake up,” she whispered. “Stay with me, Dominick. Please, I need you.”
There was no response. Nevertheless, Gina continued to speak to him. She had read somewhere that unconscious patients who recovered had reported hearing all that was said in their vicinity. She wasn’t going to let Dominick think he had been abandoned. She held his hand and spoke softly into his ear until she was interrupted by a man-at-arms.
“My lady, the king wishes to speak with you. I am ordered to conduct you to him.”
She had been sitting on the stool for so long that she stumbled when she tried to get up. The man-at-arms caught her by the waist and stood her on her feet, then removed his hands at once.
“I will stay with Dominick while you’re gone.” Harulf, scrubbed and bandaged, stepped forward. “Lady Gina, you and I know who must be behind that dastardly attack. Charles needs to know, too. I trust you will not hesitate to speak the queen’s name.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to protect Dominick,” Gina said. “Don’t leave him alone for a moment. And keep talking to him.”
Charles’s private audience chamber was by now becoming familiar to Gina. She scowled with impatience as she looked around the simply furnished room with its woven wall hangings. When Charles appeared a few moments after she arrived and invited her
to sit, she refused the offer.
“I prefer to remain on my feet, thank you.” She bit off the words, fighting against the righteous anger that was beginning to flood over her.
“How is Dominick?” Charles asked.
“Brother Anselm has done his best, but no one knows whether Dominick will live or die.” She couldn’t be polite; she snapped her response at him, and Charles looked taken aback at her rudeness.
“And Lady Adalhaid?” he asked after a moment or two of uncomfortable silence. “How is she?”
“She appears to be recovering quickly from a head wound. So is Deacon Fardulf recovering from his wounds, and Harulf, and I. I don’t know how many of your men-at-arms, or of the attackers, will recover, or how long it will be before any of your men are well enough to go back on duty. Does that answer all your questions?”
“I do regret this incident.” Charles spoke rather mildly, considering Gina’s provocative attitude.
“Incident?” she repeated, flinging the word back in his face. “It was a deliberate attack on a party that was unarmed!”
“Has no one told you that the six men-at-arms I sent to escort you and Dominick and Lady Adalhaid to me were set upon and killed before they could reach you?” Charles asked.
“No,” Gina said, more politely. “I didn’t know. We assumed that you believed Regensburg so safe that no armed escort was necessary. That’s why only Harulf was with us. If it weren’t for Deacon Fardulf, who saw the horsemen coming, we’d have had no warning at all. The four of us would be dead, just like your men-at-arms.”
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t enough.” Gina paused, struck by a sudden question. “Who would dare attack the king’s men? Don’t tell me there are still traitors on the loose who weren’t rounded up weeks ago?”
