Pain and Pestilence

By Aigneis

If you’ve read my last story, you’ll notice I’ve recycled the name Matilda here. It had nothing to do with a lack of creativity, but everything to do with following a line from the original show. If you’re a Covington Cross fan, you’ll probably recognize it. If not, just forget you’ve even seen this! 

“You’d best ride on to another inn, m’lord,” the blacksmith said as Richard dismounted and patted his chestnut mare on the nose. “There’s pestilence here.”

“Pestilence?” Richard queried. He gazed around at the group of villagers that had gathered before the small tavern, shocked by what he saw, for each of them held a torch of burning rushes. “What are you doing?” he asked, his deep green eyes sparked with a fire of their own. “Where is the innkeeper?”

“Dead o’ the illness, m’lord,” the man crowed.

“As he wife an' daughter soon will be,” the cooper added confidently.

“Where are they?” Richard bellowed, a flush of anger touching his cheeks. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes flicking warily from one man to the next, hoping his suspicions would prove unfounded.

“Ain’t our fault they won’t leave the bloody place,” the tall workman grumbled, “though where they’d go anyway, I couldn’t say. ‘Tis better for them to die right here and now.”

Are you mad?!” Richard shouted as he pushed by the young furrier and headed for the door.

“’Tis you who are mad, m’lord,” the boy warned, catching Richard by the arm. “Sitting up in that great castle of yours, you ain’t never seen what this kind of pestilence can do to whole villages. Better two die now than more later.”

“Never lay a hand on me again,” Richard scowled as he ripped his arm from the lad’s grip. “What right have you to condemn these people to death simply because they’re ill?”

The boy dropped his arm as he recalled his station, but he was not to be silenced. “Not just any sickness, m’lord. ‘Tis the pox they have. One look at them tells you that. Death is sure to claim them anyway, might as well put them out of their misery.”

“And who are you to be the judge of that!” Richard bellowed. “If you fear it so, keep your distance, or I will see you felled by my arrow. Now go back to your homes and stay clear of this inn, for I will keep a constant vigil until they are well again.”

The townspeople grumbled but slowly headed back towards their own cottages. Richard watched them warily; his eyes flickering in the torch light like two distant sentries. Then he opened the door, and steeling himself for what lie ahead, he entered the tavern.

“Please, m’lord,” Esther Tupper exclaimed as Richard made his way toward the two small rooms that served as their living quarters. “Come no closer. My husband, strong as he was, lies in his grave from this wretched disease. Do not think yourself immune because you are noble.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” Richard stated as he walked over and placed his hand on the little girl’s forehead.” What are you doing for the fever?”

“Cool water, or what I have left of it, m’lord, for I can no longer go to the well.”

“Why not!” Richard exclaimed, the heat in his own cheeks rising once more out of fury.

“They won’t let me,” she said as she nodded toward the door. “Nor will they let you now, noble or not. ‘Tis their own lives they think of.”

“Would they think that way if it was one of their own who was ill?” Richard snapped, but then his voice softened. “Never mind, we’ll make do with what we have.”

Richard sat by her side for the next few days, but the girl’s fever only grew, reaching its peak on the third morning. A bright red rash covered her face, and Richard knew he must do something more to help them.

“Do you think you can sit a horse?” he asked the haggard woman. 

He realized that her warnings about her neighbors were true. There were already disconcerting rumblings outside the heavy oak door, and he knew his station as a noble would only hold the anxious villagers at bay for so long. Their only hope was the convent of St. Martha. The journey would take over three days with conditions being what they were, but once there the sisters would care for them and keep them safe.

“Aye, m’lord, but where would we go?” Her voice was hoarse and strained, but there was no mistaking the urgency in it. “To bring us to your home would risk all within its walls.”

“Not to my home,” Richard assured her softly, “but to a convent not far from here. They are known for their kindness to the sick and will not hesitate to take you in.” He smiled reassuringly, resting his hand on the woman’s shoulder, then bent to lift her child in his arms.

“Then take my Catherine and go, m’lord. I’m far too weak for such a journey, and you will move faster without me. I can feel the illness coming on and would only hinder you.” She stood up, but wavered slightly, grabbing on to the headboard for support.

Richard could see the sense behind the woman’s plea, but he had no intention of leaving her to the wolves that gathered outside her door. “No, we will go together, or I we will not go at all. I know a path through the forest and perhaps can save us some time that way.”

“You are more than kind, sir, but with my husband dead, I have no way to repay you.”

“Never treat anyone as they have treated you,” Richard responded in all seriousness. “That is all I ask.”

“On that you have my word, m’lord.”

The woman placed a shawl around her own shoulders, then after wrapping her daughter in a blanket, reached down to gather Richard’s cloak. She staggered once more, causing the knight to grab her arm in support, but after closing her eyes for a moment, she smiled confidently and placed the garment around his shoulders.

“Will you be all right?” he asked.

The woman nodded, taking a deep breath and setting her eyes on the door before them. “Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

Richard smiled once more, then took a deep breath himself, for he knew that making a hasty departure was not going to be easy. “Keep behind me . . . just in case I have to fight our way out of here,” he said as he handed the small child to her mother. Then opening the door, he walked out into the early twilight, an arrow primed in his bow ready to cut down the first man who tried to interfere with their movements.

“If you plan on leaving, m’lord,” a voice echoed out of the darkness, “you have no fear of us trying to stop you. Be on your way and good riddance to you. You’ll be in the ground yourself within a fortnight.”

Richard kept an ominous eye on the gathering crowd as he laid his bow aside momentarily in order to get a firm grip around the small child’s waist. Esther was reluctant to release her at first, but seeing his right hand tighten on the hilt of his sword, she felt a renewed sense of security in his presence and let go of her tiny charge. Yet, even as he clutched the child’s whimpering form to his chest, Richard continued to peer out into the mass of humanity that was hovering around them, all but daring any to step forward in a threatening manner. They took his meaning and stayed well back, however, as he motioned for Esther to mount his horse.

It was no more than a few feet from the inn, but even that seemed like a vast expanse to the weary woman when she considered the muffled grumblings that were taking place all about them. Richard could see her trepidation, could feel it himself, but he remained a steadfast sentinel, his stance firm and unyielding. His strength gave her the courage she needed to do as he had instructed, and seconds later, he was returning the child to her embrace, taking hold of the reins and mounting behind her.

He looked down on the villagers, his hand still firm upon his sword. Though he showed no sign of fear, he was no fool either. If they tried to attack, he would make a valiant effort to defend his charges, but he would be powerless to stop the onslaught. His only hope lie in the villager’s utter fear of the disease. Using that fear as surety, he began to move away slowly, the inhabitants still close upon his heels. He stopped only once, at the outskirts of the village, and threw two gold coins upon the ground.

“Those coins are for any man who will go to Covington Cross and inform my family where I have gone.”

“And where might that be, m’lord?” the cooper asked.

“To the convent of St. Martha, but woe be to any man who follows us or tries to bar our path.”

“I’ll go,” the furrier said. “What difference is it to me? At least they’ll know where to claim your corpse.”

“Think what you will, but be sure to fulfill your part of the bargain, elst I will return and thrash you myself.”

“As you say, m’lord,” the boy exclaimed, but as he picked up the coins and watched Richard leave the village, he turned to his friend. “Then I have naught to worry about, now do I?”

“You mean you’re not going?” his friend uttered.

“Why bother,” the first boy replied. “The convent will send news once he’s dead.”

**********

It was nearly three days later when the small party arrived at St. Martha’s, Richard walking most of the way to lighten the load and hopefully keep his horse from growing too weary. The small girl’s fever had eased considerably, but her mother was far worse, having just broken out in a rash herself. 

“I believe it’s the pox,” Richard said to the kindly nun who opened the gate. “They’re from a village about a two day’s ride from here by horse. The villagers were about to set their home afire.”

“You’re not the husband then?” the gentle woman asked.

“No, Sister. Her husband is dead. They ran the inn, and I just happened to stop for the night. If I might get something to eat, I’ll be on my way at first light. You will care for them?”

“Yes, of course, my child,” she said softly, “but what of yourself? If it is the pox, you may fall ill as well.”

“Thank you for your concern, Sister, but I’ll be fine,” Richard said with respect. “Besides, surely if I were to fall ill, I would have done so by now.”

“Perhaps,” she replied slowly, her voice revealing her doubt. Still, she could do little to force the boy to stay. “Pray God go with you then, my son. I will have Sister Margaret prepare something for your journey.”

**********

Richard rested for a few hours than started on his way back toward Worthington. He had gone three day’s ride out of his way, but if he kept to the forest paths, he would be able to make it up in no time. Surely, his father would have received word by now, so there was no need for him to hurry. Lord Shelby had already agreed to the terms of the contract and this trip was a mere formality at any rate.

The weather seemed unbearably warm for a spring day, so after loosening his scarf, he stopped beside the stream to take a drink of water and get some nourishment. A frightening thought came to mind, and he leaned over to look at his reflection in the water. With relief, he fell back upon the shore, flopping down on his arms and heaving a sigh of relief. No rash! It was just his imagination getting the better of him. 

Feeling light-hearted, he mounted his steed and started out toward Worthington once again, arriving just before evensong. 

“It’s good to see you, Richard,” Lord Shelby said with relief. “I must admit, I was becoming a bit concerned as to your whereabouts. In fact, I’d already resolved to send my men out looking for you if you didn’t show up today.”

“I am sorry, my lord, I stopped to bring a young woman and her daughter to the convent,” Richard said by way of apology. “They were ill with the pox and had no other way to get there. Can you imagine,” he added in disbelief, “the villagers were going to burn down their home . . . with them in it. What kind of Christian charity is that?”

Lord Shelby smiled, the wisdom of age showing in his features. “The kind that is bred of ignorance and fear, I’m afraid, and perhaps rightfully so. Don’t judge them too harshly, Richard. The plague is not the only disease that can wipe out whole communities, you know. Not everyone has your courage.”

“It had nothing to do with courage,” Richard snorted. “It was simple compassion. I did nothing any other decent man would not have done.”

“Perhaps, but I hope that compassion doesn’t cost you your life,” Shelby said in all seriousness. “Now come and eat, and then you can get some rest.”

“If you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to take care of business first. I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Richard?” Steven Shelby asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “You do look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine, my lord,” Richard replied with a sigh. “It’s just been a long journey, but I assure you I would rest far easier were the papers all signed and sealed.”

“Very well then,” Lord Shelby said as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. “Let’s have them then, before you fall on my floor out of sheer exhaustion.”

Richard smiled, and once the deal was concluded and his belly full, he headed off to bed. He had not really been very hungry. In fact, it had been almost uncomfortable to eat, for there was a soreness in his mouth and throat he could not explain. He held his hands out in front of him. No sign of a rash, he thought. Then looking in the mirror over the washstand, and peered down his throat. There was indeed a slight redness to it. Just a bit of a cold, I suppose, he thought. What I need is a good night’s sleep. Once again he sighed deeply, and splashing some cool water on his warm skin, he tried to explain that away as well. It is about time the weather turned warm, he uttered. Then he flopped down on the cool linen sheets and went to sleep.

The next day felt even warmer than the one before, and he was glad to be on his way. He was actually looking forward to a nice bath and perhaps even laying stark naked on his bed for awhile before dressing. Though he loved the late spring and early summer, there was on the rarest occasions, a day like this, when he longed to be a young page again, released for the day to take a swim in the river, free of responsibilities . . . and my heavy clothing, he thought with a smile. Maybe if no one were around, he pondered as he headed off on his way, but no, his father would be anxiously awaiting his return with news that the deal had been concluded.

**********

Back at Covington Cross, Thomas Gray paced the floor in front of the Great Hearth. Richard should have been home days before and still there was no word of him. Granted he may have lingered an extra day or two at Lord Shelby’s estate. From what Thomas had heard, the man did have a rather pretty young niece, but he thought her arrival was not to be for at least another week or two. That was one of the reasons he had chosen to send Richard when he did. It certainly was not that the contract was in any jeopardy one way or the other. Lord Shelby was an honorable man, and the terms had all but been concluded on his last visit. 

“Perhaps the niece did arrive early, Father,” Armus said, able to read his father’s thoughts without any difficulty.

“Still, it’s unlike Richard not to send word,” Thomas argued.

“It is exactly like Richard not to send word when there is a young lady involved,” Armus countered with good humor.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Thomas conceded. “There are times he can be so responsible, and yet at other times . . .” His voice trailed off, and he simply shook his head, for he was at a loss for words.

“He’s still young, Father,” Armus offered by way of explanation. “He had to grow up quickly. It’s only natural that some things lag behind a bit.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” Thomas agreed, “but that does not mean I’ll let it go without giving him a good tongue lashing. That’s if he ever does get home.”

“Do you want me to go for him?” Armus asked, hoping his father would not deem it necessary, for he had no desire to spend a beautiful spring day in search of his brother.

“No, no, leave it until tomorrow,” Thomas said with a sigh of resignation. “If he has not returned by then, I’ll go after him myself.”

“Yourself!” Armus exclaimed. He raised his eyebrows slightly. 

Thomas saw the expression on his son’s face and replied incredulously. “Yes, Armus, I am capable you know.”

Oh, no, Father, it’s not that, it’s just . . . well, I wouldn’t want to be Richard when you catch up to him. Perhaps it would be better to let me go and give you a chance to . . . cool off a bit.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see. Perhaps he’ll be home before morning and neither of us will have to go anywhere.”

**********

As Richard rode along, the sun beat down with increasing intensity. In all his twenty-one years, he never remembered a late April afternoon being so hot. A stream was running alongside the trail, and he decided to stop and take a cool drink, for his throat had become unbearably sore. Besides, he thought, the cool water would feel good against his face and neck. He bent over the stream, kneeling on one knee as he cupped his hand and sipped from the bubbling brook. The chilled water was just what he needed. He felt almost human again and had to laugh with relief at the folly of the thoughts that had been going through his head. Thoughts about fevers and rashes . . . and the pox. Still, some small voice inside caused him to gaze at his reflection in the water nevertheless. No rash. It truly was just the heat from the sun that had caused his cheeks to feel as if they were on fire.

He had just risen and was beginning to scan the surrounding countryside, when he was overcome by the strangest sensation. For a moment, he was not exactly sure where he was. Sweat was running down into his eyes, causing them to burn and itch and blurring his vision, so that blinked in the hopes of clearing it. I should have stopped for that drink sooner, he thought. He squinted, trying to block out the sun’s rays, for a searing pain throbbed in his head as the scenery began to brighten as if a thousand candles had been lighted. His head spun, and he grabbed on to the nearest tree, feeling incredibly ill. Fearing he was going to pass out, he began to stumble toward his horse, hoping that if he rode fast enough the feeling would pass, but even as he went to grab for his saddle, he could sense himself tumbling to the ground, helpless to control the momentum of his body. He lay there on the thick carpet of grass, too exhausted too move, too ill to care. 

It must be sunstroke, he thought as he willed himself to crawl to the waters edge. Just a little further. 

**********

Richard lay prostrate alongside the gurgling waters, his right hand just reaching its cooling spray. Gemini stood frozen for the moment, whinnying nervously as she looked at her master lying there motionless at her feet. A perfumed breeze blew across the water, and she finally stepped forward, nudging the downed knight with her nose. She whinnied loudly in his ear, then nudged him again, but still he did not stir. For the longest time, she stood by his side, stamping her hoof by his head or prodding his shoulder with her nose. When even that failed, the horse began to pace  around, becoming more and more agitated with each passing moment, until finally, she reared up, snorting wildly and took off down the road toward home. It was as if she could sense that something was very wrong and was heading for the only place she knew of to get help.

Richard did wake at last, hours after Gemini had galloped away. Frogs were croaking off in the distance, and he could hear an owl hooting somewhere overhead. He blinked to clear his eyes, though even then he could see very little as darkness had already descended. He still felt incredibly warm and reached over to take a drink from the stream, splashing his face with the cool liquid. Then rousing himself, he rose and called out for Gemini. He had no way of knowing that the poor animal had stayed by his side for the better part of the day, trying to wake him, only leaving went she felt there was no other recourse.

“Gemini,” Richard called as he wiped the sweat from his face. Though it was evening, the day actually seemed to be getting warmer. He cursed beneath his breath, disappointed that his usually steadfast animal had deserted him when he needed her most. 

No sense in dwelling on it, he thought. He knew the small village where he had rescued Esther and her child could not be too far – Bryerton, he thought it had been called - so he decided to head that way in the hopes of finding someone with an old nag to sell, if nothing else. Even a donkey would do, he moaned to himself. 

He staggered to his feet, grabbing onto a low lying branch in an effort to steady himself. If anyone had let a drop of water touch on his forehead, he thought, it would surely have sizzled. He needed a cool drink of ale. Then perhaps he could think more clearly and rid himself of the incessant burning in his throat, which seemed now to be accompanied by a nagging cough. A good cold, he told himself as he headed through the forest. The walk was longer than he expected, but he pushed himself, hoping to reach the abandoned tavern before dawn.

With every step, his legs grew heavier and heavier, causing him to push himself all the harder. There was no reason for it, he thought. He was a knight for heavens sake, trained to endure long bouts of physical exertion. This walk should have been nothing for him. Why then did he feel as though he wanted to collapse right there on the spot? In spite of the near exhaustion that was nipping at his heels, he pressed on until at last he saw the early morning sun rising just beyond the thatched roofs of the village where his latest misadventure had begun. 

In the distance, he could see the inhabitants beginning to stir, going about their early morning tasks, unmindful of his presence. He called out to one of them as he approached the inn, his voice hoarse and raspy, but he never would have expected the reception that was about to befall him.

“You there, cooper, who’s taken charge of the inn?” he said wearily. “My horse has thrown me, and I’m sorely in need of a pint of ale and a good place to rest.”

The cooper’s eyes widened as he looked up from his barrel. “Stay back, m’lord,” he shouted. “We warned ye, but ye would not listen.”

“Warned me?” Richard asked, puzzled by the man’s reaction. “What are you talking about?”

“The pox,” the cooper repeated, loud enough so that his neighbors might hear and come to his aid. “We told ye it would happen if ye got too close, but ye wouldn’t listen. Now ye’ve come back here and brought it with ye.”

“You’re mad!” Richard exclaimed. “Esther and her daughter are at the convent of St. Martha, safe and sound. They’re no longer any threat to you.”

The cooper shot a glance at his friend, the furrier, and then turned back to Richard. “Not them, m’lord, ‘tis yerself that’s the threat now.”

One man, standing nearby, picked up a large stone and hurled it at Richard. The projectile hit the weary knight in the head, causing blood to gush from the laceration it had left behind. Another followed suit, while a third held a pitch fork to his neck and began to force him toward the inn. 

“Damn you, man!” Richard bellowed. “Lift another stone, and I’ll sever your head before the rock leaves you hand.”

“I think not, m’lord,” the local forester roared. He lifted his bow, its arrow pointing straight at Richard’s heart. “Now either leave this village of your own accord, or you’ll find my arrow feathered in your carcass and we’ll roast you along with that disease ridden inn.”

The blacksmith touched two torches to his forge and brought them forward, handing one to the cooper and keeping the other himself. “We’ll have no more pox in this village!” he barked. 

His face was stern and determined, as were those of each and every villager around him. Some held pitchforks, while others carried bows, or rusted swords, but one thing was certain, they had no intention of allowing Richard to remain in the village. The tawny haired knight could not understand this degree of ignorance, but stood firm, trying once again to reason with them, for he was too exhausted to comply with their demands.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. He was fighting to keep his breath calm and measured, trying not to let his temper overcome him. “It’s been nearly a fortnight since I left here, surely if I was to grow ill . . .”  His voice trailed off as he saw the expressions on the villagers’ faces  turn from ones of calm determination to those filled with a kind of pity and irrational fear.  

“’Tis better for all concerned if we end it for him here,” a farmer roared as he pressed his pitchfork up against Richard’s shoulder and pushed him further toward the inn. Before the young knight even stumbled across its threshold, he could hear the shudders being slammed shut, see the torches being raised to the roof above.

“What are you going to do?” he shouted. He drew his sword and sliced at the men who were hurling stones and prodding him with pitchforks and rusty pikes, but it was no use. In his weakened state, the weapon was easily knocked from his hand. He was outnumbered, and there was little he could do but stumble backwards onto the hard dirt floor of the inn. Moments later the door slammed shut, and he heard the bar being set across it. 

He sat stunned, too weary to move, yet knowing he must. He could hear the crackle of burning thatch and smell its putrid odor. Smoke was billowing down the narrow staircase. In seconds, it would fill the small rooms below, all but cutting off his oxygen. He had to try and find a way out, but how? In desperation, he ran from one window to the next, but try as he might he could not budge one of the shudders. He was going to die, here in this dilapidated inn, miles from the home he loved, with no one to comfort him or mourn for him. His father thought him safe and on the way to Lord Shelby’s. It would be days before he learned of his disappearance; days before they even began a search, and what good would that do anyway. Even if they did stumble upon this village, he would be long dead and cold in his grave.

Richard Gray, however, was not one to give up. Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to carry on, he dipped his scarf in a bucket of water. Then placing it over his nose and mouth, he made his way toward the staircase. Perhaps if he ventured to the upper floor, he could get out one of its windows; that is, if he made it through the acrid smoke filling the rooms above, he thought. He started up, but he had gone no more than a few steps when a violent fit of coughing made him realize just how foolhardy such an endeavor was. Formulating another plan even as he turned, he headed down toward the back door, stopping for a moment to cough up the black spittle that had lodged itself in his throat. 

A wave of panic surged through his body, and he pressed himself up against the heavy oak door, closing his eyes in an effort to calm his frazzled nerves. His heart was pounding furiously, his face felt as if it were on fire, sweat saturated his clothing, but he was determined that he would not die this way. Slowly reason took hold once more, and he opened eyes, blinking to clear the smoke and soot away. Then he began to look around for some weapon or tool that might help him break through the back door. Almost immediately, it became obvious that there were none to be had, not a sword or ax, nor kitchen knife. The building had been ransacked, relieved of even the most fundamental furnishings. They weren’t too frightened to rob it, he thought as he slumped down against the sturdy oak and began to pray.

“Father, forgive me for my indiscretions . . .” The words gave him an idea, and he shouted out as loudly as he could.

“Would you let me die without benefit of the clergy?” 

“God have mercy on your sinful soul,” the miller yelled out, and the crowd roared its approval. They were no longer a group of villagers, but a mob, intent on destroying the thing they feared the most. No amount of reasoning could save him now.

Richard could not speak. His throat felt as if it were closing and his face burned with an inner fire, though it was no longer anger that roared within him. “Why would they do this,” he whispered. “I’m not ill! . . .am I?” he thought as he felt the heat radiating from his cheeks. “No it’s nothing more than the fire.” He had just slumped back down against the door, no longer able to fight, when a sharp motion jerked it open, causing him to fall flat on his back. 

“Hurry,” a soft voice whispered. “If they see me here, they’ll set us both afire.”

He looked up to see a girl, not much younger than himself, staring at him urgently. “Who are you,” he managed to say, though as he reached up toward her she backed away, sighing in frustration.

“What does that matter?” she snapped. “Now come on. The woods are only a hundred yards straight ahead. They’re all too busy out front to notice. Just run as though ye life depended on it, for trust me, m’lord, it does.”

“Why are you doing this?” he said, still too stunned to move.

She grit her teeth, then sighed to calm herself. “I figure it’s the good Lord who should decide whether you live or die, not us. Now get on ye way before I change my mind.”

Richard nodded and took off toward the forest. The blood from his forehead ran down his cheek, and he wiped it with his sleeve. Just keep it out of your eyes, he told himself as he stumbled toward the protection of the thick set trees, but his vision was becoming blurred. He turned and began to run toward the stream, letting the sound of its rushing waters guide him. Agitated voices echoed after him as he stumbled erratically through the wooded glen. He could hear himself praying, yet he dared not stop to think. Nor would they, he told himself, if they caught up to him.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a voice cry out. Leave him!!! Disgruntled shouts replied, but then all seemed to grow quiet. The only sounds he could hear was the screeching  of a hawk somewhere above, the gentle gurgle of the stream, and the constant throbbing in his head. It must have been a mile or two before he chanced sitting down at the water’s edge though. Then, and only then, did he chance to peer over to view his reflection, his heart pounding in trepidation.   

“Dear God!” he exclaimed, for his image was crystal clear in the rivulet’s mirror like surface. He swallowed deeply as he gazed at the strawberry like rash that covered his face. “I must not bring this home,” he whispered aloud. “The convent! I must return there, beg there indulgence.” Sweat was trickling down his forehead, mingling with the blood from his wound. Without really thinking about it, he took the scarf from around his neck and tore it in two. Then dipping one piece in the cool water, he wrapped it tightly around his head. His breath seemed to be coming in more labored drafts, followed by fits of coughing that left him physically drained. In truth, all he wanted to do was lie down in the deep rich grass and rest. Perhaps the villagers were right, and he would be dead within a fortnight at any rate.

********

“Blast that boy,” Thomas roared as he stormed down the staircase.

“Now, Thomas,” Lady Elizabeth pleaded. “Perhaps he has a reasonable explanation. Please promise me you will give him a chance to explain.”

“I’ve been too lenient with him,” Thomas snapped. “A few strikes with my strap is what he needs.”

“Father,” Armus said, echoing the lady’s concerns. “He may be hurt, had an accident along the trail. Don’t you think we should find out first?”

“He had best pray he has broken every bone in his body,” Thomas bellowed, “for if he has not, I shall do it for him.”

“Now, Thomas, you know you don’t mean that,” Lady Elizabeth said as she rested a calming hand on her knight’s arm. Thomas sighed reluctantly, looking from the lady to his son and back.

“No, of course not,” he conceded in a softer tone. “I just don’t know what to do with him. One day he is the model of knightly virtue, and the next he’s nothing more than a very badly behaved child . . . a rogue I’ve heard him called. What am I to do with him?”

“Thomas,” Lady Elizabeth exclaimed, a touch of laughter shading her tender voice. “Could it be that he reminds you very much of yourself at his age. I seem to remember . . . .”

“Never mind that!” Thomas replied hastily, a hint of mischief in his pale blue eyes. “I will try to remain calm, but he will be punished. Do not try to dissuade me from that. The boy has to learn . . . as did we all,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

**********

The convent had not seemed so far away on his first visit, but then, he had not been moving so slowly then either, nor had he been feeling so ill. In truth, he knew it was still quite a ways off, but to make matters worse, nothing even looked remotely familiar, and his mind seemed so addled lately, he could not even be sure he had headed in the right direction. The stream was by his side, as it should be, but was it on the right side? With a frustrated sigh, he sat down, taking the scarf from around his head and wetting it in the sparkling water again before returning it to his injured forehead.

He wondered what his death would be like. Would he go in his sleep? Would the pain be unbearable before the end? He thought of how his mother must have suffered and took strength from her example. She was with him; he knew that, even if he could not see her. 

“I think I’ll be with you soon, Mother,” he uttered, a strange calmness in his voice. “I’m only sorry I won’t be able to. . .” Tears came to his reddened eyes, and he blinked rapidly, trying to brush them away. His lips began to quiver, but he pressed them together, taking a deep breath. Then he picked himself up and began to walk off toward the setting sun.

It was almost twilight when he cut across a small hillcrop that overlooked a freshly plowed field. He was not even sure why he did it. Just the right way to go, he told himself, though it made no sense to him. He could barely stand, let alone think, and on reaching the top of the hill, his legs gave out and he tumbled to the bottom. Moments later, he found himself sprawled face up on the fresh turned earth. Everything was out of focus and a strange buzzing sound filled his ears. His nose was congested and what little breath he seemed to have left was knocked out of him. Convinced it was the end, he simply closed his eyes, surrendering to the inevitable.

**********

Old Tired Tillie was what everyone called her, though her proper title was Lady Matilda Payne. She pretty much minded her own business, though, keeping to herself and her garden. From time to time, she would venture into the village to get what she needed, but she never said much to anyone. Folks said she was still in mourning for her family who had died years before of the plague or the pox or some epidemic. Word had it that she was the only one left and had vowed never again to love anyone. The younger inhabitants would sometimes tease her, but she would just ignore them. When asked why she did not scold them, she would answer that they were just children and did not understand. It was they who did not understand, however, for in her own way, Tillie loved everything and everybody that ever came her way. 

So it was that when she found Richard sprawled across her newly furrowed field, she felt obliged to bring him into her home. She did not even balk when her field hands would not help her.

“He’s got the pox, m’lady,” they warned, standing far back from his limp body. “Just leave him be and let him die where he lay. Sure he won’t last the night.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she snapped, “but neither will I ask any of you to put yourselves at risk. Just rig me up a liter of sorts and tie it to Esmerelda, then bring her here to me. I’ll do the rest.”

“But m’lady,” the man protested. 

“Do as I say,” she scolded the servant. 

Moments later, all was done as she had requested. She was quite spry for her apparent age, so it did not take long for her to roll Richard’s sturdy form onto the liter. The horse did the rest of the work, bringing the knight up to the front door of a small but well built manor house. Once there, she bent down beside her patient and shook him gently.

“Come on, lad,” she urged. I can’t get you inside by myself, strong as I am. You’re going to have to help me a bit.”

Richard opened his eyes slightly. “Sister!” he uttered, half dazed. “I made it to the convent then.”

“Not quite, lad, but almost as good as, I suspect,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “Come on now, lad. On your feet.”

She placed her arm under his and helped him stagger to his feet. Then she guided him into a small room to the side of the house and laid him on the bed. He was certain he had died and gone to heaven, so soft and inviting was the mattress upon which she laid him. His funeral pyre, he thought groggily as he drifted off to sleep once more.

It must have been the next day before he awoke again. His body still felt as though it were on fire, as did his throat, but he could feel a soothing presence on his forehead and arms. He blinked twice as he opened his eyes, trying to clear them so he could make out who it was that was tending to him. Tillie noticed immediately and smiled down on him.

“Feeling any better now, lad?” she asked in a voice he was sure would have rivaled that of any angel. 

“Are you one of the sisters?” he queried in response, still believing he had somehow miraculously arrived at the convent. Suddenly, a wave of guilt overcame him. “You shouldn’t be tending me so closely. I’ve the pox. You might become ill yourself.”

“My, for one so sickly you do have a lot to say,” she said cheerfully. “Now, first off, I’m no saintly sister, far from it. I’m not sure what convent it is you were heading for, but there’s none for miles around here. Most people just call me Tillie, so I guess that will do for you as well.”

“Secondly,” she continued, “I’m not likely to get the pox, because ‘tis not what ails you. I’ve seen the pox,” she added, her voice tinged with an unmistakable sorrow, “and ‘tis not what you have, you can be sure of that.”

“Thirdly,” she uttered, her voice suddenly becoming strained and distant, “even if it were, it didn’t touch me then;  it will not touch me now . . . so rest easy,” she went on, her voice returning to its normal light-hearted tenor just as quickly as it had drifted away from it.

“Where am I then?” Richard asked.

“About a half days ride south of Bryerton,” she said as she wrung out a clean linen and replaced the one resting on his forehead. He shivered momentarily, for though the water was in reality room temperature, it felt cold against his fevered skin. She did not even seem to pay it any mind, however, and went about washing down his arms again. The action caused him to gasp abruptly as it dawned on him that he was lying naked beneath the thin sheets. Instinctively, he drew the linens up around his chin, causing the old lady to laugh heartily.

“Oh, my,” she said. “You are a godsend. I haven’t laughed like that since before . . . well, not for a long time. Calm yourself, lad, you’ve nothing there I haven’t seen before, in many a size and shape.”

“Oh, you’re a harl . . .” Richard exclaimed, stopping himself short. “I mean . . .”

Tillie laughed again, her eyes tearing under the strain. “I know exactly what you meant, lad, and I’ve been called a few things in my day, but that certainly has never been one of them. I guess I should be flattered, though. No, ‘tis just that I’ve been married three times, had three brothers, and carried two sons into this world . . . and cared for them all at one time or another . . . but that was a long time ago.”

“What happened to them?” Richard asked. Somehow he found that talking to this kindly old woman came quite easily and helped take his mind off his own discomfort. She seemed to appreciate the soothing effect her conversation was having and had no objection to continuing it. In fact, it was almost as if it were a gentle salve for her wounds as well.

“Well,” she began, “my first husband, he was killed in the Crusades. The marriage was arranged and the fool was more in love with the fame and glory of it all, so I really didn’t get to know him too well. My first son, Alan, was his. I was still a young thing when he died, so my family was able to arrange another marriage for me shortly after. Edmund was a good man. It didn’t take much for me to fall in love with him, and we were quite happy for a number of years. I bore him two sons and a daughter, but before they were very old, death came to claim them all,” she sighed with a sadness that cut Richard to the core.

“I’m so sorry. Was it  . . . the plague? My mother died of it as well,” he said, and his heart reached out to this sweet old lady.

“No, not the plague,” she said, “’twas  . . . the pox.”

Richard swallowed deeply. “And I’ve brought it into your home again. I’m so sorry.”

The woman smiled once more, her tenor returning to its old cheerfulness. “I told you, lad. ‘Tis not the pox that ails you. I know them right enough.”

“What is it then?” Richard queried, not sure he wanted to know the answer. A fit of coughing overtook him, and he sat up, grabbing the linen cloth she handed him to cover his mouth. He hacked until he thought his lungs would come up, but finally it subsided and he settled back down upon the pillows. He went to hand her back the rag but was horrified by the red tinge he saw upon the clean white linen. His eyes must have shown his concerns for Tillie smiled softly, taking the cloth from his hands and washing his face off with a clean wet one. 

“No need to worry about that, lad,” she said. She tried to speak as light-heartedly as she could, but Richard could read the concern in her eyes as well. “’Tis just a blood vessel ruptured from all that coughing,” she went on. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

In spite of his own fears, Richard did not have the nerve to press her about it. So instead he prompted her to finish her story. “You said you had three husbands.”

“Oh, aye, well that’s a bit of a long story,” she said, resting back against her chair, “but I don’t suppose you’re apt to be gong anywhere for a while.”

“No, I don’t suppose I will be,” he said, letting a smile cross his lips for the first time in days. As he did, he noticed something flash across the woman’s eyes, a hint of recognition, something familiar, something close to her heart. He knew it was not really his business, but he was lying in her home, upon her bed, and somehow he wanted to know.

“What is it?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was prying.

“The way you smile,” she lilted, her eyes filled with that faraway look once again. “It reminds me of someone I knew long ago. Where did you say you were from, lad?”

“I don’t believe I did,” he said defensively, though he was not sure why. It was cold and callous, and no sooner had the words passed his lips then he regretted them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he said, hoping he had not offended her, but she had not even seemed to notice.

“Sorry about what, lad?” she whispered as she laid a cool fresh rag across his forehead. “It’s a natural reaction. You don’t really know me.”

“It was rude,” Richard insisted, “and I am truly sorry. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for your kindness, but I can answer your questions. My name is Sir Richard Gray, of Covington Cross.”

“Richard Gray!” The old woman sounded surprised, but immediately covered it up. “Well, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Richard Gray of Covington Cross. You’re a good bit from home, I’ll say that.”

Richard was curious, but he did not want to say anything that might offend the woman. His brusque manner had come near doing it twice already, and he feared the third time might not be laughed off so easily. Trying to come across in an unobtrusive manner, he brought the question up as diplomatically as he was able.

“Yes, I suppose I am. Have you ever been there . . . in passing I mean?”

“Oh, more than in passing, lad,” she said, as if fond memories accompanied the thought. “I spent quite a bit of time there, but that was long ago, almost another lifetime.”

Richard could contain himself no longer. “Did you know my mother and father?”

“Yes, of course, lad,” Tillie replied as she rose and walked over to a cauldron of stew simmering on the fire. “Do you think you could eat something?”

“What?” Richard exclaimed, intent on his line of questioning. Though he knew it was obviously something the woman did not want to talk about, he could not help himself. “Oh, no, I don’t think so . . . Do you remember them when they were younger . . . Mother especially?”

“You mentioned she died of the plague,” the woman responded, a sadness invading her gentle cheerfulness once more. “How long ago was that?”

“It seems like forever,” Richard replied, his sentiments echoing those of the handsome woman who now stood before him with a bowl of stew. “I was but a child of thirteen . . . not even a squire yet.”

“And your brothers, they could not have been much older,” she reflected. “Armus could not have been more than eighteen then, Steven perhaps sixteen, and of course, William, why, he could have only been twelve. You poor dears!”

Richard began to nod at first, but then an odd thought struck him. “Who was Steven?”

“Why your brother, of course!” she exclaimed, but then a dark shadow covered her face. “He’s gone as well, isn’t he?”

“I don’t have a brother named Steven,” he replied, confused by the woman’s assertion. “At least, I don’t think I do . . . or did, but then . . . I know there were a few others . . . Wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “I think I do remember Armus and Father mentioning a Steven once or twice, but he died very young . . .” suddenly Richard’s face clouded with dread, “. . . of the pox.”

The woman nodded, closing her eyes in sullen acceptance, a silent prayer on her lips. “Yes, I don’t suppose your family could have escaped unscathed either. It seemed to hit the castle very hard that year . . . as well as the village,” she added hastily, almost as a second thought,  . . . There were cases of it almost every spring back then . . . but never before so potent.”

“Did you work for my father?” Richard inquired. “You seem to know a great deal about my family.”

“Sir Thomas and Lady Anne were very good to me and my husband.” She smiled, her mind a million miles away. 

“Why did you leave then,” Richard asked, his usual candidness returning once more.

“When my second husband died, I thought it best,” she replied just as brusquely. “After all, what could I do there to earn my keep?”

“But I’m sure Father would have found something for you to do,” Richard stated. He was indignant at the idea that his father would have turned a young widow out into the cold.

“Yes, I’m sure he would have,” Tillie replied, “but my husband had family I could go to.”

“But you’re all alone here,” Richard argued. “Did they turn you away?” Richard had started to cough again, and the old woman deemed they had spoken enough for one day.

“My, you are an inquisitive one,” she said tenderly, “but then I should have expected that . . .  Richard the righteous was what my Emma used to say.”

“What!” he exclaimed. “Why?”

“Because even as a child, you cared what was right, what was just,” she whispered. “Now enough conversation for today. You need to get some rest.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Richard insisted. “Why are you all alone here?”

“If I answer, do you promise you’ll rest for a while?” she queried. It reminded him of his mother, and for a moment he felt an incredible tenderness for the tiny woman.

“Yes, all right then,” Richard replied.

“I did go to my husband’s family at first, but with it just being me and my eldest. . .” she said, her voice trailing off momentarily. “It just all felt so awkward. Then eventually I met Liam, and we came to settle here. We were happy for a time, but then death came and claimed his life as well, so here I am . . . alone,” she said with a tender smile. “It’s not really as bad as it seems.”

“But you could have come back to Covington Cross,” Richard continued. “I’m sure my father would have found you a place.”

“You hold a great respect for your father, don’t you?” she asked, matching Richard one for one when it came to the candidness of her questions.

“Yes, why shouldn’t I?” Richard replied. There was a touch of resentment in his voice and Tillie spoke to ease it at once.

“Oh, no, you misunderstand. I would think very little of you if you did not hold him in high regard. As for myself, I have no doubt Sir Thomas would have made sure I had a roof over my head and ample food to eat” she laughed, “but you made me a promise, and I intend on seeing that you keep it. Now rest, my lord, for that is a conversation for another day . . . one I am not yet ready to consider,” she added to herself as she tucked the sheet in around Richard’s shoulders.

The woman was right; he had become incredibly tired and put up little resistance. “Do you promise we can speak more later?” he asked, feeling very much like a small child once again, yet somehow not minding at all.

“Will you eat something when you wake again?” she bargained.

“Yes, I promise, but only if we can talk more,” he countered, ever the consummate negotiator.

“All right then,” she said tenderly. She brushed the stray hair away from his forehead and replaced the dried cotton with a fresh damp one, “but first you sleep.”

**********

Thomas and Armus rode hard, coming to Bryerton just as the sun was setting. “Looks like there’s been a fire at the inn,” Armus sighed wearily. “Does that mean we’ll have to go on to Worthington tonight?”

“No of course not,” Thomas said with an understanding smile. “I’m sure there’s some kind soul in this village that will give us lodgings for the night.”

The first cottage they came to was the cooper’s, and he smiled pleasantly as he opened the door. “Good day to ye, m’lords. How can we help ye?”

“Looks like you’ve had a bit of a fire at your inn,” Thomas noted cheerfully. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No, not a soul,” the man replied, his voice suddenly growing tense. “Now, what can I do for ye?”

Thomas and Armus threw each other a curious gaze, then turned back to the cooper. “We’re looking for my son. He was supposed to have ridden this way about two weeks ago, and we’ve not heard from him since.”

“Can’t help ye,” the man said as he began to close the door over.

Armus thrust his arm up against it. “How do you know that?” he said, his eyes boring through the man. “We haven’t even told you what he looks like.”

“He’d of been dressed like you, would he not,” the cooper replied, without taking a moment to think. “There’s been no one dressed so fine come through here in months.”

“I see,” Thomas sighed, for he had hoped to at least learn that his son had been heading in the right direction. “A room for the night then. We’ll pay you well.”

“Nothing available I know of, not since the inn burned down,” the man replied gruffly. “There’s another village of sorts half a day’s ride south of here. Perhaps they can help ye.”

“Half a day’s ride!” Thomas exclaimed. “It will be the middle of the night by then.”

“Sorry m’lord,” the cooper replied curtly. “Now if ye wouldn’t mind . . .” he added, nodding up toward Armus, whose arm was still holding the door open. 

“No, we’re sorry to have disturbed you,” Thomas replied, motioning for his son to release the door. “You wouldn’t mind if we asked around though, would you?”

“Ask all ye want, m’lord,” the man replied. “We’re just poor folk here, have barely enough room for ourselves.”

“What happened to your inn then?” Armus asked curiously, for his throat was dry, and he longed for a cool draft of ale.

“Burned down it did,” the cooper replied.

“I can see that,” Armus stated, “but how did it happen?”

“Tell him, Da,” a determined voice said from off to the side, and both Armus and Thomas turned around to see a beautiful young girl, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Now, Ellen, this is none of your affair,” her father replied.

“But it’s their affair, if indeed he was their kin,” she persisted. Then directing her conversation toward the two nobles, she continued. “Was he a handsome lad, with hair the color of straw and the greenest eyes ye’ve ever seen?” she said dreamily.

“Yes, I suppose that could describe Richard,” Thomas said. He cast a glance toward his eldest son, then turned back to the girl. “Have you seen him?”

“His cloaks in there,” she said, nodding to what was left of the burned out inn. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

“Was Richard caught in the fire?” Thomas asked, his voice suddenly shaking.

“He would have been if for the likes of me Da,” she said, anger and disgust tingeing her voice, “but it wasn’t right us locking him in there and putting the torch to it, no matter how sick he was.”

“Sick!” Thomas exclaimed, this time looking at Armus for support. “What was wrong with him?”

“He brought the pox here!” the cooper snarled. “We warned him he’d get it if he went too close to them over there, but he wouldn’t listen. Insisted on getting them help. Then he comes back here, and doesn’t he bring it back with him. We were going to put an end to that, so we set him and that disease ridden inn on fire. We had our families to think of. He had his chance.”

Thomas’ face went pale as he walked over toward the burned out inn. He could see the charred pieces of Richard’s cloak laying in a corner, his clasp seared and hanging on to a patch  of deep blue velvet. Armus turned around and grabbed the man by his collar, lifting him from the ground. His face had gone a crimson color, and his fists held tight to the cloth, causing the man to sputter and gag as the material drew tighter around his neck.

“No, Armus,” Thomas whispered. “A tear ran down his pale cheek, his voice trembling as he spoke. “The King will see to this himself. This village shall pay for the death of my son.”

“But we didn’t kill him,” the young girl said as she gazed in horror at what Armus was doing to her father. “I got him out and sent him on his way. ‘Twas the Lord’s choice whether he lived or died, not ours.”

“He got away?” Thomas asked, almost feeling elated at the news. He nodded for Armus to put the red-faced man down. “Where did he go?”

“Probably to that convent,” the man sputtered. “That’s where he took the innkeeper’s wife and her daughter. We told him he’d get it himself, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Were you going to burn them out as well?” Armus growled.

“We didn’t get the chance,” the man replied sarcastically, “your brother came to their rescue.”

“And thank God for that,” Thomas snarled, suddenly feeling guilty about the way he had spoken about his younger son. “What was the name of this convent he headed for?”

“Well, we don’t know that’s where he headed, m’lord,” the girl replied as she brushed down her father’s crumpled tunic. “’Tis where he said he’d brought Esther and her daughter.”

“St. Martha’s!” Armus exclaimed. “But that’s two days' ride from here.”

“Three days or more the way he was going, m’lord,” the girl remarked, hanging her head in shame. “He came back to the village because his horse had thrown him.”

“Richard was on foot!” Thomas bellowed. “You let a sick boy go out into the wilderness on foot!”

“There was naught else I could do for him, m’lord,” the girl whimpered, “not with so many against me. I risked my life as it was.”

“She did, m’lord,” the cooper said, coming to his daughter’s defense. “We’d gone mad, the whole village,” he added. “We’d already lost four to the pox. I don’t know what happened to us. When we saw him run from the cottage, we ran after him like some kind of rabid dogs.” The man broke down, sobbing softly, and his daughter comforted him. 

“’Twas me Da who told them to leave him go,” she whispered in his defense, but there was nothing else she could say.

“This is not the end of this by far,” Thomas said sternly. “You have no right to condemn any soul to death simply because they become ill, nor to send them out to certain death because you fear the illness.”

Thomas and Armus mounted their horses, giving one final look at the villagers, who had one by one begun to stick their heads out of their doors and windows. Each one was as guilty as the next, and yet, in a way, Thomas could understand their fears. He thought of what he would do even at this very moment to protect his own family. Not risk the life of another, he thought as he spurred his horse forward.

**********

“Gemini!” Eleanor exclaimed as the horse came galloping into the bailey. “Where’s Richard?” She ran off toward the castle, calling for Cedric and Lady Elizabeth, not knowing what to do. Ordinarily, she would have turned to her father or Armus, Richard or William, but none of them were there. She felt incredibly alone and frightened, a sensation that did not usually plague her. This time, however, it did, because the fate of one of the very people she would have turned to was now in question.

“What is it Eleanor,” Lady Elizabeth said as she opened the door to the Great Hall. 

“It’s Gemini!” she shouted. For the first time in her life, she was truly glad that the lady was in some way part of her family. “She came home alone.”

“Where’s Richard?” Lady Elizabeth asked, her voice taking on a solemn tone.

“I don’t know,” Eleanor replied, almost on the verge of tears, for in spite of their constant bickering, she loved her older brother dearly and knew he was far too good a rider to have lost his mount, unless he was in someway incapacitated. All sorts of scenarios began to run through her mind. “We have to tell Father.”

“What good would that do?” Lady Elizabeth said calmly, but it was clear her mind was racing. “They’re heading for Worthington as it is. If Richard was injured along the way, they’re sure to come across him.”

“But it’s been two weeks,” Cedric argued. “Richard could already be dead.”

Lady Elizabeth put her arms out for the two teenagers, and they willing fell into her embrace, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Richard is not dead and if anyone can bring him home, it’s Thomas. Besides, if Gemini has just returned home this minute, then whatever happened to Richard, happened within the last day or two. She’s too good a horse to have run around the countryside aimlessly for two weeks.”

“We could let Gemini lead the way,” Eleanor suggested, brushing away a sniffle. “Maybe she could take us to where it happened.”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” Elizabeth nodded, but we must take a guard with us, so he can ride off toward Worthington to let your father know where we are.”

“I could do that,” Cedric protested. 

“Yes, I know you could,” Elizabeth replied soothingly, “but the last thing we need is another Gray off on his own. If we find Richard . . .”

“When we find him,” Eleanor interjected. 

“Yes,” Lady Elizabeth corrected herself, “when we find Richard I want us to all be together. He might need our help.”

Cedric nodded, then the trio went their separate ways in order to ready themselves for their immediate departure.

**********

Richard woke ravenous. The fever was still with him, but he did not feel anywhere near a bad as he had felt the day before. He did, however, have the incredible urge to scratch his entire body. Much to his dismay, he found that his hands had been wrapped in linen strips, so that they looked more like huge white claws than hands.

“What’s this for!” he exclaimed indignantly, squirming slightly in an effort to scratch at least some part of his body.

“The itch has started then,” Tillie observed. “Well, ‘tis a good sign that, though I dare say not very comfortable. This should help, though. It’s my own concoction, but it does seem to ease the discomfort.” She began to wipe him down with a thick ointment, but he held up his arms, blocking hers, in protest.

“Now wait a minute,” he complained. “I can do that myself you know!”

“Oh really,” she stated, her voice challenging him to contest her observations. “And how do you plan to do that? Even if your hands weren’t wrapped, are you such a contortionist that you could see to your back yourself? That is what’s causing you the most discomfort at the moment, is it not?”

“Well, yes . . . I mean no,” he conceded, “but . . .”

“Then let me take care of that, and we can talk about the other bits later on . . . if they bother you.”

“They won’t,” he muttered in defiance, though he could feel his legs tingling even as they spoke.

“Oh, they will,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “’Twill get worse before it gets better I fear, though sometimes the itch doesn’t come at all. Either way, I think it’s safe to say you’re going to be all right now. I’ve not known of anyone yet to die of the itch.”

“You weren’t so sure of that yesterday though, were you?” he said, hoping she would be honest with him.

She sighed in resignation. “No, lad, I wasn’t. It’s not the pox, but it’s serious enough. There’s many have died from it just the same, mostly from the complications that come with it. You’re cough sounds much better today though and the fevers down, so I think you’re on the mend.”

“But this rash . . .” Richard complained.

“Will disappear in a day or two. Now eat your breakfast,” she said in a motherly tone. “Remember you did promise.”

“And you promised to talk more,” Richard replied like a spoiled child. 

“So I did, young Richard,” she conceded. She pulled up a chair and sat down by his side.
“Now what is it you want to talk about?”

“Did you loose all your children to the pox?” he asked, fearing he might have gone too far, and yet wanting to know all he could about this strange and wonderful woman. The contented look on her face told him that he had not, and he sighed in relief, resting back against the pillow. He took a spoon of porridge, and then waited for her to speak. 

“A spoon for a question is it?” she inquired good naturedly. “All right then,” she continued, her eyes showing signs of the sadness she had buried long ago. “No, not all, two died of the pox, but the third fell from the plague, as did my second husband. Only Alan survives, and he . . . Well, he’s off at the Crusades. I haven’t seen him in five years.”

“He knew all you’d been through,” Richard exclaimed indignantly, “and he left for the Crusades. Doesn’t he have any consideration for you at all?”

“Oh, no,” she said in defense of her son, “it wasn’t like that at all. You see, Alan never thought he was good enough. He was always the extra son, the one that came along with me. Edmund tried to convince him it wasn’t like that; we all did, but there was something inside him. He had to prove himself. After my third husband passed away as well, he did all he could for me, but I could see where his heart was. More than anything in the world, he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, to succeed where he had failed. I know it’s hard to understand, but . . . I insisted he go . . . I told him I wanted to be alone.”

“It’s not hard to understand,” Richard said, ashamed of his outburst. “I suppose there are times we’ve all felt like running away.”

“Yes, I suppose there are,” she said quietly. Then all of a sudden her eyes regained their sparkle. “And when did you ever feel like running away?”

This time it was Richard’s eyes that revealed a hidden sorrow. “When my mother died, I suppose. Armus left for the Crusades shortly after, and I wanted to go with him, to forget, but I couldn’t. First, I was too young, and then Father needed me . . . “

“Maybe running away’s not really the answer,” she said as she brushed a stray hair from across his forehead. “Did it help Armus?”

“Oh I don’t think Armus went just because of Mother,” Richard said hastily, “at least not completely. He went because it was expected of him. I suppose Mother’s death is the reason he left so young, but he would have gone anyway. Mother knew he would someday, that’s why she made Father promise that Cedric would become a cleric.” He started to laugh slightly as he spoke. “Of course, Cedric’s fighting it all the way, and I have a feeling Father is going to loose.”

“Cedric?” Tillie asked, her curiosity piqued. “Is he your brother as well?”

“Yes, my youngest brother,” Richard replied as he stuffed another spoon of porridge in his mouth. He had not realized how hungry he truly was. “Didn’t you know?”

“No, your brother William was the last I knew of. He was no more than two or three when I left.”

“Oh, then you don’t know of Eleanor either?”

“Eleanor!” Tillie’s smile broadened. “Dear Anne got her daughter.”

“Well, yes,” Richard said though he sounded a bit undecided, “I suppose you could say that, though she’s not quite like any other girl I’ve ever known. She doesn’t even like to wear a dress. Of course, she was only seven when Mother died, so there really wasn’t much of a female influence. She wants to do everything we do, especially William and I . . . Armus was away for so long, she barely even recognized him when he returned. Of course, they are catching up on things now.”

Richard knew he was babbling on, but he felt so much better, and Tillie seemed so easy to talk to, he could not help himself. The fact that she had known his mother and father did not hurt any either. Besides, it seemed to bring a smile to her face as well, and she joined in the conversation just as eagerly.

“But what of your third husband?” Richard finally asked. “What happened to him?”

“Oh, he was a good man,” Tillie said with fond recollections. “This was his house, and a fine one it is. He was nearly twenty years older than myself though, and the years caught up to him faster than they should have. That was almost seven years ago now.” 

“And you’ve lived alone here all that time?”

“Yes, most of it anyway, ‘twas best that way,” Tillie replied philosophically. “I needed time to reflect, time to find myself. I went from one man’s home to the next, never really finding myself. Now I have, perhaps it is time that I saw my family again.”

“But I thought you said you had none?” Richard queried, “except for your son, I mean.”

“Oh no, lad, there’s family,” the old woman said warmly, “but I didn’t want to be a burden on them. Perhaps it’s time I returned. I have my own life now and wouldn’t feel that way.”

“Your family should never have made you feel that way in the first place,” Richard stated. He could not imagine his own family turning him away. “My parents would have cared for you.”

“I know that, lad, but I didn’t say it was my family’s fault,” she chided him. “They had nothing but kindness for me. It was me who felt that way, just a foolish girl who put her pride above all else.” She smiled tenderly and touched Richard’s cheek. “I do believe the Lord has sent you to me Richard Grey to make me see what I’ve been missing. Rest here for a few more days, then I’ll take you home . . . and I shall go home as well,” she added softly.

**********

Thomas and Armus road hard for the next two days, praying they would come across Richard along the way. As that hope disintegrated, their prayers became centered on finding him at the convent itself, though if he did indeed have the pox, they each secretly wondered how he would have been able to travel that far. Suppose he had gone in another direction. Where would they begin their search? 

“We will find him Father,” Armus said reassuringly. 

Thomas appreciated his son’s gesture and nodded affirmatively, but in his heart he knew neither one of them was certain about that anymore. Oh, he had no doubt they would eventually come across him, the question that ate away at his heart was whether or not he would still be alive. He could see from the intense expression on his eldest son’s face, that he was thinking the same thing. 

They rode in silence most of the way, each caught up in their own memories. It was sad, Thomas thought, how it took a crisis for people to reminisce about the one’s they loved. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, if we could somehow capture the moments for all time and hold them close to our hearts, like a portrait, only instead of simply capturing the people, it would freeze a moment in time. Thomas sighed whimsically, and Armus looked over at him.

“What is it, Father?” he said, a smile touching his lips, for he could almost sense what was on his father’s mind. Indeed, he was certain similar thoughts had occupied his own mind.

“I was just remembering the time Richard and Derek Maxwell were trying to peek into Barbara Spencer’s window, and they both fell into the pigpen.”

“Both you and Lord Spencer thought they were dead,” Armus laughed.

“Yes,” Thomas grinned, “our hearts stopped when we ran out to find the two gangly bodies lying face up in the mud.” 

Armus nodded in a