Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Maud bent over and touched the young woman’s forehead with the back of her hand. “The fever is high,” she said, “and she has fallen into a dangerous sleep. I fear her soul looks more to Heaven than this world.”

“Then you can do nothing.” Eleanor instantly regretted the biting tone. Her anger was born of frustration and guilt, not the woman’s bluntly spoken truth.

Maud either did not hear the harsh words or graciously chose to ignore them. As she tucked the furred blanket closer around the quiet form, her reply suggested only sadness. “My lady, I cannot promise what I might accomplish. Your prayers may be the best medicine for her. Yet my physician husband, whose soul God took two months ago, trained me to be his apothecary when we first married. If I claim any small skill, I do so only because he kindly trusted me for many years.”

Eleanor felt her face turn hot with embarrassment. This woman was not a servant here, as she had assumed from the simple dress and modest manner. Maud’s unadorned robe befitted a new widow, and her dark look was born of grief over a dead husband. In addition, Eleanor had mistaken humility for ignorance, and she felt shame over her rude presumptions.

“I shall not only pray for God’s mercy on the poor child, Mistress Maud, but that He may also bring balm to your wounded heart. As for your healing skills, I would be grateful if you would apply them to the care of this sick woman.” One more realization now burst upon her. “Yet I fear I ask too much of you. Is there some other illness in the household requiring your care? Has our arrival added to burdens already here?”

“Nay, my lady. I was not summoned to cure fevers but rather as a friend to Master Stevyn’s family.” She then waved her hand as if chasing those words aside. “Or I should say I was often companion to his wife and mother of his children, may God bless her soul.”

“Recently gone to God?” the prioress asked in a whisper, now horrified that her bedraggled party may have been given charitable hospitality by a house darkened by deep mourning. Was Mistress Maud in this remote manor on such a horrible night because of the poor woman’s death throes? At least Brother Thomas could offer consolation, and she might join in the family prayers for comfort.

“My words were ill-chosen, my lady. She died two years ago.”

Silence fell between them as the widow returned to her examination of the feverish girl.

As long as the unexpected arrival of extra company did not add problems to a household suffering enough from illness or death, Eleanor decided she had no need to learn exactly why Mistress Maud was here. Turning her concern back to the immediate crisis, she asked: “Will you be able to find all that Mariota needs here? The weather is too foul to travel abroad for anything.”

“Master Stevyn’s wife always had a fine herbal garden and cared for many of the servants herself with successful concoctions. I will seek out anyone to whom she may have taught her secrets, for no manor is without its healer. Perhaps there is some new and potent remedy for me to learn.” Maud’s expression brightened.

“It was kind of Master Stevyn to grant us a haven,” Eleanor commented as they turned away from Mariota’s bed.

“The steward is away, his return delayed by this storm, but his wife will be pleased to learn that it was done as he would have wished.”

Now completely confused, Eleanor shook her head. “Did you not just say his wife had died?” She eased herself back down on the stool near the fire and braced her back against the stone wall.

“Ah, forgive me! Of course you could not know all this, and I am a poor one for explaining anything. Master Stevyn has since taken another wife, one of many fewer years than he possesses. She is the reason you find me here, for young women often need advice on marital issues from their elders, and her mother is long dead.”

The prioress frowned in bewilderment. What did this woman mean? Pregnancy? The marriage debt? Surely all this would make more sense after she had slept a few hours.

“When your man arrived at the gate,” Maud continued, apparently interpreting Eleanor’s expression to mean displeasure at the failure of the steward’s wife to greet her, “Mistress Luce had taken to her bed. Had she not done so, she would have met you at the door but will most certainly make proper amends when she rises in the morning. I shall explain that it is her husband’s custom to give shelter as Our Lord demanded. She will not quarrel with the decision to do as her husband would have wished.”

Eleanor nodded. None of this was her concern as guest in this house, and normally she would have cast undue inquisitiveness from her mind. But fatigue had dulled her watchfulness over idle curiosity, and Maud’s words raised an odd question. How young and untutored was this wife that she would need direction in common courtesy? Then her eyes began to burn, and she rubbed them until they watered just enough to ease the rawness.

“My lady, shall I have your pack horses unloaded in the morning?”

Eleanor’s head grew so heavy, she knew she was quickly losing her battle with fatigue.

“My lady?” The widow’s voice was gentle.

The prioress snapped awake. “In the morning, if you would be so kind,” she replied. “I fear we may have to beg the steward’s hospitality until Mariota’s illness takes some turn. She cannot travel. The distance to our priory is too great even with a wagon and fair weather, an unlikely enough occurrence in this dark season.”

“Master Stevyn will not expect you to leave until you wish to do so. The only recompense he might beg would be your prayers. He is a good man. Overall.”

That brief hesitation was not lost on Eleanor, but weariness blunted her interest in further reflection.

“I must seek out cures, my lady, but the search will not take me long.” Maud folded her hands in humble supplication. “After I return, I would be honored if you’d allow me to take first watch over this young woman tonight.”

The widow read her weakness well enough, Eleanor thought, and had handled the problem with courtesy. “Thank you,” she managed to say, just before her eyelids shut.

Mistress Luce knew the way well enough without a torch. Dread of taking a misstep on the uneven, muddy ground was not the reason her heart pounded so, but fear she most certainly felt and it excited her.

Although she wore a heavy cloak, the wind stung her face and hands. In just a few moments, she’d be warmed enough, she thought, then bit back a laugh.

And what would her husband do if he came home tonight? Pull off his reeking boots, stumble into bed stinking of horse, and fall asleep, mouth open and drool soon running from his lips. “A loving greeting indeed for his young wife,” she muttered. “And if I were elsewhere than his bed, he wouldn’t even notice.”

But her husband would not be back. His loins weren’t hungry enough for her to brave the dangerous roads. He’d rather find some inn, drink enough to fall asleep in the flea-infested straw, and probably dream of how much cattle he’d have to slaughter to get through the winter.

She snorted. He had ridden her often enough at the beginning of their marriage. Following the first nights, when she still hurt after her maidenhead was torn, she discovered a taste for coupling. Even though he had rough hands, body hair as bristly as a boar’s, and his belly sagged over his manhood, she tolerated this old man. He was her husband after all. When he pulled her legs apart, she shut her eyes and imagined a smooth-skinned, taut-muscled youth mounting her. Thus she found pleasure.

Then his ardor faded. And she had not conceived.