Blaze Wyndham (55 page)

Their stop at the blacksmith’s had put them behind their schedule, and it was necessary to ride until just past dark, when they arrived at The King’s Arms, the inn where they were to spend the night. Blaze dismounted her horse, and walked over to the coach, where one of her men was opening the door for Heartha, but when she did not appear, he looked into the carriage, only to recoil in horror.

“What is it?” Blaze demanded. “Where is Heartha?”

The man-at-arms could only point, and going to the coach, Blaze looked in to see her servant crumpled in a heap on the floor. She was alive, however, for Blaze could hear her raspy breathing.

“Get her out of there,” Blaze commanded her men. “She is ill!”

“Nay, my lady, I’ll not touch her! She’s got the sweating sickness!” He slowly backed away to where the rest of the men stood.

“The sweating sickness!” A cold chill ran up Blaze’s spine. “How do you know that? You are no physician!”

“Everybody knows what the sweating sickness looks like, my lady!’Twas just beginning at Greenwich when we left. Half the kitchen servants was down with it. I thought we got away in time.” He crossed himself.

At that point the innkeeper came out from the inn to welcome them, but seeing the confusion, he stopped and inquired, “What is wrong?”

“I am the Countess of Langford,” Blaze said. “You are expecting me. My servant is ill, and I will need to get her inside.”

“
Ill?
” The innkeeper shifted from one foot to the other. “Ill with what, my lady? I runs a public house, and must be careful.”

“She’s got the sweating sickness!” babbled the frightened man-at-arms.

Blaze shot him a furious look.

“
The sweating sickness?
” Now the innkeeper began backing away. “Begging yer pardon, my lady, I cannot allow you on my premises. Yer whole party is suspect. You could infect us all. Get you gone!”

The captain of the men-at-arms moved swiftly forward and grabbed the innkeeper by his scrawny neck, lifting him up off the ground so that his feet just dangled. “We’ll not trespass upon your inn, you maggot, but you’ll see that her ladyship and the men are fed. That the horses are fed and watered. Only then will we be on our way. Do you understand me, you runt of a weasel?”

“I’ll need a basin and clean clothes and cold water,” said Blaze, recovering from her initial shock.

“You heard her ladyship,” snarled the captain ferociously, and he released the innkeeper, who, nodding his head rapidly, ran back into his inn. The captain of the men-at-arms then came forward, and reaching into the coach, lifted the unconscious woman up and laid her out upon a seat. “You should not get too close to her, my lady. The sweating sickness is contagious.”

“Then I have already been exposed, Captain,” Blaze said. “Who is closer to Heartha than I am? I will nurse her, but how can we get home quickly? No one will allow us to stop and rest, and the horses cannot be run without rest.”

“I’ll find us shelter, my lady, never fear,” came the strong reply. “In the morning I will send two men to RiversEdge for help. It will take them a day to get there, and it will take another day for help to reach us, but it will.”

“Send that fool with the loose tongue,” Blaze ordered, “and when we get home, send him back to the fields.”

The captain nodded. “Indeed, my lady, he did not react well under duress, and I agree with you, for I want no cowards with me in a tight spot.”

“Just get us to shelter,” said Blaze. “Then you and the others are to stay clear of Heartha and me. I do not want you infected.”

“There is no cause to fear on my account, my lady. I had the sweating sickness when I was a lad of fourteen. Once you have had it, you do not get it again—if you recover from it,” he told her. “There are certain to be others among the men who have had it and recovered too. Why not let us nurse your tiring woman?”

“Nay, Captain,” said Blaze. “It is not meant that you nurse a woman, and besides, it is my responsibility as Heartha’s mistress to see her safely through this illness. God and the Blessed Mother will protect me, never fear, for I do not.”

The captain looked admiringly at her, and nodded his head, acceding to her wishes. His family had been part of Langford since the Wyndhams had been the lords of Langford. He was proud that this woman was his countess. Proud that her sons, who would surely be strong as she was strong, would inherit the lands of Langford.

The innkeeper’s servants brought them food. Capons hot from the spit, beef, and ham and mutton. They brought bread and cheese, and ale and wine both. There was even a basket of early strawberries for Blaze, a peace offering of sorts from the justifiably frightened host of The King’s Arms, who, nevertheless, regretted having to turn away so prestigious a guest.

After they had eaten, the captain came to Blaze and told her, “The innkeeper, is, of course, terrified, but he says there is an old barn in which he stores hay for the horses that come and go here, just a half mile or so down the road, my lady. He offers to let us shelter there until Heartha is well enough to travel. I’ve given him the silver we would have paid him for the night’s lodging, and he has agreed to see that we are supplied with food. I think we have no choice, and I apologize for the roughness of the accommodation, my lady.”

Blaze laughed weakly. “We will have a roof over our heads, Captain, and for that I am grateful. I have seen the inside of a barn before, you know, but what of water?”

“There is a well in the barnyard that the innkeeper swears is potable.”

“Let us go then, Captain. I want to get Heartha as comfortable as possible as quickly as possible.”

The barn was small, but sound. Heartha was carried from the carriage by two others of the men-at-arms who had recovered from the sweating sickness at various times during their lives. Of the twelve men with Blaze, five had not had the sickness, and these men Blaze ordered to return to RiversEdge to lessen the danger of their contamination. This was not a gift she wished to bring her people from court, and then there were her children. They were so little, both of them, and she shuddered to think of her infant son contracting such an illness, let alone her only legacy from Edmund, their daughter, Nyssa.

“Send the man to me who will be carrying the message tomorrow,” said Blaze before she entered the barn, and when he came she told him, “You are to tell the earl that the children must be moved to Riverside with Lady Dorothy until this is all over. Do you understand?”

“Aye, my lady!” the man answered her.

She felt better then, for although Blaze had never seen the sweating sickness in her life, she knew how virulent it could be. There was scarce a village in England that had not suffered from this strange disease, which had first appeared during the reign of Hal’s father, the late king. Ashby, because of its very isolation, had escaped the scourge in the years that it had appeared, but the Morgans had heard of it, as had all Englishmen.

Blaze went into the barn, where poor Heartha had been placed by the men upon a pile of fragrant hay over which the servant’s cloak had been spread. Blaze took off her own cloak, and asking one of the men to bring her a bucket of cold water, knelt down next to her servant.

“You’ll need some help getting her out of her clothes,” said the captain, kneeling next to her.

Together they worked to get Heartha’s bodice, heavy skirts, and several voluminous petticoats off her. Blaze pulled her servant’s shoes from her feet, but left the stockings and chemise on.

“Take her cap off, and loosen her hair out so the sweat will not be contained, my lady. I always remember my old mother saying that the sweat should not be contained. She always said the more a body sweat, the better, for all the poisons were washed away then.”

“Thank you,” said Blaze, and did as he had bid her.

“We will take turns watching her, my lady,” said the captain. “Go and rest now, for you look tired with your day’s ride.”

“No,” said Blaze. “I will watch until I feel the need for sleep. Heartha is my friend, Captain. I cannot desert her, for she has never deserted me.”

The captain nodded, and leaving her, went to the opposite side of the little barn, where the other men, having stabled the horses, had now rolled themselves into their cloaks to sleep. Only the five who had not ever had the illness slept outside, including the coachman’s assistant.

Blaze sat pensively sponging her tiring woman with cool water on cloths she had gotten from the innkeeper. Poor Heartha was simply burning up with her fever, and despite all that Blaze could do, the fever seemed not to abate. Still Blaze tried, dipping and wringing the cloths until the water was finally cloudy, the salt of the sick woman’s sweat which ran in rivulets down her body, soaking her chemise, soaking her cloak beneath her. Heartha began to shiver uncontrollably after several hours had passed, and Blaze covered the poor woman with her own cloak, but she could not stop the racking shudders that tore through the servant’s body. So it went through the night, until finally Blaze saw light coming through the cracks in the barn walls and knew that morning had come. Heartha was still alive, but seemed no better at all.

“Why did you not call me, my lady?” The captain was at her side, his tone accusatory. “If anything had happened to you, the earl would have my life.”

Blaze smiled at him. “I am not tired,” she said.

“Nonetheless,” he replied, “you must rest. It is just dawn, and our messengers are ready to depart even now.”

“They must eat,” Blaze fretted.

“There was food left from last night that we brought with us, my lady. The men have that. They will not suffer. I will watch for you now and care for your woman, but you must rest.” He put his cloak around her, and pointed her toward a deserted section of the barn.

She did not argue with him, for she suddenly realized that despite her brave words, she was indeed tired. How fortunate for her that the captain was wise enough to see it since she was not. Gratefully she lay down, pulling his cloak around her, and was instantly asleep. She did not know how long she had slept, but no sooner had she awakened than one of the men was bringing her bread and cheese and a chicken’s leg with some wine. The captain had obviously kept a good watch. She ate, chewing slowly and giving herself time to clear her head. When she had finished she slipped from the barn to find a hidden place where she might relieve herself. It was late afternoon, and the day was as beautiful as the two before it had been.

Returning to the barn, she found the captain still sitting with Heartha. “How is she?” Blaze asked, looking down at her servant, who appeared no better.

“Still alive, but then she’s a tough old bird, my lady. I think she may survive this, for she’s lasted this long, that’s a good sign.”

“Go and eat,” she told him. I will watch her now.” As the captain moved off, Blaze sat down again next to Heartha. The servant was less restless than she had been the night before, but Blaze did not know whether this was a good sign or not. Although she was still dripping with sweat, it did not seem to Blaze to be as heavy a flow of moisture as the previous day, and her shaking head had stopped for the time being.

Dear Heartha! Her tiring woman, aye, but her friend and her confidante ever since Blaze had come to RiversEdge. Dear Heartha, with her maternal wisdom, who could always sort out any situation no matter how difficult it seemed. She could not die! She must not die! Blaze had released her tenacious hold upon Edmund Wyndham’s memory, but she was loath to release one of her two remaining links to Edmund and her past.

Blessed Jesu
, she silently prayed.
You really have no use for my Heartha, but I do
. Were such prayers heard? Blaze wondered.
Blessed Mary, pray for my Heartha
. She dipped one of the cloths into the bucket of cool water and wringing it out, laid it on the older woman’s forehead. Heartha lay still and pale, her breathing labored and harsh. Soon Heartha began to shake violently again, and it took two of the men-at-arms to hold her to prevent her from injuring herself. Blaze had to bite her lip until it bled to keep herself from weeping with her frustration. It seemed no matter what they did, Heartha remained exactly the same, unconscious, alternating between fits of sweating and fits of tremors. All they could do was sit by her, forcing liquid down her throat, and changing the cooling cloths as the monotonous hours crept by.

Night fell once again. The captain sent one of his men to relieve Blaze, and took her out into the warm evening twilight, where the scent of honeysuckle and woodbine was perfuming the air. Almost instantly her spirits were revived. It was such a beautiful evening. An evening for being alive! An evening that gave rise to the promise of a fairer tomorrow. Surely her prayers would be answered!

Servants came down the road from The King’s Arms bearing food and a small cask of ale, which they immediately set into a cradle and broached for Blaze and her men. The captain settled his lady upon a three-legged stool he had found in the barn, and brought her a pewter plate containing a piece of rabbit pie, still hot and steaming from the inn’s kitchen, oozing with rich brown gravy; a warm cottage loaf; a wedge of sharp, hard cheese; and a pewter goblet of tangy brown ale.

“There’s more when you’ve finished that,” the captain said with a smile.

Blaze thanked him, and began to eat, spooning the rabbit pie into her mouth rapidly as she discovered her hunger. She tore the cottage loaf apart, using some of it to sop up the warm gravy. The rest she saved to eat with her cheese. When she had finished every crumb upon her plate, she discovered that she was yet hungry, and getting up, wandered over to where the captain and his men sat. They gave her a piece of ham, and more bread and cheese, which she finished up. Finally sated, she found herself sleepy once more, and finding the captain said, “I will sleep until midnight, but you must wake me then, that I may sit with Heartha through the night. Promise me, Captain.”