Infinite Sacrifice (25 page)

Chapter 2

The prayers went unanswered. Three
days later, Hadrian receives word the mariners who ventured onto
the plague ship are extremely ill. Hadrian is called to go look at
them. Believing the plague is caused by infected air, he asks me
for my sachet of rosemary. He calls two houses down for his
apprentice to assist him. He is in such a hurry to leave, he
forgets to kiss me before he steps out the door.

“Good-bye!” I call after him, but
he doesn’t seem to hear me.

Mother and I busy ourselves making
smelling apples from black pepper, red and white sandal, roses,
camphor, and four parts of bol armeniac. Mother has been advised
that holding one of these apples under your nose lends protection
from disease. I take my smelling apple and go out to the courtyard
behind our stone house. It is quiet and peaceful in the garden.
Most of the flowers are past bloom and now giving way to autumn’s
crisp slumber. I can faintly hear the hustle and bustle of
Cheapside. I am not permitted out of the house unless Hadrian gives
me permission, so this is my favorite spot to be alone. I sit there
looking at my smelling apple, hoping it will keep me
safe.

Hadrian comes back looking worried.
At supper, he tells us, “It most definitely is the Black Death. It
has already spread to the mariner’s families, in only three
days!”

I can’t eat with this news. “Are
they going to recover?”

“One man is almost dead, the other
two, I do not know.”

“You did not touch them, did you?”
Mother asks, her thin brows drawn together.

“Of course not! I had my apprentice
go in and tell me of their symptoms. I instructed him through an
open window, facing north.”

We are both relieved at this and
feel more at ease in his presence again.

“Is there any treatment?” I
ask.

Our servants interrupt us as they
bring in our fish dinner.

Hadrian takes one look at it and
says, “We will not be having fish anymore. Who knows what water it
has come from and what foul air it has inhaled.” He pushes the dish
back at the servant. “Find something else quickly. Some animal that
has breathed only London air, and remember, no spices at all!” He
turns back to us. “They could be spices sent from the Genoans’
galleys, for God’s sake!” I must have shown my confusion, since
Hadrian rolls his eyes and spits, “The dirty mongrels we have to
thank for spreading this god-awful disease to Europe.”

Mother looks embarrassed that I
hadn’t known this too.

“Is there any treatment?” I ask
again.

“Well, if the lesions ripen, one
should skillfully rupture it, but who is going to get close to a
peasant plague victim?”

“Is there nothing else to be done?”
Mother wonders, I’m sure, for her own reasons.

“Well again, if there were anyone
foolish enough to attend them, bloodletting would surely draw out
the body’s heat from fever. There has been some talk in France
about certain plague antidotes.”

“Antidotes?” Mother perks up at
this information. “Where can we obtain them?”

“Lucky for you and Elizabeth, I was
so clever to have recently received them from the Parisian
apothecary.” Mother and I smile at this. “That is what I was
picking up at the seaport that day, ironically.”

“How much antidote do you have?” I
begin eating again at this happy news.

“I have the whole assortment. One
mixture of fig, filbert, and rue—all said to be beneficial. A
bottle of little white pills of aloe, myrrh and saffron. I also
have a few little pots of theriac, mithridate, bol armeniac, and
terra sigillata. But the most potent and rare antidote I sent
for”—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little corked
vial—“is this little beauty, ground emerald powder, the most
powerful.”

Our eyes sparkle as we fix them on
the green shiny powder held in the glow of the
candlelight.

“How lucky we are, Elizabeth! To
have such a wise and wonderful man in our house!”

The dimple on the right side of his
face deepens with pleasure at my mother’s recognition.

“This is only to be used if nothing
else works. Cost me a bloody fortune. Had to sell three horses from
Windsor to obtain it, but it will serve us nicely, if need
be.”

“We made ten smelling apples this
morning,” I say, trying to contribute.

“Very good. I will need one for my
apprentice and me on the morrow. I need to keep abreast of the
emerging situation. Even though I have provided us the
antidotes—”

Mother interrupts. “But you will
only save them for us, right? You are not intending to waste them
on your patients, or worse, peasants!” Her voice rises to an
uncomfortable pitch.

“Calm down, Jacquelyn.” He leans
back and stretches his long legs under the table. “Of course I will
not waste them on peasants. The emerald powder is exclusively for
us, but the other antidotes I will sell at a high price to dying
lords and ladies in this city. We will reap a fortune from
it.”

“So wise, so wise,” she says,
rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

Clearly relishing her praise
Hadrian says, “The question is not what can be done once stricken,
but more importantly, what can be done as a preventive
measure.”

Mother and I lean in, waiting to be
blessed with the treasured knowledge.

“Do tell us?” Mother
pushes.

“Wine, and white wine is best,
should be consumed at least once a day.”

Mother nods aggressively in
agreement as he continues, “All excessive exercise should be
avoided. Also any activity which would open your pores should be
avoided, such as bathing and intercourse. They all allow the poison
to seep in.”

He looks at me as he says this, and
I am relieved to be able to avoid the unpleasant act for some
time.

“Fine advice. We shall have a glass
of wine this very night!” Mother calls the servant, and we toast
our goblets in unison.

“To health in the midst of
pestilence!”

Chapter 3

In the morning, I
watch Hadrian dress for the day from under the warm covers of
goose-down.
He pulls on his constrictive
hose, which unfortunately clings to every crevice and bulge.
He throws his shirt over his woolen breeches that
are dingy and loose from the infrequent washing. Lastly, he crawls
into his forest-green kirtle, which is made of the finest crushed
velvet from France.

He nudges my shoulder. “Elizabeth,
please wake for inspection.”

I pull down the covers as he takes
my pulse and feels for fever. He searches my abdomen, neck, and
thighs for buboes: swellings caused by the plague. Finding none, he
hands me the chamber pot. Used to this act by now, I casually get
up, go behind the painted screen, and squat over the clay
basin.

“I have no bowel movement this
early,” I say minutes later as I hand him my pot.

He looks disappointed. “You should
have them regularly. You need to eat more figs. I have mine every
morning upon waking. My digestion is remarkable.” He points to his
full chamber pot by the bed.

Taking my pot under his nose, he
inhales deeply and ponders for a moment. “Definitely not with
child. Nevertheless, we have only been married three months, so
that is nothing to worry about. These are terrible times to bring
children into the world anyway.” He pulls the urine in for closer
inspection. “I see no evidence of contaminants.”

He leaves both chamber pots on the
floor for the servants to dump out the window later and leaves
without saying good-bye. I weave my long, dark brown hair into a
thick, shining braid and tie the bottom with a burgundy silk
ribbon. I finish dressing with my embroidered burgundy velvet
kirtle that mother gave me as a wedding present and go down for
breakfast.

Mother is already sitting at the
table. “Hadrian gave me excellent praise of my bowels this morning.
He said for you to eat more figs.” She pushes the figs toward me
and then pulls her kirtle up to scratch at a fleabite on her knee,
exposing the birthmark that is darkening with age.

“Yes, Mother.” I take one and shove
it in my mouth.

“You know, I was first wary of your
father choosing Hadrian to wed you. He came from a poor peasant
family with no title or property. But your father was relentless on
the fact that he was a medical prodigy from Oxford and was going to
be successful.” She scoffs. “Thank God that unruly horse threw that
lord off, shattering his leg in so many pieces that only Hadrian
could fix it. Had that not happened, poor young Hadrian could not
have gone to University, and we would not have our emerald powder,
my girl.” She pats my knee. “As dreary and boring as he is, it has
proved very auspicious indeed for us.”

I didn’t have much say in the
decision but am glad to have served my mother in this way,
remembering all the criticisms she made daily about Father’s ill
choice.

As the weeks progressed, Mother and
I watch how the city changes from within the confines of our house.
The hustle and bustle heard from afar fades, as the church bells
ring constantly for funeral services. Men carry coffins on
shoulders, with mourners trailing behind, at least twenty times
daily down our street. People who venture out do so without
stopping or speaking to passersby, holding their herbal remedies
close to their noses all the while. Some of our faithful servants
stop showing at our house, and no one knows if they fell ill or
simply fear to leave their homes.

Hadrian returns increasingly
paranoid every night. “We have to ready to leave for Windsor soon,”
he says at breakfast. “It is getting worse than I expected.
Peasants are dropping in the streets off their carts and during
their daily rituals. The city put an ordinance out today to force
every property owner to make out a will. People are dying so fast
they cannot find a notary to bequeath their assets!”

“Have you made out a will?” Mother
ventures.

“Of course I have. All my business
has been seen to.” He speaks with his mouth full of food. “I am
worried about the peasants’ uprising as the death toll mounts. We
need to ready ourselves to leave soon.”

Mother wads up her cloth napkin and
pushes her chair away from the table. “I can be ready by
noon.”

“I will wait until I see signs of
danger, but we should always be ready.” He turns to me. “My
apprentice has died.”

I am shocked. “I had not even heard
the boy was sick.”

“Yes, he had been sick for a week.
I had hoped he would improve. I left the aloe pills with his
mother. I spent the last two years teaching him. What a waste.” He
drops his fork in frustration.

“The antidotes did not work?”
Mother asks with fear. “You still have the emerald powder,
though?”

“Yes, I keep it in a safe place.” I
notice he does not trust us with the whereabouts.

“I need Elizabeth to come with me
to my appointment tomorrow,” Hadrian says to Mother. “I must attend
to a very wealthy lady who is paying triple my normal fees. A
highborn woman such as this requires that only a woman can inspect
her chaste body.”

“There is no servant you can
sacrifice?” Mother inquires protectively.

“Only three servants have shown up
to work today, and they are all male.”

“I will go,” I say to Hadrian. “I
will bring my smelling apple and be careful.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Hadrian helps me up on the cart. It
has rained heavily; the manure and human debris stop up the gutters
and cause the streets to flood with filth. Rats stream down the
side streets, fleeing the water. Rakers kick the rats away as they
try to unclog stoppages. As we pull away, I see one raker pull an
exceptionally large dead rat out of the gutter by its tail. The
streets are so empty I can see all the way down to an enormous
bonfire.

Hadrian, noticing the fires,
explains, “King Edward ordered purifying bonfires to be lit at
every port and street to ward away the plague. Guards are checking
everyone entering the city, keeping all foreigners out. A little
late for that, Edward,” he says in the direction of the
palace.