Plague (2 page)

Alice also bought posies of herbs from a woman in the market. She gave one to Sam.

“Hold it close to your nose and mouth when you go out,” she said, a serious look in her eyes. “It'll protect you from infected air.”

“And walk near the middle of the road,” William Kemp added. “Don't get too close to other people.”

Everyone took precautions. But the next week, when the weather was hotter than ever, they heard that Sam's friend John Jenks had died of plague. Sam saw his friend's body, tied in a shroud, put on a cart with a heap of others and taken away – no coffin,
no bearers to carry him to the churchyard.

The house where John had lived was shut up and the door padlocked. A red cross was painted on the door and, next to it, the words, ‘Lord have mercy upon us'. No one would be allowed out until forty days after the last person inside had either died or been found to be free of plague.

Sam could hardly believe that just two weeks ago he and John had been playing together in the streets. The plague had seemed a fun game then. Now it was a terrifying reality.

3
Death All Around

“Oh! Those bells! They drive me mad!” Alice exclaimed.

The church bells rang almost all the time now, to mark the passing of those who had died. Day and night you could hear the plague carts rumbling over the cobbles, the cry of, “Bring out your dead!” and the thump of bodies being flung into the carts.

Despite the bells, Alice was cheerful,
humming a tune as she went about her work. Sam knew it was because tomorrow was her day off. She would be going home to Southwark to see her mother and sisters.

“You can strip your own bed, Sam, since you're up here,” she said.

They were in Master Kemp's bedchamber and Alice was changing the sheets.

Sam slept on a low bed in one corner of the room. He hardly needed sheets at all, he thought, the weather was so hot. It was mid-August, a month since they had started keeping Budge indoors. In the heat of the midday sun, the upper floor of the house felt like a furnace.

“It's so hot,” Sam sighed. “Shall I open the window? The bells have stopped now.”

“Don't you dare!” said Alice. “You know the fishmonger across the way died yesterday. The rest of them are boarded up inside.”

Sam saw that the fishmonger's upstairs windows were open – and the upper floors of their two houses were only yards apart.

“If you stood here and breathed in, you could catch the pestilence from their house,” Alice went on. “It shouldn't be allowed.”

“What shouldn't?” asked Sam, confused.

“People in plague houses having their upstairs windows open!” snapped Alice.
“Have you done that bed yet?”

“Yes,” said Sam. Before she could find another job for him, he added, “I'll go and feed Budge now.”

Downstairs, Master Kemp was busy tidying his workshop. “Just getting ready for when my customers return,” he said.

Budge was fretting at the back door. Sam let the dog out, to a patch of earth in the yard. But he dared not allow him to stay outside for long.

The yard stank. And over everything, in the air, was a rotten, putrid smell – the smell of corpses.

Later in the morning William Kemp said to Sam, “Church today.”

“Must we go?”

“We must. You know that.”

The Lord Mayor had ordered every Wednesday to be a day of prayer and fasting, and everyone had to attend church.

“It's that churchyard,” Sam said. “I hate it now.”

The path to the entrance of St Matthew's church led between newly filled graves. There were so many that the dead were heaped up either side of the path, one on top of another. The stench was overpowering. Even inside the church the sickening smell lingered, despite the flowers and herbs placed all around. The bell tolled dolefully.

When Sam saw all the people on their knees and heard the prayers and weeping, he felt sure that God would listen to them. Somehow he couldn't believe he would die, like poor John Jenks or the fishmonger.

The congregation was reciting the ninety-first Psalm: “He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust… Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night… nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness…”

Alice said afterwards, “I like those words. They comfort me.”

But in the evening, William Kemp sighed and said he felt uncommonly tired.

“I'll take an extra dose of that medicine,” he said. “A night's rest will put me right.”

4
The Apothecary

Sam was woken early next morning by the sound of William Kemp tossing and sighing.

He got up and peeped between the bed-curtains. “Master? Are you unwell?”

William Kemp's eyes were glassy, his face flushed.

Sam began to tremble. His insides felt hollow. He ran across the landing and knocked on the door of Alice's room.

She opened it, dressed in her best yellow gown.

“I'm off to my mother's,” she said. “What's the matter, Sam?”

“Master Kemp is ill.”

“Oh! Don't worry. He often has these turns.” She smiled.

“No – he's feverish. Please come and look at him!”

Sam could see she wanted to be on her way, but she followed him into the room. It had an unhealthy smell. William Kemp groaned, and said, “Alice, send Sam for the apothecary. I fear it may be the plague.”

“Don't say that, Master!” Alice protested.
“It'll be some chill you picked up in church yesterday.” But Sam saw that her face had gone white and she stood well back from the bed.

She led Sam outside. “You heard what your master said? Go now, and fetch the apothecary. He will know how to cool the fever, and he'll give Master Kemp some medicine. I'll see you later, when I get back from Southwark.”

Sam clung to her, tears stinging his eyes. “Don't go! Wait till the apothecary has been!”

“I can't, Sam,” said Alice. She pulled herself out of Sam's grasp. “My mother's expecting me.”

“Please!” he begged. “Please, Alice – stay!”

But she was already on her way downstairs. “Goodbye, Sam!” she cried, her voice sounding higher than usual, and he heard the door open, then close firmly behind her.

* * *

The apothecary lived on Bread Street. Sam lifted the latch and crept inside the shop, into a dim cluttered space that smelt of herbs and spices. There were scales and measuring spoons, and rows of bottles and small earthenware pots. Behind the
counter the apothecary, Master Burton, was mixing something in a bowl. Sam knew he made nearly all the remedies himself.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Sam. “My master sent me. He's sick, with a fever.”

“I'll come at once,” said Master Burton.

He gathered some medicines and instruments. Then he went into the back room and came out wearing a long black, waxed cloak and carrying a white stick and a strange leather helmet with a long beak.

“You've seen a helmet like this before, haven't you, Sam?”

Sam nodded. The sight of it made him feel sick with fear.

“It's nothing to be frightened of,” Master Burton said. “I can see through these eye-pieces – they are made of horn – and the beak is stuffed with herbs to protect me from infected air.” He put it on. “You see?”

Inside the helmet his voice sounded muffled and strange.

They set off together along the street, the terrifying beaked figure stalking along beside Sam like a giant bird of prey.

Budge began to bark at the beaked stranger as soon as they entered William Kemp's house.

“Ssh! He's here to help,” said Sam, and he shut Budge into the storeroom and led Master Burton upstairs.

“Heat some water, will you?” the apothecary said, as he went into William Kemp's room. “I may need to make poultices.”

It was not long before he came back down to the kitchen, where Sam was heating
a kettle over the fire. “I'm sorry, Sam. Your master has the plague. I found swellings under his arms and on his neck.”

He wrung out two cloths in the hot water and smeared them with a strong-smelling paste made of herbs. He left the pot of paste on the table.