The Devil's Diadem (19 page)

First I wondered why she had yet
another
garment on beneath her linen shift.

Then my mind turned to wondering if a wild beast had crawled into the bed.

Then my eyes blinked and I realised what they saw.

Lady Adelie’s shoulders, upper arms, breasts and back were covered by a thick furry layer of yellow fungus, lined and ridged with her sweat.

There were patches of fungus lower down, too, on her still distended belly and her upper thighs.

I blinked again, my eyes seeing, but my brain refusing to comprehend what I saw.

Lady Adelie regained some of her senses and she raised her face to mine.

She moaned, softly, then coughed — that dry hacking cough I had heard so often during the night when I lay in the solar.

A whiff of smoke came from her mouth.

Looking back now, from so many years, I still don’t know what I thought at that moment. I think I was in such shock, my brain was refusing to comprehend, because comprehension would have been too much.

Lady Adelie coughed again.

Yvette was at my side tugging the sheets about my lady’s strange body, and something in my mind registered that somehow she had known about this … and I thought of all those mornings in the past few weeks when I had gone into my lady’s chamber to find her already up and clothed …

Lady Adelie pushed away Yvette’s hands, and fell into a spasm of coughing.

And then, sweet Jesu save me from all the horrors of this tainted earth, I saw a faint wisp of smoke curling up from the fungus on my lady’s back.

I looked, blinked, looked again, and in that instant a flame spurted. Before I or anyone else could cry out, or act, our beautiful Lady Adelie was engulfed in flames.

I find it difficult to speak now of the dreadfulness that ensued over the next few minutes, but I must, because from it followed all the horrors of the subsequent weeks.

Jocea, Yvette and I were closest to our lady, but all three of us were frozen with terror. Then, suddenly, I found myself able to act, and I seized a heavy coverlet from the foot of the bed and tried to smother our lady’s flames with it. I heard screaming and realised that the sound issued from my own mouth, among others, but I kept trying to smother the flames, even though they beat at my own skin.

Poor, piteous Lady Adelie. Through it all her eyes never left my face and I could see her lips moving through the fire. I don’t know what she tried to say, but I hoped then, as I do now, that it was a prayer for her soul.

I heard the sudden bang of the outer door being thrust open, and then Stephen was at my side, and Owain, and I felt myself shoved to one side as both men covered our lady in blankets and coverlets, shouting all the while for water.

I stumbled away, seeking one of the many bowls of water which littered the chamber. I found one, finally, and carried it back to the bed in shaking hands, to have it snatched by Owain and its contents dumped over Lady Adelie.

She was blackened all over, her mouth a gaping rictus of agony, her eyes still staring, now from lidless cradles.

Others carried water hence — Evelyn, Yvette, Gilda — until all that was in the chamber had been poured over our lady’s form.

I saw her manage to raise one crisped arm for Owain to grasp the blackened claw that had once been her hand.

I don’t know how he managed to touch it, let alone hold it as firmly as he did, for I know that I could not have done so.

Owain was chanting prayers, his voice harsh with horror.

I backed away, using as my excuse the number of people crowded about our lady’s bed, until I felt the sharp edge of a chest in the back of my legs. I half turned, grateful to have something else to look at and saw Lady Adelie’s child lying in his linens on the top of the chest.

A tiny boy, left half unwashed and unattended as his minders had fled to his mother’s bed.

I took a deep breath and cried out, for even the infant’s thin, half-starved body was covered with the vile yellow fungus.

He tried to cry and a wisp of smoke appeared, and my hand rushed down to his mouth, hoping that I could stop the nightmare before it became any worse.

But I was too late.

The child, too, was engulfed in flames.

Again I grabbed some heavy cloth close to hand and tried to smother the flames — there was no more water in the chamber, and it was an impossibility to run down flights of stairs to fetch more. I was more successful this time with this tinier body, and I thought I had succeeded in smothering the flames. I lifted a corner of the cloth carefully, to look, and a sheet of flame almost roared out at me.

I stumbled back reflexively, then felt hands grab my shoulders and pull me away.

Stephen.

He seized the bundle of cloth and flesh that was his younger brother, even though flames lapped at his hands, and half carried, half threw him onto the stone slab that sat before the fireplace, it’s own fire now burning low.

Then Stephen stepped back.

He saw my face. ‘We cannot save him,’ he said. ‘Let him burn. Owain can tend his soul later.’

At the time I thought them terrible words, but now, looking back, I know Stephen was as shocked and numbed as I. The baby meant little to him, his mother everything.

I turned back to the bed.

Everything smoked. The bedclothes and sheets, the hangings about the bed, even a small rug at the foot of the bed, but there were no more flames.

I forced myself to look to the thing that lay still and blackened on the bed.
Sweet Mary, let her be dead!

I think she was, then, for everyone about the bed — the two midwives, Evelyn, Yvette, Owain, and Stephen — were still and staring.

The only sound was the harsh strain of Owain’s voice, and the only movement that of his hand as he blessed and prayed for the soul of our sweet Lady Adelie, Countess of Pengraic.

Suddenly, horribly, I remembered how the earl had asked me to take care of his lady, over and over again, so fearful was he of her safety and I was swamped by guilt.

And fear.

A shadow flickered in a corner of the chamber and for one terrifying moment I thought it the imp I had seen in Oxeneford, come to steal my soul for my sins.

Chapter Five

S
tephen asked me to go to the kitchen to order food and small beer to be carried to the solar, as well as pitchers of water, and bowls we could use to wash in.

I nodded numbly, deeply relieved to be allowed to again leave the chamber that now stank of burned flesh and death.

‘Then return here,’ he said.

I nodded.

‘You feel able to do this?’ he asked, and I blinked away sudden tears at his kindness.

‘I can do it,’ I said.

‘Do not speak to
anyone
of what has happened here.’

I shook my head. Gossiping about what I had just witnessed was not something I could have done in any case. I left the privy chamber, pausing in the solar for a long minute as I heaved in great breaths of fresh air to quell the queasiness of my stomach, before descending the stairs.

There were far more people in the kitchen this time — cooks, servants, butchers — and many of them paused to look at me curiously.

I realised I must be an intriguing sight, covered with damp patches, no doubt some soot, and my eyes half wild and braids hanging in disarray.

‘Is the child born yet?’ asked one of the cooks.

I remembered Stephen’s admonition, but what could I do? ‘Yes,’ I said.

‘And …?’ said another cook. ‘A boy,’ I said.

There were smiles and a murmur of conversation.

‘Are mother and child well?’

Oh, sweet Jesu, what could I say?
Not truly. Both are blackened carcasses, gone either to heaven or hell, as the state of their souls dictate.

‘Both are well,’ I said. ‘Please send the food and water as soon as you may.’

Then I left, not able to bear any more questioning.

The solar was empty when I returned, and so I clenched my jaw and walked to the closed door of the privy chamber. I tried to open it, but was stopped by the bulk of Owain the moment it had opened a crack.

‘It’s Maeb,’ he said over his shoulder, then he admitted me.

In the short time I had been gone, Stephen had managed to rouse everyone within to effect a remarkable change (I had no doubt it was Stephen, for no one else could have managed this). The bed had been stripped and all its clothes and hangings neatly folded, and placed in piles in the most shadowy corner of the room.

In front of the piles of textiles lay two shrouded bodies, one tiny. They were not immediately apparent, and I noticed them only because I looked for them.

‘When the food and drink has arrived,’ Stephen said, ‘and the water with which to clean ourselves, we shall adjourn to the solar.’

I looked at him, then at the others. They all, as no doubt I, looked haggard and unkempt, everyone’s clothes dampened and blackened here and there, hair straggled, eyes wide and shocked and staring at the horror they had lived through. One alone was bad enough, but I realised that if anyone saw this group as a whole they would know immediately that all sat badly with our lady and her child.

Oh, sweet Mother Mary, our lady. I looked again at the shrouded body, and my eyes filmed over with tears. I had loved Lady Adelie for her gentleness and kindness to me, and for her uncomplaining duty as wife and mother. I hoped I could be as virtuous a wife and mother as she.

I didn’t think, not until later, that my own life now lay in mortal danger, and if I should live to be a wife and mother then that would be only by the grace of one of Lord Jesu’s miracles.

The food, beer and water came, and the servants departed, and only then did Stephen allow us to move from the chamber of death into the solar. He called a guard to the stairwell, giving the order that we remain undisturbed; asking him also to tell the nurse who looked after Rosamund and John to keep Alice and Emmette in their chamber until Stephen came to talk to them. We all washed, taking our turns at the three bowls, and Evelyn, Yvette and I took advantage of the screen which hid Evelyn’s and my bed to change our chemises and kirtles, glad to rid ourselves of our filthy clothes.

Once we were done we sat in a close group about the fireplace which someone, I know not who, had lit. We had all served ourselves some food — ladled meaty broth into bread trenchers, or taken some of the cold meats and cheese — but few among us had great appetite, still lost in the horror of Lady Adelie’s and her child’s deaths.

Jocea and Gilda shared a look, then put down their food.

‘Great lord,’ Gilda said to Stephen, and I looked at her, surprised both for the over-grandness of the title and the strange (for her) clarity of her voice. ‘Great lord, my sister and I beg your leave to depart for Crickhoel.’

‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘You may not leave this castle. I —’

He studied them for a moment, then rose and summoned yet another guard. This man Stephen talked to quietly for a few minutes, then asked Gilda and Jocea to accompany him.

‘He will take you to the dormitories of the outer bailey,’ Stephen said, ‘for you shall be comfortable there, but you may not leave this castle.’

I felt my stomach turn over as I realised why Stephen said this, and I put my bread trencher down blindly by my feet, spilling a little of the gravy to the floor as I did so.

‘My lord?’ said Gilda, completely puzzled, unable to work through the implications of what had happened this day.

‘Do you not realise what you would carry to the village?’ Stephen said, his voice hard-edged. ‘Do you not understand that all of us who had close association with our lady, now likely carry what killed her?’

I could not look at him, and there was utter silence after Stephen’s words. I wondered who would break it, if any would be stupid enough to say something merry to relieve the tension, and jumped a little when a guard who’d been standing in the stairwell now stepped into the solar.

‘My lord, the wet nurse Sewenna is here. Should I admit her?’

I had two thoughts at once: I could not believe she had taken so long to rouse herself to attend her lady — had the child lived it would have been half-starved by now — and I felt some anger that she
had
indeed arrived to intrude on the strange peace of our little group.

‘No,’ Stephen said, ‘tell her to return to her husband and children. We shall not need her.’

I wondered what Sewenna would think of that.

When that man had gone, Stephen sent the two midwives off with their guard and sat down again.

‘They are going to no dormitory,’ he said, ‘but into close confinement. It is necessary, I am afraid. For the moment I want no word of what happened to my lady mother and her child to spread about the castle. Maeb, what did you say when you went to the kitchens?’

‘My lord, the cooks pressed me on what was happening, for word had spread that your lady mother was in her labour. I said only that the child had been born, a boy. One of the cooks asked if they were well, and I said aye. I am sorry … I did not know what else to say.’

‘That was good enough,’ Stephen said. ‘Thank you.’

His face was haggard, and I felt desperately sorry for him.

‘You must rue your entrance here yesterday,’ Stephen said to Evelyn, and I felt a sudden, terrible stab of guilt. Sweet Jesu, if only I hadn’t insisted, Evelyn would now be safe in Crickhoel, planning her journey back to join her daughter and the de Tosny family as they moved to safety.

Evelyn, sitting close to me, reached out a hand and touched my arm. ‘Is it the plague, my lord?’

I suppose someone had to ask. To confirm.

Stephen shifted his eyes to mine. ‘Aye,’ he said, softly.

‘What can we do?’ Evelyn said, her voice strained but still so very calm. ‘Pengraic Castle is closed,’ Stephen said. ‘Yesterday we were keeping people out. Today …’ He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and managed a wry smile. ‘Today we keep people in. My lady mother, may God and all his saints hold her and bless her, carried it hence, and now … It sits so long unnoticed, spreading silently. We have all been near to my mother and will have carried it further afield within the castle.’