by Celia Lake
Roland blinked at her. “How big are these rooms?”
Elen shrugged. “Most are just about, oh, this size. Eight foot square, ten foot. When I was an apprentice, I always thought they felt a bit like horse stalls, only they’re not in straight lines, but in a sort of curve. In the centre, there’s a, oh, egg shaped cavern, and that is the general bathing rooms. Designed like Roman baths, but all curved and tiled. Dark blue and living green and white.”
Roland let out a small huffing noise. “And people can go there?”
Elen nodded. “The main rooms, whenever there’s space. It has all the different temperature pools.”
“Do you go?” His question seemed almost casual, he wasn’t making a big point of it. She thought there was something there he was trying to avoid talking about, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
She shook her head. “Not very often.” The question was, did she explain why. Emboldened by their conversation earlier today, she decided to see what he did. “I’m very aware of status. When it’s the baths, it’s impossible to tell who’s who.”
Roland almost said something, then he stopped and caught himself, cocking his head to one side and peering at her. “You’re one of the most polite people I’ve met in my life. You can’t be afraid you’d be rude.”
That was better than it might be, and it almost made her smile for just a moment. “It makes me nervous.”
He waited, letting the silence fill the room, as if he were deciding what to do. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Where are you from? I mean, Mother would ask who your people were. You told me your father oversees the Dolaucothi mine now, and your mother sometimes teaches, but that’s, that’s only part of it.”
Elen nodded. “Dadi, he worked his way up. When I was very little, he was still going down the mines, and I remember how scary it was for Mami.” She let herself use the Welsh forms, with a bit of the music to it. “And then he got promoted. I remember having to learn quick how to be polite when we met his bosses, the fancy people, when they were looking at the mines. Mind my manners, speak properly, all that. Once I was old enough, I spent a lot of time with Uncle Dewi, in his office, out of the way.”
Roland blinked at her several times. “And you - took that to heart.”
She nodded, and then she had to look down and away.
“Elen.” His voice was very careful. “Is it particularly hard for you, not knowing what the Healers are doing with me?”
She couldn’t look up, but she nodded again, and she could feel her hands clenching at her apron. Good thing she hadn’t been knitting, she might have snapped a needle. Without moving more than that, she added, “It is. Not knowing what’s expected.”
“Ah.” His voice got gentle, and she hadn’t expected that from him at all. “So. How do we fix that? On a practical level? What are our options? You know about how this place works, far more than I do. Do we have potential allies? Resources? Possible strategies?”
Elen blinked at him. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. He was treating her like a peer. Not just in her nursing skills, she was confident about those, but other things. She gathered her thoughts, which was tricky, the way they were darting around. “Well, normally, your chart would be on the end of your bed. Or outside the room. And it’s not.”
“That’s curious, isn’t it? So who would have one? Sister Almeda?”
“I assume, but if it’s in her office, I can’t get into that.”
“Why not?” He pushed himself up more in bed, so he could lean forward. Elen was startled to realise he was deeply engaged in this, more than he had been in anything since she’d met him. “Tell me about the set up. You’ve seen her office?”
“Yes. It’s in the ward, there, across the way.”
“It is much easier to build a strategy for something you’ve seen. Especially if it involves sneaking. Laid out like this one?” His tone was suddenly eager, a sharpness of desire to it she hadn’t heard before. It was almost like something out of one of his adventure books, and she wasn’t at all sure what to do with it, or how to dissuade him from something terribly foolish.
She nodded and kept to the basic facts. They were far safer. “You know where we go out the door? And there’s another ward, the same length, on the other side?”
“Why are they split up like that?”
“Some of these used to be infectious disease wards. You wouldn’t want people with different diseases mixing, that would be horrible. Separate doors, separate laundry chutes.”
“What about food?”
She blinked at him, and he waved a hand. “Food has to come and go, so it can be a way to sneak in. Besides the laundry chutes. And what’s upstairs, these are two floors, three?” Elen wondered all of a sudden what he’d done in the past that made him think about sneaking into buildings like that, and if this was a mark of something from the War.
Elen glanced out the window, looking across the way. “Patient rooms on the ground floor, and on the second, depending on how full things are. Which we will be, shortly, I’m pretty sure. The upstairs are usually less nice. Not private, either two to a room, or four, or a long ward with ten or twenty beds.”
“The same kinds of conditions as the downstairs?”
Elen nodded. “Usually. Nurses assigned to a given floor. Not a single patient. You are quite unusual.”
“Several ways round.” he agreed, wryly. “Apparently. So the notes?”
“There’s an office, for the ward sister, on every ward. Some of them are big, some of them are tiny. Here, it’s not bad, they built the wards with that in mind. Ours is the lounge now, which is tiny, but it’s not like we’re ever in it for more than making a cup of tea.”
“Where does the food come from, then, if there’s no kitchen or whatever?”
“There’s a massive kitchen behind the wall.”
“Wall?” He blinked at her, several times.
“When we turn right, to go to the garden. there’s a wall behind us. Facing the temple. About twelve feet high. There’s a walled walkway, with an arched roof. It’s paved, smooth, some special kind of stone, I don’t know how they shape like that, so there are no ridges. All along the walkway are doors and ramps, where they can load bins of laundry, or bring trays of food. It’s all very efficient, the orderlies go and fetch the cart for their wards right on time, there’s a particular sequence, so that there’s no waiting.”
“Huh.” Something in that had distracted him, but Elen was not at all sure if it was the design, or the scheduling, or something else. It wasn’t as if Roland normally made a lot of sense to her. “So not something you could take advantage of easily. The orderlies are all male?”
Elen was suddenly not sure if he was actually feeling better. Certainly, he seemed rather more quick-witted. But now she worried this might be a sign of some mania she should report to someone. Not that she knew who to report such a thing to. That being part of the problem. “They are, yes. And dressing up like one would not be plausible.”
He looked her up and down for a moment, and she felt suddenly rather rounder than usual, and also shorter. “No, quite. I’m not sure you could bind your chest enough.” Then he went blithely on. “So. Some other solution. Do you know if there are times she leaves her office?”
She had no idea how to take that, so she kept to the practical question. “Her temple service. We all have to do it. Even the senior nursing staff and healers. Mind, they swap around a lot, but I could come up with a reason to see her, and keep trying until she’s not there. And I’m sure she has some meetings she has to be at.”
“In that case, we just have to get you into the room when she’s not there. Much easier problem.” He seemed positively cheerful at that. Elen wasn’t sure about that at all, but arguing about it didn’t seem worthwhile. When she’d been quiet for too long again, he continued. “And what about other people?”
That made her stop and think. “Sister Florinda took an interest, but I don’t know i
f she could help.” She hesitated. “There was a nurse, Sister Pomona. One of the other wards, when I was helping with the men coming in from the trains. She was more friendly.”
“Do you think you could find her again? When she had time to talk a little?”
Elen frowned. She wasn’t precisely sure how to figure that out, but at least she knew how to go about that problem, unlike the utter daftness of the idea of her playing spy. Find an excuse to go through the different wards and check the lists. “Probably? It might take me a little.”
“Good.” He seemed very pleased at that. “That’s a way to move forward, then. I can see if I can get a message to Cadwell. Anyone else?”
“There was someone I overheard, but I don’t know her last name. And she was in administration, I don’t know how things work there. She wasn’t sure about some of the records. But I just heard her called Berth. Welsh.”
“Perhaps Sister Pomona might know.” Elen nodded, though she wasn’t sure how she’d bring that kind of thing up. Instead, she changed the subject. “The baths?” She wanted, suddenly and rather desperately, to get back onto safer territory. Or into safer waters, technically.
“The baths.” At least he wasn’t being difficult about being redirected. She took a deeper breath, let it out, and began explaining about the preparations, and how long he’d be soaking. It was reassuring to just talk about something she knew, something she understood. Something she’d done hundreds of times. Rather than his absurd ideas of breaking into locked offices.
Chapter 19
Wednesday, April 21st, the healing baths
Roland found the entire process of this trip to the baths more than a little puzzling. It wasn’t the idea of Roman-style baths he had a problem with, of course, he’d done those at school occasionally. One of the Gospatrick homes still had a functional hypocaust and bathing pools. That was of course the eldest home, where his grandparents still lived. But of course, whenever the family was there, the aunts and great-aunts took it over, and young boys weren’t permitted, never mind young men.
This was different. Not only because he was going to be down in the crypts below the Healing Temple, or what would be crypts in any other temple. It made him suddenly wonder what happened to people who had died at the Healing Temple, what happened to the ones who didn’t have family to take them away somewhere. The temple was right in the middle of Trellech, surely there wasn’t a cemetery attached, too.
Now he was outside his room more regularly, he was increasingly aware of just how large the temple complex must be. He’d known about the temple itself, of course, the facade that faced the street, with the high walls and the administrative buildings behind them, on both sides.
He’d been to the gardens, more than once, for various events to raise funds for projects of the Temple or to renovate a ward. But of course, when there were a few hundred people milling around, it was hard to see the size of the space. People talking and drinking and commenting on other people’s party frocks broke up the long lines of the garden.
What Elen had said, about there being a whole system for kitchens, to get the food to people promptly, that implied a wholly larger infrastructure than he’d imagined. There must be something similar for laundry, given that that went away in carts regularly, and someone changed his bed every three days or so. Less often now than when he’d been prone to fevers at the drop of a hat.
Being out in the open area of the gardens also made him feel quite queer. When Elen took him out, she kept to the side paths, where there was the comfort of the tall wall and its shade. Harry was taking them straight down the centre of the gardens, a broad path paved in smooth stones, a good fifteen feet wide.
He felt suddenly horribly exposed, and set himself to not letting it show on his face. Not too much, anyway. Passing someone else, going the other way, he caught the same frozen expression, the way the other man’s hands were gripping the arms of the chair too tightly, and he forced himself to relax. He had to remind himself this wasn’t the open battlefield, with snipers taking aim. This was nearly nearly the safest place in Albion.
As Harry pushed him along, Elen trotted with them, to one side, nodding occasionally to another nurse as they passed. He thought it was perhaps the automatic nod to a colleague, as he would to another officer in uniform, nothing personal. At least that’s how it looked, from the glances he got when they stopped to wait for someone moving slowly with the aid of a cane to cross their path.
They went not to one of the great main doors of the temple facing the garden, but instead, off to the side, where a passage about nine feet wide gently sloped down below the ground, meeting a similar passage on the other side. Plenty of room to get people through, even if they were on a stretcher, rather than a chair, he realised, as they moved into a broad hallway.
“Healer Rhoe? This is Major Roland Gospatrick.” Elen was standing up straighter. Roland peered up at the woman who had stood to greet them. Unlike so many of the people here, she was unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. She carried herself with a self-possession he hadn’t seen much of, as if she were utterly sure in what she was doing. Even more startling, she focused on him, rather than talking to Harry, or to Elen.
“Major, we’re delighted to have you. Nurse Morris, I know you have some other tasks to see to, we’ll be at least ninety minutes, probably closer to two hours. You’re welcome to come back to my office if you finish whatever you’re up to before then.”
Elen bobbed her head, visibly deferential. “I’ll see you then, Major.” She took herself off, before Roland could say anything.
The Healer looked him up and down. “Along this way, please. You must be Harry. We’ll be having one of our staff ready to help, once the Major is in the right room, I’m sure you have things to do as well.”
Harry allowed as how he might, though Roland suspected that it involved an extended smoke break. The healer led the way down a curving hallway, lit by charm lights every ten feet or so, that gave the whole space a feeling rather like catacombs. Not that Roland had ever been in catacombs, but he’d read enough adventure novels.
The rooms didn’t feel particularly damp and humid, either. There was a little of that, but it was comforting rather than stultifying. The charmwork and ventilation for that must be rather a trick. Instead, it felt peaceful and quiet.
After going past about twenty doors, she opened a door on the right and gestured Harry in. He couldn’t see much at first, it was more dimly lit, not beyond seeing there was a changing area with a bench and a curtain. “Back here.” The healer pulled the curtain back, and then nodded, precisely. “Thank you, Harry. We’ll manage bringing Major Gospatrick out.” Harry blinked at her, looking unsure. “Left out the door, follow the main passage until you’re back at the desk, you can find your way from there.”
Only after the wooden door of the room was closed did the Healer turn back to him. “So. I’ve had a chat with your healer of record, who, I note, thinks this is ridiculous, but who is not going to exert himself enough to argue with it. Bathing and therapeutic techniques are somewhat at the discretion of the nurse. Also, he’s a lazy bastard. I am Healer Rhoe - that’s my first name, not my last. Fidelius will be along in a minute to help you to the bath. Anything you want to tell me first?”
Roland didn’t even know where to start, then he at least found a sentence. Two. “Can I do this wrong? And will it get E - Healer Morris - in trouble?”
“No and no. I mean, it’s not making her better friends with your healer. But that wasn’t likely anyway, so no loss there. There are several people interested in what happens if she’s allowed to use her skills properly. Best thing you can do is do your best to let the waters do their work. Don’t fight it.”
Roland felt he was very mild when he replied. “I am not much good for fighting anything at the moment. That’s rather the point.” Then he considered the rest of what she said, the implication that Elen might have more resources than she’d realised.
“Noticeably better, yes.” He considered. “I suppose that’s another way she hasn’t been making friends?”
“Exactly. So, I’m sure she explained the general process.” She moved briskly along to the task at hand, and he liked that about her. “This is the pool dedicated to Nodens. You do not have to believe, you do not need to say any prayers, but again, this will work better if you don’t fight it.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed if I couldn’t be respectful.”
“Good man. Fidelius is actually Christian, mind. But he’s one of the sort who feels any healing has the touch of the divine in it. What form that takes, or who someone prays to is up to them. Mind, if he’ll gladly talk your ear off about his own preferences if you ask him. But we have a wide range here.”
“Nurse Morris mentioned. I’m afraid I don’t know much about Nodens. Or why, why I’d be here, in specific?” He gestured. “I’m afraid after she talked to you I had another visit with various officials, I’ve been exhausted, since.”
“Another reason you’re not up for a fight, then. Well, Nodens is a Welsh god of healing. We choose which bath someone will be in through a combination of practicality - what’s available when - and thoughtful consultation of the gods. That is part of my role. I talked to Nurse Morris, and based on that conversation, Nodens seemed the best place to start. He was injured in fighting, and forced to cede his rule of the gods until that was resolved.”
She paused before obviously making a decision to say more. “There were some challenges with that. Healing isn’t a straightforward road, often. There are twists and turns and setbacks.” He got the sense that wasn’t something she laid out so clearly for everyone.
There seemed half a dozen places to argue with Nodens as a model for Roland’s own life, but he settled on the simplest. “Start?”