The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “The groomsman Bill is sneezing his beard off, my lady,” David said, laying out the tubs and packets he had bought on the little table. “And there’s not a victim of the Great Mortality I’ve ever heard with the sneezes. Every other horror including the cough and the delirium, diarrhoea and buboes, yes, my lady. But a simple tickle of the nose, no. So a man that sneezes does not have the pestilence, he has the influenza perhaps, or just a simple cold which he complains about far too loudly. There is no infection in this hostelry.”

  “As yet,” whispered Emeline.

  Nicolas inspected his squire’s purchases. “Very well, David, there’s enough here to dose a hundred of us. Now give me a few moments alone with my wife before I ride out with you to this wretched village and deliver a share of those medicines.” David left as Nicholas turned to Emeline. “Well, little one, does the shopping expedition please you? And now, since it matters to you, I’ll take whatever you wish to your undeserving Ralph Cole. But it means leaving you alone for an hour or three.”

  “It was me who asked you – and my promise to that poor man. But my love, I shall be ill with worry until you return, fearing you’ll be caught and kept by those horrid patrols. The monks must be fierce indeed, and they intend no one to leave that village once arrived. What if you don’t come back?” Emeline stood in a hurry, brushing down her skirts and reaching to straighten her hair. “Or perhaps, if you allow it, I might come too?”

  “Allow it?” Nicholas grinned. “How timid and obedient you’ve become, my sweet. When did you last ask my permission for anything, making your own decisions to gallop half way across England and land yourself in more trouble than the entire package of wretched Woodvilles have managed since the old king’s death.”

  “I’m being polite because I really want to come with you.”

  “So I’ll answer you politely, my love. But the answer’s no. What, and risk you coming in contact yet again with the damned pestilence? It’ll be me and David alone will go since we’ve no fear of this sickness, having beaten it before. And we’ll come back, that I can promise you.”

  “And so if you don’t –” but she was interrupted.

  The footsteps up the stairs, small vehement steps reverberating with determination, reached the bedchamber’s small door. The voice was equally loud and equally recognisable. “If the child believes she can avoid me with silly stories of disease and death, then she is very much mistaken,” announced the baroness. “She will immediately abandon all disabilities and ailments at this instant, pull herself together, and prepare her apologues.”

  David’s mumble. “My lady, I beg you, if you could keep your voice down?”

  “What? Whisper? Certainly not.” The baroness thumped on the attic door. “Emeline, I demand you let me in and prepare yourself for a well deserved interrogation.”

  “Oh, bother and Bedlam,” sighed the baroness’s daughter.

  Nicholas opened the door to his mother-in-law. “My lady, though the joys of seeing you here are naturally immense,” he said with quiet amusement, “I cannot permit entrance. Allow mw to explain.”

  “Make her go away,” moaned Emeline from the other side of the door.

  Nicholas closed the door. “The risk is genuine, my lady,” he told the irate baroness. “And it is imperative not to alert the staff here, or we will be asked to leave. Emeline needs warmth and comfort. But if you enter here, you may catch the disease yourself and even carry it to others.”

  “Oh, Lord have mercy.” The baroness pushed past, entered the tiny attic room and stood central, eying her daughter. “I forbid it, Emeline,” she said. “Do you hear me? It is utterly forbidden.”

  Nicholas, grinning, came behind her. “I have told her the same, madam. But now, if you’ll leave my wife to me, I promise you she’ll be as well protected as is ever possible since I have some experience of this disease and no fear of it. I’m sure she’s not been infected, but in all decency, we need to allow for the possibility and keep our isolation.” He led the baroness again from the room. “She’s in good hands, my lady, I assure you. In the meantime it’s Avice, I think, who is half delirious with worry.”

  It was a wary and hurrying Harry Bambrigg who later carried four platters, still steaming, and set them for Emeline on the tiny table. She ate her dinner alone.

  Nicholas and David left the Fox and Pheasant and took the low road for the nearby village, its watching and officious monastery, and its lonely suffering. They saw no one else, but kept close and did not speak. When they came to the village, it was late morning, and bright with a smell of damp and peaceful warmth. But no movement disturbed the clustering houses, no market coloured the grassy square, no village shops were open, the church stood empty and silent, and only the sharp little wind disturbed the silence. The horses’ hooves clattered down the lane, but no one came to their door as the shadows from the houses narrowed the path.

  Ralph Cole lay on the straw pallet he had made up for his wife beside the fire. The fire had gone to ashes. There was no sign of the dead woman. He tried to scramble up as Nicholas entered. “In honour of my wife’s promise,” Nicholas said softly, “I have brought medicines. Your actions were dishonourable, but you are dying and I understand your pain. Some of what I bring will help that pain.” He strode over, kicking the fire back to sparks. “So I’ve no kind words to give you. You tried to help your own wife at the cost of mine, and destined her to ostracism and possible misery. I’d not have come except for my lady’s insistence. So thank her, who you might have killed, not me.”

  The man had no strength to plead, nor to apologise, not even to stand. He struggled to sit, gasping for breath. “Forgive me, my lord, before I die,” he said. “I carried my Maudie upstairs, and she’s all comfy on our bed like a queen sleeping. I was so scared I’d drop her, and let her tumble down them steps, but I managed it, and laid her all tidy. Them black lumps went away after a time, but the rash has stayed, and all her skin is spoiled. But I remembers her as she used to be, and that’s how I pray she’ll be when I sees her next.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I see you have the rash yourself, and the mark of a bubo growing under the jaw. I have brought two medicines to lessen that pain. One is the most commonly used, the other is the strongest. Use one, use both; the choice is yours.” He opened the door slightly, looked out and signalled to David, instructing him to collect firewood. Back in the single chamber, the smoke had dissipated, but a smoggy stink smothered everything inside.

  Ralph choked, gasping for breath. “I wish to God,” he sighed, “I had this before, for my Maud.”

  “If there is still water in the bucket,” Nicholas told him, “you must dilute the willow bark potion and take it weak at first, then afterwards stronger and undiluted as you feel you need it. But the poppy juice is very strong. It’s here,” and he placed the tiny tub on a stool, “for when you need it. I believe it will kill all pain, even the worst, but it could kill you too if you take too much.” Nicholas turned towards the door. “What else needs to be done? Have you food?”

  “I’ve no appetite, my lord,” Ralph shook his head, “but have stale bread and a pot of old soup back there on the shelf, if I wants it. Which I don’t, nor couldn’t if I wanted, for it’s swallowing, even for medicines, hurts my throat now.”

  “Then I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else can be done for you.” Nicholas knelt suddenly, speaking very softly. “You must cope alone now. But listen to me, for I know a good deal about this vile sickness, and you should follow the advice I give. The pain will get worse. Take the diluted willow bark now, it’ll give you some relief, but that won’t last long. Take it again when you need it. This evening take it undiluted and hopefully it will help you sleep. In the morning you’ll know. You’ll feel better or a good deal worse. If it’s better, then you’re one of those lucky enough to throw it off, as I did. But you show signs of a bubo growing, and that is not lightly thrown off. It you feel considerably worse, then you take the poppy drink. All of it. Th
en you stamp out the fire, you lie down and you wait to die. You’ll sleep quickly, deep and dreamless. You will feel no pain, no pleasure. Nor have knowledge of day or night. You’ll never wake. It’s the easiest way.” He paused, raising his voice a little. “Do you understand?”

  Struggling, wide eyed, Ralph mumbled, “But my lord, you advise me to force my own passing, but this is a mortal sin. I cannot risk – and my Maud waiting at heaven’s gates – I won’t do anything to spoil –”

  “Sin?” Nicholas interrupted. “It’s this vile illness is the sin, dragging the innocent into an agony they cannot have deserved. I simply bring a medicine to relieve all pain. If you die peacefully in your sleep, then it’s the Lord’s gift. No guilt, no sin, no risk. The choice is yours. But do as I say, for otherwise you choose pain over peace, and there’s no virtue in that.” He turned abruptly. “Enough. It’s time to leave while I’m still able.”

  Ralph Cole looked over to Nicholas, now standing by the door. “I’ll do as you said, my lord, if you’re sure it’s not a wickedness. For I saw the pain my wife bore, and she were stronger and braver than me. Nor I ain’t alone, not with my Maud waiting upstairs.”

  Nicholas pulled the door shut behind him, muttering, “If the man has any sense he’ll take the poppy juice at once, and finish himself off before the pain’s any worse,” and he swung himself into the saddle. He waved to David who was waiting by the village green. “Time to be off, and quickly,” he called.

  It was a pale blue sky, almost cloudless and strangely benign. Yet it gazed down on a lifeless and tragic silence. But it was only moments before Nicholas was stopped.

  The men spread out, blocking both the road and the grassy banks either side. On his liard, Nicholas might have leapt the blockage, but the placid old mare he was riding could barely jump a ditch. Nicholas once more sighed, and stared down at the angry patrol.

  The tallest man stepped forwards, waving a stout stick. “What’s this then?” he demanded. “Come to rob the poor dying folk as they lie defenceless, is we? There’s no folk can leave the village, not for pity nor money, you can’t. And be spreading tales, and carrying the pestilence wide and afar? No you won’t, sir, grand dressed nor otherwise.”

  Nicholas looked down with some disdain at the tousled head below him. He said, “I am heir to the Chatwyn earldom, and you have no authority to keep us here, although I have some sympathy for your cause, its reasons and its aims. So I’ll tell you I’ve a place set well apart from other folk, and have every intention of staying there until the sickness comes or time passes without sign of contagion when I and my companion will consider ourselves saved. We’ll speak to no one else about the situation here, nor risk spreading it. You will therefore now let us pass.”

  The man scowled. The other four huddled, worried, muttering together. The horses kicked up dust, impatient. The first man, cudgel raised, did not stand aside. “We can’t allow it,” he said. “Tis as the abbot told us, not to let nor man nor child pass nor out nor in.”

  “Being as your lordship seemingly be a proper lord,” said another, shifting uncomfortably in the dust, “mayhaps you could come tell the abbot yourself, sir, and let him decide.”

  A third man grabbed at the horse’s reins and Nicholas swore. “Touch me again, and my sword will be at your throat,” he said between his teeth. “I’ll kill no man doing his duty, but you go beyond your rights.”

  Once again, they were interrupted. There was a call, loud and urgent. Every man turned and looked towards the village square. In the middle of the lane David stood, holding his fractious horse, but pointing back behind him. “Quick, you fools,” he called. “It’s fire. Every thatch will be ablaze in moments. Is there rainwater in the butts? Will you let your people burn?”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  An interruption of almost similar magnitude spoiled the late morning dinner which was at that moment being served in the hostelry’s small private parlour. Grouped around the table and already holding their tempers as they ate, were the baroness, her younger daughter Avice, her son-in-law’s cousin Sysabel, and the ageing Lady Elizabeth. Joan, Bess, Hilda and Petronella were helping to serve since the hostelry staff were over stretched, and the ladies preferred the presence, under the circumstances, of those they trusted. Upstairs the family nurse, Martha, was reorganising the large chamber her mistress would now share with those existing occupants, Avice and Sysabel. It was at the precise moment of serving the roast beef slivers wrapped in smoked salmon beneath a herb crust, that the door slammed downstairs, a voice was raised, and everybody in the parlour put down their spoons and knives with a clatter and stared at each other.

  “I don’t give a rat’s whiskers for your miserable hostelry, my good man,” announced the Earl of Chatwyn from the corridor outside. “I’ll thank you to remember exactly who I am. I’ve relatives staying here and my groom informs me that your stables are half full of the horses and other grooms from my own estates. You will therefore immediately show me where my relatives are at present housed, while you continue to arrange my bedchamber and a hot dinner. And if this place is simply too overcrowded to oblige me, then you had better instruct some of your other guests to move themselves off without delay into some alternative premises.”

  The baroness smiled apologetically at her companions, waved away the two remaining hostelry pages, leaned back in her chair, and addressed the hovering Petronella. “Please inform his lordship,” she sighed, “that his son is at present absent but will return shortly, his brother Jerrid is resting in a chamber upstairs, we are already seated here enjoying a pleasant midday meal, and he is – naturally – most welcome – to join us.”

  The earl joined them. He eyed the laden dishes and scratched his head. “Been a tiresome journey,” he admitted. “Left me a touch peckish.”

  “I shall order a new platter, spoon and napkin brought for your lordship,” said the baroness. “You are clearly half starved, sir.”

  “Well, not exactly,” admitted the earl. “Had an early dinner back at some pokey little inn along the way. But it’s been a good few miles since then.”

  “The spiced calves’ brains are very good, my lord.”

  He tried the calves’ brains, along with nearly everything else, and regarded his hostesses with complacence. “Didn’t mean to come,” he explained, with a slight belch. “Used to travelling of course, though usually on the king’s business, but I saw no reason to come cavorting through the rain and wind just to seek out the rest of my pesky relatives. Usually only too glad to see the back of them. It made more sense to stay at home and wait for them to come to me. But – well,” he smiled with faint apology, “wondered if all you adventurous females might need an escort, or some such. Thought to do my duty. Besides,” he added, “got damned dull, just waiting alone. So here I am.” The earl lounged, ankles stretched out and crossed. He wore the fashionable short doublet usually admired by younger men, and his thighs pulsed large, muscles squashed together and forced into overflow.

  The parlour, being a small back chamber, had only one very small window of polished horn which obscured everything but the falling drizzle outside. There were therefore two candles lit in spite of it being daytime, and one flickering spit of tallow illuminated the earl’s jowls with unforgiving candour. The baroness regarded her new companion and wondered how it was that this coarse featured man had sired two such handsomely charming sons. She decided, as she had previously, that the late countess must have been a beauty. She further decided, with a smugly secretive smile, that her own family situation had been a similar one. She shook her head free of pointless fancies and said, “But you find us sadly disorganised, my lord. Nicholas was here earlier, but has now gone to fulfil some errand which I know nothing of. I myself arrived only recently and have yet to see young Adrian.” She nodded towards Sysabel. “Though I am told he has proved himself a great hero and is much in favour. Now he has gone off on business with friends, but is expected to return either today or tomorrow.” />
  “Adrian? Humph,” decided the earl, pushing away crumbs. “He may well have gone off with friends, but genuine business in Weymouth is highly unlikely, I’m afraid. No head for it, you know. And as for being a hero, he never managed to live up to his hero worship of my boy Peter. I expect he’s off on some nonsense – well, his highness does use his more intelligent young courtiers from time to time. Looking into state matters and bringing back information. I am often employed on such subtle business, naturally. I wouldn’t put it past Adrian, though I doubt he’d be considered a principal player.”

  “And Nicholas?”

  “Madam,” sighed the earl, “you must know the answer to that as I do myself.”

  “Perhaps,” decided her ladyship, “I have just a little more respect for my daughter’s husband than you do, my lord.”

  He waved a plump handful of beringed fingers. “I know my son,” said the earl, “and for all a father’s natural fondness, I have to admit the wrong one died. I miss Peter, Such a good boy. I have every reason to suppose he was destined for greatness, as I’m sure the king already knew. But Nicholas? He’ll be lying drunk in some bordello off the coast, skulking away from duty and responsibility just as he hides from the cold north winds.”

  Sysabel, in spite of her Aunt Elizabeth’s warning expression, interrupted. “I’ve no interest in defending Nicholas, uncle,” she said, her voice a little tremulous, “although I believe he recently behaved with honour concerning Emeline. But Adrian is exceedingly wise, although naturally, coming from a noble family, he is not actually in business himself.”

  The earl sniffed. “No harm in a little trade sometimes, you know my dear. Wool through Norwich, even printing and books, something the king himself approves. But Adrian, well I doubt it. He’s a clever boy, but not for business.”

  The Lady Elizabeth sighed. “If only there was something that brought in a little money –”