by K. M. Grant
“But what else is there?” asked Old Nurse impatiently, shaking her heavy jowls. Her eyes were red for she had not slept, and her legs ached from standing most of the night. “I’ve never seen anybody with a head so swollen who has lived this long. I don’t like to admit defeat, deary, but your lotions and my poultices are just not working. Drilling a hole is the only way.”
Marie tried to argue further, with Ellie backing her up by suggesting this herb or that treatment, but Old Nurse would not listen. As the hours rolled past, a curious silence fell over the castle, as if everybody knew that something horrible was about to happen. At last Old Nurse got up, touched Elric’s forehead again, then lumbered slowly off to find Will. Although nobody said a word, by the time Hal galloped away from Hartslove’s walls, everybody knew where he was going.
He returned in the early evening, and at his side was a cart driven by a man in leather overalls, the tools of his trade open for all to see. Some were still bloody from a previous victim, either animal or human, nobody could tell. Hal had also collected Brother Luke, the monk in charge of the infirmary, from the abbey, and he was perched at the back, clutching a small sack containing holy water and the knuckle bone of St. Hubert, one of the abbey’s most treasured relics. “I thought he might help,” Hal said to Will. Will did not reply. As the surgeon climbed out and summoned men to help him carry his instruments, Marissa, who had been following Will around like a dog, desperate for his forgiveness, had to close her eyes. “Never mind the monk,” Will muttered, wanting to punish her, “we’ve more use for the coffin maker.” Marissa made a strangled sound and fled. Will and Amal both watched her go.
Old Nurse bustled the surgeon up the steps. “I’ve laid everything out,” she said, “and Marie’s given the poor child half a jug of wine to prepare him. He didn’t swallow much of it but enough, I dare say.” Her face was set and her thick forearms bare in preparation. Will and Kamil followed her, with Amal slipping like a shadow behind. Will had no idea how he would feel when Elric’s blood began to flow. It would be worse than in battle, for sure, for in battle there was no time to think or to dread. He looked at the butcher and felt his gorge rise. Was this right? Should he stop it? He suddenly grabbed Old Nurse’s arm. She understood and sympathized but shook her head.
Will felt his courage leaking away. Would he allow a hole to be drilled in his own head? When they reached the chamber in which Elric was laid out, he held back, unable to go in. He should never have given permission. Certainly, he could not watch. Suddenly and acutely he missed his father. He wasn’t old enough for all this fearsome responsibility. When his shoulder was touched, he jumped. “Father—,” he breathed, even though he knew it was stupid. The touch was Kamil offering support, one soldier to another. Still, Will could pretend.
The surgeon was a man almost as large as Old Nurse, and the room seemed very crowded. Marie was holding one of Elric’s hands, her face registering complete disapproval. Ellie held the other. Despite the crush, the room had an eerie feel for all the daylight was obscured by thick hangings drawn over the window slits and the candles guttered in the draught. It took some time to fix Elric’s head in a brace as whenever somebody touched his skin, he shook violently and thrashed from side to side. His eyes, so puffy he could barely open them, glittered in the gloom and the wine, far from calming him, caused a shuddering agitation so that words emerged in bubbles from his blue lips. He could still see but appeared terrified by the shadows. Marie tried to soothe him but eventually it was only with brute force that the restraints were put on and tightened, for it would be a disaster if he moved. When all was secure the surgeon coughed, spat on his hands, and picked up a small spike. Brother Luke closed his eyes and began to pray aloud. The surgeon waited a moment, then he gestured to Old Nurse, who took Elric’s hand and squeezed it hard. The spike was lowered onto Elric’s skull, just at the hairline.
At the very moment the hammer was raised for the first strike, Amal’s voice rang out. His voice was strong enough to make the surgeon hesitate and at once Amal pushed his way to the front, talking animatedly at Kamil and gesturing with his hands.
The surgeon lifted his hammer again. Amal blocked him. The surgeon raised a leg to kick him but Will was in the way. “Just wait, just wait,” he commanded. “What’s Amal saying, Kamil?”
“He says,” said Kamil, listening and speaking at the same time, “that this is madness. If you make a hole in his skull, Elric will certainly die. The black color of his face is not caused by evil spirits and even if it was, if you make a hole, the evil spirits will just retreat further and make his whole body black.”
“Well, what does he suggest instead?” Will’s voice cracked with strain.
“He says Hippocrates teaches that it is better to use weak medicine than medicine that is too strong. This spike is too strong. He says that Elric should be left alone, that the heat he is generating is boiling off the bad elements inside him. The fever is part of the cure.”
“But he is dying,” cried Will. “Look at him.”
“I’m just telling you what Amal said.”
Will bowed his head. Amal patted his arm. “Please to allow?” he said with one of his little bows.
The butcher surgeon began to protest for he was mindful of his fee. “Now look here,” he said, brandishing the spike, “we do things our own way here. English people are not like these foreigners and foreign medicine is no good for us. You’ll be agreeing with me, Old Nurse.”
But although Old Nurse wanted to agree, she was unsure. Now that she could see the spike and could see also how small Elric looked compared to the surgeon’s great ham hands, her previous certainty deserted her. Yet if she looked with distaste at the surgeon, she looked with more distaste at Amal. What could an emaciated stick like him know? Nevertheless, in obedience to Will and encouraged by Ellie, she let the old man through.
Amal stroked Elric’s face with bony fingers. Immediately, the boy began to jibber. “Unscrew this,” he ordered, and Marie willingly loosened the head brace. She looked at Amal with hope. When the brace was off, he produced several folded papers. “Get warm water,” he said to Kamil, still smiling apologetically as if he were being a nuisance, “and small bowls with stirrers. Draw back the hangings from the the windows. The boy needs air. And get cushions. He needs to sit up. Later I will need a big bath, something we can lower him into.”
Kamil repeated the instructions and even before he had finished, Marie was running to the kitchens. The surgeon stood at the end of the bed, glowering, his arms crossed. He was not going to leave. They would need him yet. Humming to himself, Amal hopped around the bed and indicated to Ellie that she should strip off Elric’s blankets in favor of a thin sheet as he set out his folded papers on the window ledge. He avoided the surgeon as he might an immovable tree, brushing past him, always careful not to push. The surgeon wanted to swat him like a wasp.
At last, when all was to Amal’s satisfaction, he tipped his colored powders into the bowls. Strange and exotic smells drifted out, of turmeric, ginseng, and cinnamon. Ellie watched, taking everything in, but Old Nurse just sniffed, then sneezed, nearly blowing the powder away. Amal frowned and muttered. He wanted Old Nurse out.
Kamil saw at once. Amal’s air of authority impressed him. The man did know what he was doing. He would help him. “Old Nurse, Amal asks what you would normally put on broken bones,” he said pleasantly.
Old Nurse was surly. “I sometimes make a paste of comfrey.”
“Go and make it now. He thinks it best if you treat Elric’s legs,” Kamil told her. Old Nurse snorted but she went on her way. Amal and Kamil exchanged glances before Amal turned back to his bowls and told Ellie to prop Elric up. Soon, Amal was expertly pouring liquid down the boy’s throat. Occasionally Elric choked but Amal never wavered. He had done this often to injured Assassins. Every so often he met Kamil’s eye again, consciously strengthening the bond between them. When the liquid had disappeared, Amal carefully dabbed his lotion onto Elric’
s heart, neck, and wrists. “To calm the pulse,” he explained, glad to see everybody hanging on his words.
Before long Old Nurse reappeared and spread thick, sweet-smelling paste gently onto Elric’s shins and covered them with a damp cloth. Amal watched her politely. When she had finished, he settled himself onto a small stool. “Now,” he said, “we wait.” The butcher surgeon narrowed his eyes and spread his legs a little wider. He still held his spike and made a point of testing the sharpness of its tip.
For at least an hour, Elric seemed no better and despite themselves the watchers grew weary. Kamil fiddled endlessly with his triangular knife. Ellie sat by Elric’s head, rocking slightly, with Marie beside her. Even the butcher surgeon, though he did not put down his spike, eventually found a chair.
Will leaned on the wall. He watched Elric, then Ellie, then Kamil in turn, his thoughts everywhere. Amal alone never moved but observed Elric constantly and carefully. After an hour, the boy seemed to take a turn for the worse. His skin grew hotter and hotter and the whole length of his body shook. Will moved closer to the bed and frowned, but Amal simply nodded and bowed. Only once did the old man get up, and although everybody held their breath, it was just to smooth a wrinkle out of a cushion. The night dragged on. It was not until dawn that Elric’s color changed and his breathing quickened. “The crisis,” Amal said aloud. But he seemed unconcerned. Now Ellie and Marie huddled together and Brother Luke began to pray in earnest. Marissa could hear his Our Fathers from her chamber and she stopped her ears against them.
It was a dreadful crisis. Far from calling out random words, Elric now called endlessly for his mother. He cried that he could see the pit of Hell and the gates of Heaven. He wanted to go home. “Stop the devils, stop them,” he begged. “They’re coming for me.” Ellie tried to quiet him but he hit out at her as if she were an enemy. Only when Will took his hand did Elric pause for a moment before starting all over again, pushing himself up and down in the bed. Each time he fell back he seemed to fade a little, and Will was frightened that if he let go, Elric would somehow disappear like a flaky chalk.
After half an hour Amal touched Elric’s forehead with the pad of his thumb and smelled the sweat. He sighed, then smiled. “What, old man, what?” Even Kamil was agitated now, wondering if his faith had been misplaced. “How can you smile at such a time?”
But Amal’s smile grew broader. “The boy will survive,” he said confidently. “His life force is winning against the fever. Soon these cries will die away, then he will sleep. In the morning, he will be weak. We must feed him carefully. In a month he will have forgotten he was ill.”
“If you’re right, you’re a miracle worker.” Kamil’s eyes never left Elric.
“No, no, no,” said Amal, squinting. “You know that is not right. I just practice here the medicines our people practice at home. The real miracle is that any of these Christians survive. Just look at that butcher!” Amal was pleased to see a hesitant smile on Kamil’s lips.
It happened just as Amal predicted. Soon, Elric’s lips changed from deathly blue to pink and his fingers were no longer plucking at his sheet. Old Nurse, sniffing, touched his cheeks. “Cool,” she said loudly, and then repeated in wonder, “quite cool.” Marie burst into tears. Old Nurse hugged her and then turned to Amal, rigidly grateful. Amal bowed graciously, acknowledging but not crowing.
It was not long before everybody was surging forward to touch Elric and to gaze at Amal. This foreigner was not so bad. However, having played his role, the old man backed away.
When dawn became day, Will ordered food to be served and Amal sat silently in the hall as toasts were drunk. When the time was right, he searched out a quiet place and beckoned to Kamil. “Allah is great,” he said softly.
“Allah is great,” Kamil replied, and then the two Saracens kneeled down together to pray.
6
After three days, when Elric’s condition had improved enough for Will to scold him gently and Marissa was no longer hiding, Will prepared to leave for Whitby again. Richard’s ransom could wait no longer. He was also concerned about the silver mare. “By rights she should be yours, Ellie,” he told her as they wandered down to the chestnut tree, “because Richard gave her to Gavin. I know you and Gavin were never actually married, but still. If you want her, I suppose you should have her.”
Something in his voice grated. “Do you think the mare would be too much for me to ride, Will?” Ellie asked, annoyed.
“No,” said Will carefully, “but I am just wondering if we should give her to Kamil. Look how well they go together.” Ellie turned and she could see that Will was right. Under Kamil’s control, although her head bent unwillingly to the bridle, the silver horse moved with serene grace. She knew she could not get the better of her rider, but he had not broken her spirit. Ellie was transfixed by Kamil’s easy skill and how his hands spoke to the mare’s mouth down the reins. She felt a tightening in her stomach. On the silver horse, Kamil looked different, as if he was set for the desert. “If we give Kamil the silver horse, he’ll leave.” She had not meant to say it, but she suddenly knew it was true.
Will spoke even more carefully, half hating himself, since when they were out hunting or dealing with the inevitable scuffles between armed knights, Kamil felt more like a brother than a companion in arms. Nevertheless, whenever Ellie spoke about Kamil, Will wanted to kill him. “Maybe it is time,” he said evenly. “He won’t want to live here forever.”
They both stopped as Kamil drew up to speak to Amal. Their Saracen voices carried and Will found himself disturbed that for the first time since Kamil had come to Hartslove, he could not understand what he was saying. He turned back to Ellie and tried his best to sound reasonable. “Kamil has said that he’ll help deliver Richard’s ransom, but even without the silver horse I’ve a feeling he won’t come back here after that unless—” Will stopped.
Ellie pressed him. “Unless?”
“Unless you ask him to.” Will colored.
Ellie stared at him. “Do you want me to?”
Will stared back at her, unable to answer.
Hal came past on Hosanna. Brimming with health and eagerness, the horse tossed his head, playfully fighting for his bit. At once the tension dissolved. “He’s so beautiful, Will,” Ellie said. “What a spectacular pair they make, the silver and the red!” Will relaxed just as Ellie frowned. Hosanna, it seemed, was more than happy to stand close to his new equine companion, but when Amal approached he moved away. “Hosanna doesn’t like Amal,” she said with some surprise.
“No,” Will agreed after a minute or two, “he doesn’t. How curious.” He watched a bit longer, then shook his head. “I wonder why. But I can hardly turn the man out just because Hosanna wants to avoid him. Not after he traveled so far to bring the horse here and all he did for Elric.”
“No, you can’t,” Ellie agreed, but she was disturbed. “It’s just odd. I mean, Amal is a Saracen, but I don’t see how he could really hurt us or why he would want to.” Yet it was unmistakable that every time Amal put up his hand to touch Hosanna’s white star, the horse made sure it was out of reach. “Perhaps Hosanna also thinks Amal will take Kamil from us,” Ellie said a little wistfully, “and he doesn’t want that either.”
Will again found himself at a loss but then Hosanna whinnied at him. Will’s mood lifted. “I think,” he whispered in Ellie’s ear, “that Hosanna might not like Amal because Old Nurse dropped his clothes in some old fish water when she took them to be washed. They stink. Old Nurse said she did it by mistake, but I wonder. ‘Really, deary,’” he imitated Old Nurse’s voice perfectly, ‘you never know where this foreign cloth has been.’” He harrumphed in true Old Nurse style. Ellie’s eyes crinkled and she wagged her finger. It had been ages since she had seen Will like this. He had been so serious since he had come back from crusade and it had all been so dreadful after Gavin. But Gavin couldn’t want Will to be sad forever. Their laughter pealed out. Kamil and Amal watched them, rather bemused.
>
“I think I do want to keep the silver mare, Will,” Ellie said as she and Will companionably approached the horses. “I don’t expect I’ll ever love her like I love Hosanna or Sacramenta, but I think we will look very splendid riding together, you on Hosanna and me on—actually, Will, on whom? She hasn’t got a name and she can’t just be ‘the silver horse’ forever more.”
“You’re right, she can’t,” said Will. Ellie had said “riding together.” He liked that picture very much. “Let’s think.” Will stroked the silver rump. “Ellie wants to find a name for this horse, Kamil,” he said before moving to Hosanna, who blew sweet breath into his face. Will murmured endearments and Hosanna gave a rich sigh of contentment.
“Yes,” said Ellie, and her eyes twinkled into Kamil’s, “a name.”
“What about Sanctus?” suggested Will. “It goes well with Hosanna.”
But Kamil was scrutinizing the horse carefully. “I think you should call her Shihab,” he said, smiling down at Ellie.
“Shihab?” asked Ellie, intrigued. “Does it mean something?”
“It means a flame or a blaze,” Kamil explained, “and although the horse is silver, she’s as speedy as fire.”
“Shihab,” said Ellie to herself, then repeated it more loudly. “Shihab. What do you think, Will?”
“It’s very unusual,” said Will, tickling Hosanna’s nose, “and I think it’s rather ugly.” Ellie looked crestfallen. “But it certainly seems to fit,” Will added hastily. He did not want to appear churlish.
“Shihab it is then,” decided Ellie, and she tidied the mare’s mane.
“It will be strange,” said Kamil, addressing Ellie directly. “When I go home I will have Sacramenta, a Christian horse with a Christian name, and you will have Shihab, an Arab horse with an Arabic name.” Ellie felt a chill at the word when, which had always been if before. But at once the silver horse shook vigorously and her mane covered Ellie in a great sheet. “Shihab!” Ellie cried as she emerged. The mare looked around. “She likes her name,” Ellie said. “Now, Kamil, you must show me how best to manage her.”