A Woman of the Road

by Amy Wolf

  It began as he clutched his groin, doubling over in agony. I could only watch helplessly as his face flushed with fever. It was not long before he took his place on the floor, lying on a thin blanket, too weak even to move.

  Not Aventis, I prayed, please God, let him recover . . .

  But my prayers went unheard, for like all the others his neck began to display horrible pus-filled sores. I could only hope that in contrast to those I’d tended, his skin would not turn black.

  On the third day of his malady, I told him, “Aventis, try to drink,” and bent over his poor head to offer a cup of water.

  He merely turned it away.

  “No mortal recourse,” he whispered.

  I refused to accept this.

  “Then implore God. He is the only one who can help.”

  He nodded but seemed unconvinced.

  The next morning, when I woke beside him, he groaned into a sitting position and gazed out a rose window composed of sparkling stained glass. Not trusting any blanket there, I removed my own cloak and placed it over his shoulders. Soon—too soon—his sores grew to the size of eggs and his whole form shook.

  “Megs.” He could hardly pronounce my name, so acute was his suffering. “Please. Take this.”

  With an unsteady hand, he reached round his neck and pulled off a silver necklace. Hanging from it was a heavy crucifix. Lowering my head, I accepted his gift and placed it in my coat pocket.

  “I shall cherish that forever,” I said. How I wanted to touch the silver, but I was afraid!

  “The queen,” Aventis murmured.

  I put my hand to his forehead which flamed hotter than a kitchen fire. Though I felt a stab at the mention of Catherine, I resolved to do what was right.

  “What of her?” I asked. “Did you wish to tell her something?”

  He tried to nod. “Yes . . . that I’m gone,” he gasped. “Say . . . I was always her defender.”

  “You have my word,” I whispered, tears bathing my face. It was a sight all too familiar in that crowded nave.

  “Aventis,” I said, “before it is too late . . . you know if Jeffries had relented, I would have married you.”

  “Yes,” he said with a weak smile. “And I would have accepted.”

  How I wanted to touch him!

  “Margaret,” he said.

  “Count.”

  I enjoyed this brief moment where we could be ourselves.

  “I always thought that before passing,” he said, “I would feel a sense of peace. But there is only dread and doom.”

  “It is the plague,” I said. “It badly infects the mind.”

  Despite all strictures, I finally took hold of his hand. Then, I indulged in an act made halting by disuse. As I kneeled beside him, I prayed.

  “Dear God,” I said aloud, “won’t you please save him? You know that we are outlaws, breakers of the laws of men, but if You disapproved our path, why did you lead us to it?”

  I watched as Aventis dabbed his mouth with a white cloth—one that turned shockingly red as he withdrew it.

  I re-addressed our Maker.

  “The count is a good man. You know that. He came here to help others. I implore you, Heavenly Father, please do not take him from me!”

  With that, I removed the crucifix and kissed it.

  It could not have been an hour before delirium struck. While Aventis writhed, he cried my name, “Margaret!” as well as that of “Charles,” whom I knew to be Jeffries, and “Phillip,” most likely Carnatus. Through it all, the word “Catherine” never crossed his lips.

  I watched over him all night, bathed in sweat lest I had to perform that terrible duty: closing his eyes forever. I wished I knew the last rites, but as all priests had died, Aventis would have to forego them.

  As dawn broke through that rose east window, I saw a change come over my friend. His forehead cooled, he no longer cried out, and the ghastly sores on his body took on a paler hue. By mid-morning, he was able to swallow some water and even a crust of bread!

  “Thank you, God,” I said, not realizing I spoke aloud. “I will try to be nicer to You.”

  “He has looked after us both,” said Aventis. “There is no other explanation.”

  “Mmm.”

  Among those we had tended, a very few would improve, but as to why, no one could say. Perhaps Aventis, made strong by years on the road, had been able to fight the pestilence. Yet though he was improved, he was far from being whole: his every movement was weak, and in place of those red sores there were now raised scars. It would be some time before he was fully himself.

  “Aventis,” I said, my voice urgent, “the workings of plague are unknown to us. You might well be re-stricken, especially here among its victims. Please, let us fly. We must go this moment!”

  “Very well,” he said. As I helped him up, he said, “Dear Margaret, I do this for you. I would not have you suffer as I have—not for a thousand guineas.”

  “Then it is good you are not Carnatus,” I said.

  He gave a weak laugh as I led him toward the door. Brave soul! Still of good humor despite his ordeal. At last, we stepped past the remaining f bodies and departed from St. Paul’s.

  The rush of outside air (surprisingly fresh with few left to pollute it) gave us both new life. Aventis led me to a stable where he had secured his horse. With relief, I found my own there: some good person had provided them with hay and water. In a world entombed by death, tit was heartening to find there was still some goodness left.

  While I gave my horse a pat, Aventis came round to my side.

  “Margaret,” he said, “Truly, I owe you a debt which can never be repaid.”

  “Yet I feel I did nothing but sit,” I said.

  “No. You gave me a reason to live.”

  My eyes clouded, as did his, but we could not linger long.

  I harnessed both horses and strained to help him mount. Once my feet were in the stirrups, we set out for the great city in which we were nearly alone.

  “Will things improve here?” I asked, as we headed northwest to the Heath.

  “In my experience,” he said, “they usually do.”

  1666

  When we approached our hideout, we were given a hero’s welcome.

  “What’s this?!” roared Carnatus, actually tossing away a fowl. “We are treated to not one, but two who return from the dead!”

  He strode over to Aventis and lifted him off his saddle.

  “You’re a bit thinner, my friend,” he said, “but I always thought you could lose a stone or two!”

  Jeffries and I laughed.

  “I am glad to see you both,” said the captain. “With the dire news from London, we naturally feared the worst.”

  “Aventis is far too dashing to die!” said Carnatus, laying him gently on the heath. “As for Megs, he is too young!”

  I smiled, setting myself at Aventis’s side. For the next five weeks, I barely moved from that spot.

  My spirits brightened as I saw him grow stronger each day. Soon he was eating heartily and even requesting wine!

  “The Lafite or the Latour?” I asked, like the barmaid I had been.

  “To a man recalled to life, even sludge will do,” he smiled.

  When I returned with a full cup, he put a hand to his cheek, where most of his scars had faded.

  “Tell me, Megs,” he asked, “has the plague made me more tragic? Do I now bear the outer scars which match the ones within?”

  At his side, I laughed, then swatted him.

  “Aventis, you are no Milton,” I told him. “I suggest you stick to the sword!”

  After five weeks, he was as good as new! Though we wanted to be off, we could not venture out while the plague still held sway. Incredibly, it lasted till the next winter. We lay low until Charles thought it safe to return to Whitehall. This was great news for us, for in his train came courtiers, their coaches laden with treasure. We acquired so many French chairs we might have furnished a house!
/>   Of course, there were also guineas—enough to please Carnatus.

  “I say, Aventis,” he said, one morning after a raid. “Might you spare me some wine? I’m not entirely satisfied with this purloined ale.”

  “Of course,” said Aventis. He filled a gold chalice to the brim.

  “Very fine,” Carnatus pronounced, taking a large gulp. “I declare myself happy you did not die last September.”

  “That is very kind,” said Aventis.

  “Your luck was prodigious,” said Jeffries, who kept watch at our hideout. “They say that one in four has perished in London.”

  Carnatus shook his massive head.

  “Terrible odds,” he said.

  “I hope the city can revive,” I said.

  “It will,” said Carnatus. “For now, I must revive myself. I confess myself weary even of this good Heath. A soft bed and a good meal would be welcome as a doxy!”

  I tried not to blush as Jeffries nodded.

  Aventis left his seat on the heath and stretched.

  “I shall gather wood for a fire,” he said.

  “May I help?” I asked eagerly.

  “Let Carnatus go,” said Jeffries. “Perhaps he’ll work off that last game bird.”

  Carnatus laughed as he stomped off with Aventis. I looked down at the heath and sighed. After our days together to London, I so longed for even a moment to be alone with Aventis.

  But Jeffries, that watchful old soldier, was too canny to fall for my tricks . . .

  Once London had been declared safe in June, Jeffries decided to make for Moll’s. In truth, I did not mind her, for she was friendly to me and glowed around the captain. However, I gave myself a stern warning to stay away from her wardrobe!

  As Carnatus had mentioned, a soft place to sleep did wonders. After all those months sleeping rough (with the brief respite at St. Paul’s) it was heaven to lie in a “bed,” though it be just Moll’s divan. At night, I had my privacy, and would fling off that hated chest cloth! Once, when all were abed, I took up Moll’s glass and a candle, afraid that my years on the road had surely taken their toll. But seeing my face reflected, I exhaled with relief! Despite looking older, which I was, I was unmistakably a woman. One that, I hoped fervently, Aventis could one day appreciate . . .

  During this stay at Moll’s, our company kept to itself. As he had foretold, Carnatus called back Gad, whom he would send to a nearby cookhouse to retrieve platters of food. After our successes with Charles’s court, we were able to retire for a bit.

  “I say, Gad, hand me round that capon, won’t you?” Carnatus asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  We were lounging about Moll’s sitting room, enjoying another repast.

  “Megs, did you sample the oysters?” Carnatus asked me.

  “I did. Fat and delicious!”

  “Like me!” he crowed. “What of the anchovies?”

  I scrunched up my face.

  “Not quite to my taste,” I said.

  “Gad,” Carnatus commanded, “run back to the Snail and obtain a less fishy fish for our friend!”

  So it went for a month as Jeffries cooed with Moll and the rest of us ate and drank. I confess I began to weary of this soft life, and I longed to go somewhere, or simply walk the street. But as a wanted “man” who had cheated Tyburn, I resolved to lay low so the noose did not string me high.

  The others seemed content—Aventis read his Bible while Carnatus played cards—and I attempted to settle in with something like their calm. Still, I was restless: until my wish for action was granted on 2 September.

  In a deep sleep, I awoke to sounds in the street and the smell of charred wood. As an innkeeper’s daughter, I had always lived in dread of his event.

  “FIRE!” I yelled, causing Gad to run downstairs.

  “Wake the whole household!” I cried, then affixed my mask to my face. I threw on what clothes I could, stumbling toward the front door. When I opened it, a catastrophe greeted me.

  A great fire was raging, flames rising in every direction, over the spires of buildings and the jetties of two-storey houses.

  I ran back through the open door.

  “We must leave!” I shouted, and saw my fellows and Moll running towards me while still getting dressed.

  “We must get to the pipes!” cried Moll. “They are under the street.”

  Our company used our swords and anything else we could carry—broken-off window panes and broomsticks—to try to puncture the cobblestones and free the liquid below.

  Our neighbors, none of them calm, gathered in their night-shirts in an attempt to help. Within minutes, we had broken through the pipes and were handing round buckets.

  “Form a line!” Jeffries ordered, raising his sword.

  We complied, some thirty strong, but our efforts were feeble: we were like ants trying to put out the sun. After an half-hour of this, smoke overcame us, and we fled choking from the street.

  “Stay together!” Jeffries cried, as we fought for breath.

  “It is the devil’s work!” a woman in a night-shirt screamed.

  “No, it is the baker’s. Thomas Faryner of Pudding Lane.” A man pointed to where the flames were fiercest. “Left ‘is oven unwatched, damn ‘im!”

  So, I thought, it took just one small mishap to destroy England’s great capital?

  The evidence was all round me. As we ran past wooden houses, many half-destroyed, London looked like a paper town besieged by a match-throwing giant!

  “It may yet put itself out,” Carnatus said to Aventis.

  “No, the wind!” cried Aventis, nearly losing his hat.

  I could feel it blow strong from the east but unlike some gales, it did nothing to quench the fire: in a cruel twist, it merely fueled the flames.

  “Head to the river!” said Jeffries, and we were happy to obey. Yet once we reached the wharves, we recoiled from a ghastly sight: a towering wall of fire which seemed to threaten the Thames.

  “What is in those buildings?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the smoke coming from warehouses.

  “Oil, tar, and pitch,” said Jeffries. “Also, brandy.”

  “Mother of God!” I shouted. “Could it be more combustible?!”

  “Quick now!” Jeffries told us. “We must cross the river.”

  “How?” Gad asked. “There’s not a boat that isn’t taken!”

  Carnatus, undeterred, waded out up to his ankles.

  I found myself distracted as a giant roar shook the shacks on the bank. The air itself became heated as the smell of burning tar crept under my mask. I reeled, fearing that I might faint.

  “Steady, Megs,” said Aventis, placing an arm around my shoulder.

  This quickly revived me.

  “Ho, boatman!” Carnatus hailed a small craft. “Take us across, if you please.”

  “One guinea each,” the man said.

  “That is outrageous!” cried Carnatus, putting his hands on his hips.

  Jeffries shook his head.

  “Have you no sense of shame?” he asked.

  “None at all, cap,” said the boatman. “If ya don’t wanta pay, I kin find a body ‘oo will.”

  “Very well,” Jeffries spat, and handed over some coins.

  We all stepped in gingerly, aided by Carnatus. When he came aboard, the wood creaked in complaint. As we headed toward London Bridge, I could see that the huge waterwheels beneath it—those which supplied the streets—were themselves engulfed in flame.

  I nudged Aventis and pointed.

  “That does not bode well,” he said. “If the east wind holds, I fear that London is lost.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “All because of a baker?”

  “Stranger things have occurred,” he said. “It is told that a knight who raised his sword to slay an adder led to the fall of King Arthur.”

  I looked around, actually seeing water burn.

  “But this is real,” I said softly.

  Though our journey
was not long, it seemed to last an age. When we reached the farther bank, we had to cover our faces, for the air was filled with scattered debris. If that was not bad enough, it was near impossible to know if dawn had broken: when I looked up, I saw not the sun as I knew it but an orb the shade of charcoal.

  “See there,” said Carnatus.

  As we tumbled out, he pointed back across the Thames. I could not move as I watched the flames devour the city’s tall spires, each wreathed with black smoke in a last cry for help.

  “There goes everything,” I said. Though I was not a Londoner, I could well imagine the pain of those who were.

  “I never thought I’d live to see such a sight,” said Jeffries. At that moment, he realized our party was minus one. “Has anyone seen Moll?!” he cried.

  We all looked around.

  “Not since we crossed over,” I said. “We must have lost her before the river.”

  Jeffries clenched his jaw.

  “I must return for her,” he said.

  “No, no!” came the shouts, from me as well as the others.

  “No doubt she has found safety,” Aventis said.

  “It is a death wish to go back,” added Carnatus.

  “I am sure she has survived,” I said, “for she is a clever woman.”

  Jeffries looked torn, closed his eyes, and balled his fists. Still, he knew our advice was sound.

  “Very well,” he said. “Let us leave this benighted spot.”

  We walked north for quite a while but the landscape was much the same: buildings and shops on fire—or about to be. Once we came to Lombard Street, recognizable from the Royal Exchange, we witnessed a sight that would have otherwise been amusing: bankers, long cloaks blowing, rushed from its square, their hands full of bulging sacks which must have contained gold. While the lives of hundreds of thousands hung in the balance, this is what they chose to save! I glanced at Jeffries, curious if he would strike, but he just looked disgusted.

  “The Royal Exchange is threatened!” one banker cried to us, as if mourning the death of a loved one.

  “Pity,” said Jeffries. “Though it looks like you’ve grabbed most of it.”

  The bankers ran on, a panicked mob at their heels.