The Last de Burgh

by Deborah Simmons

  ‘Intermittent fevers come every few days and are far more...debilitating.’ Emery swallowed hard, unable to finish.

  ‘’Twill get worse before it gets better,’ he said softly. ‘If it doesn’t kill me this time.’

  Emery looked shocked at such a sentiment. ‘Don’t say that. There must be something that can be done, some treatment—’

  He cut her off. ‘I have sought help more than once, to no avail. The first time, when I recovered fully, I shrugged it off, but it returned, leaving me weaker. In between attacks, I struggled to regain some semblance of my old strength, but for what purpose? Slowly, it ate at me until I wondered if ’twould be better just to give in.’

  He turned away again, as though ashamed of the admission, and Emery was so horrified she remained mute until he continued on. ‘For a while I courted danger, eager for a violent end, for who would not prefer to go out fighting than lying abed, until all is sapped away?’

  Emery stifled a cry of both pain and defiance. No matter what he might have done, it was not enough and she would not rest until she had tried every possibility more than once. Her myriad emotions coalesced into a single focus, hardened with determination: she would not let this happen. There must be someone, a learned monk at a hospital, a wise woman or...

  Emery eyed him sharply. ‘What does your father say?’

  ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘What?’ Emery faltered, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  He turned his head to face her. ‘I won’t have my family see me laid low,’ he said, with sudden ferocity. ‘And I hoped that you would not see me this way, either.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Emery said. ‘Do you think I only care for you because you are a great knight? Or that I would sink so low as to abandon you in your time of need?’ Emery felt strengthened by her outrage, a sentiment far preferable to the grief that threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘You do a disservice to me and to your family,’ she said. ‘Is your pride so great that you would deprive yourself of the comforts and joys of home, of looking upon your loved ones, for the sake of...vanity?’

  ‘’Tis not vanity to spare them all the sorrow and disappointment and frustration that has been mine this past year,’ he said, dark eyes flashing. ‘Do you think I want my last memories of them to be those of pity and loss? Your scorn is easily given when you have no notion of what I’ve been through.’

  He looked to say more, but he was interrupted by a knock upon the door. Eager to end the argument, Emery hastened to answer. If Guy had heard raised voices, he did not admit it, but brandished a paltry array of provisions: hard cheese, wrinkled apples and bread.

  ‘He needs hearty broth and a tisane to bring down the fever,’ Emery said, dismayed.

  Guy shook his head. ‘You will find little below.’ They exchanged a wary look, unwilling to burden Lord de Burgh with more worries. But Guy was able to get a small fire going so that Emery could steep some herbs without creating too much heat. She only wished that she had more supplies and thought longingly of the stores she had once kept at Montbard.

  But what little she had must have helped, for Lord de Burgh soon fell asleep, and Emery slumped down beside the bed in relief, the strain of the day threatening to overwhelm her. She would have eaten nothing herself, if not for Guy’s insistence, and he waited patiently until she finished, much as he had watched over his master’s meal.

  ‘Are you a healer?’ he asked, sounding both hopeful and desperate.

  ‘Hardly,’ Emery said, unwilling to mislead him. ‘I know just a little, having learned some lore while tending my father.’

  Guy’s disappointment was obvious and Emery realised how pale and drawn he was. The seemingly frivolous squire had become solid and dependable these past few hours, and she was struck with a sudden fear that he, too, would fall ill. ‘Do you...suffer, as well?’ she asked, panic setting her heart to thudding.

  Guy shook his head, then drew a deep breath. ‘We were visiting his brother Reynold, whose manor sits along the coast. When turning towards home, we travelled a different route, north through low-lying marshy lands, where summer fevers are commonplace. He was stricken and I was not.’

  Emery heard the guilt in the squire’s tone, but knew ’twas no fault of his that only his master was affected. She would have said as much, but he continued on, as though eager to unburden himself.

  ‘We were taken in by residents there, familiar with such ailments, and Lord de Burgh quickly recovered. But when it returned, again and again, he grew discouraged, claiming that a knight with the ague was...of no use to anyone.’

  The catch in his voice made Emery’s throat thicken and she struggled to dispute his words. ‘I am no physician,’ she said, ‘but I do not think he has marsh fever or the ague, as you called it. That illness has a definite cycle, with only days between bouts that do not allow for recovery. And Lord de Burgh seemed perfectly well this past week.’

  Guy nodded. ‘He has been well now for some time, though not as strong as he used to be. And with every day that passed, I thought that perhaps it wouldn’t come back. And then it does, suddenly, with no warning.’

  Emery heard Guy’s anguish and shared it. ‘But he is a strong man who has fought it off before,’ she protested. ‘Surely he will do so again.’

  Guy shrugged in abject misery. ‘I don’t know. He was always the best and the brightest of the de Burgh brothers, nearly as steady and clever as Geoffrey, yet more of a warrior than a scholar. But after the illness returned, he grew reckless, as if he cared little for his life and was intent upon losing it. And he refused to return home, though that is where he would be most likely to find aid.’

  Emery swallowed hard as the enormity of what Lord de Burgh faced became apparent. And she had thought him free of troubles? She shook her head at her own folly. How had he carried on in such an easy manner with this hanging over his head, an ever-present threat of death?

  Guy cleared his throat. ‘When he met you, he seemed to put that recklessness behind him, and, for the first time in months, he spoke of his family. I had hopes that he had found something to live for—perhaps I erred in my efforts to see him happy...’ There was no need for him to say more, for Emery already had forgiven him his matchmaking and she put an arm round his shoulders to confirm it.

  But the comforting gesture seemed his undoing. ‘I just want to go home,’ he said, sounding as though he had reached the end of his resources. And Emery could not blame him, for he had shouldered this burden alone for nearly a year. ‘The earl is so wise, I am certain he would be able to help his youngest son, but I can’t convince Lord de Burgh,’ he said.

  Emery drew in a ragged breath. ‘Maybe he wants to spare his father that responsibility,’ she said, softly. She was ashamed now of her earlier outburst, for it seemed that the knight wanted to save his family from what she and Guy were experiencing.

  ’Twas a more noble reason than vanity, but, in the end, just as misguided.

  * * *

  Emery jerked awake, fighting against the bone-deep weariness that tempted her to sleep again, for she had been roused by the sound of her name. ’Twas spoken in a low voice, so deep and urgent that there was no ignoring it, and she braced herself to see a curved sword swinging over her head.

  In the darkness, her fingers closed over a knife Lord de Burgh had given her. She prepared to roll over as she lifted it up, to fend off the Saracen, the steward or any other assailant, but when she opened her eyes, ’twas only Guy bending over her, touching her shoulder. Emery loosed a low breath, relieved that she had not gutted him.

  ‘He’s calling for you,’ Guy said.

  In an instant, Emery was on her feet and at Lord de Burgh’s side. ‘I’m here,’ she said, though her voice was unsteady.

  He muttered something unintelligible in response and she lifted a hand to his forehead in an effort to soothe him, but she was dismayed by the heat that met her fingers.

  ‘He’s too warm,’ she whispered.r />
  Guy moved quickly in response, stirring the fire to life and adding more water to their makeshift pot. Still, it seemed to take far too long before they could get him to drink the tisane and settle down to sleep again. Even then, Emery felt no relief.

  ‘I have few herbs with me,’ she said. ‘If I had access to proper stores, I could help his fever and any pain, as well. But I can’t do it from here.’

  Guy nodded. ‘This is no place for him and he would not want to linger, if he were aware of the circumstances. The odd steward, the lack of supplies and servants... We can’t be worrying about what is really going on here, while tending to a sick man.’

  Emery could only agree, but what was the alternative? She said nothing and Guy sank into silence. When he finally lifted his head, he wore an expression that Emery had never seen upon his face. So often fearful or wary, now he looked both determined and relieved, as though he had made a momentous decision.

  ‘If we can get him on a horse tomorrow, we will go,’ he said.

  Emery swallowed hard. She did not feel safe in the empty manor, with little they needed at hand and the shifty-eyed steward spying upon them. But the road was even more treacherous, and if Lord de Burgh should become sicker, how would she care for him? Where would they head? Lord de Burgh had always led them, but he was in no condition to do so and had not made his plans clear. Perhaps they should just remain where they were for the time being? Emery thought, though Guy’s fierce look kept her from speaking.

  ‘There are two of us now,’ he said, as though to convince both her and himself. ‘And two hold sway over one.’

  Emery blinked, for the squire was bound to serve Lord de Burgh’s wishes, not theirs. But Guy’s resolve only seemed to harden. ‘We’ll knock him out or drug him, if we have to, in order to get him there,’ the squire said.

  Emery’s eyes widened. ‘Where?’

  ‘Geoffrey de Burgh’s.’

  * * *

  Nicholas counted himself lucky to get into the saddle. Whatever Emery had been forcing down his throat seemed to keep the fever at bay, but he ached as though he had been pummelled relentlessly by all six of his siblings. Unfortunately, it was a feeling he recognised too well.

  This was what came of yearning for adventure, he thought. With all his brothers married and gone, he had felt restless, for they had all risen to challenges while he kicked his heels at Campion. His father had begun shifting more responsibility upon him, but the tasks were unstimulating ones that would stifle even Geoffrey, the most staid member of the family. Or at least that’s what he’d told himself.

  Nicholas had balked. He’d wanted to get out into the world and discover new experiences, just as his brothers had done, before settling down with stewards and account books. So he’d set out, ostensibly to visit, while hoping to see and do and learn and find something that he seemed to be missing.

  What he’d found was a fever that had taken the de Burgh bluster out of him. Whether for good or ill, the brothers shared a sense of power and might designed to strike fear into their opponents. ’Twas not so much aggrandisement as a certainty that they would prevail, which usually served them well. And having seen his brothers triumph over more than one foe, Nicholas had believed there was nothing they couldn’t do.

  But the betrayal of his own body had proven him wrong, for he could not heal himself. And it seemed that no one could. Guy repeatedly pressed him to return home, but Nicholas had not wanted his family to remember him like this, barely able to think, weak and ailing.

  Perhaps there was some pride involved, as Emery claimed, for he did not want to draw the pity of his healthy siblings, or, worse, remind his still-strong brothers that they were not invincible. He couldn’t remember now all the reasons that had kept him from home or even the last time that they were together. He only felt an absurd longing for them that made his chest hurt. Or was that the fever?

  He had gone through a host of emotions, shame and resentment and grief and denial, before finally reaching a point of acceptance. With the arrival of the Hospitaller, he had gained a purpose, and with the arrival of Emery, something more.

  She had recalled to him all the joys of living. Her unstinting faith in her brother made him yearn for the family he’d left behind. She’d reminded him just what was important. This slender girl garbed as a boy had taught him that there was nothing more powerful—not force of arms or intellect or will—than the strength of love. And perhaps that knowledge was what he had been seeking all along.

  Nicholas shook his head and felt himself sway in the saddle. Arms tightened around him then, in an effort to keep him upright, and he felt her behind him, bolstering his strength, keeping him steady. He wondered how he could condemn a journey that had taken him here, into the embrace of the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Emery told herself that safety lay at the end of this day’s travel, that Lord de Burgh would finally get the care he needed and they could all rest. Beyond that, she could not think. Her own troubles and even Gerard’s disappearance faded in significance and she had no idea what she would do once Lord de Burgh was back with his family. For now, she simply concentrated on getting him there.

  Guy was doing his best. Having only been to Geoffrey de Burgh’s manor once, he had sought a more-travelled road, so that he could ask others for guidance, and Emery was grateful to be away from the deserted tracks, where she felt isolated and unprotected. Still, they remained wary when anyone approached, for fear that a cape or hood might conceal the Saracen or the Templar’s squire or anyone else intent upon doing them harm.

  Emery had her hands full trying to keep Lord de Burgh upright. Finally, unable to summon the strength to handle his weight any longer, she traded places with Guy. They had loaded the riderless mount with their gear, including Lord de Burgh’s mail coat, so Emery had the reins of that animal, as well. ’Twas a tiring and difficult journey made more so by her worries over the knight, who slumped further as the day wore on.

  * * *

  When afternoon came and went with still no sign of their destination, Emery felt the first stirrings of panic. She did not like the unfamiliar country with its tall cliffs and ashes marching into the distance. If not for the heather that covered the hills, she might have been in another land entirely.

  The prospect of making camp somewhere off the road in this strange place filled her with dread and she urged Guy to ask again whether they were headed in the right direction. A man with a cart of goods was duly hailed, but when Guy asked about Ashyll Manor, the fellow shook his head, as though he’d never heard of the place. Emery felt her heart sink. Were they lost?

  ‘’Twas formerly known as Fitzhugh Manor,’ Guy said. ‘’Tis home to Geoffrey de Burgh now.’

  ‘Ah, the Fitzhughs’ stronghold!’ To Emery’s relief, the grizzled old man nodded and pointed them on their way. They did not even stop for supper, but kept going, hoping to see the manor topping each new rise. But, finally, Guy, too, was struggling to keep his master from slipping from the saddle and they were forced to draw to a halt.

  Emery dismounted and hurried towards the destrier, though she could do little to help from the ground. ‘How much further is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Not far,’ Guy said, but he avoided her gaze and Emery wondered whether he had any idea where they were. If he’d approached the de Burgh manor from a different route in the past, he would not recognise their location. Was he just placating her?

  ‘I would rather hear the truth than a lie meant to comfort me,’ Emery said.

  ‘The man said Ashyll was not far,’ Guy all but shouted, and Emery could see his patience was worn thin, as well. Perhaps he was clinging to a false promise, but she could not scold him for it. What else were they to do?

  Slipping out from his position behind Lord de Burgh, Guy dismounted as best he could. ‘We’re going to have to lay him over the saddle.’

  ‘Like a sack of grain?’ Emery asked. She could hear her voice rising and tried to modulate it
. ‘But he’s so sick!’

  ‘And he will get sicker,’ Guy said, turning on her. ‘You think I don’t know what will happen? It starts with the fever and the pains, then the rash on his legs and swelling and tenderness in...other parts...’ His words trailed away, and Emery blinked back tears.

  ‘Then we will do what we must,’ she said when she could speak. Together they managed to lay the great knight across the saddle, a seemingly dead weight. But he breathed still and Emery clung to that fact. ’Twould not be much longer, she told herself. Safety, food and stores of herbs were nearly within reach, or so she hoped.

  ‘We’ll have to walk now,’ the squire said.

  Emery gaped at him, only to realise that they could hardly ride off with Lord de Burgh so precariously perched. But to walk alongside him would slow their pace to a crawl. No matter how far or near Geoffrey de Burgh’s manor, they wouldn’t reach it soon. Emery glanced at the sky, where the sun was on its downward trek, then looked at Guy. He met her gaze, unflinching, and they both knew that they had no choice.

  And that’s when they heard it: a rustling noise, faint but unmistakable. Emery glanced about warily, but she could not see anything except grass and leaves moving in the wind. And maybe that’s all it was, yet she was reminded of the danger they were in, especially now, with the knight lying prone upon his war horse. They were in a hollow that obstructed their view of the road both ahead and behind, making them even more vulnerable to attack.

  If the Saracen was out there, they probably would have little chance against him, Emery knew. She froze, listening to the ensuing silence, but she heard only Lord de Burgh’s laboured breathing. The breeze had stopped and nothing stirred in the summer air while she and Guy waited, poised to move, if necessary.

  And then a shout rang out. There was no time to look for cover or plan a defence. They would have to make a stand where they were, on either side of Lord de Burgh. Drawing her sword, Emery turned to face whoever advanced upon them.

  But the shout was followed, not by a call to arms, but by the sound of...singing? Emery glanced at Guy, who shrugged, but remained at the ready, and she wondered if this were some bizarre battle tactic intended to catch them unawares.