‘And my corpse in his bed,’ I said, managing a smile. Then it died. ‘Oh, Stephen, I promised him most faithfully I would look after Lady Adelie. He was so worried for her. And now, the worst has happened.’
‘It is not your fault, Maeb. He shall not blame you.’
‘He does not like me,’ I said, ‘and I am sure he can find the capacity to lay the blame at my feet. Sweet Virgin Mary, Stephen, I helped push that pillow down into the faces of his children! What shall happen to me, and to my soul?’
In the end it was not the earl’s anger I needed to worry about, but God’s judgment.
‘Who could judge you, Maeb, for what you did? But if you fear, then confess to Owain, and do penance, and all will be well.’
I hoped he was right, for I had been thinking on my immortal soul a great deal over the past days.
‘Have you thought on my request of you, Maeb?’ Stephen said.
‘Oh, Stephen … yes, I will do it, but that will leave me alone in the world and I shall die alone, and terribly, and I do not think I have the strength.’
He pulled me even tighter. ‘I will think of something for you, Mae. Sweetheart, after I die … will you ask Owain to conduct services for me? Please? Do not forget it. You must tell Owain that I have died.’
‘He will know that I … that I …’
‘He will not think less of you for it. He will not berate you. But my soul must be given into Owain’s hands. Promise me.’
And what if I should die before all this could be accomplished? Stephen seemed to think too highly of my own capacity to survive his death.
But I nodded, wanting to comfort him.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
I woke much later. It was full night and I was cold, but it was not the chill which had woken me.
Stephen was tossing in his sleep. He began murmuring, even as he tossed, and then shouting. ‘No! No! I do not have it! Saint Mary save me! Christ save me! Saint —’
I shook him as hard as I could, but even so it took me some effort to shake him awake.
‘Stephen! Stephen! It was but a dream. You are awake, now.’
He lay there, his face white and shining with sweat in the night, his breath rattling harsh through his throat. ‘It was the Devil, Maeb. Come for me. Sweet Jesu, it was the Devil, not some mere dream. He had me by the throat!’
‘Shush, it was but a dream. The Devil shall not have your soul.’
‘He is after us, Maeb. He is walking this land. This plague is Devil-sent, I know it. Sweet merciful Jesu save us, save us, save us.’
I opened my mouth to try and reassure Stephen, but just then I looked down and, in the faint light, I could see the bruises of finger marks about his throat.
We lay awake until dawn, close side by side, hands clasped, talking. Stephen talked of his childhood, and his youth spent in the household of Edmond, King of England.
‘It was such an honour, Maeb, to be taught my skills as a knight within Edmond’s household.’
I remembered my conversation with Saint-Valery, and how the king mistrusted Pengraic because of his vast power. ‘Perhaps Edmond merely wanted to keep an eye on you.’
Stephen chuckled, although his mirth ended with a wracking cough. ‘Perhaps. But I was honoured nonetheless, and I enjoyed my time in his household. Edmond is a strong and cunning man. Too often, all that people see is the mild mannered, overly courteous king, content to spend his time allowing his eye to rove over the beauteous women of court. But that is merely a façade. Edmond’s barons may think they wield much of the power in the realm, but Edmond always gets his way. Even my father has oft been frustrated in his dealings with Edmond. Never underestimate him.’
I thought Edmond had done well to accept the young Stephen into his household, for he had won the heart of the young Pengraic who would one day be earl.
I immediately caught myself, my eyes welling with tears. Edmond’s efforts had been in vain, for the young, noble Pengraic would be unlikely to survive the next day.
And who knew if Edmond still survived? I wondered how England itself would survive, if so many died, and among them those nobles we relied on to defend us.
But it would not affect me. I would die soon of the plague, too, whatever Stephen seemed to think. My exhaustion had grown worse, and with it the pain in my chest. Breathing was becoming ever more difficult, and I had found myself panting when doing things that normally cost me little effort.
During the night, I had coughed out sputum with a vile, yellow stain.
My clothes were filthy, and I should change them, but I could not for fear of seeing the fungus on my body.
Once Stephen died, I did not know what I would do. I wondered if d’Avranches was still alive, and if he had his dagger to hand. That would be preferable to burning alive. I could not face that.
Or I could climb to the heights of the great keep and throw myself from its parapets, but I did not know if I had the courage for such, and I also feared that I might linger, broken and in agony, on the rocks below until the flames claimed me.
Sweet Virgin Mary, everyone within the castle now understood how the plague claimed its victims. How many others were planning, or had accomplished, their own death? How many more souls were willing to risk hell, if only to escape the most terrible of deaths?
At dawn Stephen fell into a fitful slumber. I did not like to leave him, but there was no water left in the chamber and I wanted to go down to the kitchen and see if the water barrels had anything left within them. I thought Stephen would like to be washed of his sweat, and I could do my face and hands even if I could not bear to strip away my clothes from my tainted body.
To my surprise Evelyn and Owain were seated at one of the tables, sharing a jug of small beer.
They both looked exhausted … but exhausted only. Neither showed any signs of the plague.
‘Maeb!’ Evelyn rose, her movements slow and obviously stiff, and hugged me. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me carefully.
‘Oh Maeb,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears, ‘I wish …’
I wished too, but wishes no longer counted for anything. ‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘I have worried about you, but until now neither Owain nor I had any time to come search for you.’ She gave a small wry smile. ‘We came as far as the kitchen, saw the jug of beer set here, and thought we’d revive ourselves a little before continuing.’
‘It does not matter,’ I said. I sat down on the bench next to Owain. ‘What is happening beyond the keep?’
He sighed, rubbing his eyes and face with a hand. His tonsure was unkempt, and his face lightly beaded. ‘The chapel is full of the dying,’ he said. ‘It stinks of death. D’Avranches tells me that most of the soldiers and knights have either sickened and died, or will shortly do so. Of those who have not sickened, some have fled, but some have stayed to help nurse the infected through to their deaths.’
‘D’Avranches is still well?’ I asked, thinking of his dagger. ‘Aye, if exhausted and heartsick,’ Owain said. ‘Maeb, have you seen Stephen?’
‘He lies dying in the lord’s privy chamber,’ I said. ‘I came down here to fetch some water to wash him of his sweat.’
‘Oh, heavenly saints!’ Owain said. ‘Stephen is to die?’
‘He asked that you —’
‘Yes, yes. Maeb, he must not burn.’
‘Do any of us wish that?’ I said, stifling a cough with only the greatest of difficulty. My patience had vanished long ago: my lungs and face were burning, and my head throbbed with a terrible ache. I thought the fever might consume me before I had a chance to return to Stephen.
Owain and Evelyn shared a glance, and I thought, somewhat uncharitably, that it was unfair of them to judge my manners now.
‘Maeb,’ Evelyn said, ‘in the chapel … we …’
‘Only a few have died by the flames in the chapel,’ Owain said. ‘Those we did not catch in time.’
I frowned at them, puzzled, so distracted now by my headache I wondered if I had missed something.
‘We have made sure, as best we could,’ Owain said, his voice now immeasurably gentle, ‘that the sick have died before the flames consumed them.’