You do not worry for your immortal soul? I was going to ask, but there was only one word that slipped my lips. ‘How?’
‘I have been giving them an infusion of hemlock,’ Owain said.
‘But we are almost at an end of the herb,’ said Evelyn. ‘Owain has sent a man, who yet shows no sign of illness, further down the valley for more — there is an apothecary there who will have it.’
‘Stephen needs that,’ I said, suddenly seeing a way out for Stephen that might be kinder than what he proposed.
And a way out for me, too.
‘It is not a pleasant death,’ Owain said, ‘but better than burning. Maeb, there is very little left. When I have more, I will send Evelyn.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, my voice thick with relief.
Chapter Nine
I found some water, enough to wash Stephen down, and went back to the privy chamber. Stephen had fallen into a fitful sleep, and he did not rouse when I stripped him of his clothes, the effort making me breathe hard and cough several times.
I did not look in the cloth when I coughed, but folded it quickly as I took it away from my mouth. Now, suffering myself, I could understand Lady Adelie’s denial. It was easier, this way.
Stephen had several patches of fungus on his body: in his left armpit, over his left knee, and on his right thigh. I washed him down as well as I could, but I was not strong enough to roll him over to wash his back, and Stephen, in his sleep, did not wish to cooperate with me.
I tried to wash away the fungus, but it would not budge.
As I washed, I kept thinking what a waste this was. Stephen was a fine man with a strong body. Why did God inflict this on him? No one would miss me, but England would miss Stephen most terribly. He would have matured into a strong lord. Why take him? What grievous sin had he committed that he needed to suffer in this manner? What grievous sin all those who suffered in this castle?
I wondered about Rosamund and John. Why had God wanted them to die as they did? Neither had sinned … by all the saints in heaven, what mortal sin could a toddling child commit, save that he had been born?
My thoughts and mood darkened as I washed and wondered. Perhaps Stephen and I deserved it. We had committed grievous sin with the murder of Rosamund and John, true. But Lady Adelie? She had died in a manner most horrid, her death the most agonising possible, a death usually reserved for the most appalling of sinners.
But unless there was some dark, terrible secret in Lady Adelie’s life (which I could not believe), there was no reason for the manner of her death.
I grew angry with God for inflicting this plague upon his peoples. Perhaps some deserved it, but I am sure most did not.
When I had done I covered Stephen with linens and a thin woollen coverlet, then lay down beside him. The effort of washing him had exhausted me, and I fell into a doze.
The Devil came for me. I dreamed I was trapped in some dark, confined space. Suddenly something loomed behind me, and I turned, my heart racing.
It was a beast of indescribable horror. It radiated power that crushed me. I could do nothing against it. I could not flee, I could not fight. I was defenceless before it. It opened its mouth, and in that great yawning maw I could see leaping flames and hear from within the screams of the damned.
I thought I would die of terror. I choked on the stench of the monster (the Devil! The Devil! Somehow I knew it but I refused to acknowledge it, because that admission would have killed me) and his breath.
Where is it? the monster demanded of me. Where did you hide it?
I twisted this way and that, but I was unable to loose myself from his terrible power.
Where is it?
I didn’t know what it wanted. I had hid nothing. I could not answer, although I was desperate to tell it what it wanted, so that I could be freed.
I can smell its stink on you! Where is it? ‘I don’t know!’ I screamed.
And then suddenly I was awake, Stephen’s concerned face close to mine.
‘You dreamed, too,’ he said, and I nodded, crying.
He pulled me closer and held me, and we lay there in silence all that morning and into the afternoon.
I dozed off again, although thankfully this time I did not dream. When I woke it was full night and Stephen was struggling for his life beside me.
I lurched upright, cursing myself for falling asleep. Every one of my bones ached and hot pain seared up and down my spine.
I cried out, the momentary agony forcing me to hold my breath until it had passed.
Only then did I manage to turn to Stephen.
He was gasping, unable to breathe properly, almost as if he had something stuck in his throat. One of his hands was, indeed, clasped about his throat.
The other, on the side farthest from me, waved weakly in the air.
‘Stephen? Stephen?’ I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Earlier I had lit a candle and placed it in a wall sconce, and by its weak, guttering light, I saw that fungus spilled out of Stephen’s mouth and down his chin to his neck.
Oh, sweet Virgin Mary! It must be choking him!
His eyes caught mine, pleading, and at that moment — unfairly — I hated both Evelyn and Owain with every particle of my being for not providing the hemlock in time.
The appalling horror of Stephen’s suffering made me panic. I knew what he wanted — his eyes were locked into mine, begging, begging, begging — but I could not do it, the horror of it, I could not —
His hand grabbed mine, clutching tightly, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
Do it, they said. Please. Please.
I was sobbing at his suffering. I could not bear it. Yet, at the same moment, I could not bear to end his life. Not Stephen, not Stephen …
Please, Maeb. Please.
Consumed with grief and anger and fear, I grabbed one of the heavy pillows. I hesitated a moment, then, wishing beyond anything that it was already over, I slammed the pillow down over Stephen’s face, shuffling forward on my knees so I could put my full weight upon it.
I was sobbing so hard my chest felt as if it would crack in two.
Not Stephen, not Stephen, no, no …
Both his hands grabbed my wrists, forcing them to bear down even harder.
His body was convulsing, and all I wanted was for him to die, to let go life, to stop this horror so that I could somehow escape and forget that this had happened, just forget, forget everything.
His grip on my wrists loosened. I think I was shrieking now, or as much of a shriek as I could force out of my painful, hoarsened throat.
Why didn’t he die? Why didn’t he die? Why —
Stephen went limp under me. Yet still I pushed down on that pillow with all my might.
I don’t know how long I knelt there on that bed, Stephen dead beneath me, pushing down on the pillow and shrieking, but I know it was a long time. My own body was screaming in agony, every joint, every muscle afire with fever, but still I knelt … still I knelt …
Eventually I reeled back, almost falling off the bed.
Stephen did not move.
The pillow half slipped from his face, and I saw his eyes, bulging, staring sightlessly into God’s judgment.
I slid to my knees on the floor, my hands clutching at the coverlets, partly pulling them from the mattress.
There I crouched, sobbing, so bereft I thought (hoped) it would kill me, unable to think, or to rise and walk away.
I became aware of another presence, and I looked to the door. Evelyn stood there, staring at me, horror on her face.
In her hand she held a small vial.
The hemlock.
Evelyn raised me to my feet, and led me from the chamber. ‘I will tend to him,’ she said.
‘Owain, he wanted Owain —’
‘I know. I will fetch Owain. Hush now, I will look after everything.’
She helped me into the solar, and thence to the bed we had shared in those times when the world was sane.
I lay, shivering with fever, every joint aching. My spine felt as if it was on fire, my lungs felt thick, every breath a struggle. I could taste the fungus in my mouth.
I wanted to ask Evelyn for the hemlock. I wanted to die, there was nothing to live for any more, but Evelyn was already halfway to the stairwell. Thus I lay there, weeping in pain and fear and loss until I fell into slumber.