The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

I did not dream. When I woke it was because I was finding breathing almost impossible. I put a hand to my face, and felt there the fur of the fungus. I struggled, trying to call out, but I was voiceless.

If I was voiceless, then I was also terrified. I was sure that the fire was not far away, and I was sure that Evelyn had abandoned me.

I was helpless, and hopeless.

And then, suddenly, Evelyn was there.

Please, I mouthed at her, and she understood. She gave me a last smile, nodded, then gently raised my head and put the flask to my lips.

Of what happened next, I cannot speak, for the poison took effect and I was senseless.

Owain shall speak on my behalf.

Chapter Ten

OWAIN’S TESTIMONY

This time was that of the Devil, I am certain. Days ran like blood into yet more days, until I knew not where I was within the week and if I had missed the Sabbath or not. All prayers were forgotten, all the hours of the days unmarked. There was nothing but death, near death, longed for death and terrible death. The chapel stank of it: of the fungus, of terror, of hopelessness, of death, always of death. Sometimes we did not get to a sufferer in time, and he was consumed by flames, screeching and twisting amid his own terrifying inferno.

We would have to drag those near him away, themselves screaming, frantic to escape the flames.

And then, as if my life had been cast from a cart drawn by bolting horses and dashed against the rocks, everything came to a halt.

My Lord Stephen died. The most precious heir in this land. Dead.

I knew he’d harboured the plague but (perhaps foolishly) I’d hoped that he would somehow overcome it. If anyone could, I reasoned with myself as I struggled through the morass of hopelessness within the chapel, then Stephen could.

He was stronger than most.

If he could not, then he deserved the kindest passage through, as I’d given others.

It was the only reason I’d agreed to send hemlock to Maeb. She was of the old blood, too, even if she did not then recognise it. I knew Maeb loved him, and I knew that she would hesitate until the last moment before she gave Stephen the poison. She would not destroy him unless she absolutely had to, because neither her blood nor her heart would allow it.

In the end, it had been too late. My messenger took longer than I’d hoped, and by the time he arrived, and I’d sent Evelyn with the hemlock to Maeb, Stephen was dead.

Evelyn returned to tell me almost as soon as she’d discovered the fact. I came, with two strong men who’d been helping me in the chapel (they were fatalistic souls, and believed that if God had meant for them to die, they would have caught the plague well before now), and brought Stephen’s body back to the chapel where we wrapped it and laid it in the single private place remaining — the space behind the altar. Here Stephen would need to rest until I could do what was needed.

Maeb was dying, too.

I hoped Evelyn would give her the hemlock. I liked Maeb, not merely because of the old blood she carried, but because she radiated warmth and interest. I can confess this here, because I know my lady can never read it, but during my life as a priest there have been very few women who have roused me enough to consider breaking my vows of chastity.

Mistress Maeb Langtofte was one of them. She was so lovely as a young woman. So lovely.

But for now such thoughts were far beyond me. My life was the chapel and the dying. I had not slept in days, and I was wearied beyond exhaustion. I sorrowed for Maeb, but she had Evelyn with her, and that would need to be enough.

It was the day after Stephen had died. I was, as I had been for days, weeks (a lifetime?), doing what I could in the chapel. Administering herbs to alleviate suffering where I could, hemlock to alleviate suffering permanently as I dared, and I ignored d’Avranches, who occasionally appeared in the chapel administering his own form of ease. When he wasn’t in the chapel, he was prowling the rest of the castle.

D’Avranches was a man driven, I think, not only by the need to reduce suffering, but also the need to preserve his liege lord’s property.

Nothing more would burn if he could help it.

He was also the man who organised the removal of corpses from the chapel, never asking why so many of them were unburned. D’Avranches had managed to bring together enough able men to dig a trench beyond the walls of the castle for the dead. Every so often they would appear within the chapel and remove what needed removing.

I could not have done without him.

I was standing by the door of the chapel, pausing from my ministrations, taking a few deep breaths of fresh air and wiping the cold sweat from my face, when suddenly there was a clatter of horses’ hooves. I did not immediately take much note of it — loose horses had been clattering about the inner bailey for days now — but after a moment I realised there was a group of horses and their hooves made sound as if they were being purposefully ridden.

I stepped beyond the door, and for a moment could not believe what my eyes showed me.

It was the Earl of Pengraic, a score of horsemen behind him.

He rode into the inner bailey, his head moving about as he looked, the shock at what he saw registering on his face.

I stumbled forward and, as I came to within fifteen paces of him, the earl saw me, kicking his horse forward.

‘By God, Owain,’ he said, ‘what has happened here?’

‘The plague, my lord. I am sorry.’

‘Stephen sent me a message … I could not believe it … I rode as hard as I might, by heavenly Jesu I killed three horses to get here … Where is Stephen, Owain? Where is my son?’

Sweet merciful saints. ‘My lord, I am sorry. My Lord Stephen died last night. I have him laid out behind the —’

‘Dead? Stephen is dead? It can’t be!’ The earl swung down from his horse and grabbed the front of my robe. ‘Tell me this is not truth, priest!’

I could not reply. Emotion swelled my throat and made words impossible.

He saw from my face. He knew. His hand slowly released his grip and he took a step back. ‘They were supposed to be safe, Owain. Safe! He promised me Pengraic would be safe! ’

I did not understand his words, and supposed only that the earl was maddened with grief and shock and did not know what he said.

‘Stephen is dead?’ he said again, although this time he did not require an answer. I could hear the beginnings of understanding in his voice. ‘Stephen is dead … and the rest of my family? My wife? My children? What of them, Owain?’

Stephen’s message must have contained news of Lady Adelie’s death, but maybe the earl had not believed that, either.

‘They are all gone, my lord. We could do nothing to save them.’

‘All?’ The word was forced through his lips. ‘All?’

I nodded. ‘I am so sorry, my lord. We did the best we could. We —’

‘He did this deliberately!’ the earl said, almost shouting. ‘Deliberately!’

‘My lord?’

‘Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! ’

And then the earl gave an almost hysterical laugh. ‘What am I saying? He is already damned, more than I could ever wish on him. Oh God, oh God, what am I to do? Adelie? She is truly gone?’

I nodded again, hoping that no one ever told him the terrible manner of his wife’s death.

‘And the children,’ he said, much softer now, ‘the children. Stephen. What did they ever do to deserve such a manner of death? They were innocents, especially the babies. Gone, Owain, truly?’

I nodded. ‘I have left Stephen’s body in the chapel, my lord earl. I thought you would want …’

‘Yes. Thank you. Thank you.’ The earl rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘Who is left of my household, Owain? Who?’

‘Of the ladies, only Mistress Evelyn is well. Mistress Yvette is dead. Mistress Maeb is dying, or dead.’

‘Maeb has the plague?’

‘Badly, my lord.’ And then I added, without thinking: ‘She has taken hemlock, to die more peacefully than the plague would allow her.’

‘Hemlock? And where would she get that, priest?’

That hand had tightened into a claw on my shoulder now, and I quailed. The earl did not wait for an answer. ‘Where is she?’