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Chapter Seven
Ailyth rode hard and fast from Castle Cary, convinced at first that someone would soon notice her absence. She rode blindly, too scared to slow down in case she was set upon by a barrage of knights, stopping Matthew’s new wife from escaping. However, the more distance she put between herself and her former home, the quicker her thoughts gathered themselves and she remembered that no one, save Elfrida, knew that she was still alive. The Baroness had told everyone that she was dead and besides; they had more pressing things to be worried about now. A quiet thump made Ailyth pull the mare up to a halt, and she turned around to see RiffRaff sprawled on the ground.
“I couldn’t hold on any more,” he wheezed as he picked himself up. “I think we’re going to have to have a little chat about your riding technique.”
He was right; she had driven the horse on too fast for too long, and the beast was sweating and trembling. Not only that, but RiffRaff made it blatantly clear that he wasn’t going to be able to keep on her shoulder when she was being thrown around herself.
“Slower, slower, SLOWER!” he said. “Jesu woman, after all I’ve done for you, you barely give me a thought when the wind’s up you!”
Ailyth apologised and they came to the decision that RiffRaff should nest in her hood while she was riding, and that they wouldn’t go above a gentle trot now that they knew they weren’t being followed.
The road from Castle Cary was quiet and they talked without fear that someone might spot the girl talking to a rat and think she was more than a little odd. This also made Ailyth feel considerably safer, as a woman travelling on her own was certainly inviting danger. They would journey by open road during the day, always close to the woods should anyone come too close, and at night they would sleep behind the hedgerows and take it in turns to keeps watch.
“We’ll be fine,” Ailyth convinced herself. “In six days we’ll be home.”
And for six days, as they travelled both on roads and through forest, they were fine, if a little tired from only being able to sleep half the night. They encountered few people, and the countryside seemed unaffected by the danger they were trying to defeat. However, on the evening of the sixth day RiffRaff decided to voice an opinion that made Ailyth want to stop the horse and run screaming into the night.
“We’re going the wrong way,” he said.
Ailyth looked at the endless view of fields and trees. They looked the same as the fields and trees near Topsham.
“No we’re not,” she said.
RiffRaff crawled from the hood and sat on her shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said impatiently. “We. Are. Going. The. Wrong. Way.”
Ailyth sighed and lifted RiffRaff above her head. “Look around,” she said. “Do you see anything unfamiliar?”
“No,” RiffRaff sniffed, hurt. “I can’t see that well, and you know it. But can you see anything familiar? ‘Cause I’ll tell you this; it feels wrong!”
They carried on their journey, neither talking to the other. Stupid creature, telling me what’s what, Ailyth thought. Like he knows anything about navigation.
(Meanwhile, in the depths of the ditches that ran across the West Country, a bog-faery tittered and gleefully told his master “she’s gone completely the wrong way, of her own accord! I didn’t have to swap road signs around or nuffin!”)
As evening fell, Ailyth saw the bright lights of a city twinkling in the distance. “There we go,” she said aloud. “Exeter. We’re nearly home, what did I tell you?”
The grin faded from her face as the horse plodded steadily onwards and they came to a sign that said, so clearly that even RiffRaff could see it, ‘Bristol.'
“There we go,” he said. “Bristol. We’re going the wrong way, what did I tell you?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me you could read,” she muttered, halting the horse. She leaned forward a little and rested her head on the horse’s neck. “Six days,” she said. “Six days in the wrong direction. That means we’re going to have to travel for twelve days before we get home.” She thought for a moment, before coming to a decision.
“I’m going to use one of Heloise’s charms.”
“No!” RiffRaff cried, leaping onto her hand as she dug into the bag strapped to the horse. “You can’t, you’ll need them for later?”
“I’ll use them when I think it’s necessary,” she said. “We’ve lost a lot of time, so I think it’s necessary!”
RiffRaff nipped her fingers and she withdrew her hand sharply.
“Look,” he said, “the sickness might not have gone too far from Castle Cary yet. We haven’t seen any evidence since we left, so it might still be all right. But those are powerful charms Heloise gave you, and they shouldn’t be wasted.”
Ailyth thought back to the countryside she had passed over the previous few days. It had been peaceful, yes, but not deserted. There had been people working on the land, cows lulling in the meadows, the dying summer’s sun warming them. Birds had still sung, hovels had still bellowed smoke as meals were prepared; all evidence that life was going on as normal. It hadn’t stunk of death like Castle Cary had.
“All right,” she said as RiffRaff climbed back onto her shoulder. “We’ll go into Bristol, stop at the first inn that we see and get some decent sleep for a change. Then tomorrow we’ll be up at dawn and we’ll carry on in the right direction this time.”
“Have you got any money to pay for a room?” RiffRaff asked.
Ailyth looked down at her hands and twiddled her wedding ring. “Gold,” she said. “It’s about time this thing came in useful.”
They crept slowly into Bristol, appalled by what they saw. Neither had ever been into a city before, even though Exeter was so close to Topsham manor, and Ailyth was expecting to see something that resembled a large village. What they came to was like a nightmare to them both.
The smell hit them first, before they’d even entered the walled boundaries. As Ailyth wrapped her cloak around her face and RiffRaff buried his nose into her hair, they wondered what could possibly be making the city reek. They only had to ride underneath one window to find out, as a woman leaned out and tossed the contents of her chamber pot into the streets below. The mare reared a little and danced out of the way, but Ailyth could see the sewage trickle down the gutter and collect in a large, smelly puddle.
The streets were narrow, crammed with houses that nearly touched each other on their upper levels, where the walls jutted out. Once or twice Ailyth’s mare stumbled on the uneven cobbles that made up the road, or slid on some unseen filth, and sore-covered hands reached out to grab at Ailyth’s food bag on more than one occasion. She found herself flinching at every turn, and staring open-mouthed at the signs that seemed to hang crookedly from every doorway, advertising an apothecary, a bone-mender, a tooth-surgeon, a blood letter’s shop.
“I don’t think we’re in a very pleasant part of the city,” she said.
“I don’t think any part of this city’s pleasant,” RiffRaff replied. “Let’s just find an inn and stay there ‘til it’s morning again. There’s a cat over there, and I swear she can smell me.”
As Ailyth turned yet another corner she saw several rat bodies floating on the scummy filth in the streets, and she told RiffRaff to keep his eyes closed. Finally they came to what looked like an inn, and she asked the old woman sitting on the doorstep, chewing a pipe, whether the was a room to be had for the night.
“A wimmin by her own, wantin’ to stay ‘ere!” the hag shrieked. “Git away wid you! We’m not that sort o’ estab-lesh-mint, you cheeky l’il strumpet.” And with that she jumped from her seat and shooed the girl away.
“This could be a problem,” RiffRaff muttered as they went down yet another dark street, the night air growing more perilous. “A young girl out in the city by herself, wanting a room for the night. It’s not proper, is it?”
“Well, we’ll just have to go somewhere that isn’t proper, then,” Ailyth replied. “We’re hardly in the position to be choosy, and I can’t see my father here to tell me off.”
“But think of the dangers...” RiffRaff began.
“Think of the dangers if we stay out in the street!” Ailyth hissed in reply as yet another beggar attempted to steal her food bag.
They soon passed another inn, on the corner of a bustling street, and an old man called out to Ailyth “looking for a place for the night?” She nodded in reply, and the man got up from his seat and took hold of her reins. “We got a spare bed or two,” he said. “Go on in, get some vittals in you, I’ll take care of your horsie.” Seeing Ailyth’s reluctant face he added “it’s all right, we got a stable ‘round the back.”
Ailyth walked into the inn and immediately felt the heat from the fire burning in the grate hit her around the face. Suddenly weary, she grasped for a stool and slumped on it.
“A room for the night,” she murmured, her hood pulled up around her face so that as few people as possible would realise that she was a woman alone. “And some food, if you have any.”
The woman standing behind a stained wooden bench sneered at her and said “we sees payment first here, ducks.”
Ailyth slipped the ring off her finger and passed it to her. “For your kindness,” she said.
The woman eyed the jewellery and looked at Ailyth closely. “Where’d you get this?” she asked.
“I got it honestly,” she replied defensively, but decided against saying how. If it was known that she was of noble birth, her life would be in great danger. She pulled her hood around her face even more, trying to appear invisible.
The woman sneered again. It mattered little how she was paid, and she had all sorts in her inn. She pocketed the ring and asked, “Drink?”
Ailyth looked around her meekly. There were seven or eight others in the room, all supping a murky, brown liquid and coughing their lungs into their throats. “Do you have any milk?” she queried.
The woman spat into the fire and glared back at the girl. “We serve ale here.” Quietly, Ailyth nodded.
As the ale was brought to her by the old man, who had returned from the stables, Ailyth stared around her. The inn was filthy, with broken stones by the fireplace and soot on the grate. Straw covered the floor and there was a scrawny, wire-haired dog resting his head under his master’s feet. Everyone was looking at her, eyeing her suspiciously as though they had never seen a woman before. Ailyth shrank back even more, and sipped the drink she’d been given. as it touched her throat she coughed, as the liquid burned a course to her stomach. City ale was stronger than manor ale, and she thought she was going to vomit fire.
“Don’t get any young ladies in here,” one of the drinkers said, standing up. “I reckon you be running away from something?”
“No,” Ailyth trembled.
“Meeting up with a lover, then?”
“No,” she said, looking to the others for help as he came closer.
“P’rhaps your a lady with...low morals,” he said chuckling, and reached out to touch her.
“Edgar!” a voice called out. “Leave her alone.” A man stood up and walked towards them, his face also hidden by a long black cloak. “If she doesn’t wish to share her business with us, it is not our place to force her.”
Edgar glared at the man in the cloak for a few seconds before grumbling and returning to his stool. “’Was only havin’ a laugh with her,” he said.
“Forgive us, dear lady,” the man said, sitting next to Ailyth. “Some of us forget sometimes that we are not wild animals.”
Ailyth nodded, and sipped her ale once more with shaking hands. It didn’t burn quite so fiercely the second time, and she needed something to steady her nerves. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so confident about making it back to Topsham safely, when there were people like that who would treat a lady in such a way. Her stomach felt light, and she wanted to lock herself in her room as soon as her food arrived.
“Travelling on your own?” the hooded man said. “Do you think that is a wise move for a lady, in times such as these?”
“I have to...I have something important to do,” she replied. RiffRaff shuffled nervously on her shoulder.
“Then may I suggest that I accompany you?” the man said. “I would feel a lot better knowing that you are safe on your travels. Where are you going?”
“Topsham manor,” she said. “It’s where I’m from.”
“Then I will come with you, if I am permitted.”
“Say no,” RiffRaff muttered.
“No!” Ailyth said loudly, making a few of the drinkers look ‘round at her again. “No...it’s ok. My brother will meet me here tomorrow,” she lied.
“As you wish,” the hooded man said simply.
He was staring into his own ale when the door swung open. A man came running into the inn, a few copper coins in his hand which he slammed onto the bar and said, “A jar of your finest, and be quick about it.”
The bartender clearly liked the abrupt treatment as she quickly drew a pint from one of the many barrels stacked in the corner and even used a clean glass. “What’s the panic, Roger?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you lately.”
“Been visiting my sister,” the man called Roger replied. “A few miles south o’ here. There’s nasty rumours going ‘round, so I thought I’d better get back here sharpish.”
All eyes were now pointed at Roger, and even Ailyth found herself waiting to hear what he had to say. With a great sigh of exhaustion he collapsed onto a stool and drank deeply from his ale.
“They say there’s a plague going across the land, and it be at Castle Cary already!”
Ailyth waited to see how everyone would react, the muscles in her cheeks tensed. No one appeared even vaguely concerned, as they slowly drifted back to their jars.
“Should we say something?” she said quietly to RiffRaff. “Tell them what we know?”
“And cause a panic?” RiffRaff replied. “No Ailyth, it’s best that we let this fool say what he has to say, and keep the attention away from us.”
“Ah, Rodge’,” the barwoman said, “there’s always a plague doing the rounds here. That ain’t nuffin new.”
“Not like this, there hasn’t!” Roger protested, feeling his story and his importance at being the first to report it slipping away. “They say this is a real killer, knocking down everyone who stands in its way and wiping out whole villages.”
The bar fell silent as everyone looked at Roger.
“What village has it wiped out then?” an old man asked, and everyone leaned closer to listen.
“Well...none yet, that I know of,” Roger admitted as the small crowd began to dissolve into laughter. “But it could!” he shouted.
“We ain’t got nuffin to worry about here,” someone said. “It’s them in the country that gets sick from these plagues!”
“Yeah, it won’t come to Bris’l,” someone else ventured. “We done too good for ourselfs here. It wouldn’t bloody dare!”
This reply provoked a few cheers of agreement from the drinkers, and Roger took a swig from his drink defiantly.
“Yeah, well you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face if it comes here,” he said. “You’ll wish you’d listened to me then!”
He sulked into his ale for a little longer, unaware that the two hooded occupants of the bar were still staring at him.
“Maybe he knows something,” Ailyth whispered to RiffRaff, the ale warming her stomach gently. She didn’t feel so worried now that someone else who knew about the plague was here. They had a kind of kinship, a common worry, and she wanted to share that with him.
“Don’t say a word,” RiffRaff said. “Don’t draw any more attention to yourself.”
But before Ailyth had the chance to do that, the hooded man spoke up. “I too have heard of this plague, that ravishes the countryside as we speak. Tell me more, Roger.”
Roger hesitated for a moment, all eyes on him again. If truth be told, he’d already said everything he’d had to say on the matter, but the drink was rising in him and he felt the need to perform in front of his audience. “Well...” he began, “first you start to sweat, like someone’s set you afire, and you wander around like you’s sleepwalking.” He staggered around the bar a little for effect. “Then you fit, and you puke, and your skin goes green, and you starts to swell under your arms., and on your neck and your...um...private bits,” he said coyly, acknowledging Ailyth’s presence. “Then these swellings burst, and you’re covered in pus and then you...um...then you die!”
“Just as I’ve heard,” the hooded man said grimly. “Apart from the bit where your skin turns green.”
The whole bar fell quiet again as he spoke, and Ailyth could tell that he was a man who was held in high respect. She hiccuped to herself and grinned, almost pleased that she had known this news before any other.
“You’re drunk!” RiffRaff whispered, appalled.
“And you’re a rat!” Ailyth replied happily, not sure what he was getting at.
“Ok,” Edgar said, breaking the sombre, worried mood. “Ok, this plague exists then. How do you cure it?”
The hooded man shrugged, but there seemed to be several more in the bar who knew a little about the plague, and they were happy to put forward their suggestions.
“What you got to do is eat treacle after rainfall!”
“Rubbish! How’s that going to work? No, what you got to do is go and wash in goat’s pizzle.”
“Drink a bowl full of the victim’s pus!” another voice cried out, and everyone stopped to look at him. “Well, I’m still alive aren’t I?” he said protectively.
Another man stood up, wearing a pill-box hat and swaying on his feet. “I’ll have you know,” he slurred unsteadily, “that the guaranteed cure is to - hic- apply the entrails of a new-born puppy to the victim’s forehead, and I should know. I’m an apoth-hic. An apoth-hic. An apothecary.” He pressed his chin to his chest importantly and fell back onto his seat again.
“Rubbish, we’ll run out of puppies,” someone called. “No, I was told you got to inhale the fumes from a lavvy.”
The crowd grew uproarious at this suggestion, and the barwoman replied “well we know Bris’l’s all right then! The whole place smells like a lavvy!”
Ailyth was just thinking the very same thing when RiffRaff whispered in her ear, “We should be making notes!”
“Forget it,” she replied. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. It can’t be as simple as all this, or else why am I here?”
“Hey!” Edgar said, standing uncertainly on his feet. “Who ‘you whisperin’ to?”
Several pairs of eyes swivelled to Ailyth, but she wasn’t so nervous now that she’d put a pint of ale inside her. “None of your business!” she replied.
“Shut up!” RiffRaff warned Ailyth.
Edgar staggered over to her. “It is my business ‘cause I asked you!” he slurred, breathing drunken fumes all over her. “Who ‘you whisperin’ to?”
“And I said I’m not going to tell you!” Ailyth replied. She wasn’t afraid of this idiot. She could take him. And, if she couldn’t, that nice hooded man would help her.
“Ok, draw your sword,” said RiffRaff. “Scare him off.”
“I haven’t got a sword,” she answered back. “It’s ok though, I’ll just push him right over.”
“What?” RiffRaff cried, and fell off her shoulder. “You didn’t bring anything to defend yourself with?”
Luckily, Ailyth didn’t need to. The hooded man nodded at the barwoman and she grabbed hold of Edgar and threw him out of the door, muttering something like, “That ain’t no way to treat guests!”
“Perhaps you’d better eat something,” she suggested to Ailyth, and placed a watery vegetable broth in front of her. Ailyth stared down at it and felt queasy.
By now, the conversation was returning to the plague, and Roger was determined to claim his place in the spotlight.
“They say,” he nodded knowledgeably, “that you only get it if you use olive oil, or wear winkle-picker shoes and go to the theatre.”
“Or have lust for an older woman,” the apothecary added.
The men collapsed with laughter again and all started jostling a young man, who grinned sheepishly at the barwoman. She winked back and filled up another glass for him.
“Some say it’s the Jews poisoning the water,” she said, and the apothecary looked down at his feet fearfully.
“The plague is a good thing,” one voice said, louder than the others, and Ailyth turned to see that it was the hooded man who had spoken. “Can’t you all see? The plague is a punishment from God. He is using it to wipe out all of the sinners, just as He did with the flood. It is a good thing that this plague is here. It will make a better world for us all. It will destroy all of the scum.”
Ailyth felt her cheeks grow red. That would apply to Matthew and his mother, for they were sinners if ever there were, but what about the poor stable boy who had collapsed in front of them as they left. What harm could he have ever done in the world?
“You’re wrong!” she said hotly, standing to her feet. “The plague has nothing to do with God...it’s happening despite God!”
The hooded man did not stand, but instead looked up at her from under his veil. “Are you saying that there is a force stronger than God?”
“N..no,” Ailyth stammered, not meaning to blaspheme. “I didn’t mean that...I just meant that the plague hasn’t been sent by God. It isn’t His punishment.”
“And what grounds do you have for saying that?” he asked, his voice still dangerously calm.
Ailyth thought. There was nothing, really. Nothing she knew for sure that meant God wasn’t punishing His children. She just felt it, a gut instinct that told her that He would never do such a thing.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Just a feeling.” The ale was rising in her blood now, making her argue in such a brazen way that she would never have dreamed to do before. “But it kills innocent people too, I’ve seen it!”
“Stop there!” RiffRaff said.
“No, the plague is evil, it’s not a good thing, and I’m going to stop it, I’m on a quest and - ow!”
RiffRaff removed his teeth from her ear and said, “Make your excuses and go to your room. For Jesu’s sake, shut up! You’re talking us into danger.”
Ailyth looked around; all eyes were certainly on her. She felt embarrassed, and suddenly so tired and weak that all she could do was mumble to the barwoman “I would like to go to my room please.” As she was led to a little hovel, with just a bed, a window and a fireplace, she was suddenly reminded of her cell, and of Elfrida, and she began to cry.
*** The door to the abbey opened with a crash, as though a gale had blown it open, and a hooded figure stood silhouetted in the frame.
“Ah, Brother,” an ageing Abbott said, kneeling in prayer in front of the altar and surrounded by shaven-headed monks. “You’ve returned very soon. I did not expect the evening’s drinking to be over so quickly.”
The monk stormed down the apse and knelt beside his superior. The smell of incense permeated his heavy sack-cloth habit and comforted him.
“Father, I bring grave news, which took me from my revelries and led me straight back here to you.”
The Abbott nodded sagely and said, “The plague?”
“It is here at last.”
The old man closed his eyes and smiled. “Good,” he said, his voice echoing down the drafty stone building. “That is not grave news at all, as you well know. What concerns you?”
The monk pulled down his hood and pressed the Abbott’s fingers to his mouth. “Father,” he said, “there is a girl. She says that she is on a quest to put an end to the plague.”
The Abbott stood up and paced down the apse, occasionally turning to stare up at the cold-eyed statues that lined the walls. “You interrupted my prayer, for this?” he said sadly, and shivered in the cold.
“I thought you ought to be made aware...”
“She is nothing!” the Abbott laughed suddenly, his voice echoing for minutes afterwards. “She cannot threaten our God! He is the Almighty!”
The monk continued to stare at the ground. “The girl radiated purpose and strength, and says that she is on a mission also,” he said. He looked up at his superior. “She was talking to someone that only she could see...and I could hear him reply to her. I think she may be in league with the devil.”
Oh, what a woeful day this was. For fifty years, since he was a novice monk himself, the Abbott had made it his personal mission to fight evil. It was everywhere. He knew that. It was in the cities especially, in the very slime where people crowded together and sinned. Murder, lust, envy, greed. He had seen it all. For more than his lifetime he had prayed that God would return the world to the vision he had devoured in the scriptures. Would this Satanic girl now try to stop the vengeance God had blessed upon the world? The second flood?
The Abbott rubbed his temples. “All right,” he said finally. “Kill her.” |
