Heart of Ice

Chapter 16

At Hawkenlye, it was becoming increasingly difficult for even the most optimistic souls to believe that the outbreak was under control. Twenty-three people lay sick and, in some cases, dying in the infirmary in the Vale. Sister Beata had been joined in death by a young monk called Roger and a little novice nun whom nobody knew very well because she always kept her head down and never spoke unless she really had to. Sister Judith was still very ill. Brother Firmin, who had serenely given himself up to death, appeared to be a little better.

Sister Euphemia, despite the best efforts of her senior nurses, continued to bear on her broad shoulders the full responsibility for the sick. This was due neither to vanity nor an overwhelming sense of her own importance; it was simply that she appeared to have a God-given gift for healing and she refused to set it aside. It was as if, when face to face with someone who had decided that death was just around the corner, the infirmarer possessed a penetrating voice that, even if it did not always call the dying one back, at least gave the patient the opportunity to see if there was an alternative. Sister Euphemia possessed hands which, once laid upon the forehead of a feverish man or woman, instilled relief and a new confidence; more than one recovering patient was heard to observe that it was the big sister in charge who’d made them better; ‘She told me I weren’t so sick as I’d feared,’ one woman said, ‘and, once she’d got a few mugs o’ that cold water into me, reckon I started to believe her.’

Sister Caliste could see that the infirmarer was on her knees with exhaustion. She pleaded with her superior to rest, to retire to her bed and catch up on her sleep, but Sister Euphemia insisted that the occasional short spell napping on a screened-off cot at the far end of the temporary infirmary was all that she needed. Such spells were, however, not very restful at all since, as Sister Caliste well knew, the infirmarer’s acute ears picked up even the faintest sounds of distress, at which she would be up and out of the little recess the moment she had straightened her veil. And sounds of distress were all too common in that place of suffering.

Finally Sister Caliste, hating herself for the disloyalty, went to the Abbess. Entering in response to the Abbess’s quiet ‘Come in’, and bowing low, she said, even before she had straightened up, ‘My lady Abbess, I am sorry to disturb you but I must report that Sister Euphemia urgently needs a respite from her labours and-’ She stopped herself before she could add ‘and flatly refuses to take it.’

But the Abbess knew her infirmarer of old. As Sister Caliste straightened up, she found the calm grey eyes watching her. ‘And I imagine,’ the Abbess said, ‘that, despite the repeated pleas of all her nursing nuns, she will not rest?’

‘No,’ agreed Sister Caliste.

The Abbess was silent for some moments. Then she said, ‘Sister, assess for me, if you would, the strength of the nursing staff.’

Sister Caliste paused, ordering her thoughts. Then she said, ‘Sister Tiphaine is the most respected, after Sister Euphemia. Although her skill is primarily in the preparation of herbal remedies, she has a wealth of experience and people believe in her. We’ve lost Sister Beata, of course, and she is sorely missed, and Sister Judith is still sick. Sister Clare has joined us, and Sister Anne, as well as Sister Emanuel, whose particular touch with the elderly is most useful. Then we have a number of other sisters, as well as two monks, who tend the patients when their other duties allow.’

The Abbess was still regarding her. ‘You have left someone out,’ she observed.

Sister Caliste frowned. ‘Have I, my lady? I am sorry, I-’ But then, blushing, she realised what the Abbess meant.

‘Sister, I have in mind to organise three teams of nurses,’ the Abbess said after a moment. ‘If you are willing, I propose that you lead one, and that Sister Tiphaine and Sister Emanuel lead the others. Each of you will select a senior nursing nun as your second in command, and Sister Euphemia will be in overall control. I will ask for volunteers and, provided our nuns and monks respond as I hope and pray they will, we will aim at teams of perhaps as many as six. I am right in saying, am I not, that the nursing duties required amount more to sheer hard work than to any particular skill?’

‘You are, my lady,’ Sister Caliste agreed, ‘for indeed it is in the main a matter of making the patients drink, of getting them to take their draughts of the remedies and of bathing them when they are feverish, washing the sheets and cleaning them up when they’ve — er — of cleaning them.’

‘Quite so,’ murmured the Abbess. ‘What do you think, then, Sister? Would this plan persuade Sister Euphemia that it was permissible for her to take a day off and sleep?’

Sister Caliste smiled. ‘I believe it might, my lady, were it you who proposed it.’

The Abbess answered her smile. Rising to her feet, she said, ‘Then let us waste no more time.’

Sister Caliste waited outside the Vale infirmary while the Abbess went in and summoned Sister Euphemia. The two senior nuns soon emerged and walked a short way off down the path that led to the lake. The two veiled heads were close together; the Abbess and the infirmarer were obviously deep in conversation. Sister Caliste took the opportunity to slide down onto a bench beside the infirmary door and close her eyes for a precious few moments. .

‘There is no need to repeat yourself,’ Helewise said, restraining her impatience with difficulty, ‘I heard you the first three times, Euphemia.’ The infirmarer made to speak but Helewise held up her hand. ‘If you continue to work all day and all night, soon you will be exhausted, nature will take over and you will collapse, whether you wish it or not. Then where should the rest of us be? We can work according to your instructions, my very dear Sister, but if you have driven yourself to unconsciousness, where will you be when we need your advice?’

‘I-’ the infirmarer began.

‘This is an order, Sister,’ Helewise said gently. ‘Out of my great respect for you and bearing in mind our long friendship, I am reluctant to remind you of our relative positions here. But, nevertheless, in this case I am so doing.’

Sister Euphemia stared at her. The infirmarer’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, the eyelids swollen from fatigue. ‘What must I do?’ she asked.

Helewise’s heart almost failed her. But, summoning her resolve, she said firmly, ‘You are to go to bed and you are to stay there until tomorrow morning. In the dormitory, mind; I don’t mean that cot of yours at the end of the Vale infirmary.’

‘But it’s the middle of the morning!’ Sister Euphemia protested. ‘Nuns don’t go to bed in the middle of the day!’

‘They do if they are worn out from hard work and their Abbess demands it,’ Helewise replied coolly. ‘Now, go to the refectory, tell Sister Basilia that I have ordered that you be given whatever you wish to eat and drink, then go and sleep.’

All at once Sister Euphemia’s resistance fell away. It was the word sleep, Helewise decided, watching her with compassion; hearing it, the infirmarer’s eyes had all but closed and she swayed on her feet.

‘Go on,’ Helewise urged.

Sister Euphemia made one last effort. ‘You are quite sure that these rotas of yours will work properly?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Helewise serenely.

‘Hm.’ The infirmarer took a step up the path towards the Abbey. Then another.

‘Off you go,’ Helewise prompted.

And then Sister Euphemia obeyed. Without a backward glance, she strode away up the path and was soon attacking the slope that led up to the rear gate.

Helewise watched her. As she did so, she slowly rolled up her wide sleeves, baring her strong hands and forearms. Then she returned to the Vale infirmary, gently tugged at Sister Caliste’s sleeve to wake her up and led the way inside.

‘I shall call for volunteers later today,’ she said quietly. ‘In the meantime, find me an apron, please, Sister Caliste, and instruct me in what I must do.’

Sister Caliste’s mouth fell open. ‘You, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ Helewise agreed. ‘If you are agreeable, Sister, I would be honoured to be a member of your nursing team.’

She hid her amusement as, with a number of expressions flitting across her lovely face, Sister Caliste hurried to obey. Shortly afterwards, with her veil pinned back so that it did not fall forward as she bent over patients, a large white apron enveloping her from shoulders to shins and her rolled-up sleeves tied securely, Helewise followed Sister Caliste down the long room and was introduced to the full horrors of the foreign pestilence.

Word spread around the community well before Helewise made her announcement. By the time the request for volunteer nurses was read out, nuns, monks and lay brothers in all areas of the Abbey’s work had asked themselves whether they had the courage to answer the summons. They all knew the risk: lurid descriptions of some of the more ghastly deaths were circulating and nobody was in any doubt that nurses could become sick just like everyone else did.

Helewise had asked that anyone willing to join the nursing team was to present her- or himself in front of the Abbey church after Sext. Emerging from the church after the community had left — she had stayed behind to send up a brief private prayer that her scheme would work — the sight that met her astonished eyes was all but unbelievable.

With the exception of those whose duties were all-consuming, everyone in the Hawkenlye community was there; the open space in front of the church was so crowded that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Right at the back, tall between Brother Saul and Brother Augustus, stood Josse.

Helewise made to speak but her voice broke. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Bless you all. We-’ But emotion was rising in her too powerfully for her to contain it; Sister Caliste, reading the situation, hurried to her side and whispered, ‘My lady? May I help?’

Helewise smiled, briefly touching the younger nun’s hand. ‘Stand beside me, please,’ she whispered. ‘Summon Sister Tiphaine and Sister Emanuel, if you would.’

While the three nuns walked across to stand beside her, Helewise took the time to compose herself. Then, her voice pitched strongly to carry to the back of the crowd, she outlined the new arrangements. When she had finished — she would leave it to her three team leaders to arrange the details — she said, ‘We will strive together, with God’s help, to do all that we can to defeat this evil that has come to us. We shall be as one, an instrument for good in our heavenly father’s hands. We will support each other and our own wishes will be put aside. We shall not let this thing get the better of us!’ Sensing the mood change as, with the light of battle in their eyes, people took up the idea of a fight, she cried, ‘We shall not be defeated!’

And from the ranks of nuns, monks and lay brothers before her, a great cheer went up.

The euphoria carried the community through the rest of the day. Those who were the first to take on new nursing duties were sorely in need of it for, as Helewise had discovered earlier, the brutal realities of caring for people suffering from this particular disease were not for the squeamish.

Sister Caliste’s team were to work until Vespers, after which Sister Tiphaine’s team would take over. Helewise spent the first part of her afternoon giving sips of the herbalist’s febrifuge to some of the recovering patients. Then, quite sure that Sister Caliste was saving her from the more arduous duties, she asked to be put to something else. After a short debate with her conscience — she was quite sure her Abbess would go on asking until she got what she wanted — Sister Caliste nodded meekly and said, ‘One of the dying requires a wash and a change of linen, my lady. If you would please follow me?’

Helewise had only herself to blame; summoning all her strength, she ordered herself not to let her revulsion show. The patient was a woman of about forty and could not have been in good health even before the sickness struck, for her emaciated body was covered in suppurating sores and there were the clear signs of lice infestation in the hair of her head and body. Her eyes were closed, the lids gummed with some sort of foul residue, and her toothless jaws seemed to have fallen in upon themselves. As if aware of her superior’s struggle and wishing to help, Sister Caliste drew her attention by saying very softly, ‘We do not know her name, my lady, for she was far gone when she was brought here. We have observed that those already weak succumb the fastest.’

Helewise was horrified in case the dying woman should hear. ‘Sister, should we speak in this way before her?’ she whispered back.

Sister Caliste paused in her washing of the woman’s thighs and buttocks to stare up at the deadly white face. Reaching out to touch the sunken cheek with a gentle hand, she said, ‘I do not think she can hear, my lady.’

That touch, and indeed her own reaction, somehow made the task easier for Helewise; it was as if the combination of the two things turned the dying woman from a filthy, stinking body back into a human being. Confidence surged through her; taking the wash cloth from Sister Caliste, she said, ‘I will finish cleaning her and making her comfortable, Sister. When I have finished, I will come to find you to be given my next task.’

Sister Caliste nodded and left. Then Helewise, all disgust gone, went back to her patient. Keeping her voice low, she began to talk to her. ‘There, I’ll just finish washing you down there — oh, but that looks sore! Perhaps I can find something to soothe the poor skin — and then I can roll you back on to a clean sheet. . Now that’s better, isn’t it? Nice and cool on your hot skin. We’ll have a new piece of cloth and I’ll sponge your face. . and smooth out your hair. Then when we’ve finished, I’ll tuck you up and leave you in peace.’

It was probably her imagination, Helewise told herself, but she almost thought that, just for an instant, the dying woman’s mouth twitched into a smile.

Helewise’s last task before her team was relieved was to tend the thatcher and his young son who had been brought in the previous day. Contrary to Sister Euphemia’s prediction, the boy was still alive, although very sick and with a fever so high that he seemed to be on fire. The father had not moved from his son’s bedside and Helewise was hoping to persuade him to have some rest.

She walked over to the cot where the boy lay and at her approach the father got to his feet.

‘Please, sit down.’ Helewise said. ‘You too are sick, are you not?’

The man resumed his place at his son’s head. ‘I thought I was yesterday,’ he admitted, ‘but today the fever’s gone and so has the headache.’ He managed a weak grin. ‘Reckon I must be tougher than I look.’

Helewise studied him. He was of average height, fair haired, dark eyed, and appeared to have a wiry strength that might indeed imply a resilient constitution. ‘You are a thatcher, are you not?’ she asked.

‘Aye, Sister. Name’s Catt. This is my son Pip.’ He stroked the boy’s sweat-darkened hair back from his pale face.

‘How old is he?’

‘Twelve.’

‘And have you other children?’

‘No, lady. His mother, she died when Pip’s little sister was born, and the baby died too.’ He sighed, then tried to smile. ‘Pip and me, we’re all each other has got, if you take my meaning.’

‘I do.’ She went to sit on the opposite side of the boy’s narrow bed, studying his features. ‘He has a look of you,’ she said.

‘D’you think so?’ Catt seemed pleased. ‘Me, I always see his mother in him, but I expect that’s only natural. We see what we want to see, and I miss her.’

‘Yes, I understand, and I’m sure you’re right,’ she agreed. She reached out to touch the boy’s hot forehead. ‘I’ll fetch some cool water and we can bathe him,’ she said, getting to her feet. She hurried to the long table where the lay brothers — and Josse — ensured that there was always a plentiful supply of spring water, clean cloths and freshly washed out containers. She was in luck for someone had just delivered a full jar of lavender oil; its fresh and invigorating fragrance cut clean through the assorted stenches of illness and seemed to bring with it a vision of sunshine, a thread of bright purple light running through the sombre dimness of the Vale ward. She poured water into a bowl, added several drops of lavender oil and, selecting a cloth, returned to the thatcher and his boy.

She squeezed out the cloth and carefully sponged the lad’s brow and cheeks. At first the cold made him frown but quickly his face cleared and he seemed to relax. The thatcher, watching closely, sighed softly.

‘Look at that! You’ve got the touch, Sister,’ he said. ‘But then I expect you’ve been at it a long time.’

‘At what?’

‘Nursing.’ Catt chuckled. ‘There now, you’re that tired, you’ve forgotten your own profession!’

She smiled with him. He was clearly unaware who she was, and it would have been both unnecessary and rather unkind to get on her high horse and tell him. Anyway, she was not at all sure that she knew who she was just then; it was suddenly much more important to be a nurse than an Abbess.

After some time of silent sponging, Helewise removed the cloth to wring it out. The thatcher put his hand on his son’s forehead. ‘It may be my imagination, Sister,’ he said tentatively, ‘but it seems to me he’s not quite so hot.’

She felt the boy’s skin. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Although it is probably just the effect of the cold water.’

‘It’s holy water,’ Catt said knowingly. ‘It works miracles, they do say.’

‘It can do,’ she agreed. Then, for her cautious response had clearly affected him, she said, ‘Shall we see if he’ll take a drink? The water is also effective when drunk, you know.’

‘Aye, I know. You stay there, Sister’ — he pushed her back when she made to get up — ‘I’ll fetch the water.’

The boy managed to drink half a cup of water. Then he turned his face away.

Helewise knew she must leave the pair and get on with her next task, although her instinct was to stay; she was quite sure that the lad was approaching some sort of crisis. But the new system had been her idea and she would undermine others’ obedience to it if she ignored it herself.

She got up quietly. ‘I must go,’ she said to Catt. ‘We change shifts at Vespers and, although I wish I could return, it will be another nun who comes back later.’

He grinned up at her. ‘That Abbess keeps you on your toes, I warrant,’ he said. ‘Bit of a tyrant, is she?’

Helewise smiled. ‘Just a bit.’

Then, with a nod, she turned and left.

She ate a swift supper after Vespers and went to her room to do some work. But she could not concentrate; the image of the boy’s pale face kept getting between her eyes and the parchment. Finally she gave up and, having forced herself to complete the present task and leaving everything neat and tidy (for she had the strong suspicion that she would not be sitting at her table again for some time to come) she left her room and firmly closed the door behind her.

She made her way across the cloister and through the rear gate, hurrying down the path to the Vale. There was considerably more activity down here that there had been up at the Abbey; hardly surprising, since everyone not presently on duty nursing the sick, including herself, was meant to be up there resting quietly ready for the next shift, whereas here in the Vale was where the battle was being fought.

As she approached the door of the Vale infirmary, Josse appeared at her side.

‘You are disobeying your own rules, my lady,’ he said softly. ‘You should be asleep.’

‘So should you,’ she whispered back, but so glad, in that moment of closeness, that he was not.

‘I’m about to go to my bed,’ he admitted, stifling a huge yawn. ‘It’s been a long day.’ He eyed her curiously, as if something about her puzzled him.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘Hm? Oh, nothing. Nothing.’ And with a low bow, he turned and hurried away to the monks’ shelter where she knew he had made his sleeping place.

She stared after him for a moment. She felt that she might understand his perplexity; she was aware that she had been acting oddly towards him, her guilty conscience bothered as it was by the approach to Joanna that she had ordered. Well, that appeared to have come to precisely nothing; for better or for worse, Joanna had refused to have anything to do with the Eye of Jerusalem, with the sick people in the Vale and with Hawkenlye in general. Of course it was a great pity — who could say what might have been achieved with the help of the magic jewel wielded by the rightful hand? — but that was that and there was no use moaning about it.

With that particular weight lifted from her, Helewise felt distinctly lighter. And Josse, bless him, had picked it up. .

No wonder the poor man had looked bemused.

Smiling, shaking her head, Helewise went into the ward.

Head lowered so that her face was hidden by her coif — she did not want the nuns on duty to see her — she made straight for the thatcher and his boy. Catt was dozing, resting his face on his hand as he sat awkwardly on his son’s bed. The boy’s face was scarlet.

She hurried forward, and put her hand on the burning forehead. Her movement woke the thatcher; with a start, he looked up at her. ‘What is it?’

‘He is very hot,’ she said. ‘I will fetch water.’

She repeated her actions of earlier in the day. This time the boy’s brow almost sent steam from the damp cloth, so high was his fever.

Helewise realised that she was on her knees. The thatcher dropped down beside her, eyes closed, hands pressed together; he seemed to think that she was praying, and it occurred to her that this was a very good idea. The lad was on the very precipice of death and only God could save him now.

Helewise began to pray softly, almost under her breath, and she heard Catt murmur the responses. They prayed for some time. Then she got to her feet and stood looking down at the boy.

The thatcher said, his voice cracking with emotion, ‘If you save him, Sister, I’ll make sure that your Abbey has the finest roofs in all the country.’

Helewise was about to tell him that few of the Abbey buildings were thatched but something stopped her. ‘His life is in God’s hands,’ she said gently. ‘We have prayed and done all that we can; now we must wait.’

They waited.

Time passed. Helewise fetched two more bowls of cold water. The boy writhed under the sheet soaked in his own sweat, fighting for air, and it seemed to her that his efforts became a little more difficult with each labouring, gasped intake of breath. Then suddenly he seemed to stiffen as if his muscles had locked and his back arched, lifting his narrow chest up off the bed.

Helewise prepared the words that she would say. It is God’s will, even though we cannot understand his great purpose. The child is innocent and will surely spend minimal time in purgatory, especially if we all pray as hard as we can for his soul. One day the two of you will be reunited in heaven, with your wife and the baby girl too.

All of which, in the face of the thatcher’s vast grief, would be next to useless.

The boy gave a long groan. His father fell like a stone to the lad’s side, crying his name and muttering incoherently, calling out to the boy not to leave him.

The lad opened his eyes, tried to sit up, gave a stifled cry of pain, then dropped back and lay still.

Helewise knelt beside the thatcher, her hand already searching for his; if nothing else, at least she could show him that she was there with him, aware of his terrible agony and ready to help him through it.

‘He is out of his pain now,’ she began, ‘he-’

But that was not right. Could not be right, for, her eyes on the boy, she saw that he was breathing, softly and deeply.

Darting up, she put her hands to him, on his forehead, on his chest. The heat was gone and the sweat had cooled on his skin. The tension had left the young face, replaced by the natural look of utter relaxation.

Pip was fast asleep.

Helewise felt joy surge through her and in that sublime moment sent her thanks up to the God who had understood a father’s desperation and answered his prayer. She put her hands on the thatcher’s shaking shoulders — he had buried his face in his hands to weep — and, bending down to speak in his ear, she said, ‘Get up, Catt, and have a look.’

‘I don’t want to-’ he began, but then something in her tone must have penetrated his grief, for he removed his hands, looked up at her and then, obeying her command, stood up and stared down at his son.

A sound broke from him, a sound of such unique quality that Helewise never heard the like again. Then the thatcher lowered himself on to his son’s bed and, with the infinitely tender touch of a mother intent on not waking her baby, he picked up one of the boy’s hands and pressed it to his face. Weeping still, but now from relief, he whispered, ‘Pip, oh, my Pip.’

Helewise, tears in her own eyes, crept away.