Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [368]
“Where have you been?” Her voice was hard.
“To the city. And to Avonsford.” He started forward again, but she raised her hand.
“Has the plague begun?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe. They said a man died in the city, but I never saw him. The vicar,” he jerked his thumb towards the village, “says his sheep are dead of it.” He grinned as he remembered the man’s sobs. “Looked like the murrain to me.”
Again he moved forward, John was still approaching behind her.
And then, to his amazement, she calmly fitted a little arrow to her bow and drew it.
“No further.”
Her body was square and rigid, as an archer’s should be. She held the bow steadily. And the little arrow was pointing straight at his heart.
“Go back,” she told him. “You must not come in here again.”
She saw the look of bewilderment on his face. It hurt her as though he had been her own son. But she knew she must not flinch.
Determined, she forced herself to stare straight into his eyes so that he could see she would shoot if she had to, and though for a second her hand trembled, she thought of her three children and it became firm again.
Nicholas hesitated.
If he took another step, she must do it. But could she? And if he forced her to shoot, what next? She had no idea.
They faced each other in silence. Neither moved.
Now John was at her elbow. She could hear him breathing.
“Let him in, mother,” he said softly. From the tone of his voice she knew at once that he thought she had gone mad.
“You promised to obey me,” she reminded him. Why did he not understand?
“Let him in.” This time it was an order.
She did not move. And she did not take her eyes off Nicholas. If she gave in now, everything would be destroyed.
John started to reach out, to take the bow from her.
“Touch me and I’ll shoot him.” She heard her own voice, hard and authoritative. It surprised her, but she was glad it was so convincing.
She did not see, but she sensed his hand draw back.
“If the plague’s in the city, he may be carrying it,” she said calmly. “The risk is too great. If he carries it, we may all die.”
John said nothing. She knew he did not believe her.
Then, to her astonishment, it was Nicholas who spoke.
“She is right. I will go.” He turned to go, and then, with an afterthought he called: “I’ll come each day and tell you when the plague has passed.” He strode away. Slowly she lowered the bow.
John was gazing at her. His mild round face was contorted with rage; his voice was edged with contempt.
“What have you done?”
The anger and reproach in his voice cut her to the quick. But she did not show it.
“Saved us,” she replied bluntly.
Rose de Godefroi displayed the first signs the next day. At first no one noticed.
She had been proud of her simple precautions. She felt sure that at Avonsford she had created a safe haven for her husband and her son.
But as dusk fell and the household had just drunk the potion of Malmsey wine she had prepared, she suddenly felt faint. She steadied herself quickly; Gilbert had not noticed. A few minutes later the faintness passed and she dismissed the tiresome sensation from her mind. Half an hour later, she suddenly began to shiver. The candles were lit; in the half light neither Gilbert nor the serving woman realised. Quietly she retired to the solar.
Soon afterwards, she vomited.
She knew what it was. She had no shadow of a doubt.
Gilbert had probably nodded off in his chair in the hall. She was glad to have a little time to herself to consider what to do.
There was only one thought in her mind: how to save the others in the household. There was little use, she guessed, in trying to send them away. However the plague reached her, it had probably infected its chosen victims in the manor already.
But then she thought of her son. It had been so many months since she had seen his cheerful face and tousled head. How she had longed for his