A Miracle

Chapter 7

A Miracle

Plague Doctor Cedric faced the next house already marked with a red cross of his own making. Inside, the butcher sat against the wall, both groins swollen hard and angry. Yet, once he felt the pulse on his wrist, he felt encouraged.

”The fever has broken,” Cedric declared, smiling secretly to himself and changing the linen compresses.

”It’s a miracle!” the butcher’s wife declared.

On the door, he added a small second mark, one short horizontal stroke denoting:

Recovering.

Back at Saint Catherine’s the hospitium floor had already been swept twice and sprinkled with dried meadowsweet by the time the other sisters had finished their late morning prayers. The postulants set the old trestle tables back into place and Agnes stress-tested each table for wobbles by aggressively jumping on them.

On the long counter, they arranged stacks of pale wooden trenchers; thick pottery bowls of dull brown glaze, matching cups, and clusters of wooden spoons.

”I heard our dashing penitent knight was seen in the village earlier this morning,” Margaret said then.

Her gossipy remark triggered a frenzy of questions.

”What?”

”Really?”

”He’s back?”

”I wonder who he is!”

”And if he’s handsome under all that metal.”

“He must be! And quite strong!”

”And who told you that, Sister Margaret?” Sister Bernadette asked.

“I overheard the steward inform the abbess in the outer parlor,” Sister Margaret responded. “Mentioned he’s been paying for private burials. He must be a man of some wealth.”

”He hasn’t been coming to the chapel these last two nights. Wonder if we’ll see him soon,” Magdalene mused.

Little Agnes rolled her eyes and continued to wipe the chairs.

“Maybe he’ll visit the tavern and we’ll finally learn which one of the sisters he’s pining for!” Margaret chimed in, biting her lower lip with her front teeth.

”Do we know for sure he’s pining for someone?” Beatrice asked timidly.

”Of course he must! Almost every maiden in the village is now in the cloister. Can you imagine? His beloved is caged behind these sacred iron bars,” Magdalene said dramatically. “Meanwhile, he, too, is caged; behind duty, honor, his helmet…”

”Oh, it’s so tragic!!” Magdalene gushed.

”Nuns should not be wondering about forbidden love affairs, Sister Magdalene!” Agatha smacked over the head with a broom until Magdalene calmed down.

”Who cares about a silly, unsociable knight?” Agnes asked.

“Agreed, but Magdalene brings up a good point. We are all behind the bars to keep the pestilence away. Are we not inviting it in with this tavern?” Elyse wondered, eyeing the renovation all around them.

”Never fear, naive postulant Elyse. I have thought of everything to protect all of you,” Agnes replied heroically. “I have very specific clientele in mind who are knowledgeable about how to fight this great evil. So you shouldn’t lose heart. I will keep all of you perfectly safe. On my life.”

”Oh, little Sister Agnes, how can you be this cute and be such a fierce protector of all of our sisters when you, yourself, are so small?!” Agatha gushed. “May God forgive me, I can’t help myself! I must squeeze those adorable little cheeks!”

She didn’t stop despite Agnes’s screams.

Later that day, the nuns gathered together to discuss and debate the menu, while Sister Isabella cuddled the black cloister cat and let him play on her lap.

“A thick pottage of dried peas and the last of the winter cabbage,” Magdalene wrote down her notes.

”Enriched with a little salt pork, of course!” Beatrice, with terful eyes still swollen, managed to smile. Sister Bernadette linked arms with her and chimed in:

“And round loaves of maslin bread with wedges of hard cheese.”

Agnes also continued to take notes.

“A small portion of early nettles… boiled eggs and small game… if…available. Perfect!” Agnes said. “Now, supper is to be prepared daily and brought down to me in baskets. Sister Bernadette.”

The young red-headed nun looked up at Agnes.

”You have been deemed to possess the best penmanship. You write the menu!”

The sisters watched the nun write out the list with her superior penmanship.

Cloister ale by the cup or jug

Pottage of pease and cabbage

Maslin bread and cheese

Nettle greens when available

Rabbit when available

“Sister Agatha,” Agnes declared next. “You have a divine talent for painting. We need the greatest tavern sign in the history of humanity.”

Next, they all gathered around Agatha, gushing at her work, as she painted and decorated the official wooden tavern sign. Then three of them carried Agnes on their shoulders so she could hang it above the door. A black plague doctor raven, holding a lantern. The script was then added in impeccably ornate spiraled lettering.

The Raven’s Tavern

✨✨✨

Late afternoon at Eatonbury village brought Lorenzo down a path of daisies. Twice he knocked at the house at the end of the path.

Still, the door stayed shut.

”Evening,” Lorenzo called out when the curtains closed on the first-floor’s open window. “I was told someone came down with illness in this house.”

”No one sent for you. We don’t need you here. Do you hear me?”

Lorenzo paused.

”I can bring some remedies that may be effective.”

“No, no. We’re in Our Lord’s hands. Keep away,” said a voice from inside. “Away you, from this house of faith!”

Lorenzo sighed.

He marked the door with a small circle.

Entry Denied.

He left his last handful of angelica at the threshold and left.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the village, a woman intercepted Plague Doctor Edgar in the lane, clutching his cloak while she held a handkerchief to her face.

“Sir, my husband,” she pleaded. “He’s been coughing blood since morning.”

Edgar nodded and followed her into a dark and airless room. As soon as he entered, his shoulders dropped and the woman immediately recognized that they had been too late.

”Joseph…? No, Joseph…!”

“No! Do not go near him…” Edgar urged, trying to restrain her.

But the woman escaped his grasp, ran straight to the slumped corpse, and collapsed over him to weep.

Feeling defeated, Edgar stayed only long enough to close the man’s eyes, and to mark the door with the full red band.

Collection Required.

Edgar then gazed at the path leading outside of the village with a grunt of resolve, and began to walk.

Night had fully settled when Lorenzo finally reached his room.

He barred his door and unfastened the straps of the mask. Sachets of herbs and flowers tumbled out once again. He set the beak back down on the chair.

He sat on the edge of the narrow bed.

This time, he reached for the small blue vial and lit the candle.

The light again showed him the sparkles of gold.

He pulled up a chair and began to work.

He laid out his journal to sketch a faithful drawing of the vial. Right below, he wrote each category.

Quality. Color. Scent. Clarity. Thickness. Temperament.

He then proceeded to remove the stopper. He drew one breath; his gray eyes closing as he inhaled.

They opened again.

He immediately jotted down:

Scent: Sulphurous

He then poured one drop of dark blue liquid into a clean scrap of linen. It sat as a thick indigo bubble for only a second and was then immediately absorbed, turning into a pretty violet color.

Thickness: Low

The tall beeswax candle on the table wore down with him hunched over the journal, and the costrel of ale slowly emptied and pages and pages filled with his writings, numbers, and drawings.

*Hic*

Despite being a little tipsy, his gray eyes continued to study the tiny vial, which cast its blue light on the floor as the flame danced behind it.

Perhaps in this new merry state, the vial assumed an otherworldly quality that momentarily hypnotized him.

An hour later, he had fallen asleep sideways on the table when a knock on the door roused him. He grabbed the mask.

”Did he worsen…?” Lorenzo breathlessly asked. Then, he noticed. “Cedric?”

The shorter plague doctor sighed.

”I wasn’t truthful with you, friend,” Cedric said. “I gave the butcher the other vial.”

Lorenzo let out an imperceptible grunt of shock, but then waited.

”He lived,” said Cedric. “He lived, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo didn’t say anything for a second, then he opened the door.

“Come in.”

He lit a fresh candle as Cedric loomed over the notes Lorenzo had jotted down earlier on the parchment.

“I’ve analyzed its virtues at length. Trying to identify its humoral traits.”

“I see,” Cedric said. “Seems to be an ordinary compound. Did you taste it?”

“What…?” Lorenzo asked. “No. Did you?”

“No, of course I didn’t taste it.”

“Then how did you give it to the butcher?”

“I just…did.”

”Without tasting it yourself?”

”Why would I taste it? I didn’t taste it. You taste it.”

”I’m not going to taste it. I don’t know what’s in that.”

”Fine, here, let me.”

“No, Cedric, I don’t think you should…”

But before Lorenzo could stop him, Cedric picked up the tiny vial, and struggled to get it through the beak. Then, he swallowed a few drops.

They both waited.

“Well?” Lorenzo asked.

Cedric pondered.

”Surprisingly… floral.”

”Floral?”

”Quite. Yes. Like sipping from a crimson rose…that tastes like…oh, moonlight!"

”Hm,” Lorenzo touched the chin of his beak while Cedric gushed. “You won’t try it?”

”No.”

”It’s actually quite heavenly,” Cedric said. “Though not half as heavenly as that cloister ale. Which is all but gone I see.”

They both gazed at the empty wood barrel of ale from the day before.

“There’s also this…” Lorenzo said, and picked up the vial again. “I had been waiting all night for the sediments to settle,” Lorenzo said. “The little stars never settle.”

“Then I’ll have stars swimming in my stomach forever,” Cedric said cheerfully.

Morning light had barely reached the ground before both Lorenzo and Cedric were already out, walking toward the apothecary. They rushed quietly, both becoming winded very easily as the leather of their cloaks creaked and stretched in the dawn.

But, shortly before arriving at the apothecary’s shop, a little voice stopped them both from behind.

”Gentlemen…Alaric said you wished to speak to me.”