Resurgence

By mid-morning, The Raven’s Tavern had turned into a rushing press of black cloaks and beaked masks crowding the counter. Loud voices overlapped, requests clashed, and gloved hands gestured in frustration, even as Little Sister Agnes continued to quickly fulfill urgent demand after urgent demand.

Her small hands moved constantly: measuring, sorting, shaking her head when a request could not be honored. Plague Doctor Edgar rushed beside her, his voice sharply cutting through the noise to ask for names and exact needs before reaching for anything still left on the shelf.

Half-empty jars lined a makeshift apothecary shelf behind them, with the stronger, in-demand ingredients kept under lock and key.

“I am sorry, Doctor Nicholas, but we ran out of theriac yesterday. Sister Beatrice and the novices are currently grinding up more cardamom for it as we speak,” Agnes said.

“Then I’ll take a full measure of elderberry and one of myrrh,” Nicholas replied, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

”Half measures only,” Edgar called for the third time. “Make it last, Doctor.”

Bernard then slammed both hands on the counter.

“But my patients will die with these rations!”

”Everyone’s patients are dying,” Edgar calmly answered while reaching for a fresh bundle of clean linen someone else was waiting for. “We’re already halfway through what was meant to last the winter.”

”Don’t believe a word he says,” another doctor said from the back of the line. “Who’s to say Eatonbury isn’t simply hoarding its herbs for themselves?”

The men around him began to shout, some in agreement, while others jeered. Now it was Edgar’s turn to slam down his fists loud enough to make Agnes jump.

”Hoarding, are we?! Look at the bodies piling up just outside our walls, and you tell me if it appears that Eatonbury is faring any better!” Edgar roared. “The kind sisters are working at all hours and not even charging any of you for these remedies. Our only concern is that every village gets some of what we have. So take your share and show some gratitude, Walter!”

The contentious doctor at the back immediately shrank and left, pushing past the crowd while others booed at him.

”Make sure he gets his rations,” Edgar called out to Lorenzo. “No need to punish the entire village of East Boyd for its doctor’s bad humor.”

Lorenzo nodded and took off after him with a bundle.

“Wretch,” Edgar muttered under his breath, while preparing the next bundle of linen. “And you wanted us to leave you to tend this alone.”

“You and Lorenzo are short-handed and have patients waiting,” Agnes said.

“And you, madam, would have had a mutiny on your hands. Even with Ignatius at the door.”

Agnes sighed and slid a small folded paper across the counter to where a gaunt doctor stood. His new, ill-fitting mask showed stains at the edges.

“Willow and mint. That’s what we have left for the fever. Boil it strong.“

The man took it without complaint and quietly pushed back toward the door.

”Thank you, little sister,” he called out softly.

Lorenzo returned at length and began moving again between the trestles, carrying a ledger in which he marked every vial and bundle that went out the door, already calculating how far the remaining stores would stretch.

Meanwhile, Ignatius held the door where doctors from East Bernard and Alton, from Averysham and the valley parishes, north and south, had come in carts and on foot.

A strange doctor approached Ignatius.

“I beg your pardon, sir. Is this the Eatonbury tavern?”

“It is. Where do you hail from?”

“Fairburn Manor, sir,” the doctor bowed. “Word is Eatonbury alone still has stock. Our own apothecary ran dry last week. I walked to the village, but found your apothecary shuttered and a sign. ‘Closed until further notice,’ it said.”

“Aye. Our apothecary took ill two days ago,” Ignatius said grimly. “Kindly, take your place in line. We will share what we can.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you! God reward you, sir!”

Ignatius watched him walk to the end of the lane crowded with physicians and carts.

He continued to stand at the threshold with one arm braced across the opening, letting men in only when Lorenzo signaled that space had cleared inside.

Lorenzo finished the last entry, closed the ledger, and gathered the remaining satchels. The stores that had once seemed sufficient for Eatonbury alone looked thin, even for a single day’s work. He divided what was left by the number of hands still waiting outside, then divided again.

The result was barely enough to treat the worst cases and nothing more.

He caught Agnes’s eye, then gave a small nod to Edgar.

Then, he pushed through the crush and walked past Ignatius into the lane. The line of waiting doctors parted just enough to let him through. Behind him, the shouting rose again as the door closed.

The weary plague doctor made his way down the lane to begin his late morning visits; he stopped right at the edge of the woods. An ominous wind caught his cape. The dry branches collided in the chill of late fall.

He drew a single deep breath.

How did this happen?

Only months before he had witnessed a woodland wedding here.

Now, that same forest seemed cold, hostile, and tenebrous.

He was in a rush. He had places to be this morning.

But he walked into the wooded dark anyway.

For many paces he wandered. The crunch of leaves marked his every step.

The howl of trees followed and caused him to clutch his cape more tightly.

Eventually, a twig-and-rose-crowned shadow moved silently among menacing willows.

“You know I can see you,” Lorenzo said at last, with a tired sigh.