The Dragon Of Throxenby
Part 2
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Quenilda knelt down at Sir Guy's side, turning him onto his back and unwrapping the makeshift bandages around his arm. The skin had been otherwise healthy, the wounds bleeding freely when she'd bound them, but now she could see the swelling and redness of infection. How quickly it had developed!
"Eva!" she called, and when her personal maidservant stepped forward, Quenilda commanded, "Run to the healing spring and bring back two buckets full!"
"Yes, my lady," Eva replied, but lingered long enough to ask, "Will he die, my lady?"
Others were crowding in as well for a look as well, including Isolda, braver now that the notorious Sir Guy was unconscious at her feet, and all of them were silently echoing the question. Raising her voice slightly, Quenilda said, "Not if you hurry!"
"It looks as though the dragon bit him," the Earl mused, and Quenilda nodded. "Perhaps its bite is as poisonous as a spider's."
"Perhaps … it would be a kindness to … let him go?" Isolda suggested timorously.
"Isolda!" the Earl chided her, and Isolda lowered her gaze, blushing in shame.
"He saved my life," Quenilda snapped, "I am honour bound to at least try to save his!"
"Absolutely right, Quenilda," the Earl said.
Quenilda looked around. "Humphrey, Godfrey, are you about? Carry Sir Guy to my own chamber, quickly!"
The two brothers shuffled forwards and heaved Sir Guy up by his knees and shoulders. The crowd made room for them to get through to the stairs, and as Quenilda made to follow them, the Earl said, "I will send Albreda to you."
Albreda was the local wise-woman, Quenilda's mentor, and Quenilda nodded in relief. "Thank you, my lord."
The Earl stopped then, and ran his hand down the side of her face, smiling down at her. "I am glad you were not eaten, my daughter."
Quenilda leaned into his hand and smiled back at him. "So am I, my lord." Then she curtsied, and ran after the two servants.
Once inside her chamber, the brothers barely waited until Quenilda had pulled back the covers before heaving Sir Guy onto the bed. Relieved of their burden, they gave Quenilda perfunctory bows, obviously ready to leave before she could give them more tasks to do. She'd already anticipated that, however, and put one of her hands on each of their shoulders, giving them a gentle push in the direction she wanted them to go. "Humphrey, build up the fire. Bring a supply of wood, and one of the larger kettles from the kitchen. Godfrey, help me undress him."
Godfrey heaved a longsuffering sigh and plodded to the bed, tugging at Sir Guy's boots until they came off. At Quenilda's command, he also held Sir Guy upright while Quenilda worked his jacket and his shirt off, then helped slip the man's trousers from his legs.
"Hot," Godfrey said simply, and Quenilda nodded. Sir Guy was already burning with fever, and she tucked the covers around him before he could catch a chill. He'd need liquid, she thought, and glanced around to see Godfrey slinking towards the door. "Bring me ale, Godfrey, and ask the cook for broth, too!"
Godfrey's shoulders slumped as he went out, making room for Humphrey coming in with one of the medium-sized kettles from the kitchen.
"Thank you, Humphrey, now bring enough water to fill it this far to the top," Quenilda told him, indicating the correct level with her fingers. Heaving the same longsuffering sigh as his brother, Humphrey went out again.
Godfrey with the ale and news about the broth, Humphrey with the water, and Eva with the two buckets from the healing spring all arrived at the same time. Quenilda watched just long enough to make sure that the two brothers settled everything properly and didn't spill, then motioned her personal maidservant to bring the buckets over to the bed. She'd already prepared several cloths, and now she took one up, removed the lid from the first bucket, and dipped it in. As she washed Sir Guy's arm, Eva said, "He doesn't look so frightening like that, my lady."
"He didn't look frightening when I first saw him," Quenilda said, remembering. "He looked …" She didn't finish the sentence. "Mix some of this spring water with the ale. It's bitter, but he needs it inside him, and ale will mask its taste."
Eva fixed up a goblet's worth of watered ale, then handed it over and helped hold Sir Guy's head up so that Quenilda could spoon some into his mouth. He swallowed automatically, despite twitching restlessly every so often, and when he'd finished half a cup, Quenilda took the goblet away and let Eva lay his head down again. "That will do for now. We'll give him more later."
Sir Guy remained ill for three days. Albreda came, and together she and Quenilda made poultices of herbs to draw the infection from his wounds. Twice a day, Quenilda bathed his arm in the water from the healing spring, and also used the water to prepare herbal infusions that would help bring his fever down. There were times when he slept more or less peacefully, but also times when he cried out in his dreams, raging inarticulately, or calling the name "Marian!" in the most heartbreakingly yearning, desperate tone of voice that Quenilda had ever heard.
On the second day, the Earl and Quenilda's mother came by to look in on their guest. Quenilda and Eva had been spooning ale into Sir Guy's mouth when they arrived, but hastily put spoon and goblet away and stood up to curtsy.
"How is he?" the Earl asked, standing at the bedside and looking thoughtfully down at Sir Guy.
"Very ill, father," Quenilda told him. She only used that form of address when they were alone, and it never failed to make the Earl smile fondly at her.
"Will he die?" the Earl asked.
"I do not know, father, but Albreda and I are doing everything we can."
"I know you are," the Earl replied. "I know you are."
"He did not look like a monster," Quenilda's mother said, watching Sir Guy toss restlessly. She looked up into Quenilda's eyes and clarified, "When he brought you back to us. He didn't look like a monster."
"No, he didn't," Quenilda agreed, happy that her mother understood.
"Why do you think he came so far from Nottingham?" the Earl asked, looking quizzically at her. "He has an evil reputation, and not only when it comes to money, but he said he wasn't seeking rewards. Do you think he really was only looking for the healing spring?"
"He was in pain, father," Quenilda said, shutting her eyes to better remember her first impressions. Her first actual sighting of Sir Guy, however, was mixed up with what she'd seen beforehand in her mind. "And he was … lost. In more ways than one. I think he truly was seeking only the spring."
"Hood!" Sir Guy screeched suddenly, making them all jump. Hastily, Quenilda patted his forehead with a damp cloth, a gesture that usually soothed him. Sir Guy reached up and batted at her arm, but then his hand fell back limply.
"We will go now," the Earl reported. "Do not hesitate to send word if … anything happens, my daughter."
"We will pray for him," Quenilda's mother added, and they quietly exited the room. As soon as they were gone, Quenilda glanced over to Eva and said, "Help me change the bedlinens."
"Not again, my lady," Eva grumbled goodnaturedly, but she was already reaching for the coverings.
On the third evening, Isolda stopped by, opening the door just enough to put her head in and whisper, "Quen?"
"Come in, Izzie," Quenilda said. Amused, she watched as Isolda entered the room, but remained standing tensely just inside the doorway, glancing warily towards the bed.
"It's quite safe, he's asleep, he won't bite, and he hasn't turned into a dragon," Quenilda chided her. Isolda gave her a chagrined look.
"Ivo's just sung me a new song that he heard," Isolda said, coming a step closer. Ivo was the unofficial court minstrel, now that the master minstrel under whom he had been studying suffered badly from arthritis. Even though she'd known of Isolda's love of songs and singing from the time they were girls, Quenilda privately thought that Isolda was spending too much time making music with Ivo.
"A song that he's heard?" Quenilda asked, getting up from her stool and going to meet Isolda halfway. "I thought he'd be busy writing and performing his own new song about Sir Guy slaying the dragon."
"He's working on it," Isolda said. "We were trying together to find a rhyme for "Sir Guy," and we got as far as "die" and "pie." But as I was saying, this new song claims that Robin Hood will pay a bounty of fifty pounds to the man who brings Sir Guy alive to him in Sherwood Forest!"
Quenilda glanced automatically back to the man in the bed, but he remained sleeping quietly. "Why would Robin Hood do that?"
"Isn't it obvious? Sir Guy killed Robin Hood's lady love in cold blood, now Robin Hood wants revenge!" Isolda cried, her eyes bright with excitement.
"But surely Robin Hood had plenty of chances for revenge already," Quenilda protested.
"According to the song, Robin Hood thinks that Sir Guy is a coward, running away from Nottingham."
"Well, he was no coward when he killed the dragon," Quenilda told her, more annoyed than ever at her sister's infaturation with Robin Hood and the many legends about the famous outlaw that were circling England.
"Hmm," Isolda said, then returned to her initial worry. "Quen … if Sir Guy lives … have you had any dreams about which one of us he will choose to marry?"
"No," Quenilda said, reaching out to place her hand on Isolda's arm. "No, I haven't."
"I don't want it to be me." Isolda smiled a little in embarrassment. "I'd be frightened to death! I know I'm very ungrateful. If he hadn't come, the lottery of maidens would still be going on, and I could have been chosen next for the dragon to eat. I should be happy that he saved my life, and yours, and I am, truly, but I just can't imagine … marrying him."
"I know," Quenilda said. "But we must let him choose, that was our father's oath."
"Well, it wasn't my oath," Isolda murmured, or at least Quenilda thought she heard something to that effect. More loudly, Isolda asked, "Have you had any dreams that show if he will live or die?"
"No, I haven't," Quenilda said. "What about Grandfather, have you asked him?"
"I was going to him next," Isolda admitted. She hesitated, but then her curiosity obviously got the better of her, because she asked, "Have you had any dreams about Robin Hood?"
Quenilda sighed. Robin Hood again! "Isolda, I haven't had any dreams since the one about the dragon coming."
"So you haven't seen him in your dreams at all?" Isolda went on.
Quenilda knew suddenly what she wanted to hear, and said, "Isolda, I did not see Robin Hood and I cannot tell you whether he truly is as handsome and graceful as all the songs tell us."
Isolda flushed guiltily, and Quenilda continued, "But I do know that Sir Guy is not the monster we expected from the songs. He is not even ugly – come and see."
Licking her lips nervously, Isolda crept just close enough to the bed that she could see Sir Guy's face. "He is not deformed, that is true, but –"
Sir Guy sat suddenly bolt upright in bed and cried out, "Marian!" Startled, Isolda let out a little scream and ran for the door, pulling it shut behind her with a bang. Sighing again, Quenilda took Sir Guy's hand. "Sshhh, sshhh, it's all right."
"Marian!" he called again, and then let out a tormented wail that made the hair on the back of Quenilda's neck stand up. Sir Guy collapsed back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and sobbing as she'd never heard a man cry before, not even her grandfather when her grandmother had died. Quenilda patted the tears from his face with a cloth, wishing Isolda had stayed to see them. If she could only hear his pain, she wouldn't be terrified of him anymore.
To Quenilda's surprise, the door opened then, but even before she could get her hopes up that Isolda had come back, she realized it was only Eva, bringing in two more buckets of fresh water from the healing spring.
"My lady, is he crying because of Lady Isolda?" Eva asked in her most innocent voice, and Quenilda gave her a sharp look while trying to hide her smile. "No, Eva, he was calling for Marian again. Bring the water closer. We'll change his bandages, wash his arm, and give him some broth."
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Guy opened his eyes. It was daylight and he glanced around the room. He was in a bed, and the hangings of green cloth had been tied back. Green? Those weren't any bed hangings that he knew. The room itself was unfamiliar, too, its walls were made of different stone, and the windows, far from being as large as those at Nottingham Castle, were merely two arrow slits. Between the windows were shelves with all kinds of containers, of glass, clay, wood, and other materials, and bundles of drying herbs hung everywhere. Where was he? Some kind of apothecary? Confused, he rolled his head across the pillow, wondering why he felt so exhausted when he'd obviously been asleep for some time. Perhaps he'd been drinking again. His head certainly ached enough.
There was a girl sitting on a stool near the fireplace, slumped sideways against the wall with her eyes closed in sleep. He thought he recognized her face, and yet he couldn't quite place it. He did remember that she'd had her hair loose when he'd first seen it, though it was now caught in a thick plait down the middle of her back.
Eventually, Guy became aware that he was going to have to seek out the privy, and made a motion to push back the heavy covers. His left arm ached sharply, and he grunted in discomfort as he pushed down on it, struggling to sit up. When had he become so weak?
Hearing him, the girl blinked and looked at him, then stretched both arms above her head as she straightened up. Seeing her in that pose brought Guy's memory back sharply, and he knew her then – Quenilda, the daughter of the Earl of Throxenby, the girl he'd saved from the dragon. And the dragon had bitten him in the arm, and that was why it hurt now, though it didn't explain why he was so weak he could hardly stay upright.
"Good morning, Sir Guy," Quenilda said, then yawned hugely and covered her mouth with both hands. When she lowered them, she was smiling. "The dragon is dead, the fog has gone, the sun is shining to-day, and you are still alive. It is indeed a good morning. Would you like a drink of ale?"
Guy told her what he needed first, and she glanced around the room, then went to the corner and returned with an empty bucket. "You have been ill for three days, you shouldn't get up just yet."
"Three days!" Guy protested, his voice cracking. Quenilda went modestly to one of the arrow slits as he used the bucket, and only turned around after Guy had laid down again, shivering with cold and shaking with the exertion.
"You had a very high fever because of the infection in your arm," Quenilda said, removing the bucket and setting it by the door. "Does it still hurt? I'll give you something for the pain in your ale."
Guy watched as she went to a small table nearby, then mixed ale, a bit of water, and dried herbs in a goblet before stirring it vigorously. "Drink of all this, now. You need it."
Kneeling at the side of the bed, Quenilda slipped her arm under his shoulders and helped him sit up enough to sip. The mixture was so bitter that Guy spit the first mouthful out.
"Stop that and drink it," Quenilda commanded. Trying not to gag, Guy did so, and when he'd finished, Quenilda took the goblet away and smiled. "Now you may have some regular ale, to wash the taste out of your mouth."
She rinsed the goblet, emptying the contents into the slops bucket, then poured it half full with ale and let him take several swallows. He was just finishing when the door opened and a young woman in servant's garb entered, carrying a bundle of linen.
"Eva, look, Sir Guy is awake," Quenilda exclaimed happily, removing her arm from under Guy's neck and letting him settle down onto the pillow again.
"Wonderful news, my lady," Eva said. "Can he sit up while we change the sheets, then?"
"No, I don't think he can," Quenilda said. Guy relaxed upon hearing her words; he had felt a moment of indignation that he would be wrestled out from under the covers and forced to balance, aching and shivering, on the only stool in the room while they stripped the bed and re-made it. Quenilda stroked his hair away from his eyes with a gentle smile as she continued, "And anyway, they're not wet just at the moment, we can do them later. Empty that bucket now and when you get back, I'll go and tell the Earl the good news."
"Yes, my lady," Eva said. Feeling sleepy again although he'd just woken up, Guy watched as she placed the linen on the chest at the foot of the bed, but his eyes were already closing as she came over to pick up the bucket and exit the room.
Part 3
Quenilda knelt down at Sir Guy's side, turning him onto his back and unwrapping the makeshift bandages around his arm. The skin had been otherwise healthy, the wounds bleeding freely when she'd bound them, but now she could see the swelling and redness of infection. How quickly it had developed!
"Eva!" she called, and when her personal maidservant stepped forward, Quenilda commanded, "Run to the healing spring and bring back two buckets full!"
"Yes, my lady," Eva replied, but lingered long enough to ask, "Will he die, my lady?"
Others were crowding in as well for a look as well, including Isolda, braver now that the notorious Sir Guy was unconscious at her feet, and all of them were silently echoing the question. Raising her voice slightly, Quenilda said, "Not if you hurry!"
"It looks as though the dragon bit him," the Earl mused, and Quenilda nodded. "Perhaps its bite is as poisonous as a spider's."
"Perhaps … it would be a kindness to … let him go?" Isolda suggested timorously.
"Isolda!" the Earl chided her, and Isolda lowered her gaze, blushing in shame.
"He saved my life," Quenilda snapped, "I am honour bound to at least try to save his!"
"Absolutely right, Quenilda," the Earl said.
Quenilda looked around. "Humphrey, Godfrey, are you about? Carry Sir Guy to my own chamber, quickly!"
The two brothers shuffled forwards and heaved Sir Guy up by his knees and shoulders. The crowd made room for them to get through to the stairs, and as Quenilda made to follow them, the Earl said, "I will send Albreda to you."
Albreda was the local wise-woman, Quenilda's mentor, and Quenilda nodded in relief. "Thank you, my lord."
The Earl stopped then, and ran his hand down the side of her face, smiling down at her. "I am glad you were not eaten, my daughter."
Quenilda leaned into his hand and smiled back at him. "So am I, my lord." Then she curtsied, and ran after the two servants.
Once inside her chamber, the brothers barely waited until Quenilda had pulled back the covers before heaving Sir Guy onto the bed. Relieved of their burden, they gave Quenilda perfunctory bows, obviously ready to leave before she could give them more tasks to do. She'd already anticipated that, however, and put one of her hands on each of their shoulders, giving them a gentle push in the direction she wanted them to go. "Humphrey, build up the fire. Bring a supply of wood, and one of the larger kettles from the kitchen. Godfrey, help me undress him."
Godfrey heaved a longsuffering sigh and plodded to the bed, tugging at Sir Guy's boots until they came off. At Quenilda's command, he also held Sir Guy upright while Quenilda worked his jacket and his shirt off, then helped slip the man's trousers from his legs.
"Hot," Godfrey said simply, and Quenilda nodded. Sir Guy was already burning with fever, and she tucked the covers around him before he could catch a chill. He'd need liquid, she thought, and glanced around to see Godfrey slinking towards the door. "Bring me ale, Godfrey, and ask the cook for broth, too!"
Godfrey's shoulders slumped as he went out, making room for Humphrey coming in with one of the medium-sized kettles from the kitchen.
"Thank you, Humphrey, now bring enough water to fill it this far to the top," Quenilda told him, indicating the correct level with her fingers. Heaving the same longsuffering sigh as his brother, Humphrey went out again.
Godfrey with the ale and news about the broth, Humphrey with the water, and Eva with the two buckets from the healing spring all arrived at the same time. Quenilda watched just long enough to make sure that the two brothers settled everything properly and didn't spill, then motioned her personal maidservant to bring the buckets over to the bed. She'd already prepared several cloths, and now she took one up, removed the lid from the first bucket, and dipped it in. As she washed Sir Guy's arm, Eva said, "He doesn't look so frightening like that, my lady."
"He didn't look frightening when I first saw him," Quenilda said, remembering. "He looked …" She didn't finish the sentence. "Mix some of this spring water with the ale. It's bitter, but he needs it inside him, and ale will mask its taste."
Eva fixed up a goblet's worth of watered ale, then handed it over and helped hold Sir Guy's head up so that Quenilda could spoon some into his mouth. He swallowed automatically, despite twitching restlessly every so often, and when he'd finished half a cup, Quenilda took the goblet away and let Eva lay his head down again. "That will do for now. We'll give him more later."
Sir Guy remained ill for three days. Albreda came, and together she and Quenilda made poultices of herbs to draw the infection from his wounds. Twice a day, Quenilda bathed his arm in the water from the healing spring, and also used the water to prepare herbal infusions that would help bring his fever down. There were times when he slept more or less peacefully, but also times when he cried out in his dreams, raging inarticulately, or calling the name "Marian!" in the most heartbreakingly yearning, desperate tone of voice that Quenilda had ever heard.
On the second day, the Earl and Quenilda's mother came by to look in on their guest. Quenilda and Eva had been spooning ale into Sir Guy's mouth when they arrived, but hastily put spoon and goblet away and stood up to curtsy.
"How is he?" the Earl asked, standing at the bedside and looking thoughtfully down at Sir Guy.
"Very ill, father," Quenilda told him. She only used that form of address when they were alone, and it never failed to make the Earl smile fondly at her.
"Will he die?" the Earl asked.
"I do not know, father, but Albreda and I are doing everything we can."
"I know you are," the Earl replied. "I know you are."
"He did not look like a monster," Quenilda's mother said, watching Sir Guy toss restlessly. She looked up into Quenilda's eyes and clarified, "When he brought you back to us. He didn't look like a monster."
"No, he didn't," Quenilda agreed, happy that her mother understood.
"Why do you think he came so far from Nottingham?" the Earl asked, looking quizzically at her. "He has an evil reputation, and not only when it comes to money, but he said he wasn't seeking rewards. Do you think he really was only looking for the healing spring?"
"He was in pain, father," Quenilda said, shutting her eyes to better remember her first impressions. Her first actual sighting of Sir Guy, however, was mixed up with what she'd seen beforehand in her mind. "And he was … lost. In more ways than one. I think he truly was seeking only the spring."
"Hood!" Sir Guy screeched suddenly, making them all jump. Hastily, Quenilda patted his forehead with a damp cloth, a gesture that usually soothed him. Sir Guy reached up and batted at her arm, but then his hand fell back limply.
"We will go now," the Earl reported. "Do not hesitate to send word if … anything happens, my daughter."
"We will pray for him," Quenilda's mother added, and they quietly exited the room. As soon as they were gone, Quenilda glanced over to Eva and said, "Help me change the bedlinens."
"Not again, my lady," Eva grumbled goodnaturedly, but she was already reaching for the coverings.
On the third evening, Isolda stopped by, opening the door just enough to put her head in and whisper, "Quen?"
"Come in, Izzie," Quenilda said. Amused, she watched as Isolda entered the room, but remained standing tensely just inside the doorway, glancing warily towards the bed.
"It's quite safe, he's asleep, he won't bite, and he hasn't turned into a dragon," Quenilda chided her. Isolda gave her a chagrined look.
"Ivo's just sung me a new song that he heard," Isolda said, coming a step closer. Ivo was the unofficial court minstrel, now that the master minstrel under whom he had been studying suffered badly from arthritis. Even though she'd known of Isolda's love of songs and singing from the time they were girls, Quenilda privately thought that Isolda was spending too much time making music with Ivo.
"A song that he's heard?" Quenilda asked, getting up from her stool and going to meet Isolda halfway. "I thought he'd be busy writing and performing his own new song about Sir Guy slaying the dragon."
"He's working on it," Isolda said. "We were trying together to find a rhyme for "Sir Guy," and we got as far as "die" and "pie." But as I was saying, this new song claims that Robin Hood will pay a bounty of fifty pounds to the man who brings Sir Guy alive to him in Sherwood Forest!"
Quenilda glanced automatically back to the man in the bed, but he remained sleeping quietly. "Why would Robin Hood do that?"
"Isn't it obvious? Sir Guy killed Robin Hood's lady love in cold blood, now Robin Hood wants revenge!" Isolda cried, her eyes bright with excitement.
"But surely Robin Hood had plenty of chances for revenge already," Quenilda protested.
"According to the song, Robin Hood thinks that Sir Guy is a coward, running away from Nottingham."
"Well, he was no coward when he killed the dragon," Quenilda told her, more annoyed than ever at her sister's infaturation with Robin Hood and the many legends about the famous outlaw that were circling England.
"Hmm," Isolda said, then returned to her initial worry. "Quen … if Sir Guy lives … have you had any dreams about which one of us he will choose to marry?"
"No," Quenilda said, reaching out to place her hand on Isolda's arm. "No, I haven't."
"I don't want it to be me." Isolda smiled a little in embarrassment. "I'd be frightened to death! I know I'm very ungrateful. If he hadn't come, the lottery of maidens would still be going on, and I could have been chosen next for the dragon to eat. I should be happy that he saved my life, and yours, and I am, truly, but I just can't imagine … marrying him."
"I know," Quenilda said. "But we must let him choose, that was our father's oath."
"Well, it wasn't my oath," Isolda murmured, or at least Quenilda thought she heard something to that effect. More loudly, Isolda asked, "Have you had any dreams that show if he will live or die?"
"No, I haven't," Quenilda said. "What about Grandfather, have you asked him?"
"I was going to him next," Isolda admitted. She hesitated, but then her curiosity obviously got the better of her, because she asked, "Have you had any dreams about Robin Hood?"
Quenilda sighed. Robin Hood again! "Isolda, I haven't had any dreams since the one about the dragon coming."
"So you haven't seen him in your dreams at all?" Isolda went on.
Quenilda knew suddenly what she wanted to hear, and said, "Isolda, I did not see Robin Hood and I cannot tell you whether he truly is as handsome and graceful as all the songs tell us."
Isolda flushed guiltily, and Quenilda continued, "But I do know that Sir Guy is not the monster we expected from the songs. He is not even ugly – come and see."
Licking her lips nervously, Isolda crept just close enough to the bed that she could see Sir Guy's face. "He is not deformed, that is true, but –"
Sir Guy sat suddenly bolt upright in bed and cried out, "Marian!" Startled, Isolda let out a little scream and ran for the door, pulling it shut behind her with a bang. Sighing again, Quenilda took Sir Guy's hand. "Sshhh, sshhh, it's all right."
"Marian!" he called again, and then let out a tormented wail that made the hair on the back of Quenilda's neck stand up. Sir Guy collapsed back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and sobbing as she'd never heard a man cry before, not even her grandfather when her grandmother had died. Quenilda patted the tears from his face with a cloth, wishing Isolda had stayed to see them. If she could only hear his pain, she wouldn't be terrified of him anymore.
To Quenilda's surprise, the door opened then, but even before she could get her hopes up that Isolda had come back, she realized it was only Eva, bringing in two more buckets of fresh water from the healing spring.
"My lady, is he crying because of Lady Isolda?" Eva asked in her most innocent voice, and Quenilda gave her a sharp look while trying to hide her smile. "No, Eva, he was calling for Marian again. Bring the water closer. We'll change his bandages, wash his arm, and give him some broth."
+++++
Guy opened his eyes. It was daylight and he glanced around the room. He was in a bed, and the hangings of green cloth had been tied back. Green? Those weren't any bed hangings that he knew. The room itself was unfamiliar, too, its walls were made of different stone, and the windows, far from being as large as those at Nottingham Castle, were merely two arrow slits. Between the windows were shelves with all kinds of containers, of glass, clay, wood, and other materials, and bundles of drying herbs hung everywhere. Where was he? Some kind of apothecary? Confused, he rolled his head across the pillow, wondering why he felt so exhausted when he'd obviously been asleep for some time. Perhaps he'd been drinking again. His head certainly ached enough.
There was a girl sitting on a stool near the fireplace, slumped sideways against the wall with her eyes closed in sleep. He thought he recognized her face, and yet he couldn't quite place it. He did remember that she'd had her hair loose when he'd first seen it, though it was now caught in a thick plait down the middle of her back.
Eventually, Guy became aware that he was going to have to seek out the privy, and made a motion to push back the heavy covers. His left arm ached sharply, and he grunted in discomfort as he pushed down on it, struggling to sit up. When had he become so weak?
Hearing him, the girl blinked and looked at him, then stretched both arms above her head as she straightened up. Seeing her in that pose brought Guy's memory back sharply, and he knew her then – Quenilda, the daughter of the Earl of Throxenby, the girl he'd saved from the dragon. And the dragon had bitten him in the arm, and that was why it hurt now, though it didn't explain why he was so weak he could hardly stay upright.
"Good morning, Sir Guy," Quenilda said, then yawned hugely and covered her mouth with both hands. When she lowered them, she was smiling. "The dragon is dead, the fog has gone, the sun is shining to-day, and you are still alive. It is indeed a good morning. Would you like a drink of ale?"
Guy told her what he needed first, and she glanced around the room, then went to the corner and returned with an empty bucket. "You have been ill for three days, you shouldn't get up just yet."
"Three days!" Guy protested, his voice cracking. Quenilda went modestly to one of the arrow slits as he used the bucket, and only turned around after Guy had laid down again, shivering with cold and shaking with the exertion.
"You had a very high fever because of the infection in your arm," Quenilda said, removing the bucket and setting it by the door. "Does it still hurt? I'll give you something for the pain in your ale."
Guy watched as she went to a small table nearby, then mixed ale, a bit of water, and dried herbs in a goblet before stirring it vigorously. "Drink of all this, now. You need it."
Kneeling at the side of the bed, Quenilda slipped her arm under his shoulders and helped him sit up enough to sip. The mixture was so bitter that Guy spit the first mouthful out.
"Stop that and drink it," Quenilda commanded. Trying not to gag, Guy did so, and when he'd finished, Quenilda took the goblet away and smiled. "Now you may have some regular ale, to wash the taste out of your mouth."
She rinsed the goblet, emptying the contents into the slops bucket, then poured it half full with ale and let him take several swallows. He was just finishing when the door opened and a young woman in servant's garb entered, carrying a bundle of linen.
"Eva, look, Sir Guy is awake," Quenilda exclaimed happily, removing her arm from under Guy's neck and letting him settle down onto the pillow again.
"Wonderful news, my lady," Eva said. "Can he sit up while we change the sheets, then?"
"No, I don't think he can," Quenilda said. Guy relaxed upon hearing her words; he had felt a moment of indignation that he would be wrestled out from under the covers and forced to balance, aching and shivering, on the only stool in the room while they stripped the bed and re-made it. Quenilda stroked his hair away from his eyes with a gentle smile as she continued, "And anyway, they're not wet just at the moment, we can do them later. Empty that bucket now and when you get back, I'll go and tell the Earl the good news."
"Yes, my lady," Eva said. Feeling sleepy again although he'd just woken up, Guy watched as she placed the linen on the chest at the foot of the bed, but his eyes were already closing as she came over to pick up the bucket and exit the room.
Part 3