Severin was on his feet in an instant. “Trist! Damn you, what is wrong?”
The marten lay unmoving.
“Oh no,” Hastings whispered, “oh no.”
“What is it? What is wrong with Trist?”
“The wine, he licked it twice off his paws. There must be something wrong with it. Oh no.” Without thought, she grabbed the marten, holding him close to her chest, and ran from the great hall.
25
“MY LORD!” MARJORIE WAS ON HER FEET. “WHAT IS THIS? She is mad! What is she doing? The animal is dead, we all saw it collapse. Where is she taking it?”
Severin said to Gwent over his shoulder as he raced after Hastings, “The wine. Let no one touch it.”
He caught her at the stables. He grabbed Trist and shoved him into his tunic. “He will be warmer there. No, I’m being a fool. It is no use, Hastings. Marjorie is right. He is dead.”
“No, he is not. We will take him to the Healer. Quickly, Severin.”
The Healer looked as she always did in the dying afternoon light, slightly sour in her expression, her feet bare, Alfred meowing around her.
“The marten,” Hastings yelled even as she was sliding from Marella’s back. “He drank some wine that was mayhap poisoned.”
Severin pulled Trist from his tunic. He was limp. He looked quite dead. Severin’s hand was shaking. He looked at the Healer. “Please,” he said. “I do not wish to lose him.”
“I have no knowledge of this animal. I am a healer of people. Go away.”
“Healer, please.” Hastings didn’t realize tears were streaming down her face. “Please, help him. He is dear to both of us.”
“Oh very well,” the Healer said, took the limp marten from Severin, and carried him inside her cottage.
Alfred snapped his tail but didn’t make a sound.
Severin went after her, but the Healer shouted, “Nay, stay out, my lord. Hastings, help me.” But Severin ignored her. He stood behind Hastings, his face tense and white.
“Open his mouth, Hastings, wide, and keep it wide.”
Severin said, “What will you do?”
“I will make him vomit, just as I would do to a human. Will it be enough? Does this animal even vomit? I do not know, my lord. Go outside. You fill up too much of my cottage.”
“Your cat is outside. There is now enough room for me.”
The Healer actually smiled, then she snapped at Hastings, “Wider, Hastings. That’s right. Now, let me get this down his throat.”
Trist didn’t move. The Healer continued to spoon the liquid down his throat.
Time passed. It seemed an eternity. The marten’s body was still and limp. Hastings was feeling for his heart. She found it. “He’s alive,” she whispered. “Here, Severin, feel.”
Severin slipped his hand beneath Trist’s body and held it close to him. He thought there was a slight beat but he couldn’t be sure. He looked at his wife, at the tears that were still dripping down her face. She was unaware that she was crying.
Suddenly, the Healer took Trist, raised him in front of her, and began to shake him. Then she laid him again atop the small scarred table and began to press into his body, pressing, then moving upward in a long, single motion. Again and again.
“I do not know where the creature’s belly is. It must be somewhere along my path.”
The marten jerked.
A paw slid over to Severin’s hand.
The marten bunched up onto himself, then heaved forward. Food and liquid flew from his mouth. His small body shuddered and he twisted and heaved again and again.
“He’ll heave himself to death.”
“It’s the only way, Hastings. If he can vomit up the poison, then he has a chance.”
Severin reached down and began to press lightly on Trist’s belly, pushing upward.
The marten continued to vomit until at last he simply fell flat, still as death.
The Healer raised his head with her hands and stared at his face. Then she lifted each of his front paws. She slid her hand beneath him, searching for a heartbeat.
She straightened, shaking her head. She looked at Severin, then at Hastings. “I am sorry, my lord, Hastings. The animal is so very small. He fought, but it was not enough. He is dead.”
Severin was white and still, staring down at Trist. Then he raised his head and yelled, “No!”
He lifted the marten in one large hand and pressed him against his chest inside his tunic. He smoothed Trist against his own heart, stroking his fur, lightly squeezing the long body, again and again, whispering to the marten, saying over and over, “You cannot leave me, Trist. No, you will not die. You cannot.”
He continued to rub his hands over the marten. The Healer said nothing, merely cleaned up the animal’s vomit. Hastings felt bowed down with the pain of it.
Alfred came into the cottage. He looked at each of the occupants and meowed loudly. He jumped onto the table, turned to look at Severin, and meowed even more loudly. He stood on his hind paws and steadied himself against Severin’s stomach. He was sniffing. He meowed again.
Suddenly Hastings saw a movement against Severin’s tunic.
She was afraid to move, afraid to hope.
Alfred raised a front paw and swatted at the lump in Severin’s tunic.
He meowed loudly.
Then, in the quiet of the small cottage, they all heard a faint mewl. A paw pressed against the inside of Severin’s tunic.
Alfred swatted at the paw.
The mewl was a bit louder.
“My little baby saved the marten,” the Healer said, and managed to pull Alfred off the table.
Slowly, as if he were afraid he’d kill Trist, Severin eased him out of his tunic.
He stretched Trist out along his chest, cradling him in his hands.
Trist mewled.
“Aye, tell me how rotten you feel,” Severin said. “Just keep talking to me.”
Trist vomited on Severin’s tunic.
“There is no more wine,” the Healer said. “There is hardly anything at all. I and my Alfred have saved him.”
Hastings lightly stroked her hand over Trist’s back. “You will rest, sweeting. You will be all right now. Perhaps by tomorrow you will be able to thank Alfred properly.” She looked up at Severin. She raised her hand and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You are crying.”
“Not as much as you are,” he said, leaned down, and kissed her mouth.
“Have you hurt your side, Hastings?”
“Nay, Healer.”
Severin frowned. He said to the Healer, “Have her lie down. Please look at the wound. I did this morning and it looks healthy. I rubbed more of the cream on her.”
“And then what happened, my lord?”
Severin raised a black eyebrow at her. “Look at Hastings’s side,” he said again, continuing all the while to stroke Trist’s back, feeling as if his heart would burst when Trist’s paws closed around one of his fingers.
“All right, Hastings. Lift your gown and shift. I need to look at your belly anyway.”
Hastings saw no way out of it and lay on the Healer’s narrow cot, her clothes again at her waist. “I do not like this, Healer.”
“Why? He is your husband. Besides he does not care what you look like. All his attention is on that damned marten. As for Alfred, he does look interested, but for what reason, I don’t know.”
Finally, the Healer stood up. She walked to her small fire and poked at the embers, making threads of flame shoot upward. “I am hungry now and you should leave.”
“That is all you have to say?”
The Healer laughed at the outrage in the lord’s voice. “Very well. I believe you should be more gentle with your wife, my lord. Play is one thing and many women find it pleasant enough. I never did, but I have heard that some women have this weakness. However, this went beyond play. If you must chase her down, don’t hurl yourself at her back when she is carrying a knife. She is healing well. The babe
is fine. I will remove the stitches in two days’ time. Now, as for the animal, give him milk to drink. It will dissolve any remaining poison in his belly. Tell MacDear to prepare a very light chicken broth for him.”
“He won’t eat chicken. He will only eat pork.”
“Pork then, it won’t matter. It’s nourishing.”
The Healer shrugged, frowning at the animal, whose head was resting against Severin’s shoulder. “Tell MacDear to prepare invalid food as if Trist were a human for at least two more days. Hastings, just dab a bit of horehound juice mixed with very old wine onto his tongue. It will also help eliminate all the poison from his body. Not too much now, he’s very small.”
Trist mewled, but didn’t move.
Alfred bunched himself and jumped into Hastings’s arms, knocking her back onto the Healer’s cot.
Severin slept with his wife. Between them lay Trist, still weak, his breathing not always even, which scared Severin. He kept his hand pressed lightly against Trist’s belly.
“He will eat on the morrow, Severin. For now the milk is enough. I would not want to eat after vomiting up my innards as he did.”
“Still—”
“I believe you worry more for him than you did for me.”
“You’re too mean to die.”
She was silent for a very long time. Then, she said quietly, “I hope you are right. Had I drunk that wine, then we would have seen just how mean I really am.”
She thought he tensed.
“I didn’t want to think about that just yet. Gwent said that amongst the four of us who were drinking from the wine goblets, only you and I had not yet drunk. He has kept my wine and your empty goblet. Also, he has kept the cloth the wine spilled on. Will you examine it on the morrow?”
“Aye, but you know what I will find, Severin. It is just a question of what sort of poison. Mayhap hemlock or a distillation of poppies. Perhaps foxglove, though there is argument about that plant and what it does. I would have to ask the Healer. Where would the poison come from?”
“So many strange and exotic foods and spices, aye, and poisons as well, came back with crusaders from the Holy Land.”
She started to say, Who would want me dead? but she simply couldn’t say it aloud. It would make it real. It would make it very close to her, at her right hand, near to sitting on her shoulder. The saddle could have been an accident, but not this—oh no, not this.
If she hadn’t rubbed her hands with the cream to make them soft, the goblet wouldn’t have slipped from her fingers. She would have drunk from the goblet and she would have died.
She touched her fingers lightly to Trist’s sides. He still breathed.
“I don’t like this, Hastings.” Severin’s voice was low and deep.
She wondered if she had died, if he would have cried for her. If he would have howled “No!” as he had for Trist.
“Nor do I,” she said.
“Your food will be tasted from now on. Your wine will be sipped first by someone else. I will announce this to everyone tomorrow. Whoever put the poison in your wine should not have any interest in poisoning someone other than you.”
Lady Moraine said, “I have removed the marten’s vomit from Severin’s tunic but the smell remains. What can I do, Hastings?”
“I will give you some ground daisies in cold water. That will remove the smell. At least it sometimes does.”
“You know that silver-haired bitch poisoned you. What will you do about her?”
“I will see that she and all the Sedgewick people return as soon as possible. Severin and some of his men are riding there today to see what is happening. Hopefully, the sweating illness has run its course. I pray that some have survived it. As of our last word, Sir Alan is still well.”
“She wants my son. She won’t give up. I think we should poison her instead.”
Hastings stared at her mother-in-law, so lovely really, with her light hair scarce touched with gray, her slender body, her soft, dark eyes. Her hands were now soft and white, as well as her feet. “You believe me mad again?”
“Nay, I believe you ruthless, as is your son.”
“She wants to replace you. If you hadn’t spilled the wine, you would be dead.”
“I know.”
“At least Severin has told everyone that someone will taste your food and drink your wine before you do. I like that he said he would select a different person before each meal. Thus no one would know when they would be asked.”
“It is a good plan. There are still saddles, however.”
Lady Moraine gave a lusty sigh. “Aye, I know it. Gwent frets about it. I think you should consider poisoning the silver-haired bitch first.”
Hastings fetched her mother-in-law some ground daisies mixed in cold water. She was feeling a bit queasy and quickly mixed a bit of rosemary with honey. It tasted sweet and calmed her belly.
She found Marjorie in the great hall, seated in front of the empty fireplace, sewing a gown. Where had the material come from? Eloise was on the floor beside her, sewing on a small piece of white linen. She heard Marjorie say, “Those are fine stitches, Eloise. You are far more talented than I am.”
“Nay, Marjorie, you are perfect.”
Her laughter rang out. Several servants turned at the sound. Two of them were men. They looked utterly besotted.
“Flatter me not, sweeting, else I might grow ugly just to spite you.”
“Like that night your nose got all big and red?”
“That was something else, sweeting, something I ate that did not agree with me. Ah, Hastings, does Severin’s marten still survive?”
“Aye. Severin keeps Trist with him constantly. He is still weak, but he improves.”
“He is just a silly animal,” Eloise said.
“I thought you believed Trist to be beautiful,” Hastings said, her voice steady.
“I am grown older. I have changed my opinions.”
“Would you like to come riding with me, Eloise?” It was the last olive branch, Hastings thought. She had to try.
There was a leap of excitement in Eloise’s eyes, Hastings wasn’t mistaken about that. She twisted about to look up at Marjorie.
“I think that is an excellent idea, sweeting. Hastings can show you all the places she knew as a child.”
Severin walked into the great hall, drawing off his gauntlets, looking at Hastings. He nodded to Marjorie, but said to his wife, “Gwent just told me that the tablecloth with the spilled wine on it and the remaining wine from my goblet are missing. Whoever took them wasn’t seen.”
“Now we will never know,” Hastings said, as she looked directly at Marjorie. “It had to be poison, probably it was liquid of poppies. Just a touch of it masks pain. More than a touch brings death. Trist was very lucky.”
“It was you who saved him, Hastings. It was you who took him to the Healer.” There was a soft mewl from within Severin’s tunic. Severin smiled and patted the lump. “He ate MacDear’s broth this morning. He did not vomit it up.”
“I know. MacDear was so pleased he had to tell me himself.”
“He would not leave until he saw that Trist ate the broth.”
Trist mewled again. A paw appeared from between the laces of Severin’s tunic. Hastings laughed, lightly touching her fingertips to Trist’s paw.
“Eloise and I are going riding,” Hastings said.
“Nay, I have no wish to go now,” Eloise said. “My belly hurts.”
“Oh no, sweeting,” Marjorie said, immediately dropping her sewing. She lightly placed her palm on Eloise’s forehead. “What did you eat this morning?”
“Some of MacDear’s bread. It didn’t taste very good. It left my tongue sour.”
It was such an obvious lie that Hastings wanted to slap the child. “The bread tasted fine to me, Eloise. However, if your belly does hurt, then let me give you just a bit of—”
“I would not want to have anything you prepared,” Eloise said, and took a step back. Edgar the wolfhound
growled.
“Why not?” Hastings spoke calmly, slowly. What was going on here? Why had Eloise changed so utterly toward her? Eloise’s vicious words about her mother had been one thing, but this was going too far.
“I believe you stole the wine and the tablecloth so no one would ever know what kind of poison you used. I think you added the poison to your wine yourself. I saw you drop something into your goblet. You just didn’t have time to keep Trist from licking it from the cloth.”
“Ah,” Severin said, and stroked his chin. “That is something that did not occur to me. Tell me, Eloise, why would Hastings poison her own wine?”
Eloise was standing very straight, her face white, her shoulders back. Marjorie was looking down at the sewing in her lap. She said nothing.
“Why, Eloise?” Severin asked again.
The child shouted, “Hastings knows you love Marjorie! She had to do something so you would pity her, so you would cease looking at Marjorie!”
Trist’s head appeared in the opening of Severin’s tunic. He stared at Eloise. The child backed up another step, nearly stumbling. Edgar the wolfhound growled again. “It’s true!” Eloise yelled. “I am not lying. I saw her put the poison in her own goblet!”
She ran from the great hall.
“Who,” Hastings said, still looking directly at Marjorie, “who stole the poisoned wine and the tablecloth?” And why, she wondered, as she walked up the solar stairs. All knew it was poison, so why steal it?
26
“WHY DID THE CHILD LIE?” SEVERIN ASKED LATER THAT day.
Marjorie looked straight at Severin. “She did not lie. She told me what she had seen right after you and Hastings ran from the great hall with the marten yesterday.”
“That is absurd,” Hastings said over her shoulder as she paced back and forth before Edgar the wolfhound.
“Then why did she not say anything to me?” Severin said.
Marjorie shrugged. “The child still frightens easily. As you know, her father abused her. Her mother treated her as if she were Satan’s get. She was afraid to say anything. She did not understand until later what Hastings had done. She thought nothing about it when she saw Hastings pour some liquid into the goblet. But later—” Marjorie shrugged again. “As I said, she was afraid.”