The Horns of Kern
The next morning dawned and a ray of light danced across Gertrude’s face, waking him. He sat up at the side of the bed, trying to wake up. The bed felt so warm and inviting. It seemed to be beckoning him to stay for a couple more hours. He shook his head and wandered over to the washstand to ready his tired body for another day. Lifting his arms, he winced from the pain in his injured shoulder. Raising the bandage to peer at the wound, the sight that met his eyes was not pleasing. Overnight the wound had grown red and angry looking. He washed as quickly as possible, put on his britches and hurried into the kitchen.
Winifred was already busy with her baking and the delicious aroma of fresh baked rolls teased Gertrude’s senses. “Good morning, son. I thought that I would let you sleep a little later after your arduous day past.” Winifred tuned around to greet Gertrude and gasped upon seeing her son’s wound. His mother seemed to turn pale and caught hold of the corner of the table so as not to fall. “It is infected. Sit over here and I will make a poultice.”
The elderly troll was shaking as she threw more wood on the fire. The sight of her son’s infected shoulder made her swoon. She went over to a small cupboard and removed a small tin with a gauzy type cloth in it, then went to another cupboard and removed a small pouch which yielded up a sky-blue colored powder. She stood over by the cook stove, mumbling incoherently.
Winifred walked over to Gertrude and pressed the hot poultice into place. “There, that should draw the poison out of that wound.” She felt Gertrude’s forehead and shook her head. “You are running a fever, too.” Once again she went over to the cupboard and withdrew another tin. Winifred spirited two long strips of willow bark from the tin, poured steaming hot water into a mug and tore the strips of bark, tossed them into the water and put it aside to steep.
Gertrude, in a fever-induced daze, watched her. The poultice felt good resting upon his shoulder. He closed his eyes. He jumped when his mother tapped him on his good shoulder.
“Drink this, son.” She helped Gertrude raise it to his lips. The brew was bitter.
He coughed and choked. “Goodness, Mother! Did you soak an old boot in this water? Please don’t tell me that this is good for me, as I will find it hard to believe.”
Winifred frowned. “You drink all of it! Do not give me any grief. Now I know that I should have kicked you harder.” She gently kissed Gertrude’s hot forehead and went back to her chores, keeping a watchful eye on her son. A knock sounded on the door. Winifred wiped her hands on her apron and hollered, “Come in!”
Dory’s head appeared, sporting a large smile. She noticed Gertrude sitting half-dressed in the chair and her smile faded to a look of concern. “My goodness, what has happened to you?”
“He took an arrow yesterday that had been intended for our king. The wound was stitched, but now it is badly festered.” Winifred walked over to Gertrude and lifted the poultice from his wound.
Dory looked at it and shook her head. “I had heard about the skirmish through the gossip mill this morning when I had gone over to Moreley’s place to pick up some of her pickled spiders. I didn’t realize that any trolls were involved in the skirmish. Moreley also told me that they had taken a troll prisoner.”
“Aye, that is right. Sit down, Dory, and I will pour you some blog. I need to sit for a while. My legs are tired from walking home through the snow last night. Sit, sit, sit…” Winifred poured two mugs of blog and brought them over to the table. As she passed Gertrude, she peered into his cup of brew.” I do not want to tell you again, drink all of that, Gertrude.”
The troll’s head was aching and the room seemed to be spinning slightly. He acknowledged his mother by taking another sip from the cup. “Mother, I think I need to go lay down for a while.” Gertrude started to rise and the room started spinning more. He felt two pairs of hands holding onto him. A smile tugged at his lips, but faded as he walked with the ladies’ aid to his bed. He felt the softness of his bed and closed his eyes. Winifred and Dory walked back to the kitchen and sat back down.
Dory was the first to speak. “Do you think you should summon Goodly here to look at Gertrude?”
Winifred furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No, I see no need to bother him yet. I shall wait and see if the poultice draws the poison of the infection out of the wound. Gertrude is young and strong and it will take more than an arrow wound to lay him low for long.”
“Were you up at the castle last night after the skirmish?” Dory took a sip of blog. Her eyes were wide and inquisitive.
“I was up there before the fight. Princess Norman had come down to tell Gillion what was going on. She then came over here to stay. However, I talked her into going back to the castle. After the battle was fought, we went up to the great hall where we found the king having a conversation with a troll.” Winifred got up from her seat and went to a nearby cupboard and extracted some worm cookies. “Would you like some cookies, dear?”
“Aye, thank you. Who was this troll in the king’s company?” Dory reached for a cookie from a small plate Winifred had set between them.
“Gafton, supposedly…” Winifred said.
Dory choked and had to take a drink of blog to stop. “No! I do not believe you. Are you sure it was Gafton?”
Winifred scowled. “He was introduced to me as ‘Gafton’, and he seemed to remember me. However, something did not seem right. He mentioned that Sebastian always head-butted him when they met. In fact, he head-butted Gertrude upon meeting him. My Sebastian would never do anything that childish. I have not seen Gafton since Gertrude was a grasshopper. I would have liked to stay longer last night, but my body ached and I was tired.”
“What was Gafton doing talking to the king?” Dory’s curiosity was piqued.
“He offered the king information as to where all the hiding spots are and how the tunnels are being used. I would rather trust a pit viper than to put my trust in this pretender…”
“But you said you were not sure if he is Gafton or not. Why would he come here and risk being thrown into the king’s dungeon?” Dory shook her head in disbelief.
“I think he wants to lead the king’s army on a wild goose chase while they do more nasty deeds. Winifred drank fully from her mug of blog and wiped her mouth on a corner of her apron. “I should check on Gertrude.”
She hobbled into the bedroom. Gertrude was sound asleep. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. Winifred felt his brow and shook her head. “He is running a very high fever. Would you please help me, Dory? I need some more willow juice for his fever. You know where I keep it. I have to cool him down a little.” Winifred pulled back the covers. She went to the washbasin and soaked a cloth in the cool water, bringing it to Gertrude’s bedside. Winifred started bathing her son in the hope of bringing down his fever.
A few minutes later, Dory appeared with the willow juice and managed to get Gertrude to drink it, sip by sip, until it was gone. “Do you wish for me to go and fetch Goodly now, Winifred? He seems to be getting worse.”
“Let’s wait another couple of hours, to see if the fever breaks. We will call Goodly if he starts talking to himself.”
Dory nodded her head in understanding. She remembered the time that she had caught the pox and had run such a high fever that her father took her down to the river and immersed her in its cold waters. Her relatives said that she was talking to herself. Dory could see the worry in Winifred’s eyes.
Winifred kept bathing Gertrude with the cool rag. She sat there beside him and started unconsciously to hum an old troll lullaby. “Dory, the willow juice does not seem to be doing its job. I believe it is time for Goodly to come.” Winifred reached over and pulled the poultice up to look at the wound. Surprisingly the wound looked better. The redness had diminished and the swelling had lessened. “I do not understand why the wound looks better but his fever is worse. Please go now and get Goodly.”
Without hesitation, Dory took her leave and soon returned with the apothecary.
“What has happened?” Goodly sat
his satchel down on the foot of Gertrude’s bed.
Winifred did not look up at Goodly. “Gertrude was in the battle up by the castle yesterday evening and received a wound to the shoulder. That appears much better. I put a poultice of dried herbs and mustard on it. He was running a fever when he awakened this morning and I brewed up some willow bark juice, but the fever is spiking higher.”
“Please let me check him out, Winifred.” Goodly moved up and laid his head upon Gertrude’s chest. He then rolled him over onto his side and listened to his back. “Winifred or Dory, I need some hot water to mix a potion up for him to drink.” Goodly went over to his bag and pulled out a small bag with some yellowish powder in it. Then he took out a second pouch. Once he had the cup of water, he mixed a large spoonful of each powder into it. “We need to move him out to the kitchen area. You need to put all of the pots you have available filled with water on the stove to boil. Put this herb in one pot.” He handed Dory the herb. With Winifred’s help, Goodly carried Gertrude out to the kitchen and placed him on the long bench. Goodly looked at the ladies. “Gertrude’s lungs are clogged with phlegm. That is what is causing his fever to stay high. The steam will help loosen his congestion. The herb in the water will help all of us breathe better.”
Soon the room was like a sauna, and it felt very warm. Everyone’s nose was running from all of the humidity in the house and the strong, scented vapors being emitted by the herb boiling in the one pot. After about an hour, Gertrude started coughing. Shortly after, he was bringing up the phlegm that had filled his lungs.
Goodly appeared pleased with Gertrude’s progress. “Be thankful, Winifred, that Gertrude is a strong, young troll. If he were older like us, it would be a lot more difficult for him to rid himself of this pleurisy.”
After a couple more hours, Gertrude was given another dose of the yellow powder. By dusk, he was looking better and still bringing up all the nasty stuff in his lungs.
“It is going to be a long night. One of you ladies needs to stay up and keep the pots boiling while the other one rests.” Goodly took more of the powder out of the little pouch and administered it to Gertrude.