The Devil's Diadem

  We climbed the stairwell and walked through the solar — empty, its contents scattered as if someone had rifled through them (could it have been me, in some delirium? I couldn’t remember) — and into the privy chamber.

  John and Rosamund were in their cot, both quiet.

  The cot was set on the stone hearth of the fireplace.

  We walked up quietly and stood together, touching slightly, looking down.

  Both children were sleeping peacefully, God knows why, because both of their faces were covered with the vile yellow fungus and they struggled to breathe through its furry grip.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. Why these children? What sin had they committed to be so punished? They were good children, both of them sunny and happy and a joy to all who spent time in their company. They had been born to a life of nobility and power, and yet what good had it done them? What point their lives?

  Stephen caught my eye and gave me a long hard look.

  I nodded.

  ‘Wait outside,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I will do them the honour of standing with them.’

  He gave a nod, then took a pillow from the bed. It was large and would cover both their faces at once.

  Somehow I was glad.

  I took Rosamund’s hand and her little fingers gripped mine even in her sleep.

  ‘Do it now,’ I said, and I used my other hand to help push the pillow down onto the children’s faces.

  Chapter Eight

  We lay together on the bed, side by side, our bodies touching in a dozen different places. The privy chamber was very quiet now that the two children no longer breathed, but occasionally muffled shouts or wails came in through the window from the outer bailey. There was no movement or sound from within the great keep at all, and I wondered if it held nothing but corpses. How we had not yet burned down I did not know.

  ‘I have the sickness,’ Stephen said quietly.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘And you?’

  I was quiet a while before I spoke. ‘I woke coughing this morning,’ I said. ‘My lungs rattled when I did so. I cannot bear to change my soiled linens and kirtle, lest I see the fungus.’

  His hand fumbled to catch mine in its grip. ‘I loved you that first day I saw you, did you know that?’

  I smiled a little. ‘No. I was too worried you might see the love shining from my own face. Your father was not happy.’

  He gave a soft laugh, ending it in a bout of coughing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. ‘Before we left Oxeneford he talked to me most plain, said I was not to embark upon any ruinous affair of the heart with you.’

  ‘And yet here we share a bed, and my lord’s bed at that.’

  Stephen chuckled again. ‘Oh, sweetheart, how I wish that …’ He stopped and gave a small sob.

  I rolled over and buried my face in his shoulder. His arm held me close. We lay like that for a long time, each of us thinking wishes that, when we were well, we dared not consummate. And of which we now felt no need.

  ‘Even that day I first met you,’ he said, very softly, ‘I knew that you and I could never be.’

  ‘Why say that, Stephen? I love you truly, as I could love no other.’

  He kissed the top of my forehead. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘perhaps you will live, somehow, and wed a great man and love him dear.’

  I thought delirium had taken hold of Stephen’s mind.

  ‘Have you sent any more messages to your father?’ I asked, trying to deflect his mind from me.

  ‘Aye. One. For all the good it will do — even if the messenger lives to deliver it. I know my father. I know he will dash here, if he lives and has the strength. But for what? To find his family dead and gone.’

  ‘And my corpse in his bed,’ I said, managing a smile. Then it died. ‘Oh, Stephen, I promised him most faithfully I would look after Lady Adelie. He was so worried for her. And now, the worst has happened.’

  ‘It is not your fault, Maeb. He shall not blame you.’

  ‘He does not like me,’ I said, ‘and I am sure he can find the capacity to lay the blame at my feet. Sweet Virgin Mary, Stephen, I helped push that pillow down into the faces of his children! What shall happen to me, and to my soul?’

  In the end it was not the earl’s anger I needed to worry about, but God’s judgment.

  ‘Who could judge you, Maeb, for what you did? But if you fear, then confess to Owain, and do penance, and all will be well.’

  I hoped he was right, for I had been thinking on my immortal soul a great deal over the past days.

  ‘Have you thought on my request of you, Maeb?’ Stephen said.

  ‘Oh, Stephen … yes, I will do it, but that will leave me alone in the world and I shall die alone, and terribly, and I do not think I have the strength.’

  He pulled me even tighter. ‘I will think of something for you, Mae. Sweetheart, after I die … will you ask Owain to conduct services for me? Please? Do not forget it. You must tell Owain that I have died.’

  ‘He will know that I … that I …’

  ‘He will not think less of you for it. He will not berate you. But my soul must be given into Owain’s hands. Promise me.’

  And what if I should die before all this could be accomplished? Stephen seemed to think too highly of my own capacity to survive his death.

  But I nodded, wanting to comfort him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  I woke much later. It was full night and I was cold, but it was not the chill which had woken me.

  Stephen was tossing in his sleep. He began murmuring, even as he tossed, and then shouting. ‘No! No! I do not have it! Saint Mary save me! Christ save me! Saint —’

  I shook him as hard as I could, but even so it took me some effort to shake him awake.

  ‘Stephen! Stephen! It was but a dream. You are awake, now.’

  He lay there, his face white and shining with sweat in the night, his breath rattling harsh through his throat. ‘It was the Devil, Maeb. Come for me. Sweet Jesu, it was the Devil, not some mere dream. He had me by the throat!’

  ‘Shush, it was but a dream. The Devil shall not have your soul.’

  ‘He is after us, Maeb. He is walking this land. This plague is Devil-sent, I know it. Sweet merciful Jesu save us, save us, save us.’

  I opened my mouth to try and reassure Stephen, but just then I looked down and, in the faint light, I could see the bruises of finger marks about his throat.

  We lay awake until dawn, close side by side, hands clasped, talking. Stephen talked of his childhood, and his youth spent in the household of Edmond, King of England.

  ‘It was such an honour, Maeb, to be taught my skills as a knight within Edmond’s household.’

  I remembered my conversation with Saint-Valery, and how the king mistrusted Pengraic because of his vast power. ‘Perhaps Edmond merely wanted to keep an eye on you.’

  Stephen chuckled, although his mirth ended with a wracking cough. ‘Perhaps. But I was honoured nonetheless, and I enjoyed my time in his household. Edmond is a strong and cunning man. Too often, all that people see is the mild mannered, overly courteous king, content to spend his time allowing his eye to rove over the beauteous women of court. But that is merely a façade. Edmond’s barons may think they wield much of the power in the realm, but Edmond always gets his way. Even my father has oft been frustrated in his dealings with Edmond. Never underestimate him.’

  I thought Edmond had done well to accept the young Stephen into his household, for he had won the heart of the young Pengraic who would one day be earl.

  I immediately caught myself, my eyes welling with tears. Edmond’s efforts had been in vain, for the young, noble Pengraic would be unlikely to survive the next day.

  And who knew if Edmond still survived? I wondered how England itself would survive, if so many died, and among them those nobles we relied on to defend us.

  But it would not affect me. I would die soon of the plague, too, wha
tever Stephen seemed to think. My exhaustion had grown worse, and with it the pain in my chest. Breathing was becoming ever more difficult, and I had found myself panting when doing things that normally cost me little effort.

  During the night, I had coughed out sputum with a vile, yellow stain.

  My clothes were filthy, and I should change them, but I could not for fear of seeing the fungus on my body.

  Once Stephen died, I did not know what I would do. I wondered if d’Avranches was still alive, and if he had his dagger to hand. That would be preferable to burning alive. I could not face that.

  Or I could climb to the heights of the great keep and throw myself from its parapets, but I did not know if I had the courage for such, and I also feared that I might linger, broken and in agony, on the rocks below until the flames claimed me.

  Sweet Virgin Mary, everyone within the castle now understood how the plague claimed its victims. How many others were planning, or had accomplished, their own death? How many more souls were willing to risk hell, if only to escape the most terrible of deaths?

  At dawn Stephen fell into a fitful slumber. I did not like to leave him, but there was no water left in the chamber and I wanted to go down to the kitchen and see if the water barrels had anything left within them. I thought Stephen would like to be washed of his sweat, and I could do my face and hands even if I could not bear to strip away my clothes from my tainted body.

  To my surprise Evelyn and Owain were seated at one of the tables, sharing a jug of small beer.

  They both looked exhausted … but exhausted only. Neither showed any signs of the plague.

  ‘Maeb!’ Evelyn rose, her movements slow and obviously stiff, and hugged me. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me carefully.

  ‘Oh Maeb,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears, ‘I wish …’

  I wished too, but wishes no longer counted for anything. ‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘I have worried about you, but until now neither Owain nor I had any time to come search for you.’ She gave a small wry smile. ‘We came as far as the kitchen, saw the jug of beer set here, and thought we’d revive ourselves a little before continuing.’

  ‘It does not matter,’ I said. I sat down on the bench next to Owain. ‘What is happening beyond the keep?’

  He sighed, rubbing his eyes and face with a hand. His tonsure was unkempt, and his face lightly beaded. ‘The chapel is full of the dying,’ he said. ‘It stinks of death. D’Avranches tells me that most of the soldiers and knights have either sickened and died, or will shortly do so. Of those who have not sickened, some have fled, but some have stayed to help nurse the infected through to their deaths.’

  ‘D’Avranches is still well?’ I asked, thinking of his dagger. ‘Aye, if exhausted and heartsick,’ Owain said. ‘Maeb, have you seen Stephen?’

  ‘He lies dying in the lord’s privy chamber,’ I said. ‘I came down here to fetch some water to wash him of his sweat.’

  ‘Oh, heavenly saints!’ Owain said. ‘Stephen is to die?’

  ‘He asked that you —’

  ‘Yes, yes. Maeb, he must not burn.’

  ‘Do any of us wish that?’ I said, stifling a cough with only the greatest of difficulty. My patience had vanished long ago: my lungs and face were burning, and my head throbbed with a terrible ache. I thought the fever might consume me before I had a chance to return to Stephen.

  Owain and Evelyn shared a glance, and I thought, somewhat uncharitably, that it was unfair of them to judge my manners now.

  ‘Maeb,’ Evelyn said, ‘in the chapel … we …’

  ‘Only a few have died by the flames in the chapel,’ Owain said. ‘Those we did not catch in time.’

  I frowned at them, puzzled, so distracted now by my headache I wondered if I had missed something.

  ‘We have made sure, as best we could,’ Owain said, his voice now immeasurably gentle, ‘that the sick have died before the flames consumed them.’

  You do not worry for your immortal soul? I was going to ask, but there was only one word that slipped my lips. ‘How?’

  ‘I have been giving them an infusion of hemlock,’ Owain said.

  ‘But we are almost at an end of the herb,’ said Evelyn. ‘Owain has sent a man, who yet shows no sign of illness, further down the valley for more — there is an apothecary there who will have it.’

  ‘Stephen needs that,’ I said, suddenly seeing a way out for Stephen that might be kinder than what he proposed.

  And a way out for me, too.

  ‘It is not a pleasant death,’ Owain said, ‘but better than burning. Maeb, there is very little left. When I have more, I will send Evelyn.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, my voice thick with relief.

  Chapter Nine

  I found some water, enough to wash Stephen down, and went back to the privy chamber. Stephen had fallen into a fitful sleep, and he did not rouse when I stripped him of his clothes, the effort making me breathe hard and cough several times.

  I did not look in the cloth when I coughed, but folded it quickly as I took it away from my mouth. Now, suffering myself, I could understand Lady Adelie’s denial. It was easier, this way.

  Stephen had several patches of fungus on his body: in his left armpit, over his left knee, and on his right thigh. I washed him down as well as I could, but I was not strong enough to roll him over to wash his back, and Stephen, in his sleep, did not wish to cooperate with me.

  I tried to wash away the fungus, but it would not budge.

  As I washed, I kept thinking what a waste this was. Stephen was a fine man with a strong body. Why did God inflict this on him? No one would miss me, but England would miss Stephen most terribly. He would have matured into a strong lord. Why take him? What grievous sin had he committed that he needed to suffer in this manner? What grievous sin all those who suffered in this castle?

  I wondered about Rosamund and John. Why had God wanted them to die as they did? Neither had sinned … by all the saints in heaven, what mortal sin could a toddling child commit, save that he had been born?

  My thoughts and mood darkened as I washed and wondered. Perhaps Stephen and I deserved it. We had committed grievous sin with the murder of Rosamund and John, true. But Lady Adelie? She had died in a manner most horrid, her death the most agonising possible, a death usually reserved for the most appalling of sinners.

  But unless there was some dark, terrible secret in Lady Adelie’s life (which I could not believe), there was no reason for the manner of her death.

  I grew angry with God for inflicting this plague upon his peoples. Perhaps some deserved it, but I am sure most did not.

  When I had done I covered Stephen with linens and a thin woollen coverlet, then lay down beside him. The effort of washing him had exhausted me, and I fell into a doze.

  The Devil came for me. I dreamed I was trapped in some dark, confined space. Suddenly something loomed behind me, and I turned, my heart racing.

  It was a beast of indescribable horror. It radiated power that crushed me. I could do nothing against it. I could not flee, I could not fight. I was defenceless before it. It opened its mouth, and in that great yawning maw I could see leaping flames and hear from within the screams of the damned.

  I thought I would die of terror. I choked on the stench of the monster (the Devil! The Devil! Somehow I knew it but I refused to acknowledge it, because that admission would have killed me) and his breath.

  Where is it? the monster demanded of me. Where did you hide it?

  I twisted this way and that, but I was unable to loose myself from his terrible power.

  Where is it?

  I didn’t know what it wanted. I had hid nothing. I could not answer, although I was desperate to tell it what it wanted, so that I could be freed.

  I can smell its stink on you! Where is it? ‘I don’t know!’ I screamed.

  And then suddenly I was awake, Stephen’s concerned face close to mine.

  ‘You dreamed, too,’ he s
aid, and I nodded, crying.

  He pulled me closer and held me, and we lay there in silence all that morning and into the afternoon.

  I dozed off again, although thankfully this time I did not dream. When I woke it was full night and Stephen was struggling for his life beside me.

  I lurched upright, cursing myself for falling asleep. Every one of my bones ached and hot pain seared up and down my spine.

  I cried out, the momentary agony forcing me to hold my breath until it had passed.

  Only then did I manage to turn to Stephen.

  He was gasping, unable to breathe properly, almost as if he had something stuck in his throat. One of his hands was, indeed, clasped about his throat.

  The other, on the side farthest from me, waved weakly in the air.

  ‘Stephen? Stephen?’ I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Earlier I had lit a candle and placed it in a wall sconce, and by its weak, guttering light, I saw that fungus spilled out of Stephen’s mouth and down his chin to his neck.

  Oh, sweet Virgin Mary! It must be choking him!

  His eyes caught mine, pleading, and at that moment — unfairly — I hated both Evelyn and Owain with every particle of my being for not providing the hemlock in time.

  The appalling horror of Stephen’s suffering made me panic. I knew what he wanted — his eyes were locked into mine, begging, begging, begging — but I could not do it, the horror of it, I could not —

  His hand grabbed mine, clutching tightly, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

  Do it, they said. Please. Please.

  I was sobbing at his suffering. I could not bear it. Yet, at the same moment, I could not bear to end his life. Not Stephen, not Stephen …

  Please, Maeb. Please.

  Consumed with grief and anger and fear, I grabbed one of the heavy pillows. I hesitated a moment, then, wishing beyond anything that it was already over, I slammed the pillow down over Stephen’s face, shuffling forward on my knees so I could put my full weight upon it.

  I was sobbing so hard my chest felt as if it would crack in two.