Sister Anne bent over the bed where a young boy lay very, very still. As she gently tugged a fur cover up around the child’s neck and tucked it loosely around him, she turned to her prioress and smiled.
“Fear not, my lady. Richard’s fever has not returned. His sleep may be deep, but it is a healing one. When he awakens, I think he will have good appetite and want more fables from his doting aunt.”
Eleanor sighed with relief, then rose from her stool to put some wood into the smoldering hearth to chase the chill out of the air. The smoke from the dying candle, impaled on the iron tripod stand near the boy’s bed, had stung her aching eyes, but the tears that started down her cheeks were from joy, not pain.
“I don’t know what my family would have done if you had not come with me to Wynethorpe Castle, Anne. Your skill has saved my brother’s son. Had Richard died, we all would have grieved deeply, but the news would have killed Hugh more surely than any Saracen arrow. He loves this boy more than his own life.”
Sister Anne reached down and wiped a thin film of moisture from the child’s forehead with a gentle caress. He smiled in his sleep. “Out of friendship even more than duty, I would go with you no matter where you wished, Eleanor, but I needed no urging when you told me that your nephew was gravely ill and your father had asked for my insignificant skills.” Her expression softened as she looked at the boy. “Indeed, your brother has been blessed with a sweet child.”
Eleanor walked to the nun’s side and put her arm around her waist. Anne, who was much taller than her prioress, put her arm around her shoulders and the women hugged. As Eleanor well knew, the saving of this young life had special meaning to her friend, whose own son had died despite her best efforts. They stood in silence for a long moment and watched as the boy continued to breathe easily in the huge bed.
“Your expertise is not insignificant, Anne. My aunt at Amesbury told me that your reputation has reached the court. As proof, my father has certainly heard of your talent. How ever shall I thank you for saving my nephew’s life?” Eleanor whispered. “Richard may be my brother’s by-blow, but Hugh adores this child as much as if he had been born of a lawful wife. As do we all. My lord father even gave up his own bed and room when the boy sickened.” She chuckled. “He softens like silk whenever the boy throws his arms around his legs. In a year or two, when Richard is old enough for such training, I swear he will beg the king to take him as a page at court so he will not suffer any separation from the boy.”
“What will happen to Richard when your eldest brother returns from the Holy Land and must marry?” Sister Anne’s eyes turned sad with the question as she looked down at the lad.
“Hugh knows his duty to beget legitimate heirs, but he will tarry to the fulfilling of it. In truth, he is such a chaste Sir Galahad we were amazed when he presented us with this boy as his own babe. Even our father couldn’t believe that he took enough time away from warrior sports to sire a son.” Eleanor smiled. “Neither of my brothers has been in a hurry to wed. Even Robert’s greatest love has been taking care of the estates. The land has always been his wife and he has shown no more inclination to be false to her than Hugh has to his knighthood. Our parents did breed a monkish brood, although my brothers, both, would deny it.”
“What of Richard’s mother? Is she dead then?”
“So we understood. My brother said little about the mother but much about how he doted on this boy of his. You’d think none but he had ever fathered a child before. But marry he must, and Hugh will do well by Richard even when he has legitimate heirs. His wife will have to love the child too. He has our father’s stubbornness and will have naught to do with any woman who would not treat Richard as a child of her own body.”
Anne nodded. “Then God has blessed the boy with a good and loving family. It is not always so. Still it would be hard not to love the child. He shows such a sweet disposition and more grave courtesy than one would expect of such youth. Even at the height of his fever, he was never peevish. He wins hearts quickly.” She laughed softly. “Indeed, when I told Brother Thomas of Richard’s recovery, he smiled with such joy I knew he was quite taken with the boy as well. He was always eager to relieve you on the storytelling.” She lowered her voice. “Although I thought you told the better ones. You must tell me later what happened after the man in black armor arrived.”
“I don’t know myself! I have exhausted all the tales I heard as a child and was beginning to invent them. Not having the talent of Marie de France, I was most grateful Brother Thomas knew stories I had never heard.”
“He once told me he came from London. Perhaps they have tales there we have yet to hear?”
Eleanor shook her head. “We are not so removed from the latest songs and stories at Tyndal, methinks, and my father has but recently been with the king in Westminster. Surely he would have heard the latest. But come, we must tell him the happy news about his grandson.”
As they pushed open the thick wooden door, it creaked loudly. A round woman, lying in a warm pile of clean straw just outside the door, started awake. She struggled awkwardly to her feet, brushing broken bits of yellow from her robes.
“My lady?”
Eleanor smiled. “He will live, good nurse.”
The woman wiped a plump hand across her reddened eyes. “May God be thanked!” she said, raising her eyes to the wooden ceiling. Then turning to Sister Anne, “And for the skills He gave you, sister. May I tend the lad now? Is there anything I should watch for? Is he sleeping? Can he eat?” Her words, spoken in one breath of air, collided, one on top of the other.
“You may watch for a ravenously hungry boy when he awakens,” Anne laughed. “Give him what he wants but in small amounts and only after he takes the medicine I left in the footless mazer cup by his bed. It has a bitter taste. He will hate it. Later he may have some sugar for his chest but may not have both the bitter and sweet too close together.”
The nurse frowned. Little pink worry lines puckered the white skin between her brows.
“Just tell him that Sir Gawain would have taken the draught without complaint,” Eleanor said. “Should he question the word of a mere aunt, tell him that I will send Brother Thomas to confirm what I have said.”
“Aye, my lady, that should help him with the bitterness. He has grown quite fond of Brother Thomas and brightens when the good priest comes to care for him. A fine storyteller, he is, the kind brother! Indeed,” she continued with a healthy blush and a fluttering hand to her ample breast, “he became like a mighty warrior himself when he told his tales of knightly deeds.”
Eleanor smiled in sympathy at the betrayal of color in the nurse’s face. Indeed, her own heart still beat with too much enthusiasm at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered monk. When he had first come to Tyndal, just after her own arrival, an unchaste heat had quite suffused her loins and lingered there far longer than was seemly for a woman dedicated to chastity. Although she had tried to cool her passions with abstinence from meat as well as prayer while lying face down on the stones in Tyndal’s church, she had not succeeded in quelling the lusty fires with the finality she had implored. She had met with more success on the icy floor of this castle chapel but even that had failed to banish her desire entirely.
She would certainly have preferred that some other monk accompany her and Sister Anne to Wynethorpe Castle, but her prior at Tyndal was in poor health and the man she might have chosen instead was the one best suited to remaining as sub-prior. Then Sister Anne had suggested that Thomas would be a good choice to help care for the boy. Based on his work with her in Tyndal’s hospital, she knew of his talents with the young. When Eleanor at last mentioned the possibility to him, she saw his keenness for the trip. She could only acquiesce, having no good reason to refuse him. None, at least, that she dared explain.