Page 15 of The Forsaken
“I’m sorry I’m too late to be of any help,” Kate said. She assumed Hugh de Rosel’s brother had passed while Walter was away, and Hugh had waited for his squire to return before turning for home.
“You’re not, Sister,” Hugh replied, following her gaze. “My older brother, Baron de Rosel, died at the Battle of Towton. My younger brother was badly wounded. I would be most grateful if you would administer the sacraments to him before he passes. It would ease my mind to know that he died shriven.”
Kate nodded. She wasn’t qualified to administer last rites, but in situations where no priest could be found, any pious and God-fearing Catholic could step in. And this ruin had been a church once, so the dying man rested on sacred ground.
Kate made her way into the chapel. The man lay on a coarse blanket spread over the stone floor of the nave. His eyes were closed, and his skin had a greenish-gray tint, even in the golden light streaming through the empty windows. His black hair was matted and damp, and his dark stubble contrasted with his sickly pallor. The dirty rag that had been used to bandage his arm was soaked with blood and pus, and a terrible odor wafted from the wound.
“The wound’s festered,” Hugh de Rosel explained unnecessarily.
“Have you done anything to treat it?”
Hugh shook his head. “We bandaged it the best we could. We should have remained at the battle site. Someone might have been able to help Guy, but I wanted to get William home,” he explained. “A body won’t keep long, and my brother must be buried at home. He deserves that much. I thought Guy would pull through. He was coherent after the battle, but his condition has worsened in the days since.”
Kate bent over the dying man and touched his forehead. He was hot to the touch and his skin felt papery and dry. He opened his eyes for just a moment and looked at her, but his eyes, a deeperblue than his brother’s, were unfocused, and Kate was sure he didn’t really see her. She unbound the filthy bandage and looked at the wound. The skin was sliced cleanly, most likely with a blade, but the wound was oozing blood and gore, and the arm was grotesquely swollen and burning hot.
“Do you have any honey?” Kate instantly felt foolish for asking. Of course they didn’t, but maybe Walter could procure some before nightfall.
“No. I sent Walter to the village to get us some food. We’ve barely eaten since the battle. Guy hasn’t had anything other than some wine.”
“I got some mead,” Walter piped in. “It’s made with honey.”
“Do you have a clean cloth?” Another foolish question. The men were filthy and didn’t have anything with them save their armor, which she’d seen next to the corpse in the cart outside.
Kate exhaled audibly. She had clean cloth, but taking off her veil meant exposure. As long as she was decently covered, Hugh de Rosel saw her as a nun, but as soon as she took off her veil, she would become a woman—a woman alone with two strange men. But she couldn’t allow Guy de Rosel to suffer, so she unwound her veil and tore it into several strips.
Both Hugh and Walter stared at her, their faces instantly transforming from expressions of reverence to obvious male interest. Kate kept her hair shoulder length, since it was uncomfortable to wear pinned-up plaits beneath the veil, but it was freshly washed and fell about her face in all its auburn glory.
She ignored the men and dipped a piece of fabric in the upturned helmet filled with water. She began to wash Guy’s face. The cool water would hopefully revive him long enough to administer last rites. Guy moaned but didn’t open his eyes again.
“Give me some mead,” Kate said to Walter, who was hovering just behind her. She cleaned the affected area with waterand then dabbed a generous amount of mead onto the wound. Honey was often used to combat corruption, so she hoped that the alcohol content mixed with the honey’s healing properties might help, although she was fairly sure the man was too far gone. He had the same sickly look Osbert had had just before he died.
“He took a mace to the head,” Hugh said. “The helmet saved him from certain death, but he isn’t right in the head,” he added sadly. “He spoke normally enough just after the battle, but then he seemed to go barmy and started talking pure guff. He said something about falling backward into a river of blood and turning to stone.”
Kate nodded. The poor man was better off dead, but she fervently believed in the sanctity of life and would do everything in her power to help him. She pulled open one heavy eyelid. The blue eye stared back, unseeing. Guy de Rosel was beyond reach, but he’d opened his eyes before, and he might again.
“Sister, please, you must administer the sacraments while there’s still time,” Hugh pleaded as he leaned over her shoulder. He smelled of sweat, blood, and damp wool, but his bearing was that of a nobleman, even under the circumstances. Kate briefly wondered about the de Rosels’ background. Hugh had referred to his brother asGhee, but he was clearly English, his pronunciation clear and crisp, without any trace of a French accent.
Kate was about to explain that the sacraments could not be administered to a man who was not conscious to confess his sins or receive communion. She could, however, administer Last Unction and anoint the dying man with whatever was to hand. It would ease Hugh, but Guy de Rosel would not be fully shriven if he died. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to mention this.
“Would you have any oil?” she asked.
Hugh shook his head. “Use the mead. It’s the only thing we have.”
Kate nodded and began. Both Hugh and Walter stood by Guy’s side, their heads bowed as Kate anointed Guy’s head with mead and prayed. He did not wake up.
“You both look exhausted. Perhaps you should rest,” Kate suggested. “I will keep watch over him.”
“We’ll eat first. Please, share our meal, Sister.” Hugh gestured toward the food Walter had brought back with him.
Kate gratefully accepted some bread and cheese. She hadn’t eaten since she broke her fast at the priory that morning and she was famished. They drank water instead of the mead, which Kate was saving for Guy’s wound, should he live through the night. The meal was a silent one since no one felt much like talking with Guy fighting for his life only a foot away.
As soon as they finished eating, Hugh folded up his cloak to use as a pillow and went to sleep, but Walter went outside. He planned to sleep by the cart, his sword at the ready should anyone try to help themselves to the armor or anything of value on Baron de Rosel’s body. Kate felt sorry for the boy but understood the necessity. And it was Walter’s duty as a squire to look after the armor of his lords.
Kate positioned herself close to Guy, pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her back against the wall, sitting in that position until the sun went down and the little chapel grew completely dark. She was tired, and shivered in the cold despite her woolen cloak. She looked up, staring past the charred beams at the sky above. It was vast, the stars and half-moon obscured by thick clouds. Kate hoped it wouldn’t rain since there was nothing to shelter them inside the ruined chapel. She pulled the cloak tighter about her body and snuggled deeper into its folds, all set to keep her vigil.
She glanced at Hugh’s silent form, thankful that he hadn’t asked her any questions about herself or her family. He must be too tired and worried about his brother to wonder what a young nun was doing alone on the road to Belford, and she hadn’tvolunteered any information. A lie would sit heavily on her conscience, but she had no wish to tell him who she was, as he’d instantly realize that her relations fought for the opposing side.
ELEVEN
