mumbled to the door.
“You are lying to me, your most true and loyal friend in the whole wide world. Turn around.”
Edith turned slowly. Her face was bright pink, which meant she was either fevered or lying.
Sofia spun around quickly, hung half out of the arch again and tried desperately to see who was below. The entrance to the Great Hall was to the east, a short distance from the Gloriette, so she had to shield her eyes from the late morning sunlight. But all she could see of the troop of men was one last dusty pair of boots. The men and their colors were hidden from her view by a wooden scaffold built for the varlet who had been lime-washing the castle stone.
The chamber door closed with a telling creak and Sofia spun to face an empty chamber. “Edith!” She ran for the door. “Edith! Come back in here!”
She almost had her hand on the door when it opened and the Poleaxes marched in the way King Edward marched on Wales. Lady Mavis, a tall, gaunt woman with brown hair and a voice as commanding as the Queen herself, clapped her hands. “Inside with you! All of you!”
All of you?
A stream of servants came inside carrying a tub, bucket after bucket of hot water, soaps and perfumes, towels and a huge bucket of chipped ice, which must have come from the King’s icehouse in the lower cells of the donjon. Sofia stepped back against the wall, eyeing them unhappily. When she looked at Lady Mavis she was sorely tempted to mimic Edith and make the sign of the cross, or better yet, hold one up in front of her.
But she could do nothing. She was cornered.
Lady Jehane came through the doorway, bringing up the rear, her arms crossed with determination and her look as unyielding as a stone wall. She stopped, scanned the room, then her gaze landed on Sofia. “Her Majesty claims you have a great ache in your head.”
Sofia slumped slightly, sliding partially down the wall. She raised one limp hand to her brow. “Aye,” she said in a weak, breathy, and withered-sounding voice. Then she wobbled a little so it would look as if she were ready to faint.
Through a small crack she had made in her fingers, Sofia saw Jehane’s eyes narrow slightly before she spun on her heel like the captain of the King’s guard and marched to the doorway. Jehane cupped her hands over her big mouth and bellowed, “Hear ye all! Hasten! Bring the King’s barber and his largest pail of leeches to bleed the poor, suffering Lady Sofia.”
Leeches ? Sofia’s belly tightened. She shuffled sideways to her bed, then collapsed on it, groaning. “I am too, too weak. Ah. Too weak with . . . with pain to be bled. ’Twill, oh my . . . ” She took a deep breath. “Just . . . just make me weaker.” Then she let her voice trail off with a sorrowful hissing sound. Just for good measure, she whimpered. Twice.
Then Lady Mavis was towering over her, so Sofia moaned again. And again. Mavis left for a moment and Sofia took advantage and shifted a bit, then turned her head just enough to see out of the corner of her eye. Mavis picked up something, shifted it back and forth in her hands for a moment, then she turned and came back toward her.
Sofia closed her eyes quickly. She could feel Mavis standing over her, pausing, looking down at her. The urge to open her eyes was great, but she did not do so.
The next thing she felt was a heavy and lumpy towel landing on her face. It was freezing!
“The ice inside this towel will kill the pain in your head,” Mavis said in a matter-of-fact tone, then she put another towel full of ice on top of the first one, until Sofia could hardly breathe and her teeth began to chatter. Mavis pressed them down with her hands and Sofia could feel the ice freezing into the hollows on her face: her nostrils, the sockets of eyes, her lips, her temples. It was so cold that it burned her skin and hurt like the very Devil!
“I know all about head pain,” Mavis was saying. “Do I not, Jehane?”
“Aye, Mavis. You always
“You are lying to me, your most true and loyal friend in the whole wide world. Turn around.”
Edith turned slowly. Her face was bright pink, which meant she was either fevered or lying.
Sofia spun around quickly, hung half out of the arch again and tried desperately to see who was below. The entrance to the Great Hall was to the east, a short distance from the Gloriette, so she had to shield her eyes from the late morning sunlight. But all she could see of the troop of men was one last dusty pair of boots. The men and their colors were hidden from her view by a wooden scaffold built for the varlet who had been lime-washing the castle stone.
The chamber door closed with a telling creak and Sofia spun to face an empty chamber. “Edith!” She ran for the door. “Edith! Come back in here!”
She almost had her hand on the door when it opened and the Poleaxes marched in the way King Edward marched on Wales. Lady Mavis, a tall, gaunt woman with brown hair and a voice as commanding as the Queen herself, clapped her hands. “Inside with you! All of you!”
All of you?
A stream of servants came inside carrying a tub, bucket after bucket of hot water, soaps and perfumes, towels and a huge bucket of chipped ice, which must have come from the King’s icehouse in the lower cells of the donjon. Sofia stepped back against the wall, eyeing them unhappily. When she looked at Lady Mavis she was sorely tempted to mimic Edith and make the sign of the cross, or better yet, hold one up in front of her.
But she could do nothing. She was cornered.
Lady Jehane came through the doorway, bringing up the rear, her arms crossed with determination and her look as unyielding as a stone wall. She stopped, scanned the room, then her gaze landed on Sofia. “Her Majesty claims you have a great ache in your head.”
Sofia slumped slightly, sliding partially down the wall. She raised one limp hand to her brow. “Aye,” she said in a weak, breathy, and withered-sounding voice. Then she wobbled a little so it would look as if she were ready to faint.
Through a small crack she had made in her fingers, Sofia saw Jehane’s eyes narrow slightly before she spun on her heel like the captain of the King’s guard and marched to the doorway. Jehane cupped her hands over her big mouth and bellowed, “Hear ye all! Hasten! Bring the King’s barber and his largest pail of leeches to bleed the poor, suffering Lady Sofia.”
Leeches ? Sofia’s belly tightened. She shuffled sideways to her bed, then collapsed on it, groaning. “I am too, too weak. Ah. Too weak with . . . with pain to be bled. ’Twill, oh my . . . ” She took a deep breath. “Just . . . just make me weaker.” Then she let her voice trail off with a sorrowful hissing sound. Just for good measure, she whimpered. Twice.
Then Lady Mavis was towering over her, so Sofia moaned again. And again. Mavis left for a moment and Sofia took advantage and shifted a bit, then turned her head just enough to see out of the corner of her eye. Mavis picked up something, shifted it back and forth in her hands for a moment, then she turned and came back toward her.
Sofia closed her eyes quickly. She could feel Mavis standing over her, pausing, looking down at her. The urge to open her eyes was great, but she did not do so.
The next thing she felt was a heavy and lumpy towel landing on her face. It was freezing!
“The ice inside this towel will kill the pain in your head,” Mavis said in a matter-of-fact tone, then she put another towel full of ice on top of the first one, until Sofia could hardly breathe and her teeth began to chatter. Mavis pressed them down with her hands and Sofia could feel the ice freezing into the hollows on her face: her nostrils, the sockets of eyes, her lips, her temples. It was so cold that it burned her skin and hurt like the very Devil!
“I know all about head pain,” Mavis was saying. “Do I not, Jehane?”
“Aye, Mavis. You always
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