Chapter 3

Swinging his cloak around his shoulders, Griffin peered at Luke in the blue light cast by the gas lamps.
“Ach, don’t worry lad – it’ll most probably be a slight cough.” Luke smiled appreciatively at him, and they turned right, heading for the river and the mill.

They hurried through the village, past the commercial buildings and into the housing. People were on the street and heading in the opposite direction – towards the warmth and company in Keeps’ Inn – and many called “hello” across the street to Griffin as he passed.

Arriving at the crossroads where the main street met the bridge over the Morgan, the path to the temple, and the path leading to the mill, they paused for breath, before turning left down the over-hung lane towards the creaking of the water-wheel as it turned.

Luke ran the final few steps to the front door, and, pushing it open, ushered Griffin into the kitchen. He strode into the living room, his actions becoming jerky with worry as he realised no-one was around. Poking his head into the stairwell, he hollered up the stairs;
“FATHER?!” A loud shushing ensued from upstairs, and his other sister – Louise – ran quietly down the stairs towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she began to cry. He led her back into the kitchen, and made her sit down.
“Louise, what’s wrong?”
“E-Emily-y has a cough...father won’t l-let us anywhere n-near her...”
“Has he said why?” Luke’s voice was close to cracking with tension, and he knelt before his sister, looking into her tear-filled eyes.
“H-he won’t tell us...h-he wanted you to get G-Griffin.”
“Well, it’s just as well I did then, isn’t it? Hmm? Come on, wash your face and we’ll take Griffin up to see Emily and Father, okay?” He ushered his sister over to the full water-skin hanging over the sink, and, turning away, allowed his face to fall into lines of worry. He looked at Griffin who shrugged and looked equally worried.

When his sister had dried her face on the piece of linen hung next to the water-skin, he slipped his arm round her, and together they led Griffin up the wooden stairs to the upper storey of the house, and into the girl’s bedroom.
“Out! Get out!” His father rushed at them the instant they stepped over the threshold, then smiled awkwardly at Griffin, but waved Louise out.
“Go and sit with Jacob, Louise. I’ll be out in a minute, okay?” Luke said as he hugged his sister and pushed her back out of the room. “What’s going on, father?”
“I don’t know. One day she was fine, a little flushed, but nothing out of the ordinary – you know what she’s like – and the next she was coughing up...blood.”
“Blood? Has she got...? You know...” Luke’s face dropped. “But she...CAN’T have...can she?” He looked appealingly at Griffin.
“I’m it does sound a lot like it, I’m afraid, lad. Can I see her?” Griffin edged around John, and knelt beside the bed. “Hello, Emily, lass. Can I just have a listen of your chest, please?” He produced a small wooden ear-horn from his bag and pressed it to her back and chest, frowning as he concentrated. “All right, lass, sit up for me, eh?” He propped her against the wall, and examined her colouring, before pushing a pillow behind her back and tucking the quilt round her. “John, I’m sorry, lad. I think its consumption. She probably inherited a weakness of the chest from her mother. I’ll do what I can. How long has she been ill?”
“Two, three days? Not long. Not really.”
“A poultice might still work. No matter how cold it gets, we have to keep the windows open, and a big fire in here to drive the disease out. Can you stoke up a big fire in the grate and boil me a cauldron of water please, Luke, lad. And John, go and tell your others. I think this is something they need to know.” As he spoke, Griffin was rolling up his sleeves, and pulling little sacks of herbs from his bag.

Luke knelt before the fire, the basket of logs to his right, and the iron poker in his left hand. He loaded the logs into the grate without noticing what he was doing, prodding them savagely with the poker to build a big fire, and, using a meat hook salvaged from the mantle, hung a heavy iron cauldron full of water over it. He continued stoking the fire until the water had come to a rolling boil, and then he shuffled out of the way to allow Griffin to add his herbs and plant extracts to the water.
“Luke, lad, fetch a smaller cauldron, and heat it gently for me, will you? We need a hot compress – bring some clean linen scraps too.” He was busy mixing the water and herbs into a thick paste, which he spread on Emily’s chest and back, wrapping linen bandages around the poultice to prevent it from sliding around.

Luke dashed downstairs, fetched a small cauldron, filled it with water and, more slowly, ran back up to his sister. While heating the water, he prayed. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before, to all the goddesses - gods were inappropriate for his needs at that moment - , but especially Halil, goddess of health, and Haisheth, goddess of family. When it had heated, but not enough to scald, he moved the cauldron away from the grate, and dipped pads of linen scraps into the almost painful heat, wrung one out and left the rest hanging on the edge, and crept over to kneel at his sister’s bedside. He pressed his pad to her forehead and wiped the sweat from her face with his tunic sleeve. He murmured quietly to her, trying to keep her calm and as happy as possible.

He turned, some hours later, to change the fifth now-cold compress for a fresh hot one, and saw his father looking at him sadly.
“I’m sorry you have to do this, Luke.” He crept closer and sat on the floor beside his son, “your ma should be here, doing this. In fact, this shouldn’t have happened. You should be here the whole year round, not off hunting in the cold months and doing dangerous work in the warm ones. Right now you should be looking forward to your rites in two weeks, to finding yourself a girl, a trade and settling down. But instead you’re here, looking after your sisters and brother, and your old man. I’m supposed to be able to support my own brood, but money doesn’t go very far when there’s no-one to count it, to keep track of incomings and outgoings – your ma was the one who had the numbers and letters. I just fumble through, scraping a living from grinding grain and making you work –“
“– Don’t worry about it, father. I’ve gained a lot of skills for when I do finally get a chance to settle down, I’ve gained a lot of experience and the respect of everyone in the village, I know how to raise a family – you’ve done a marvellous job on me and the others. Ma – may she rest in peace – taught us our letters and numbers, and humility and empathy, but you taught us courage, and strength of mind and body, and how to look out for each other. And when I do leave, it’ll be easier for you anyway. Jake and Lou will be fourteen – you can waive some of their clauses too – and Emily,” he paused, debating the sense of going on, but carried on anyway, “will be the only one left who can’t do anything work-wise, and I’m sure even she could get light work with Uncle Max at the wax-works in Elshaw. It’ll all be fine.”
Balancing the compress on Emily’s forehead, Luke leant forward and gingerly hugged his father, before turning back to the job in hand, and wiped the hot compress down over her throat and upper chest, and then back to her forehead again.
“Father – what’s the time?” John glanced at the bare mantle, and then peered out of the window to judge the time from the position of the stars.
“About eleven, Luke. Why?”
“I asked Griffin to come back at midnight. The poultice will have had about six hours to start to work by then, and he said he’ll need to change the poultice every six hours in the first twenty-four, and then every twelve until it’s had its full effect.”
“Ah, you’re a good boy, Luke. You’ll make a fine man.”
John left the room, and went to find the others. He found them huddled in the living area by the fire place, wrapped in a large woollen blanket and snoozing – each propping the other up in their sleep. He lifted them gently, and placed them in the large chair he had had the village carpenter make for them; on the cushions his late wife – Miranda – had made from an old patchwork quilt and stuffed with sheep’s wool.

Midnight came and went, along with Griffin, who announced Emily’s breathing seemed a little clearer and reapplied the poultice. John held a silent vigil at her bedside, having made Luke retire once Griffin had left.