The Apothecary Rose Read Free Page A

the other side of the bed, dabbing at her husband's tears. Shadows beneath her eyes bespoke a night as terrible as Wulfstan's. 'He left here yesterday afternoon as you saw him, clear-witted and healthy enough to work in the garden, cold as it was, and returned crippled and bereft of speech, tormented by some horror I cannot know and so cannot comfort him.' She bit her lip. There was no time for tears.
    Wulfstan's heart overflowed with pity for her. He knew his own pain over the pilgrim. How much greater must hers be, seeing her husband like this. He must find a way to help. He tucked Nicholas's hands under the covers and drew Lucie away from the sickbed. Tell me everything you can.'
    She could tell him little, only that Digby had helped Nicholas inside, for he seemed unable to support him self on his right leg. The right arm also seemed useless. And he'd made no sound but down in the throat. She clenched her hands and looked desperate for comfort.
    But Wulfstan could give little. 'It sounds to be a palsy. Whether it be temporary or permanent, only time will tell. It is in God's hands. Perhaps if I knew what caused it.' He thought of Nicholas's behaviour as he questioned Wulfstan about the pilgrim, and later when Nicholas had glimpsed the pilgrim's state. 'He was agitated when he left the infirmary. Perhaps in the dark he fell. A blow to the head could cause such a palsy. Or to the spine. An extreme shock.'
    'A shock.' Lucie glanced at Nicholas, then bent her head away from him so that only Wulfstan could hear. 'Could it be the pilgrim?' She asked it in a soft, tense voice.
    Wulfstan remembered the dying man's accusations. But he had no proof. And now that the man was dead he could see no reason to frighten Lucie. 'My patient's appearance disturbed Nicholas, to be sure. He said he'd not expected the man to be so ill. But that is not shock enough.' He looked at Lucie's bowed head. 'What is it, my child? What do you fear?'
    'It was Archdeacon Anselm's visit this morning.'
    'Anselm? Came here?'
    'They have not spoken in years. Since before we were married. It is odd that he should come today. There he stood in the doorway, so early, before any customers. He'd already heard that Nicholas was taken ill. He expressed concern, for all the world a worried friend. After so many years. He did not come when our Martin died’ Their only child. Dead of the plague before he ever walked.
    Something in this disturbed Wulfstan. For last night he had been visited by the Archdeacon. At the time he had given it little thought. The Archdeacon was to dine with Abbot Campian. Before supper he had stopped in the infirmary, curious whether it had changed since he was last bled there. Anselm had been schooled at St. Mary's. Last evening he had been pleasant enough, asking after Brother Wulfstan's health, telling Henry how frightened he had been of Wulfstan, who had been broad in the chest in his younger years. Anselm had asked about the pilgrim, the only patient. It seemed a mere politeness.
    Wulfstan drew Lucie down on a chest by the little window. Tell me about the Archdeacon's visit.'
    'He had heard Nicholas was ill. He asked if it were serious. I told him I did not know, that I could tell him no more than his Summoner had told him. Nothing had changed. He seemed surprised. He asked why I assumed his Summoner had told him. I told him how Digby had found Nicholas. He did not like that. "The abbey infirmary? What was Nicholas doing there?" He said it as if it were an enemy camp, a place Digby should have known not to go’
    'My infirmary?' Wulfstan did not like that.
    'The Archdeacon alarmed me with his questions. I told him Nicholas had taken a physick to a patient. "The soldier?" he asked. I said yes, the one who called himself a pilgrim. The Archdeacon's face lost what little colour it has. He put a hand on the counter to steady himself. I asked him what he suspected. He asked what had happened at the abbey. Of course I did not know. I suspected