Timestruck (35 page)

“Then I guess you’re doing the best you can
for him.” Gina sat on the stool beside Dominick’s bed and took his
hot, dry hand in hers. “His breathing is so noisy.”

“An inflammation has settled in his chest.”
Brother Anselm was so serious that Gina at once perceived what the
real trouble was. Dominick had developed pneumonia. That was why he
was struggling for breath, why he had such a high fever. In the
eighth century, no medicine existed to cure it.

“Perhaps if we prop him up on several
pillows, he can breathe more easily,” she suggested in
desperation.

“It cannot hurt him.” Brother Anselm sounded
as if he didn’t think Gina’s idea would be much help, either.
Nevertheless, he went around the infirmary collecting spare pillows
from the vacant beds. Most of the men brought in after the battle
in the square had recovered enough to leave, whether to their
barracks to finish their recuperations, or to cells to await
sentencing for their attack on Dominick. Two of the wounded men had
died. There were plenty of pillows available for Dominick.

They lifted him until he was sitting almost
upright, and Gina thought the change in position did ease his
breathing a little.

“I could fan him,” she said. “That will
increase the effect of the wet sheets.”

“A good thought,” said Brother Anselm. “I
will send to the palace for some fans.”

“That’s something useful I can do,” Lady
Adalhaid said, ‘ì know most of the court ladies. I’ll have no
trouble finding fans.”

“The sheet will need to be dampened every
hour,” Brother Anselm said to Gina. “Either I or one of my
assistants will return to help you.”

“You are very good to us,” Gina said,
overcome by the man’s willingness to do whatever would help
Dominick.

“Caring for the sick and wounded is my life’s
work,” Brother Anselm responded. “My skill is a gift I offer to
God’s service. I only wish I were successful more often.”

“No one could try harder than you do. I don’t
mean to criticize your methods, Brother Anselm. It’s just that I’m
so worried.”

“I understand,” said the infirmarer, and he
excused himself to join his brothers for prayers in the church.

Left alone with Dominick, Gina dampened a
small cloth with cool water and placed it on his forehead. Lady
Adalhaid returned with several fans and an elderly woman.

“Lady Madelgarde knows Dominick,” explained
Lady Adalhaid. “She has volunteered to help us.”

The three of them fanned Dominick’s body for
several hours, pausing only long enough to sprinkle water on the
sheet or to dip the whole thing into a tub of cool water and wring
it out with Brother Anselm’s aid. Toward midnight Gina noticed how
her companions were wilting with fatigue.

“Lady Adalhaid,” Gina said, “I am going to
give you the same advice you gave to me earlier today. Eat
something, drink a little wine, and sleep. You cannot continue to
nurse Dominick if you fall ill.”

“I will see to it,” said Lady Madelgarde.
“Come along, Adalhaid. I don’t want to hear a word of protest. You
are spending the rest of the night with me, in my room at the
palace. It will be quiet there, for a surprising number of the
queen s ladies have left. I promise to tell you all the rumors
about that interesting situation.” Lady Madelgarde put an arm
around her friend and led her away.

The infirmary was silent. A few lamps here
and there threw flickering brightness onto the white walls and the
ceiling. The remaining patients were all asleep. Only Dominick’s
labored breathing and the distant voices of priests and lay
brothers chanting the first holy office of the new day broke the
stillness.

Gina continued to fan Dominick while holding
his hand. Slowly she lowered her head until her cheek rested on his
hand. The fan ceased to move. The arm she had been using to wave it
lay across Dominick’s abdomen. As her eyelids drifted shut, Gina’s
last waking thought was that all the wet cloths and fanning were
producing some effect, for the hand she was holding seemed a little
cooler.

Dominick drew a long, shuddering breath. Gina
came bolt upright, wide awake in an instant, her heart pounding in
fear.

“Gi... na.” Dominick’s voice was so weak she
almost didn’t hear it the first time he spoke. “Gina?”

“I’m here.” She fought back tears. Her
fingers on his forehead and his open eyes told her all she needed
to know, what she had hoped for since seeing him lying in the
square. “You’re awake. The fever has broken. You’re getting
better.”

“I’m cold.”

“Of course you are. We’ve been trying to cool
you off ever since sunset.”

“Thirsty ...” His eyelids began to close.

“Don’t you dare leave me again!” she cried.
“Stay awake, Dominick. I’ll find some water and a cup.”

After days of Gina’s repeated insistence on
the medicinal boiling of water, Brother Anselm had taken to keeping
a large, covered pitcher of it on a nearby table to use when
washing Dominick’s wound. There was also a bottle of wine, recently
opened and then re-corked to keep it clean and free of insects.
Gina mixed water and wine in a cup and held it to Dominick’s
lips.

“Weak,” he murmured, sipping.

“Do you mean yourself or the drink?” she
asked, trying to tease him when what she really wanted to do was
throw her arms around him and hold on tight while she bathed him in
tears of relief.

“Both,” he answered. “Cold, too. I dreamed I
was floating in an icy lake. Bed’s wet. Unmanly.” He sounded
thoroughly disgusted.

“Oh, it’s not that,” she said, torn between
laughter and weeping. “We’ve been keeping you wet to bring down the
fever. It worked, too. Your mattress is soaked, but it’s thanks to
us, not you, I promise. As soon as the singing stops, I’ll find
Brother Anselm and ask him to help me move you to a dry bed. Then
we’ll feed you.”

“No need to wait for the priests,” said a
familiar masculine voice. “I will move Dominick.”

Startled, Gina looked up into the blue eyes
of the king of the Franks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Charles said. “It’s a
recent affliction. I’m sure you understand the cause. I came to see
how Dominick is faring.”

“Well enough,” Dominick answered for himself
before Gina could speak. “I can stand up to walk to another bed.”
He made as if to rise, but then collapsed back against the
pillows.

“You look and sound as weak as a newborn
kitten,” Charles said to him. “I forbid you to try to get out of
bed on your own. Lady Gina, tell me exactly where the wound is, so
I don’t tear it open again when I lift him.”

“Let me dry him first,” Gina said, “and
prepare the bed next to this one.” She wasn’t going to raise any
protest about the king helping her to move Dominick. In her
opinion, Charles owed a serious debt to both of them.

Charles waited patiently while she uncovered
Dominick and used a towel on him. He was so thin, his muscles
wasted from dehydration and from days of lying in bed, and his
cheeks were pale as ashes above the blond beard that had grown
while he was too sick to shave. But he was awake, and, as far as
she could tell, he was in his right mind, so she wasn’t going to
worry about anything else for the moment.

The bed next to Dominick’s was made up with
clean sheets and a quilt, in case a patient arrived unexpectedly.
All Gina had to do was turn back the covers and pile up a few dry
pillows to keep Dominick’s head elevated. When she was ready
Charles lifted Dominick into his brawny arms as if the indomitable
warrior weighed no more than a baby and laid him down again with
great tenderness.

“What has happened to you is, in some
measure, my doing,” Charles said, looking down at Dominick while
Gina pulled up the quilt. “I give you my word, nothing like it will
ever happen again.”

There came the hurried sound of sandaled feet
entering the infirmary, and then a pair of gasps. Brother Anselm
and one of his assistants had arrived. Both men halted abruptly
when they recognized Charles.

“Sir,” exclaimed Brother Anselm, “I am
surprised to see you here.”

“It’s clear to me you’ve performed a blessed
service in your care of Dominick,” Charles said. “You and your
assistants have my deep thanks, Brother Anselm. I won’t forget what
you’ve done.

“Dominick,” Charles went on, turning back to
the man on the bed, “when you are feeling strong enough, Gina will
answer all your questions. I don’t want to tire you further, so
I’ll bid you a good night’s rest.”

“Good night, my lord,” said Brother Anselm,
looking somewhat flustered as Charles departed. “Lady Gina, what
has happened in my absence?”

“As you see, the fever broke, and Dominick is
awake. He complained of being cold, so we moved him to a dry
bed.”

“I am amazed and confounded,” said Brother
Anselm, shaking his head as he observed Dominick.

“Why should you be?” asked his assistant.
“Our prayers have been answered. Even as we knelt in the church,
praying for Count Dominick s recovery, he awakened. It’s a
miracle!”

“He won’t be awake for long if we don’t feed
him,” Gina said, afraid that all the priests and brothers would
come traipsing into the infirmary to have a look at the miracle man
and, by their well-meant but tiring attentions, drive Dominick back
into a state of unconsciousness.

“Broth,” said Brother Anselm, meeting Gina’s
warning look. “I recommend freshly boiled chicken broth, served in
a clean bowl.”

“I want meat,” Dominick said.

“Perhaps a bit of day-old bread crumbled into
the broth,” Brother Anselm suggested in a conciliatory way.

“Perfect,” Gina responded with a smile so
bright that both brothers blinked at her.

“Meat,” Dominick muttered.

“Broth,” Brother Anselm repeated, and he
departed for the kitchen to find some.

“Are you all deaf?” asked Dominick. “I want
meat!”

“That’s a sure sign of recovery,” said the
assistant brother. “Every man becomes difficult as soon as he
begins to feel better. If he tries to get out of bed or calls for
his sword, just yell for me, Lady Gina. I’ll be seeing to the other
patients.”

“I am not being difficult,” Dominick said.
“I’m just hungry.”

“You have been very sick,” Gina told him,
“and you will remain weak for some time yet, so do as Brother
Anselm advises. He’s a fine physician.”

“What happened to me?” Dominick asked. “I
know where I am, but why am I here?”

“We were attacked by Fastrada’s people,” Gina
began. Hoping to keep him lying quietly in bed, at least until
Brother Anselm returned, she told him all of it, including
Charles’s decision to keep Fastrada under what amounted to house
arrest, with her loyal attendants removed from court. She decided
the almost-empty infirmary was private enough to satisfy Charles’s
restrictions on repeating the sordid tale.

“Dominick, you saved my life,” Gina ended her
story. “You attacked a gigantic war horse with an eating knife. I
never imagined such bravery existed in this world.”

“Were you hurt?” he asked, holding her
fingers in a surprisingly tight grip.

“Only a minor wound that’s well on its way to
healing,” she said. “So are Lady Adalhaid and Harulf and Deacon
Fardulf all recovered. Assuming you recover completely, the only
lasting injury will be Charles’s broken heart – unless, after the
past few weeks, he finds that his heart was only bruised rather
badly, not broken beyond repair.”

“I want to go home,” Dominick said.

“Well, unless you are willing to travel
through the streets of Regensburg in a litter,” she told him,
knowing he would never consent to that mode of transportation, “you
will have to stay here in the infirmary for a few more days, until
we can build up your strength.”

“I mean, home to Feldbruck.”

“It will be quite a while before you are well
enough to make that long journey,” she said.

“If I were at Feldbruck, I’d recover more
quickly.”

“I’m sure you would. Getting you there is the
problem.”

“I want you beside me every night.”

“Oh, Dominick.” She was about to kiss him,
until she saw Brother Anselm approaching with a tray on which
rested a bowl of steaming broth and a chunk of bread.

Though he claimed to be hungry, Dominick was
able to swallow only a small amount of the broth before he fell
into a deep sleep.

“It’s natural slumber,” Brother Anselm
assured Gina when she expressed renewed concern. “He will recover
now; I’m sure of it. We will feed him each time he wakens.”

Gina remained with Dominick, holding his hand
and watching him sleep until Harulf arrived just after dawn to take
his shift of nursing his master.

“Don’t disturb him too much,” Gina instructed
after telling Harulf the good news. “Brother Anselm says he needs
to sleep.”

“So do you,” said Harulf, seeing her
yawn.

He had brought Eric, another of Dominick’s
men-at-arms, to escort her through the early-morning streets. Once
at home, Gina stripped off her gown, fell into bed, and slept until
Ella wakened her in late afternoon.

Dominick’s condition improved so rapidly that
no more than a single day passed before he was complaining about
being confined. Harulf got him out of bed and supported him as he
tried to walk about the infirmary. He walked a little farther each
day, wearing the tunic and trousers Harulf brought him, though he
still spent most of his time lying on his bed.

“Harulf is bringing another man-at-arms
tomorrow,” Dominick said to Gina one evening. “They will take turns
helping me. You won’t have to spend so many hours sitting
here.”

“I don’t mind sitting with you.”

“I mind it. The time has come for me to begin
working to regain my strength, and I will need men, not women, to
assist me.”