Chapter 6: Lockdown

(Sir Will Archer, Shire Reeve of Bartown, narrates)

When I arrive at the Castle in Bartown, it is well into the night, and I am alone. My companion, the poor lad Dick, who was sent as messenger to fetch me from Wellock Brigga, had fallen sick just afore it grew dark. I had let him ride far behind me when we first set out but soon after we left, I deemed this completely pointless; I was already determined to enter the town and from there unto the Castle shortly after arrival, so whatever this sickness was, and it sounded to me like a mortal combination of the Bad Air and the Bloody Flux, I was going to be exposed to its evil ere long.

I instructed Dick to wear a kerchief tied around the back of his head, completely covering his nose and mouth, and I wore one too, as I was sure that I would pick up the sickness soon. Being only a young man, who wanted more than anything to be a marching soldier, he obeyed his Reeve without question and wore it all day, only moving it up out of the way when he was ill with the flux, which he became not halfway through the day.

I remembered all too clearly during my time spent in armies of war, marching or training for the fight in France and its duchies. That which they called the Mal Aria could be spread by breathing in the bad smells of sickness. We had this in England, particularly in Kent County and Sussex, especially where the land was marshy and warmed in the Summer, but it was always naught but a mild ailment in our part of the kingdom of England and Normandy. The version found deeper in France was different, nastier and it killed men that hadn’t caught it before. Where it didn’t kill outright, it often afflicted people from time to time throughout their lives even after they returned to England. The ailment affected a number of the army archery sections I was in. But early on, a wise old archer sergeant swore to me that he had always avoided the bad humours by covering up his nose and mouth, and doing the self same to those who were ill with the ague. He may have sworn by it, but in my experience it was only partially effective. I believe it was because man is naturally cantankerous and wilful, and will remove anything if in discomfort, even when under pain of a whipping, thus passing the ailment on, unless vigorous in sheathing mouth and nose.

We had ridden together most of the day, without stopping at inns, and skirting villages where there were alternative paths that allowed us to miss the centres of population. Dick laughed at my deliberations, even through his mask, pointing out that he had simply ridden through them on his way to catch us at Wellock, without a thought that he might be carrying the infection to the innocent.

He was soon exhausted. Although he had stopped and slept by the roadside the previous night, because the road was unknown to him, he really had no idea how far away from Wellock he actually was. In fact he was only a couple of leagues away, and had barely wiped the sleep from his eyes or worked up a sweat to warm his chilled bones before he met with Robin, shortly after the arrival of dawn.

Poor Dick was almost asleep on his horse by late in the afternoon, before he felt too sick to ride on any more and couldn’t go on. He was giddy and faint, having carried an ache in his head for a while, he admitted, and we had found over the past league that he had to stop frequently, both through vomiting and shitting. I was worried for him, he was shivering so with chills, yet burning up to the touch. We were running low on water, with scarce a chance to stop anywhere to fill up. We gave up travelling together as he was slowing me down too much. I made him comfortable by the side of the road, with a tree at his back and my dagger for protection. I left him with the only skin of water remaining and covered his fever-shivering body by my thick woollen cloak.

As soon as I arrive at the Castle, I send off three fit men of the night guard to fetch Dick back in a two-wheeled cart.

I find I am desperate in need of sleep too, but cannot rest before finding out the lie of the land with this evil affliction and discover how mighty a foe it will be to combat. Jack Moor, my clerk, who I had given licence by signed instruction to take care of the county in my temporary leave of absence, is himself laid low by the sickness, his throat inflamed and voice so croaky that he can barely talk above a breathy whisper. About his tiny chamber in the cold stone Castle hangs a thick fug of bad air, his fire in the grate so hot that it burns the very air we need to breathe. I open up the shutters on his window, to let that bad air out and the fresh air in. He immediately complains of the draught with hacking coughs, which cheers me up somewhat. I have long learned that his complaints are often plentiful and inventive, and usually of long duration, so I take heart that he has not given up hope of surviving and may well be on the mend.

In my office I carefully read Jack’s meticulous notes by the guttering candle light, I too having opened the shutters to let the cool evening air circulate around me. He logs, in an increasingly hasty hand, lists of who fell sick on each day and what street they lived in, and whether they grew well or faded and died. So far no-one had gotten well in the six days since the illness first started.

I do not know everyone in the town, but I know the rows of streets in it well enough. Those near the river on the west side of town were most affected, while those on the hill in the north east the least. Those few hill dwellers that were sick, including one old tailor who had died, Jack had noted that they were vendors who had their workshops or market stalls on the edge of Riverside.

I wonder, does the illness travel upon or within the water? If the sickness was in the air, as most of us are led by physicians to believe, why does it not rise to the top of the hill to make more of those people fall ill? I give this quandary some thought and come to one conclusion, though I have no idea if it is the right one or not. I am pleased that my thoughts lead to action though, as action is always preferred by me. Simply surrendering to any enemy, even one impossible to see by eye, has never ever occurred to me before and cannot be countenanced now.