Chapter 11

Katherine, there is one thing on which I must insist. I will thank you not to lead me a merry chase over hill and dale... and riding astride! Damn it, you are a woman! Women are supposed to ride palfreys, not stallions! And they are not supposed to be able to handle the animals the way you do. You go into the barn and the damned horses — the stallions, yet! — go wild. What do you do with them? You nuzzle them, whisper to them, and giggle when they whinny! Katherine, damn it, you must tell me true: Do you actually talk to them? Do they really communicate with you? I strongly suspect that they do.

Why? Well, I suppose I start off at a substantial disadvantage since I weigh 200 pounds and you weigh a scant 120! But you take unfair advantage! And blast it! It's... it's not dignified for me to be chasing you vainly around the whole kingdom... And if your cunt did not usually betray you and cause you to rein in your mount, I don't know what I would do...

Of course what happened a couple of weeks ago was the living, breathing end! For a change, you were riding a filly instead of a stallion. I was on Satan... but why was the filly named Satana, do you suppose? Of course both are coal-black with those marvelous blue overtones. Anyway, you led me a merry chase. If Satan hadn't sensed that Satana was coming into heat, I don't know what would have happened. But never have I seen two horses having more fun than our two did. And Satana! Not quite four years old, and an incredibly beauty. To see the two of them together...

At any rate, I barely kept you in sight until we come to that terribly isolated farmhouse. Looking around I saw signs of very recent neglect, as did you. Dismounting, I noticed how carefully you removed all of Satana's tack, quickly but thoroughly rubbed her down, then let her out to run free in the pasture. I followed suit with Satan. From the way he chased after her, it looked like the horses, at least, would have some fun.

I saw your eyes flare just before we tried the door and let ourselves in. Clearly you were expecting to find something unpleasant and we certainly did! The stench in the house was unreal. Mixed odors of vomit, urine, feces, and — I shuddered when I caught it — just a hint of the sickly-sweet odor of gangrene.

We began our exploration and quickly found the problems. The man of the house — the farmer — was the source of the gangrenous stench. Apparently he had hit his leg with an ax and the cut was badly infected. The poor guy was delirious. Going further we found a children's room and nursery. The mother was unconscious on the floor while two small children and an infant were unconscious, also, if they were still alive. This was where the odors of vomit, urine, and feces were concentrated. Finally, in another room we found a young girl of about twelve, also unconscious. And what does my darling do? She immediately starts scrounging around, finds cleaning supplies, and begins to clean up the filth.

While this is going on, I was exploring, too. To my surprise and pleasure I found a thoroughly moldy loaf of bread. For some reason — someone had been about to make sandwiches? — the loaf had been sliced lengthwise and then left. Mold covered the exposed surfaces. Taking one half, I returned upstairs and wrapped the loaf, mold side down, against the farmer's fearfully infected leg. I had heard somewhere that there is something in certain kinds of mold that kills infection. Having no clue what kind of mold it was, all I could do was use the only moldy surface we had — and pray.

Finishing that task, I came to your aid and took over the cleaning chores. As soon as I do, you disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Awhile later I smell the odor of chicken soup cooking. Despite the cold, we opened windows after bundling the now-clean people to clear some of the noxious odors. The fresh air alone seems to bring the hint of a smile to several unconscious faces.