Chapters:

Chapter 1

  1. March, 1349

The stench of rotten meat heralded the two men who pushed a rickety cart stacked high with corpses. The rhythmic squeak of the death cart's wheels interrupted London's silent midnight. Nearly all of the bodies bore the telltale black rings encircling swollen, red lumps on their necks and armpits, others had blood caked at the corners of their mouths.

William sat in his kitchen and gazed through the broken wooden shutter to the street below. The chill of the early spring night slithered inside and sent a shiver through him. He’d seen the same two men at the same loathsome chore that morning, but the misty moonlit night created a more macabre scene.

As the cart rolled by, it hit a loose stone and one of the corpses flopped off the cart. The gray-skinned woman hit the ground. Her milky eyes caught William’s in a morbid gaze. He shuddered and let out a gasp. One of the men hobbled over and hoisted the woman back onto the cart, mumbling something William couldn’t make out.

Pestilence had laid itself upon the land like a death shroud. Young, old, men, women, children, pious, faithless. . . Death had diminished each. Some believed it to be the Wrath of God. Others believed that hell had broken loose on earth.

Neither option swayed William. His only concern was to keep his wife and daughter untouched by this awful scourge. He’d spent many sleepless nights in the same wooden chair making plans to move them to the countryside where the plague seemed to have a less devastating effect, but his trade as a chandler, making candles for churches and other merchants had kept them chained to London.

This night, his worries had haunted his sleep and he had been rattled awake by a nightmare. The remnants of the dream floated away like strands of a spider web in the breeze. He grasped at the fading images, but all he caught hold of were a strange star symbol, and his wife and daughter, cold and lifeless. Comforted by Lillian’s warm cheek against his lips, he had relaxed somewhat and gone to sit alone by the window.

But now, as he stared down at the death cart, his doubts gnawed at him once again. Among the corpses was a small, dimpled gray hand with tiny fingers like those of his cherubic three-year-old daughter, Catherine.

His decision was made.

“Commerce be damned. What good is a trade in candle making or anything at all, if they are dead,” William muttered. “We must leave this place…tonight.” Lillian would think him a fool, but he feared they had already waited too long.

He’d taken but two steps when the edges of his vision blurred and grayed. He rubbed his eyes, but darkness claimed his site. A tremor traveled from his feet up through his body. His hands shook and his legs buckled. Blind and terrified, William reached out for something to steady himself, but all he did topple over a kitchen chair. He opened his mouth to call for his wife, but nothing came out and soon his body wouldn’t move at all.

A massive burst of blinding, white light exploded into the blackness. The radiant light pulled William forward slowly at first and then accelerated with intense speed, the likes of which he’d never experienced. He soared over a vast expanse of land. Trees and plants bloomed, burst with new life, then blended with others in the glory of summer. He flew faster and the land before him faded into autumn, the browns and oranges eventually surrendering to the cold death of winter.

The cycle repeated and the vision expanded to include animals and humans, being born, living and dying, then a new group of living beings, being born, living and dying.

The scenes that played before him seemed familiar. He knew the people he saw, but didn’t know how. A baby boy being born, then a beggar man dying in his sleep. A young girl morphed into a woman at the gallows. Each person he saw their birth, life and death, faster and faster until, he saw his own mother and father kiss at their wedding. He saw his own birth, then short scenes from his life with his wife and daughter and then...

Darkness.

For a brief moment, a four pointed star enclosed in a circle drifted like a ghost into his vision and then vanished.

“William!” Lillian’s voice pierced the emptiness. William’s eyes fluttered open and he was back in his home. Disoriented, like waking from a dream, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered toward the sound of his wife’s panicked voice.

“What’s wrong, dear?” His entire body shook as he squinted in the dim candle light, and wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve. Lillian sat on the bed, their daughter clutched to her. His legs threatened to fail again as he saw that his little girl’s neck was swollen to nearly the width of her head and was covered with huge red lumps encircled by black rings.

“Dear God,” he whispered.

“Papa,” the girl murmured and held her arms out. William lifted the girl into his arms. Her tiny body was on fire.

Lillian stood and peered up at William. Her fathomless eyes silently begged him to make this not be true. Her face went red and her eyes welled with tears. “Oh God, William. She can’t…we can’t lose her.”

“I’ll fetch the apothecary.” He placed his daughter back in his wife’s arms and left their home. Almost tripping as he ran down the staircase into his workshop, he held himself steady against the wall until he reached the landing. He sprinted into the cold night air and to the apothecary shop.

As expected at that late hour, the apothecary was closed. He grabbed a stone from the ground and drew his hand back to throw it at the shuttered window and rouse the spicer, but someone grabbed his wrist and spun him around. William pulled out of the man’s grasp and pressed his back against the door. “Who are you?”

He expected the man to start the hue and cry, but rather he said, “Come with me.” His face was concealed in shadow except for his amber eyes, which glowed in the darkness.

“No!” William said. “Please, I’m running out of time.”

“So are we!” He reached for William’s arm.

“My daughter,” William, still holding the stone, raised it and aimed at the man although he was sure it wasn’t much of a defense. “I must save my daughter.”

Understanding flashed in the man’s eyes, and then his expression shifted to reluctant defeat. “Do what you must, William.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Just do what you must.” The man kicked open apothecary door before he backed away down the street. His dark clothing melted into the shadows making him disappear as suddenly as he had appeared.

William dashed into the shop. In the darkness, he fumbled over containers of various herbs and remedies that lined the dusty shelves. He opened several bottles and jars, smelling their contents. Ginger, rosemary, butterbur, he’d heard the spicer recommending these to someone whose husband had fallen ill, perhaps they would work. As he raced home, he admonished himself for putting his family in this situation. They should have left London months ago, and now his indecision might cost him far more than he could bear to pay.

When he returned home, he found Lillian in their bed. Catherine was curled up in her mother’s lap, glassy eyes fixed on Lillian’s face. William thought the worst until Catherine shifted her gaze to him. “Papa,” she murmured.

“I got you some medicine, love.” He kissed his daughter and tried to smile even as the dark thought that the medicine might not work pulled at his mind. Lillian gently laid Catherine down. William stoked the kitchen fire and gave the bottles of herbs to his wife.

Lillian measured out the different herbs and poured hot water over them. The mingling scents of sweet butterbur and pungent ginger. When the infusion was ready, she strained it through cheesecloth and into a cup. She worked as if she’d done this for a thousand lifetimes. “If nothing else, this should help her stop coughing and calm her a bit.”

By daybreak, her coughing had decreased, but her breathing was ragged, her body listless. William and Lillian took turns holding her and wiping her fevered skin with a cool cloth. Lillian applied boiled onion poultices to the buboes, but with no effect. When they weren’t tending to Catherine, they knelt by the bedside and begged God for a miracle.

As evening settled, Catherine’s normally creamy complexion faded to gray as her life dwindled.

“Come now, love. Drink some more. You’ll feel better.” He cradled Catherine and held a cup to her lips, but she couldn’t swallow. She was so young. This horrible thing could not be happening to her. Not to his daughter. The pain of knowing that Catherine would never see her fourth birthday, would never fall in love, would never know the beauty and pain that was being a parent swirled through him like a storm.

The little girl reached toward her mother in a plea to be held. William understood her need for Lillian’s touch. It was as if instinct told her that her mother had safely guided her into this world and she wanted to be with that same nurturing woman when she left. He understood. William couldn’t think of anybody else he’d want by his side when he faced his own end.

Catherine’s sleepy gaze shifted between her two parents. “Mummy. . .sing.”

Lillian glanced wearily at her husband before she put her shaky voice to the lullaby she’d sung to her daughter from the day she was born. Catherine mouthed the words along with her mother as a faraway look overtook her tiny features.

Her lips stopped moving.

When the last breath of life escaped Catherine, Lillian broke. She crushed the girl to her and released her grief keening wails. William wrapped his arms around the two of them and still in shock, still not quite believing she was gone.

When Lillian had cried herself hoarse, she cleaned Catherine’s lifeless body. The grime that had clung to her was gone, but the ringed prick marks of the plague remained. Fumbling to tuck Catherine’s stiffening arm into a shirtsleeve, Lillian collapsed. She let out a soft cry then covered her face with her hands. William went to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“She would never sit still for me to dress her.” Tears streamed down her face. William kissed his wife’s temple; it was all the comfort he could give.

When Catherine was dressed all in white, like an angel, Lillian tenderly brushed the girl’s blond hair until it was smooth. When the ritual was over, it was well past midnight.

In less than a day’s time, their small home, usually filled with their daughter’s laughter and other joyful noises, was silent. The lifeless gray of Catherine’s body seemed to bleed throughout their home, coating it in grim stillness. Not knowing what else to or having the will to do it, William and Lillian sat with the girl until morning.

At daybreak, William set off alone to bury his dead. The sky seemed to be more drab and leaden than usual. The clouds hung low and threatened to rain, but did not. The very earth itself stank of death and decay.

When he returned from his morose errand, he found Lillian sitting by the hearth fire, one of Catherine’s dresses clutched in her hands, unable to surrender it to the flames.

They sought solace in the church the next day, but it did little to soothe their aching souls. All that Father Nicholas said contradicted the reality of what was happening. Their “loving and benevolent God” seemed determined to wipe out most of Europe. Their so-called “Creator” had just destroyed their only child.

As downcast as when they’d left for church, William and Lillian returned home.

“What do we do now?” Lillian asked as she pulled her black scarf from her head.

“We leave. We should have left months ago.” William tugged at the collar of his shirt, then went to their chest of drawers, yanked out and dumped the sparse contents of each drawer onto their bed.

Lillian stared at him, a deep line furrowing her brow. “All of Europe seems to be consumed by this horror. I know that we’ve heard it’s less prevalent in the countryside, but we’re not farmers, William. Our entire existence is tied to this city.”

“We’re not going to have an existence if we stay! I won’t lose you knowing that I could have done something about it.”

Lillian moved closer to her husband and grasped his arm. “My love, there’s nothing you could have done for her. Do you blame me because I couldn’t save her?”

“Of course not!” He took her hands in his and ran his thumb over the wedding band around her finger. “You did the only thing you could do. But it’s because we are still here, that we are in this situation.” He pulled away from her and shoved their clothes into a sack.

She grabbed his arm once again, pulled the clothes out of his hands. “William, it’s not your fault.”

He struggled with his urge to flee and with his wife’s pleas to stay. There were gray hairs he’d never noticed interspersed with her soft brown locks. The fear that was etched into her normally cheerful and lovely features tore at his heart.

“We have nowhere to go, my love,” she whispered.

She was right, but the burning need to escape was not dampened by her truth. Leaving London still seemed like the only thing to do. But as he peered again at his wife’s careworn face, at this small home they’d shared for nearly four years of marriage, he knew he had to stay – for her. This place was all they knew and though danger surrounded them like hungry shadows, there was comfort and safety in the familiarity of their humble life.

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. “We’ll stay for now.”

“Thank you,” she whispered as they held each other and cried.

#

At sunrise, William woke to find Lillian’s side of the bed empty. He groggily got to his feet as a hacking cough roused him from the last hold of slumber. He dashed toward the alarming sound. Lillian stood near the kitchen fire, her throat swollen and distorted with red lumps. The air shifted. William's mind spun.

She put her hands up to keep him at a distance. “William, please. We knew this might happen. This sickness has taken our friends – you’ve seen them die. One person gets it, then another, then another.”

“I won’t lose you!” He rummaged through the vials and bottles he’d pilfered from the apothecary. “Something has to work. Why would God let spread a disease that has no cure?”

“If there was a cure,” she whispered. “Then the dead carts would be empty.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 2