Blood Harvest (2 page)

“I don’t like this. How in God’s name are they in England in the first place?”

“I don’t know M’Lord.” William brought up one hand in which he held a particularly long and wicked looking butcher’s knife. “Shall I dispatch them for you?”

Alphonso quickly placed a hand on William’s wrist and lowered the blade. “If he is only here with four guards then it is likely he is here to talk.”

William looked skeptical, but shrugged his shoulders and sheathed the knife into a makeshift scabbard attached to the rear of his belt.

“See to things here while I meet with our guest. Did the gentleman give his name?”

“Yes sir. He said his name was Don Leon Amonbagada.”

“All right, help Abigail get this girl upstairs and see to it that both she and her treatment are undisturbed.”

The tone of voice Alphonso used set William into motion and he immediately untied the girl, lifted her effortlessly over one of his large shoulders and carried her upstairs.

Alphonso hurried downstairs to his receiving room, but stopped short of the parlor doors and composed himself with a deep breath before turning the doorknob and entering the room.

“Gentlemen!” Alphonso said warmly, “So good to see you.”

The guards immediately turned toward Alphonso each with a hand over the grip of their swords; the Inquisitor sat calmly in one of the large leather chairs and made no attempts to rise.

“Ah, Alphonso Diemo, the Comte De Navarre himself. I see there is no rest for you this evening. I do hope that my unannounced visit does not put you out.”

“My home is always welcome to receive such vaunted guests as your selves.” Alphonso inclined his head in a polite nod appropriate in such a casual setting as opposed to the more formal bow that would have been proper on a more formal occasion.

The Inquisitor inclined his head, but to a far less degree, which was highly inappropriate for a guest in another man’s home, regardless of how casual the occasion might be. Silence filled the room as the Inquisitor and his guards seemed to assess Alphonso and his reaction to the blatant insult.

Alphonso stood to his full height of six and a half feet, pulled his long hair off of his ears and let it fall to the middle of his back. Then he looked the Inquisitor directly in the eyes and his voice lost any pretense of hospitality as he said, “You honor me with your presence; however, I am very busy tonight. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain how I can be of service?”

The chill in Alphonso’s voice accompanied with his intimidating countenance made the guards step back in apprehension. Alphonso had expected the Inquisitor to hesitate as well; however, the man jovially rose up from the chair and bowed deeply to Alphonso. When his head came up out of the bow he was wearing a smile across his face.

“Forgive me Sire, I tend to forget myself when out of Spain. I am here only to request your help and would be horrified if I were to offend you when I so desperately need your aid.”

Alphonso was taken aback by the rapid change in the Inquisitor’s demeanor and his entire body relaxed ever so slightly at the Inquisitor’s words.

“Count Diemo, we have traveled a great…” Don Leon’s words caught in his throat as he looked past the open parlor door and into the great hall where so many people lay suffering and dying.

“Are…are they all suffering the Sweating Sickness?” Don Leon asked nervously.

Alphonso turned to see the door ajar. “Ah, yes. We call it the English Sweate; however, I believe it has crossed the ocean to France and Spain this time around.”

Terror covered the Inquisitor’s face as he spoke. “My dear sir, would it be possible for us to speak outside of your home? I fear that I have not been blessed with the capacity for enduring the ill.”

Alphonso didn’t relish the idea of going anywhere with the Inquisitor alone. On the other hand it would get them out of his home and away from William before his aide decided to act on his earlier murderous intent.

“Very well gentlemen, after you.”

The group walked out the front doors and down the cobbled path leading to the street. Once on the street the guards all picked up torches from where they had apparently left them on the ground as they had arrived. They ignited them by striking flint stones and the oil soaked rags around the tips of the torches immediately caught and illuminated the street as they walked.

When they had traveled a few paces away from Alphonso’s home and makeshift hospital the Inquisitor said, “I appreciate your understanding.”

Alphonso thought the man looked genuinely relieved to be out of the immediate presence of the ill, as did his guards.

“My honor, sir; now, can we discuss what brought you to my door in the first place?”

“Of course. As you so aptly said moments ago, the Sweating Sickness has indeed crossed the ocean from England to Spain and I have a few questions that I would like to ask of you regarding the illness.”

Alphonso nodded. “Certainly, but that does not explain why you sought me out. After all there are numerous doctors in England that you could speak with, not to mention the fact that the Church has officially frowned on those in my profession for a great deal of time now.”

“Indeed it is as you say. There are several doctors around London, some of whom have direct ties with the Holy Father himself we could have contacted; however, from the journals provided to my office by your King Henry it would appear you are the only person in all of England, perhaps in all of Christendom, that has any…ah…experience with the plague, the only one still alive in any case.”

Alphonso’s blood chilled at the thought that King Henry might be acting in collusion with these Spaniards. Alphonso had always enjoyed the protection of the throne of England ever since he had done an investigation into the death of the prior King Henry’s son.

“True, the illness had come around twice before but was particularly devastating in 1485; it had hastily taken the lives of a multitude of individuals. At the time King Richard had gathered nearly one hundred physicians to search for a cure for the malady.”

The Inquisitor paused to look directly into Alphonso’s amber-yellow eyes. “As I recall there were one hundred physicians…and one barber.” The Inquisitor paused and watched for any reaction from Alphonso. When none came he continued, “This journal mentioned you by name as having been the only one of those enlisted able to move freely among the ill, with no fear of the sickness, while all others who came into contact with the sick became sick themselves. Any and all of the physicians who tried to emulate your ability to move amongst the ill perished after only a few days. How is it you were able to remain steadfast while all your counterparts succumbed?”

Alphonso remembered the time the Inquisitor spoke of vividly. “Indeed the plague was extremely virulent at the time and often would kill its victim mere hours after the first manifestations of the disease. Then, only a few months after it began, the disease seemed to disappear on a grand scale with only a few cases being spoken of per year since that time. Even now, years later, no cause or cure has ever been found.

“As far as your question is concerned regarding my apparent immunity, the ability for a healer not to become ill around the sick is simply a trait which all in our profession share to some degree; apparently it is a trait stronger in me than in most.”

The Inquisitor’s gaze never veered from Alphonso’s, but his body shifted uncomfortably as if he knew that Alphonso was holding something back.

“Either you are a wonderful liar or you’ve only told me part of the truth.”

Alphonso’s face was a mask of stone as the Inquisitor continued to study him looking for any telltale signs of deceit. After nearly a minute the Inquisitor seemed to deflate as he spoke again.

“Count Diemo, this Sweating Sickness has traveled to France and Spain as you have said and your presence has been requested by both countries to assist their physicians in an effort to stem the tide of the disease. My King Ferdinand has already petitioned Henry VIII of England to have you taken directly to Spain.” With that the Inquisitor produced a parchment from his belt and held it out to Alphonso.

“I would assume these are the King’s commands for me to travel to Spain with you?”

“Something like that.”

As Alphonso looked down to the parchment and read the words written across the page he didn’t notice that the guards had quietly moved from their positions around the Inquisitor in order to block the path in both accessible directions.

Then shock and disbelief registered on Alphonso’s face as he read. “This…this cannot be right! This is an arrest warrant!”

Suddenly the guards to the rear grabbed Alphonso’s arms and held him fast while the remaining two drew their swords and placed the tips at his throat. The Inquisitor sauntered around his men to face Alphonso.

“Corrupt heathen, did you think that it would go unnoticed that of all those physicians employed to treat the disease only you survived? The Holy Father in Rome and King Ferdinand agree that this plague has been set upon us by Lucifer to strike down God’s most devout. Clearly you and all of those in your household are in league with the Dark Lord for you to have survived. Well your reign has ended demon, for you and your lot. Even now the faithful are moving en masse to your doorstep to purge your presence from their city.”

The Inquisitor inclined his head in the direction of Alphonso’s home where an orange glow from multiple torches burned an incandescent aura in the night sky. Alphonso felt the sword tips lower from his neck as the Inquisitor moved in even more closely. He was about to say something when he felt an explosion in his chest.

The Inquisitor sneered as he felt his dagger slide between Alphonso’s ribs. “I was supposed to arrest all of you and put you on trial in Barcelona, but I think we both know what your fate will be once we reach Spain. I would prefer to keep the gold which would have needed to be spent in order to feed you and yours on the voyage home.”

The guards released Alphonso’s arms and allowed his body to fall to the road in a lifeless heap.

Chapter 2

“I cannot allow you to enter as the Master is not at home.” William’s voice was hard as he faced down the mob that had gathered suddenly outside the house. Almost one hundred of the Inquisitor’s followers had arrived at the doorstep a few moments prior and appeared as though they might force their way in until William had suddenly swung the front door open and placed his enormous frame in between the entrance and the people outside. William knew no one was going to want to be the first to rush at him and he used the intimidation to momentarily stifle the hostility. He also knew it wouldn’t last, but it might give him a few moments to evacuate the staff. “Now I would thank you to leave us to our work. We have many suffering….”

The closest and most vocal of the mob stepped forward and spoke commandingly to William: “You will grant us entrance to this residence immediately or we shall force our way in and burn the building down around you.”

William hesitated, looking out on all of the faces that stood before him, many of whom had previously received treatment and been healed by Master Diemo. The betrayal from such previous “friends” was heartbreaking and all William could do was shake his head in disgust.

He looked the speaker right in the eyes. “Give me a moment and I will give you what you ask.”

The speaker tried to respond, but William shut the door in the man’s face. Quickly, William moved to a fireplace, picked up a hatchet from a block and made his way into the cellar. The barrels lined neatly across the floor contained a combination of oil of roses and turpentine. William knew that, if this mixture was combined in the right proportion with fresh egg yolks, then an incredibly effective healing poultice for open wounds would be created.

William also knew that in its current state the mixture was highly flammable. Moving to the barrel closest to the door he swung the hatchet in a wide arc, shattering the wood at its midpoint. Spray exploded from the rupture and saturated everything in the room as the mixture gushed from the broken slats of the barrel. He then proceeded back up the stairs to the parlor where other staff members tended the sick. William beckoned one nurse over and spoke in whispers.

“How many patients are still alive?”

“Of the eight we were trying to save only three remain and I don’t think they will last more than a few hours.”

“Is there any chance of saving them?”

“You know how lethal the sickness has been this time around. No, I fear they will be gone before long.”

William nodded. “What I am about to ask of you, it may seem contrary to what we have always practiced. However, I believe it is the only solution open to us if we are to survive this night.”

When William told the woman what he had planned the woman’s face lost all of its color.

“But…but how will any of us survive?”

“There are horses waiting at the livery, use the back stairs and escape with the rest of the staff. Make your way to the Dover house and gather all you can. Hopefully the Master will see my signal and be warned away. He will make his way to Dover as well. That has always been the plan should we ever find ourselves in such a dire situation.”

Tears began to well in the woman’s eyes. “And you?”