Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,70
had to be the flu. What was the treatment for the flu? Antivirals, rest, fluids.
Well then, rest, she told herself, and closed her eyes.
She did not remember falling asleep, but she must have, because the two women were in the room again, talking, and Kivrin had no memory of their having come in.
“What said Gawyn?” the old woman said. She was doing something with a bowl and a spoon, mashing the spoon against the side of it. The iron-bound casket sat open beside her, and she reached into it, pulled out a small cloth bag, sprinkled the contents into the bowl, and stirred it again.
“He found naught among her belongings that might tell us the lady’s origins. Her goods had all been stolen, the chests broken open and emptied of all that might identify her. But he said her wagon was of rich make. Certes, she is of good family.”
“And certes, her family searches for her,” the old woman said. She had set down the bowl and was tearing cloth with a loud ripping sound. “We must send to Oxenford and tell them she lies safe with us.”
“No,” Eliwys said, and Kivrin could hear the resistance in her voice. “Not to Oxenford.”
“What have you heard?”
“I have heard naught,” Eliwys said, “but that my lord bade us keep here. He will be here within the week if all goes well.”
“If all had gone well he would have been here now.”
“The trial had scarce begun. Mayhap he is on his way home even now.”
“Or mayhap …” another one of those untranslatable names, Torquil? “waits to be hanged, and my son with him. He should not have meddled in such a matter.”
“He is a friend, and guiltless of the charges.”
“He is a fool, and my son more fool for testifying on his behalf. A friend would have bade him leave Bath.” She ground the spoon into the side of the bowl again. “I have need of mustard for this,” she said and stepped to the door. “Maisry!” she called, and went back to tearing the cloth. “Found Gawyn aught of the lady’s attendants?”
Eliwys sat down on the window seat. “No, nor of their horses nor hers.”
A girl with a pocked face and greasy hair hanging over it came in. Surely this couldn’t be Maisry, who dallied with stableboys instead of watching her charges. She bent her knee in a curtsy that was more of a stumble and said, “Wotwardstu, Lawttymayeen?”
Oh, no, Kivrin thought. What’s wrong with the interpreter now?
“Fetch me the pot of mustard from the kitchen and tarry not,” the old woman said, and the girl started for the door. “Where are Agnes and Rosemund? Why are they not with you?”
“Shiyrouthamay,” she said sullenly.
Eliwys stood up. “Speak up,” she said sharply.
“They hide (something) from me.”
It wasn’t the interpreter after all. It was simply the difference of the Norman English the nobles spoke and the still Saxon-sounding dialect of the peasants, neither of which sounded anything like the Middle English Mr. Latimer had blithely taught her. It was a wonder the interpreter was picking up anything at all.
“I was seeking them when Lady Imeyne called, good lady,” Maisry said, and the interpreter got it all, though it was taking several seconds. It gave an imbecilic slowness to Maisry’s speech, which might or might not be appropriate.
“Where did you look for them? In the stable?” Eliwys said, and brought her hands together on either side of Maisry’s head like a pair of cymbals. Maisry howled and clapped a dirty hand to her left ear. Kivrin shrank back against the pillows.
“Go and fetch the mustard to Lady Imeyne and find you Agnes.”
Maisry nodded, not looking particularly frightened but still holding her ear. She stumbled another curtsy and went out no more quickly than she had come in. She seemed less upset by the sudden violence than Kivrin was, and Kivrin wondered if Lady Imeyne would get her mustard anytime soon.
It was the swiftness and the calmness of the violence that had surprised her. Eliwys had not even seemed angry, and as soon as Maisry was gone she went back to the window seat, sat down, and said quietly, “The lady could not be moved though her family did come. She can bide with us until my husband returns. He will be here by Christmas surely.”
There was noise on the stairs. Apparently she had been wrong, Kivrin thought, and the ear boxing had done some good. Agnes rushed in, clutching something to her chest.