Free Bridle the Wind by Joan Aiken Page A

those bundles of mint for tisane.’
    â€˜Very well, father.’
    In five minutes he came back, nodding with satisfaction.
    â€˜Bien,
for the time you become my assistant. Go and find if that one up there is ready to receive nourishment.’
    It seemed that one was; for outside the door now reposed the basin of dirty water and a little pile of ragged soiled clothes. The clean clothes were gone. Feeling not unlike a servant at an inn, I took these down, emptied the water out of doors, and displayed the wretched garments to Father Pierre, who said, ‘Those are good for nothing but to be made into polishing rags. Tear them apart, then put them to steep in that copper there.’
    A great copper vat, filled with water and supported by brick pillars, hung suspended over a fire in a corner of the room. I plunged in the rags and,at Father Pierre’s direction, stirred all round with a long stick.
    â€˜That is well; now you may take the broth up to Juan.’
    He had poured it into a horn mug.
    â€˜Should he not have a piece of bread with it, father?’ I inquired.
    Father Pierre smiled at me very kindly.
    â€˜I can see that you will make a fine, thoughtful father of a family someday, Felix,
mon brave.
But no; after strangulation it is best that no solid food pass through the gullet for two days, or even three. There will be great bruising and inflammation, inside as well as outside. Soup, milk, and wine are all he should take.’
    I carried the mugful upstairs, tapped, called, and passed it through the crack of the door, which was opened just wide enough to receive it. How long would this last, I wondered? How long before Juan trusted us sufficiently to come out? And then I wondered how I myself would feel if, not much more than one hour before, I had been hung up by enemies and left to die.
    â€˜There is milk and wine after the soup, if you wish,’ I called, and went back to help Father Pierre chop his herbs. Then the bell rang for Sext, and we had to leave the infirmary.
    â€˜Suppose Juan grows frightened and tries to run away?’ I asked.
    â€˜I will lock the door below, so that no one can get in. Tell him this, and that we shall return after None. But he may well be asleep already.’
    I went up and called the information through the door, but received no reply. Father Pierre chuckled, on hearing this.
    â€˜I put a little poppy juice into the broth; he will sleep sound as a squirrel for many hours. Sleep is his greatest need.’
    Sure enough, when we returned later, the patient was still in a deep slumber. Soft, even breathing could be heard, and, through the crack in the door, nothing of him showed but a tuft of dark hair on the pillow. He slept on, and this was lucky for him, as Father Vespasian sent for Father Pierre and expressed his intention to visit the boy as soon as he was awake and sensible. For, the Abbot said, the healing power in his hands would probably be more beneficial than Father Pierre’s medicines.
    Father Pierre promised to send word as soon as the boy awoke.
    Meanwhile, after Compline, he told me that I had better make myself up a pallet outside that closed door, in case Juan should rouse in the night and be frightened.
    â€˜He has taken food and clothes from you; he trusts you so far; you had best be the one nearest to him. I will be downstairs, and you can call me at need. I excuse you from Night Office and Lauds.’
    This was lucky, as it proved, for Juan did wake while the monks were all in the chapel at their night orisons. I heard a most pitiful sobbing from the small room, which woke me from my shallow slumber. Trying the door, I found that it would notbudge, so called, ‘Juan! Juan! It is Felix! What ails you? Can I fetch you a hot drink, or more covers?’
    I heard a sniffing and gulping inside the door, then a hesitant whisper:
    â€˜F-Felix?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜May I have a hot drink? My throat is so