"There is none to play with me," Agnes said. "Mother has gone and Rosemund still sleeps."

"Your mother has only gone out for water," she said firmly. "Where is your grandmother?"

"Praying." She reached for Kivrin's skirt, and Kivrin jerked back.

"You must not touch me," she said sharply.

Agnes's face puckered into a pout. "Why are you wroth with me?"

"I'm not angry with you," Kivrin said, more gently. "But you can't come in. The clerk is very ill, and all who come close to him may…" there was no hope of explaining contagion to Agnes, "…may fall ill, too."

"Will he die?" Agnes said, trying to see around the door.

"I fear so."

"Will you?"

"No," she said, and realized she was no longer frightened. "Rosemund will waken soon. Ask her to tell you a story."

"Will Father Roche die?"

"No. Go and play with your cart till Rosemund wakes."

"Will you tell me a story after the clerk is dead?"

"Aye. Go downstairs."

Agnes went reluctantly down three steps, holding onto the wall. "Will we all die?" she asked.

"Nay," Kivrin said. Not if I can help it. She shut the door and leaned against it.

The clerk still lay unseeing and unaware, his whole being turned inward to the struggle with an enemy his immune system had never seen before, had no defenses against.

The knocking came again. "Go downstairs, Agnes," Kivrin said, but it was Roche, carrying the bowl of broth he had brought from the kitchen and a hod of red coals. He dumped them into the brazier and knelt beside it, blowing on them.

He had handed the bowl to Kivrin. It was lukewarm and smelled bitter. She wondered if it had willow bark in it and if that was what had brought the fever down.

Roche stood up and took the bowl, and they tried to spoon the broth into the clerk, but it dribbled off his huge tongue and down the sides of his mouth.

Someone knocked.

"Agnes, I told you, you can't come in here," Kivrin said impatiently, trying to mop up the bedclothes.

"Grandmother sent me to bid you come."

"Is she ill?" Roche said. He started for the door.

"Nay. It is Rosemund."

Kivrin's heart began to pound.

Roche opened the door, but Agnes did not come in. She stood on the landing, staring at his mask.

"Is Rosemund ill?" Roche asked anxiously.

"She fell down."

Kivrin darted past them and down the steps.

Rosemund was sitting on one of the benches by the hearth, and Lady Imeyne was standing over her.

"What's happened?" Kivrin demanded.

"I fell," Rosemund said, sounding bewildered. "I hit my arm." She held it out to Kivrin, the elbow crooked.

Lady Imeyne murmured something.

"What?" Kivrin said, and realized the old lady was praying. She looked around the hall for Eliwys. She wasn't there. Only Maisry huddled frightenedly by the table, and the thought flickered through Kivrin's mind that Rosemund must have tripped over her.

"Did you fall over something?" she asked.

"Nay," Rosemund said, still sounding dazed. "My head hurts."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Nay." She pulled her sleeve back. "I hit my elbow on the stones."

Kivrin pushed the loose sleeve up past her elbow. It was scraped, but there was no blood. Kivrin wondered if she could have broken it. She was holding it at such an odd angle. "Does this hurt?" she asked, moving it gently.

"Nay."

She twisted the forearm gently. "Does this?"

"Nay."

"Can you move your fingers?" Kivrin said.

Rosemund dangled them each in turn, her arm still crooked. Kivrin frowned at it, puzzled. It might be sprained, but she didn't think she'd be able to move it so easily. "Lady Imeyne," she said, "would you fetch Father Roche?"

"He cannot help us," Imeyne said contemptuously, but she started for the stairs.

"I don't think it's broken," Kivrin said to Rosemund.

Rosemund lowered her arm, gasped, and jerked it up again. The color drained from her face, and beads of sweat broke out on her upper lip.

It must be broken, Kivrin thought, and reached for the arm again. Rosemund pulled away, and before Kivrin even realized what was happening, toppled off the bench and onto the floor.

She had hit her head this time. Kivrin heard it thunk against the stone. She scrambled over the bench and knelt beside her. "Rosemund, Rosemund," she said. "Can you hear me?"

She didn't move. She had flung her injured arm out when she fell, as if to catch herself, and when Kivrin touched it, she flinched, but she didn't open her eyes. Kivrin looked round wildly for Imeyne, but the old woman was not on the stairs. She got to her knees.

Rosemund opened her eyes. "Do not leave me," she said.

"I must fetch help," she said.

Rosemund shook her head.

"Father Roche!" Kivrin called, though she knew he could not hear her through the heavy door, and Lady Eliwys came through the screens and ran across the flagged floor.

"Has she the blue sickness?" she said.

No. "She fell," Kivrin said. She laid her hand on Rosemund's bare, outflung arm. It felt hot. Rosemund had closed her eyes again and was breathing slowly, evenly, as if she had fallen asleep.

Kivrin pushed the heavy sleeve up and over Rosemund's shoulder. She turned her arm up so she could see the armpit, and Rosemund tried to jerk away, but Kivrin held her tightly.

It was not as large as the clerk's had been, but it was bright red and already hard to the touch. No, Kivrin thought. No. Rosemund moaned and tried to pull her arm away, and Kivrin laid it gently down, arranging the sleeve under it.

"What's happened?" Agnes said from halfway down the stairs. "Is Rosemund ill?"

I can't let this happen, Kivrin thought. I must get help. They've all been exposed, even Agnes, and there's nothing here to help them. Antimicrobials won't be discovered for six hundred years.

"Your sins have brought this," Imeyne said.

Kivrin looked up. Eliwys was looking at Imeyne, but absently, as if she hadn't heard her.

"Your sins and Gawyn's," Imeyne said.

"Gawyn," Kivrin said. He could show her where the drop was, and she could go get help. Dr. Ahrens would know what to do. And Mr. Dunworthy. Dr. Ahrens would give her vaccine and streptomycin to bring back.

"Where is Gawyn?" Kivrin said.

Eliwys was looking at her now, and her face was full of longing, full of hope. He has finally got her attention, Kivrin thought. "Gawyn," Kivrin said. "Where is he?"

"Gone," Eliwys said.

"Gone where?" she said. "I must speak with him. We must go fetch help."

"There is no help," Lady Imeyne said. She knelt beside Rosemund and folded her hands. "It is God's punishment."

Kivrin stood up. "Gone where?"

"To Bath," Eliwys said. "To bring my husband."

I decided I'd better try to get this all down. Mr. Gilchrist said he hoped with the opening of Mediaeval we'd be able to obtain a first-hand account of the Black Death, and I guess this is it.

The first case of plague here was the clerk who came with the bishop's envoy. I don't know if he was ill when they arrived or not. He could have been and that was why they came here instead of going on to Oxford, to get rid of him before he infected them. He was definitely ill on Christmas morning when they left, which means he was probably contagious the night before, when he had contact with at least half the village.

He has transmitted the disease to Lord Guillaume's daughter, Rosemund, who fell ill on…the twenty-sixth? I've lost all track of time. Both of them have the classic buboes. The clerk's bubo has broken and is draining. Rosemund's is hard and growing larger. It's nearly the size of a walnut. The area around it is inflamed. Both of them have high fevers and are intermittently delirious.