She sat down on the windowseat, trying to think what to do. Nothing, she thought. There's nothing you can do. It swept through village after village, killing whole families, whole towns. One-third to one-half of Europe.

"No!" Rosemund screamed, and struggled to rise.

Kivrin and Roche both dived for her, but she had already lain back down. They covered her up, and she kicked the bedclothes off again. "I will tell Mother, Agnes, you wicked child," she murmured. "Let me out."

It grew colder in the night. Roche brought up more coals for the brazier, and Kivrin climbed up in the window again to fasten the waxed linen over the window, but it was still freezing. Kivrin and Roche huddled by the brazier in turn, trying to catch a little sleep, and woke shivering like Rosemund.

The clerk did not shiver, but he complained of the cold, his words slurred and drunken-sounding. His feet and hands were cold and without feeling.

"They must have a fire," Roche said. "We must take them down to the hall."

You don't understand, she thought. Their only hope lay in keeping the patients isolated, in not letting the infection spread. But it has already spread, she thought, and wondered if Ulf's extremities were growing cold and what he would do for a fire? She had sat in one of their huts by one of their fires. It would not warm a cat.

The cats died, too, she thought and looked at Rosemund. The shivering racked her poor body, and she seemed already thinner, more wasted.

"The life is going out of them," Roche said.

"I know," she said, and began picking up the bedclothes. "Tell Maisry to spread straw on the hall floor."

The clerk was able to walk down the steps, Kivrin and Roche both supporting him, but Roche had to carry Rosemund in his arms. Eliwys and Maisry were spreading straw on the far side of the hall. Agnes was still asleep, and Imeyne knelt where she had the night before, her hands folded stiffly before her face.

Roche lay Rosemund down, and Eliwys began to cover her. "Where is my father?" Rosemund demanded hoarsely. "Why is he not here?"

Agnes stirred. She would be awake in a minute and clambering on Rosemund's pallet, gawking at the clerk. She must find some way to keep Agnes safely away from them. Kivrin looked up at the beams, but they were too high, even under the loft, to hang curtains from, and every available coverlet and fur was already being used. She began turning the benches on their sides and pulling them into a barricade. Roche and Eliwys came to help, and they tipped the trestle table over and propped it against the benches.

Eliwys went back over to Rosemund and sat down beside her. Rosemund was asleep, her face flushed with the reddish light from the fire.

"You must wear a mask," Kivrin said.

Eliwys nodded, but she didn't move. She smoothed Rosemund's tumbled hair back from her face. "She was my husband's favorite," she said.

Rosemund slept nearly half the morning. Kivrin pulled the Yule log off to the side of the hearth and piled cut logs on the fire. She uncovered the clerk's feet so they could feel the heat.

During the Black Death, the Pope's doctor had made him sit in a room between two huge bonfires, and he had not caught the plague. Some historians thought the heat had killed the plague bacillus. More likely his keeping away from his highly contagious flock was what had saved him, but it was worth trying. Anything was worth trying, she thought, watching Rosemund. She piled more wood on.

Father Roche went to say matins, though it was past midmorning. The bell woke Agnes up. "Who knocked over the benches?" she asked, running over to the barricade.

"You must not come past this fence," Kivrin said, standing well back from it. "You must stay by your grandmother."

Agnes clambered onto a bench and peered over the top of the trestle table. "I see Rosemund," she said. "Is she dead?"

"She is very ill," Kivrin said sternly. "You must not come near us. Go and play with your cart."

"I would see Rosemund," she said, putting one leg over the table.

"No!" Kivrin shouted. "Go and sit with your grandmother!"

Agnes looked astonished, and then burst into tears. "I would see Rosemund!" she wailed, but she went over and sat down beside Imeyne.

Roche came in. "Ulf's elder son is ill," he said. "He has the buboes."

There were two more cases during the morning and one in the afternoon, including the steward's wife. All of them had buboes or small seedlike growths on the lymph glands except the steward's wife.

Kivrin went with Roche to see her. She was nursing the baby, her thin, sharp face even sharper. She was not coughing or vomiting, and Kivrin hoped the buboes had simply not developed yet. "Wear masks," she told the steward. "Give the baby milk from the cow. Keep the children from her," she said hopelessly. Six children in two rooms. Don't let it be pneumonic plague, she prayed. Don't let them all get it.

At least Agnes was safe. She had not come near the barricade since Kivrin shouted at her. She had sat for a bit, glaring at Kivrin with an expression that was so fierce it would have been comical under other circumstances, and then gone up to the loft to fetch her cart. She had set a place for it at the high table, and they were having a feast.

Rosemund was awake. She asked Kivrin for a drink in a hoarse voice, and as soon as Kivrin had given it to her, fell quietly asleep. Even the clerk dozed, the hum of his breathing less loud, and Kivrin sat down gratefully beside Rosemund.

She should go out and help Roche with the steward's children, at least make sure he was wearing his mask and washing his hands, but she felt suddenly too tired to move. If I could just lie down for a minute, she thought, I might be able to think of something.

"I would go see Blackie," Agnes said.

Kivrin jerked her head around, startled out of what had almost been sleep.

Agnes had put on her red cape and hood and was standing as close to the barricade as she dared. "You vowed you would take me to see my hound's grave."

"Hush, you will wake your sister," Kivrin said.

Agnes started to cry, not the loud wail she used when she wanted her own way, but quiet sobs. She's reached her limit, too, Kivrin thought. Left alone all day, Rosemund and Roche and I all off-limits, everyone busy and distracted and frightened. Poor thing.

"You vowed," Agnes said, her lip quivering.

"I cannot take you to see your puppy now," Kivrin said gently, "but I will tell you a story. We must be very quiet, though." She put her finger to her lips. "We must not wake Rosemund or the clerk."

Agnes wiped her runny nose with her hand. "Will you tell me the story of the girl in the woods?" she said in a stage whisper.

"Yes."

"Can Cart listen?"

"Yes," Kivrin whispered, and Agnes tore across the hall to fetch the little wagon, ran back with it and climbed up on the bench, ready to mount the barricade.

"You must sit down on the floor against the table," Kivrin said, "and I will sit here on the other side."

"I will not be able to hear you," Agnes said, her face clouding up again.

"Of course you will, if you are very quiet."

Agnes got down off the bench and sat down, scooting into position against the table. She set Cart on the floor beside her. "You must be very quiet," she said to it.

Kivrin went over and looked quickly at her patients and then sat down against the table and leaned back, feeling exhausted all over again.

"Once in a far land," Agnes prompted.

"Once in a far land, there was a little girl. She lived by a great forest — "

"Her father said, 'Go not into the woods,' but she was naughty and did not listen," Agnes said.

"She was naughty and did not listen," Kivrin said. "She put on her cloak — "

"Her red cloak with a hood," Agnes said. "And she went into the wood, even though her father told her not to."