Flo considered further. Wildflower was a good girl, with many skills and a sweet disposition. She was young, but old enough. She could make Ned a good wife. If he ever noticed her in that manner.
“I will do what I can,” Flo said.
Then Wildflower ran to her and hugged her. She was a young woman now, but had not yet given up all of her delightfully youthful ways.
“But it may take time,” Flo warned her. “A man can’t be forced in such things.”
“I know. I will be patient.”
Flo returned to her preparation of the big meal of the day, and Wildflower returned to her washing of clothing. It seemed a shame to have a princess doing such menial chores, but it did help conceal her nature, and the girl didn’t seem to mind.
Snow returned, carrying a bag of vegetables from the market place, with her son Sid. Flo looked up from her work, smiling. The woman was well dressed, for she was the wife of the head of the family and needed to maintain appearances. Her hair was finely coifed, tied into an intricate braid, or rather, twin braids coiled over the ears, contained by woven netting. She wore a loose surcoat whose sleeves were buttoned from the shoulder to the wrist.
Flo liked Snow, and it wasn’t because the two had a fan-amount in common; it was that Snow truly loved Sam and would never play him false. Sam was working on the constant but essential shoring up of the city wall, to be sure that no weakness developed. The city depended on that wall for its security. If the Mongols ever breached the wall, there would be great wailing and gnashing of teeth for sure, not to mention wholesale raping and killing. Flo wasn’t worried; the wall was massive and high, and was constantly guarded; the enemy didn’t have a chance. But Sam and Dirk made sure that nothing happened to it.
“All is well?” Flo inquired.
“All is well,” Snow agreed. “But Dirk says something is going on out there. We don’t know what. There aren’t as many catapults operating as before.”
“Maybe they are running out of rocks to hurl,” Flo suggested.
“Dirk doesn’t think so. He says there seem to be plenty of rocks. They just aren’t hurling them.”
“That certainly saves us work,” Flo said. “Fewer rocks, fewer repairs.” But she wondered. It wasn’t like the Mongols to give any battle less than their best, and a siege was a kind of battle. Of course the Mongols weren’t good at siegework, despite illustrious exceptions, because the tribes tended to become restless and dilatory when faced with long, dull sieges. Still, this sudden cessation of activity was surprising.
Snow put Sid to sleep, then stripped to her close-fitting underdress and got to work beside Ho, preparing the produce she had brought in. It wasn’t especially good, but that was because it all had to be imported by ship and spent too much time in the hold. It was still much better than nothing, whatever the children might think.
In the afternoon, Bry and the children charged in. “They are—” Bry cried.
Flo blocked them off. “Don’t come in here all dirty!” she exclaimed. “Get those filthy things off!”
“But they are—” Bry protested as Flint and Wilda grimaced. They were close to six years old, and loved dirt.
“You know the rule! I’ll tolerate no city dirt and no vermin in this house.”
“I must be one or the other,” Bry muttered, and the children giggled. They started stripping off their clothing, which was indeed badly soiled. Wildflower delicately turned her back, to allow them to stand naked and wash at the tub, also dumping in the badly soiled clothing. Flo, of course, didn’t matter; she had seen everything times beyond counting.
When they were all clean and in fresh outfits, Bry was finally allowed to blurt out his news: “The Mongols! They’re falling sick! It’s the plague!”
Flo felt a chill as she exchanged a glance with Snow. She knew of the plague; Jes had suffered it two years ago, and reported that it was deadly. The Mongol siege was bad enough, but a siege of the plague could be worse.
“If it is out there,” Snow murmured, “it will soon be in here.”
“Yes,” Flo agreed grimly. “Wè had better hold a family council.”
“Why?” Bry asked. He was thirteen, and curious about everything.
“We might find it expedient to get on the ship,” Flo said quietly. “Soon.”
“Oooooh!” the children exclaimed, clapping their hands with delight. They usually went aboard Ittai’s ship only to visit when it was in port.
“Yes, that might be fun,” Flo said, with a warning glance at Bry.
But the ship was not in the harbor at the moment, so that was not an immediate option. They would have to hope that the plague did not come to the city before Ittai and Jes arrived home. Meanwhile they quietly stocked up on all supplies they could, because Flo knew that once the plague entered the city, there would be panic, and it would not be safe to set foot outside the house.
But meanwhile it was best to act as if nothing was out of order, so as not to precipitate that panic. So Bry and Lin and the children went out to play as usual, but more carefully than before, and not far from the house. If the plague came, Flo wanted everyone safely in the house as long as possible.
The news from outside was that the Mongols were being ravaged by the plague, and would soon have to abate the siege. That seemed like good news to many townsmen, but Flo knew better. Nobody knew how the plague spread, but it surely could penetrate the walls. Whatever the Mongols suffered, the city well might suffer too. If only Ittai’s ship would get back in time!
Sam and Dirk, in their hooded cloaks, coarse wool trousers, and working aprons, brought grim news from the wall: the Mongol catapults were active again, but now they were not hurling rocks. They were hurling bodies. The bodies of enemy warriors killed by the plague.
“We don’t want those bodies with us!” Flo said at the impromptu family meeting. “Maybe the dead can’t give it to the living, but—”
“But maybe they can,” Sam said grimly.
“Maybe they can, indeed,” Ned agreed. “We must get those bodies out as fast as they come in.”
“Yes,” Wildflower said faintly. But Flo saw that Ned didn’t notice her.
The city authorities agreed. Crews were organized to haul dut the bodies, street by street. Every able-bodied man not already active in the defense was expected to participate, however ugly the chore.
“For once I’m with the authorities,” Flo said. “Our men are busy, but we have other hands. I will haul bodies, and—”
“So will I,” Ned said. He was the best dressed of the men at the moment, because he worked more with his mind than his hands. He wore a close-fitting tunic that tied up at the front, with a leather belt and pointed shoes.
“So will I,” Wildflower said.
Ned shook his head. “You should stay inside, girl. That plague is ugly.”
Flo was about to agree with him, but managed to stifle herself. If the two could work together…
“If you get the plague, you will bring it inside anyway,” Wildflower said. “We all may get it. Unless we get those bodies out quickly. So I might as well help.”
“But if the city folk see a person of your race—”
“I will shroud my head in gauze, to stop the plague. No one will see me.”
He looked at Flo. “Are you going to let this child take this risk?”
Flo saw Wildflower wince. She considered. “As she says, we are all at risk. Our best hope is to get those bodies out as quickly as possible. And she’s not a child.”
“Yes she is.”
Flo smiled. “Ned, girls grow up to become women. She has done so.”
“No she hasn’t.”
Flo kept her face neutral. “Wildflower, if you will, show him your figure.”
Wildflower was glad to oblige. She unlaced her robe and removed it, standing straight in her close-fitted underdress. She took a deep breath so that her small but definite breasts were accented. She unbraided her long black hair and let it fall to her wai
st. She met Ned’s astonished gaze, and smiled.
“I think he remains unconvinced,” Flo said mischievously, noting the way his pupils had dilated. She herself was surprised by just how far Wildflower had developed. She was slender, but her hips and thighs were solid, establishing her capacity for childbearing. “Perhaps you should take off some more.”
“No need,” Ned said quickly. He knew as well as she did that there wasn’t anything under the underdress. “I yield the point, little sister.”
“I’m not your sister.”
“Well, it’s the same thing. You and Lin—”
“I live here by the sufferance of your kind family,” Wildflower said carefully. “It is no affront to be taken as Lin’s sister. But I am not.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned away.
“So we three will go out and haul bodies,” Flo said briskly. “Snow and Lin will take care of the children. But we must wear gloves.”
They did not argue. No one knew how the plague was spread, but physical contact seemed the most likely vector.
No bodies landed in their street that day or the next, but when one did come, they were ready. Gloved and masked, the women wearing baggy borrowed men’s trousers, the three went out to the gruesome corpse.
The thing stank. The man had evidently fouled himself before dying, and no one had cleaned him up. That suggested the intensity of the siege of the disease. His clothes reeked of urine, feces, and vomit. On his neck was a horrible swelling sore. His eyes were staring and bloodshot; he must have suffered terribly before dying.
“The feet,” Flo said, suppressing her rising gorge. “Drag him by the feet. Don’t touch anything but his boots.” She leaned down to grab one boot, and Ned took hold of the other. “Wildflower, see if you can signal the corpse wagon.”
The girl nodded and ran ahead of them down the street. They hauled the corpse along. No one else came out to offer help; the majority of the people of the city had such fear of the sickness that they would not get close to a corpse even to try to save themselves from the plague. At least that made it easy to do the job; the street was clear.
The body was heavy, and they were panting by the time they brought it to the end of the street where it intersected the main road. Wildflower had succeeded in signaling the wagon, and it was approaching. The key to rapid disposal of the bodies was rapid location and movement to pickup points; it was well organized, because of the importance of the task.
They waited while the wagon arrived. Two men jumped down and picked up the body, heaving it onto the back. Like Flo and the others, they wore gloves. “Good job,” one said. Without delay they got back aboard and started the horses onward.
That was all there was to it. Except for the cleanup. Neither Ned nor Wildflower argued when Flo said they would wash both themselves and their clothing immediately upon re-entry to the house. They had seen the festering corpse, and wanted none of that for themselves.
Snow had already set out the washtub, full of water. She took the children and retreated, giving them privacy for their act. They stripped as quickly as possible and dumped their clothing in a pile. Then they took sponges and cleaned themselves, rapidly but efficiently, doing their hair too. They helped each other with their backs, wanting to miss no places, lest the plague fix there.
Flo was mature and fat and Ned’s true sister, so she knew he had no problem with her. But she watched surreptitiously to see whether he had any problem with naked Wildflower. She saw him wince once, as he scrubbed the girl’s back and got a good view of her rounded bottom, but he suffered no masculine reaction. Evidently he still regarded her as a sister. Too bad. Wildflower was almost as pretty as Lin, and her body looked even more feminine naked. She really would be a fine mate for a man.
Only when they were clean did they dump the clothing into the tub. Flo started to wash it, but Wildflower stayed her hand. “I’ll do it; I know how.”
Flo nodded. “We’ll go get dressed,” she said. “I’ll bring you clothing.” For by prior agreement, they had had no new clothing in the room, lest it become contaminated.
She and Ned went to the next chamber, where Snow had laid out the things. Flo was glad to get dressed again; she did not much like showing off her body. Ned seemed the same, though he was a fine figure of a young man. “Good job,” she said, echoing the wagon man.
“Yes,” he agreed.
That was all. She left him and took Wildflower’s clothing to her. But she had noticed a trace of blood in Ned’s mouth as he spoke. She knew its significance.
“Thank you,” Wildflower said, accepting and donning the clothes. Then, after a pause: “He really does regard me as a sister.”
Flo shook her head. “There was blood in his mouth.”
Wildflower looked at her, alarmed. “Not the plague!”
Flo smiled. “No, dear. He bit his tongue.”
“To stop from retching, out there?”
“No. While washing your back.”
The girl stared at her. “He hated doing that?”
“You know better than that. He saw you, when he thought no one observed.”
Slowly, Wildflower smiled. “Do you think it took much pain, to stop—it?”
“Yes.”
“Thank the Christian God!” Now there were tears of relief on her face.
“Next time you can ask him to wash your front. He’ll be in danger of biting his tongue off.”
Wildflower giggled, then sobered. “Why doesn’t he want me to see his interest?”
“Because his feelings are mixed. For the past year he has seen you as a virtual sister. Now he sees you with an appealing body. It feels like incest. So he fights it. But give him time. He will come to see you as a separate woman.”
“I hope so.”
No more corpses landed on their street. Flo was almost disappointed, as was Wildflower. But all too soon they had another concern, for the plague appeared within the city. First in scattered houses, and the bodies were taken out by the wagon for dumping in the sea. Then it became endemic, striking in almost every house.
“We must get out of Kaffa,” Flo said. “We have been lucky so far, but there is too much of it; we’re bound to be caught if we stay.”
But they couldn’t leave, because Ittai’s ship had not yet come in, and there was no passage on any of the others. Everyone wanted to get out of the city!
A neighbor came. “Please—my husband—he will die. You are a healing woman; you can help him!”
“All I know is caring for my family,” Flo said.
“And they are all healthy.”
What could she do? “I’ll try.”
The man had a huge black swelling on his neck: the bubo. He was writhing and groaning continuously. Flo put her hand on his head, but couldn’t keep it there because of his motion. One touch sufficed, however: he was burning hot. He smelled, too; he had defecated in his clothing.
“Get him clean,” Flo said. When the woman seemed not to understand, Flo tackled the job herself. She drew the clothes off the man, stripping him naked. The woman did not protest. One advantage of being fat was that one had no sexual attraction, so was considered no threat to anyone else’s man. She fetched a bucket with water, and used a large sponge to wash the soiled region.
The man relaxed, and fell into an uneasy sleep. Flo realized that the coolness of the water must have done it. So she rinsed out the sponge and washed his whole body. His sleep became less troubled. “Keep him clean, keep him cool,” she said. “Maybe it will help.”
The woman nodded, and Flo returned to her own house. But she visited the neighbor man several times thereafter, mainly to offer moral support to the distraught wife.
The man’s fever continued, and he sweated copiously, and the sweat carried its own stench. So did his very breath. The woman was keeping him clean, now, but everything about him stank of the plague. The discoloration of his skin spread out from the bubo, the splotches ranging from red to black.
On the third day the bubo on the neck broke open and thick pus welled out. Flo clenched her teeth and mopped it up. After that the man seemed able to relax better, as if the illness was draining from his body. In two more days the fever faded, his skin cleared, and he began to take an interest in food.
“He is mending!” the woman cried. “You did it! You saved him!”
Flo shook her head. “I just tried to make him more comfortable. He threw off the malady himself.” But she was glad to have helped.
Meanwhile the city was in a siege of another kind: terror. Everyone wanted to escape, but could not. Panic was endemic. The overland route away was too dangerous; even with the Mongol siege lifted, the terrain was hardly safe from the wrath of the khan, and anyway, the plague was there too.
Then Sam got the plague. He developed a swelling in the armpits, and ran a high fever. He made it home under his own power, and to the bed, then collapsed.
“I can take care of him,” Flo said grimly, knowing how horrible this was going to get.
“No, it’s my job,” Snow said.
Flo didn’t argue. She had made the offer, expecting it to be turned down. “Then Lin should take care of Sid.”
Snow paused, then nodded. They knew that there was no point in exposing the baby to the plague. Snow would continue nursing him, but at other times he would be kept away from her. There was no problem; Lin had cared for him before, when Snow was busy.
They closed off the chamber where Sam lay. Snow was the only one to enter it. So far the plague did not seem to travel from person to person, but there was no point in taking chances.
The next day Dirk fell ill. Did he, too, have the plague? They moved him in with Sam, and now Flo entered the chamber, because it had become her business.
They used clothes and cool water to bathe their men constantly, trying to ease the fever. It didn’t seem to help much. Both men just seemed to get sicker.
Sam’s armpit swelling expanded, turning deep red. He flung his muscular arm out, groaning. “What is it, my dear?” Snow asked helplessly.
“The bubo hurts,” he said, grimacing. “Cut it out!”
Snow looked helplessly at Flo. “What can I do?”