Chapter Text
The days that followed were strangely, and perhaps even disturbingly, uneventful ones.
It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the random visitors to the Sarkisyan residence – with their equally-random ailments – had simply vanished entirely. And though the lack of disturbance was welcome after the rather alarming summons she’d received because of them, Tabitha wasn’t entirely comforted by this development. The biologist was certain that such a distinct lack of activity following so closely on the heels of her harrowing court appearance was anything but mere coincidence…
Had the people been warned not to partake of her services out of caution, or maybe even jealousy? Or had the controversy surrounding her simply scared them away? Both possibilities were equally plausible. Or, logic posited, there was a chance the Hospital had become less crowded in the last few days, which had made visiting a healer off the beaten path less of a necessity.
In any case, without any of the usual interruptions the two stranded Ensigns had come to anticipate, they found themselves slowly becoming more immersed in the mundane daily routine of the tailor and his wife. And there was some comfort to be found in the regularity of it. The elder members of the household rose early and prepared their morning meal, after which Mikayel went to the shop while Mariam stayed to help Adalet with chores. Soon after, the pair of friends rose for the day and took their own meal before assisting the women with additional household tasks, which included such things as sweeping the floors and fetching water for washing both clothes and themselves. Indeed, even on days when full-body bathing wasn’t possible, everyone took the time to freshen up with a sponge bath of sorts.
After these wash-ups, Adalet herself would continue her work cleaning clothes and dishes while Mariam settled in with her work embroidering and embellishing various pieces that her husband would then take to sell in his shop once completed. Her typical work appeared to revolve mostly around scarves and shawls, although one day Mikayel did bring home another dress for her to add the finishing touches to. According to the seamstress, her husband both stocked an inventory of premade items as well as took custom orders, and Tabitha noted her pride when she off-handedly mentioned that some of those custom orders had come from the High Court itself…
When the women no longer needed their assistance for the day, or when they went out to purchase supplies for making meals, Tabitha and Ned often returned to their initial hangout on the rooftop, enjoying the sunny days beneath the awning’s shade while they allowed their equipment to recharge. They were gradually adjusting to the climate of their environs, the temperature becoming less and less of a bother to them – although it was significantly easier to deal with in the shadows and on days that sported even just the slightest bit of breeze.
Another aspect to which they were becoming accustomed was the varied smells carried on those breezes. Perhaps it was because of the plumbing in this district, but there was a distinct lack of the truly terrible odors Tabitha feared they would have to endure after getting a whiff of them when first they arrived in this city. Anything less savory that came wafting upon the wind, such as that from animals, was far less pronounced here. Indeed, it was almost overpowered by the stronger scents of flowers, herbs, and even incense, as well as the distinct smell of smoke from cooking fires and the food those fires helped to prepare.
And then there were the sounds. At first, the constant hourly ringing of bells from sunup to sundown threatened to drive Tabitha insane. The sing-song call of merchants from across the city was also incessant, and though it was too much of a cacophony to pick out any words in particular, she had already begun to pick up on the individual patterns of their hawking, which never changed from day to day. Yet, over time, such noises had become an anchor of sorts. It was predictable, and predictability in turn offered stability.
Four days after her court appearance, however, Tabitha added a new sound to her growing catalog of experiences. It was faint, barely discernible over the usual din, but the wind was stronger that day, and thus it carried sound farther…
A chorus of male voices.
At first, she thought she might have been imagining it. But then the harmonies began, and there was no mistaking it. It was a slow chant of sorts, she thought, steady in its delivery, smoothly gliding from one note to the next in perfect unison.
“You hear that?” she asked Ned after a moment, sparing a glance his way.
His brow furrowed as he paused, listening. “Yeah. Singing.”
“I wonder who it is and what it’s for.”
Ned was quiet for a few more moments, utterly still in the chair opposite her, before he finally replied. “I bet it’s the Templars. Their headquarters are on the Mount that way, but you can’t see it from here for the buildings.”
She squinted at him briefly as she leaned back in her own chair. “You’ve mentioned them before. The ones who saved us during the caravan attack. The name rings a bell but I can’t recall any specifics. What are they about?”
“Holy warriors,” he answered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or so they claim. One of several orders of them in the area. The others are the Hospitallers who run the Hospital of St. John and the Lazarites you saw outside the gates. They all have similar goals revolving around protecting the pilgrims and pilgrimage routes in the Holy Land, although they each have their own ways of approaching those goals.”
“So that’s why the Templars intervened with the caravan?” Tabitha asked.
“Probably,” Ned nodded, “although you heard from Mikayel and Mariam when we first got here that they’re not quite all on the same page…”
Her brow furrowed. “In what way?”
He sighed. “The thing to remember about these orders is that they only have two people they answer to: whoever their grandmaster is and the Pope. Not even the king has any control over them; he has to ask for their assistance, and the grandmasters can say no if they disagree with the king on any given point. Even worse is these orders have recently been at each other’s throats over what the best thing to do is in these parts, which has led to open conflict between them. Couple that with occasional rogue members who have their own ideas about what constitutes ‘holiness’, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.”
“No accountability,” Tabitha observed, starting to piece things together. “Or at least, not until damage has already been done.”
Ned nodded. “The holofilm had a couple of the noble barons involved with the Templars, who egged on raids against Muslim-led merchant caravans passing through the area. But apparently that was blatantly false in the real world – there was no connection with the barons, and especially not with these events. Don’t get me wrong, though… with a shit grandmaster, they’re perfectly capable of getting into trouble all on their own.” He paused. “I don’t know which way this reality is going to go, but suffice it to say, there’s problems aplenty with these guys, which makes life that much harder on the ones of them who really want to do good in the world.”
Her lips pressed together. “What about these Hospitallers, then? And the Lazarites?”
Ned sighed again. “They’re less likely to be a problem, I think. They’re mostly concerned with the wellness side of things, like with their hospital here in the city. The Lazarites in particular are pretty much occupied full-time with leper care, from what I’ve read.”
“Do you think they’d object to what we’ve been doing?” she asked.
Ned shrugged. “Honestly, no idea. I wouldn’t think they’d be concerned with something like competition, though. What, are you thinking you’ve gotten their attention with all this?”
She took a breath. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about how quiet it’s been lately, and I’m not sure it’s a good sign.”
At that, her comrade frowned. “Yeah, I get what you mean. But I’m not sure I’d worry about it too much,” he added with another wry smile. “You’ve obviously already caught the interest of the king, so if they try anything, they may have a fight on their hands.”
Yet, despite his words and the teasing wink that accompanied them, Tabitha wasn’t certain it made her feel any better about it all.
If anything, she felt all the more discomforted.
<>----<>
That afternoon, as they helped Mariam and Adalet prepare for the evening meal, the two Ensigns became privy to another interesting development that had arisen since Tabitha’s appearance at court.
The palace was apparently in an uproar.
“Word is the High Court’s gotten into outright yelling matches these last few days. I don’t think I’ve heard of the barons being quite so upset since Princess Sibylla remarried last spring,” Mariam remarked as she worked on shelling the pistachios that were piled in a bowl upon her lap. “Mikayel said he saw the banners of Ibelin at the gates just yesterday. If they’re here, it must be something very important.”
“Ibelin?” Tabitha repeated, her brow furrowing as she looked over her shoulder at the seamstress from her spot at the counter by the cookpot. She’d been tasked with crushing and peeling garlic cloves, which she’d only just now gotten decent at doing efficiently…
“The brothers, Baldwin and Balian,” Mariam explained without looking up. “Sons of Lord Barisan d’Ibelin. Between the two of them, they hold much of the power in this kingdom, rivaled only by Lord Raynald de Chatillon, I believe.” She paused, chuckling. “But, to hear tell, the latter’s only got what he does because of his wife.”
“He only ever had anything because of his wives,” Adalet muttered darkly beside Tabitha, where she was busy cutting leeks.
“The men die young here,” Mariam added solemnly as she caught the Ensign’s quizzical expression. “And their widows and daughters cling to their lands until the king marries them again to lords who can loyally defend them. Or so they hope.”
“And if they can’t successfully defend their lands?” Ned asked as he dried off some freshly-washed dishes.
At that, Mariam sighed heavily. “Then the Saracens take them. Though, thank God, that has not truly happened since Edessa.”
Tabitha shared looks with her comrade. “What happened there?”
“Precisely what your friend suggested,” the seamstress replied flatly. “However you wish to call it –a lack of proper defenses, sheer incompetence, or just the will of God – the Count was imprisoned by the Saracens north of here and his lands seized, bit by bit, until his wife was forced to sell what was left to the late Emperor and fled with her children to Jerusalem. But not even the Greeks, for all their coin, were able to keep it. The poor Countess was offered asylum by the king’s namesake uncle, God rest his soul.” She paused, a half smile flickering across her face. “But, her daughter would become the king’s mother. So I suppose not all was lost.
“In any case,” she continued, “Lord Raynald received his own lands in Oultrejourdain because of his second marriage to a similar such widow. Lady Stephanie of House Milly. Through her, he now holds the great castle of Kerak, though God only knows how long he can maintain that position. This situation with the Bedouin,” she paused, taking a breath. “I’ve a bad feeling about it I just can’t shake.”
Tabitha felt her brow furrow. “You think there’s going to be another Edessa?”
“God protect us from such a thing,” Mariam replied, crossing herself. “But if those Bedouin crossed from beyond the Jordan to attack the caravan, then Lord Raynald will be most displeased when he finds out, and it will be like trying to hold back a lion from a wounded gazelle.”
“You say ‘when he finds out’,” Ned commented, his head cocking. “He doesn’t know yet?”
Mariam shook her head. “He’s not in the kingdom. Taniel mentioned having seen his banners heading northward on the road to Antioch over a month ago. If the Bedouin did cross his lands, then the king has a short time to resolve the situation before Lord Raynald returns. Otherwise…”
“And if they didn’t? If they came from somewhere else?” Tabitha asked.
The seamstress sighed again. “Then it’s just another sign of the state of things. The presence of the Ibelins amidst all this fussing,” she tossed a handful of empty shells into another bowl at her feet, “it doesn’t bode well.”
Just then, a heavy knock came upon the door, causing each of them to glance up at each other.
“What now, I wonder?” Adalet’s words were accompanied by an irritated sigh.
“I’ll check,” Ned answered, setting the dishes aside and moving to the door. It was only a few seconds after he opened it, however, that he looked over his shoulder, casting Tabitha a pointed look and jerking his head towards the open crack from which bright daylight slashed across the floor.
Her eyes widened, and she set down her knife, wiping her hands briefly on a spare rag, before she followed in Ned’s footsteps to where he yet stood. He stepped back a bit as she approached so that she could see beyond, though notably not enough that he was not also still visible to whoever stood there…
The visitor appeared to be a guard of some sort, garbed somewhat similarly to the previous one, although he was noticeably more heavily armed and armored. In fact, he looked more like the Templars who had aided the caravan, his fully-concealing helmet almost the same in style. His mail shirt ended in mitts upon his hands, and his matching mail leggings stretched all the way to his feet, secured overtop his boots, where a pair of shining spurs had been strapped over them at his ankles. His surcoat was also similarly blinding white, though instead of a red cross, there was the fivefold golden cross of Jerusalem embroidered across the chest – far larger than the smaller, patch-like badge of the other guardsman.
“You are Evangeline, yes?”
The question was muffled behind the helmet, which she noted he made no move to take off, and she could only barely see the glittering pinpricks of his eyes past the horizontal slits of his faceplate. Still, she could hear a distinct accent to his voice that sounded strangely…
…Spanish?
She nodded once. “Yes, I am.”
At that, he inclined his head to her in greeting. “Good day to you. I am here to inform you that the king has requested your presence at the palace tomorrow morning, following the bells of Terce, to discuss important matters. He asks that you bring the tools of your trade with you, as well as anything else related to your business here in the city.”
She exchanged looks with Ned, swallowing. “All right. Do I go there myself, or…?”
“I will return to collect you on the morrow, madam,” he answered. “You will be escorted there and upon your return. Be prepared to leave promptly – His Majesty dislikes being kept waiting.”
“All right,” she replied with a nod, all the while her thoughts raced through her mind at Warp Ten. “I’ll be ready then.”
“Good,” the man said simply, turning to where his chestnut horse stood idle just outside the door. It was a handsome beast, well-groomed and obedient as it silently mouthed at its bit. Yet the moment its master deftly swung himself into the saddle with a creak of leather and the clink of buckles and chains, the horse’s ears pricked upwards, alert, head rising at the touch of the rein.
Tabitha watched as, with barely a gesture, the horseman wheeled the mount around in the plaza, hooves clattering upon the cobbles, and he dipped his head to her once more, the steel of his helm flashing in the sun. “God be with you, madam. Until the morrow!”
And with that, he put his heels to the horse’s flanks and they were off, cantering beneath the archway and swiftly disappearing into the streets beyond.
For a moment, she merely stood there, staring after them, feeling for certain that she had met no mere guardsman.
“Who was that, do you think?” she asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder at Ned.
“I dunno,” he answered just as softly. “One of the king’s knights, maybe?”
The man had certainly looked the part.
It was then she finally closed the door, turning around to see Mariam and Adalet looking at her expectantly.
She took a breath. “The king wishes to see me again tomorrow and wants me to bring my tools with me.”
“Christ in Heaven,” the seamstress breathed, exchanging looks with the aged housekeeper. “Could it be…?”
“Only God knows, Mariam,” Adalet said simply. “But it certainly looks to be that way.”
In the midst of the heavy silence that had fallen over the household, Tabitha was left with the distinct feeling that she’d just set a snowball tumbling down a very, very, very large hill…
<>----<>
In the hours after the knight’s departure, up until the time Mikayel came home from his work, the air itself was filled with an indescribable tension. Tabitha couldn’t say that she cared for it much – it felt as though the hairs were rising on the back of her neck every time her back was turned. Being experienced with Tabitha’s methods by now, the two older women knew well the possibilities for the outcome of the Ensign’s next visit to the palace, yet it seemed both were loath to even discuss the matter for fear of jinxing it somehow.
Thus, by the time the tailor arrived that evening, it seemed each of them was ready to explode.
“You do realize we can’t talk about this outside the house, right?” Ned said seriously once they’d all finished dinner, during which Mariam had explained to her husband what had happened.
“Ned’s right,” Tabitha added. “For one, we don’t know what the king really wants. For another, I don’t want to give anyone any false hopes…”
“Not only that, but it looks like to me he’s being fairly discreet about it,” Ned went on. “Both times you’ve been summoned, you’ve gotten very few details from the messengers.”
“And no room for questions beforehand,” Tabitha noted.
Ned’s lips pressed together. “Something tells me he wouldn’t like it if that discretion wasn’t returned.”
Mikayel sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Yes… it would not do for the city to suffer the same kind of upset as the palace.”
“This may very well be what has caused the upset at the palace,” Adalet remarked.
“Thanks, Adalet,” Tabitha said dryly, putting her head in her hands.
The housekeeper merely shrugged.
Mariam reached across the table, grasping Tabitha’s arm gently. “We will never believe you have done anything wrong, my dear. But it is only natural that it would cause something of a stir in the court of a leper king. And as long as you are in that king’s good graces, which you appear to be, then there is little to fear.”
“By all accounts, His Majesty is a good and just man – a man of God,” Mikayel added. “Not even in my time in the royal army did I hear an ill word breathed of him… only of his dread affliction, and even those words were few. Trust that he will do what is right, and thus do right by you.”
Tabitha only sighed, nodding. Their logic was sound, and part of her knew they were right. And yet, despite that, she could not help but be a bundle of nerves about the whole thing – a state that lasted through the night and into the next morning.
After having been awake for most of the night, Tabitha ultimately rose early, and so Mariam helped her to get ready before the king’s knight arrived to fetch her. She broke her fast with bread and cheese while the seamstress brushed off her dress and shoes, before re-braiding her hair and pinning Eva’s scarf over her head. Once that was in place, Mariam draped the shawl over Tabitha’s shoulders, securing it with its brooch.
“There,” the matron said with a decisive nod, stepping back to look the Ensign up and down. But then, after a moment, she seemed to think of something else, and she held a singular finger aloft as she added, “One more thing…”
Heading into her workroom, Mariam disappeared for a few moments before reemerging with something small in her hand, a loop of twine dangling from the top of it. As she drew near, Tabitha realized from the scent that tickled her nostrils that it was a sachet of sweet-smelling herbs.
“Here,” the seamstress said, threading the twine behind Tabitha’s belt and securing it beside the pouch at her hip. “To ensure the air is pure wherever you may tread. Fair scents ward off the foul, from which come these dread illnesses.”
The Ensign resisted the urge to correct the woman on such a primitive belief, instead taking the gesture for what it was: an honest intent to protect, for which Tabitha found herself grateful.
It was at that moment there came a heavy knock upon the door, at which Ned rushed to Tabitha’s side, pressing the medkit into her hands.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take the phaser with you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he hissed the question into her ear.
“Positive,” she replied simply. Ned’s lips pressed together as his eyes searched hers, but he said nothing, merely nodding once in reply.
“Evangeline?” Adalet called, confirming the visitor was who they all expected.
“Coming,” she answered, huffing out an unsteady breath, her hand repeatedly shifting in its grasp of the medkit’s handle.
Mikayel, who had yet to leave for work, must have noticed these signs of her lingering anxiety, as he then assured her quietly, “All will be well, my friend. Do not fear. God walks at your side, that much is plain.”
At that, she offered him a small smile of thanks, casting it in turn to Mariam and Ned, before turning back to face the music…
Adalet opened the door wider to allow her through, and she thought she felt a slight squeeze on her shoulder as she looked up at the knight beyond.
“Good day, madam,” he greeted her, his helmed head inclining briefly with the flash of sunlit steel. “Are you ready to go to the palace now?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Very good.”
With that, he helped her up onto his horse, much as the Templar squires had done after the attack on the caravan, and then promptly began leading his mount across the plaza and into the street beyond. Tabitha, who found herself sitting sideways this time due to her skirts, clung to the front of the saddle for balance as she became accustomed to the horse’s swaying gait.
There was something surreal about this experience, and far more than the aftermath of the caravan attack. Although, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why that might be so. Perhaps it was because she’d been divested of her uniform and was now fully immersed in the local dress and customs, her visual tethers to her old timeline all but eliminated. Or perhaps it was because she was truly living here, no longer with the feeble and false hopes of remaining only a temporary visitor. But there was something almost fantastical about being led back up to the citadel on the horse of a knight – or, at least, whom she presumed to be one. If she had still been a little girl, she might have giggled uncontrollably at living such a fantasy. Instead, she simply felt a sense of wonder overcome her. A kind of feeling that she had only felt before whilst gazing at the vast nebulas and alien planets of the Delta Quadrant through Voyager’s portholes…
How different things were already.
Her mind drifted back to Mikayel’s parting words, and she found herself unsure of how to feel about them. She was grateful for the sentiment, of course, just as she was appreciative of his wife’s gesture of giving her the “protective” sachet of herbs. And yet she couldn’t help but feel disconnected from them.
The Academy, and also civilization as a whole, was largely ambivalent about the issue of faith. Many an instructor warned about the dangers of “primitive” belief, and how such things could be used to manipulate whole societies towards various ends. Such words were intended to be cautionary in regards to potential future encounters with alien cultures that had yet to reach the level of advancement as the members of the Federation and who answered to both religious and governmental authorities. Yet there were also other officers, including their own Captain Janeway, who remained far more open-minded about those things that could not yet be explained by science, and who reminded their charges that it was just such mysteries that drove the Federation’s desire to learn and explore.
The Bajoran would have argued that faith was integral to their very existence – that it was the only thing that had given them the strength to endure the Cardassian occupation. And yet Voyager had already encountered another people in the Delta Quadrant, the Vhnori, whose entire concept of the afterlife had been challenged by the ship’s very presence.
Here they were, in a place where faith was just as foundational as it was to the Bajoran and the Vhnori – where so many great and wonderful but perfectly-explainable things were attributed to true miracles – and yet it all felt so distant to her. As alien as the far-flung reaches of the galaxy into which Voyager had been deposited by the Caretaker.
Her own family could hardly be called the religious sort, although she supposed her father was more immersed in it due to his personal area of study. Her mother she suspected was more spiritual than religious, although she’d notably worn a tiny golden cross necklace ever since it had been given to her by her husband when they were but teens. It was then Tabitha realized that she’d never really asked her parents about their beliefs – indeed hadn’t cared all that much. And rather suddenly, she found she sincerely wished she had asked…
Not for the first time, her heart panged deep in her chest at their memories.
Her swiftly-darkening thoughts were interrupted, however, when the knight finally brought his horse to a halt just inside the citadel gatehouse, whereupon an attendant came up to assist Tabitha down from the saddle. Once she was on the ground, the knight then began leading her through the small stable yard there and into the citadel proper, following the same path as the previous guard. All the while, she kept a tight hold upon her medkit, pulling it close to her body, as if doing so might keep both it and her safer.
Once they reached the courtyard where she had given her testimony, she noticed it was entirely empty save for a few people strolling about the peristyle – not even the throne remained. They kept to this covered walkway, skirting the perimeter of the open court until they entered the cooler interior halls beyond the dais. There she was greeted by a rather large room with a tall ceiling, benches all along the outer walls, likely functioning as a foyer of sorts for simple gatherings. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take the time to absorb very many details about the place, as the presence of curious strangers required her to stay on her toes. Not only that, but the knight’s pace was unchecked, and she was forced to hurry to keep up with him. Every once in a while, he would look back to make sure he she was close, and she got the distinct feeling it would be unwise to pause for any reason…
They passed by several more chambers along the way, most of which were open to the halls through which they strode, implying public areas of sorts. The only barriers between them were varying layers of transparent drapes, some held back with golden tassels, others hanging loose in diaphanous sheets that billowed open invitingly with every slight wind. Others were closed off by actual doors of thick, dark wood, reinforced with iron bands, some of them flanked by more guards like the first man who had escorted her here. She suspected these led to private rooms… perhaps even the bedrooms of the royal family…
Before long, they ascended a wide flight of stairs to what seemed to be a second floor. Onwards they went, although they reached a juncture before long, where another guard stood sole watch. They took a left here, the guard himself motionless, and the corridors became noticeably narrower… and quieter.
That was, until she could hear the gruff voice of the man whom the king had called Raymond carrying down the sconce-lit hall towards them, albeit slightly muffled between walls and distance.
“…for all we know, her successes have been naught but sheer luck. Forgive my frankness, my lord, but none of those whom she has thus far ‘cured’ have been as badly affected as you. Where it cured them, it could kill you!”
“Yes, so I heard yesterday and the day before that. I was at the court sessions the same as you, and so I am well aware of the sentiments among you all – there is no need to repeat what has already been spouted a dozen times in the council chamber.”
At that, Tabitha recognized the king as well, his tone much the same as it had been during her questioning, only this time it bore the slightest hint of exasperation behind it.
“Then I needn’t remind you, my lord, that the kingdom balances on a knife edge, and should this experimentation fail in such a manner, we will undoubtedly be-”
“In the same position as you would be if I were to die in my sleep this very night. Or if a Saracen blade pierced my heart on the morrow.”
It was at that moment they at last reached what Tabitha could only assume was the king’s private quarters, as the hall very suddenly opened up into a much larger chamber. There, Raymond and King Baldwin sat across from one another at a small table, the king the first to look up at the presence of the knight at his threshold. Raymond was garbed similarly as he had been that day in court. Baldwin, however, lacked the surcoat, cloak, and crown. The last of those had been replaced with a plain, thin gold band encircling his brow at the top edge of his mask, and a white veil acted in place of the cloak’s hood.
At his liege’s subtle movement, Raymond immediately glanced back over his shoulder, his mouth pressing into a thin line. A single gesture from the latter had the knight smoothly stepping aside, and suddenly, Tabitha felt just as vulnerable as she had when she’d first made her appearance before the gentry days ago…
“Ah, there she is now,” the grizzled man remarked dryly, slowly standing with an obvious consciousness of everyone present. “Good.” He beckoned her with a swift flick of his fingers. “You may approach. The king wishes to ask you about your methods and materials.”
“And you may leave us now, Raymond.”
The not-so-subtle-order-disguised-as-a-suggestion had the advisor looking back at his liege lord and hesitating for a long moment. Finally, however, Raymond acquiesced with a half-bow. “As you wish, sire. But I advise you to let your guardsman stay.”
And with that, the older man swept past her and into the darkness of the corridor without looking at her, the knight having obediently retreated into the shadows beside the threshold of the chamber with nary a word, silently awaiting his next command.
“Forgive my bailiff,” Baldwin addressed her directly, then, arresting her attention as his tone swiftly lost its hardened edge. “It is no secret that he and I often disagree on matters related to the state, though I have no doubt he believes he has the kingdom’s best interests at heart.” A white-gloved hand indicated the backless chair Raymond had just vacated. “Please, seat yourself.”
Tabitha took a deep breath, her fingers grasping the handle of the medkit so tightly her knuckles went as white as the king’s – it was her one comfort, the only thing she knew in this place. Offering a stiff bow similar to Raymond’s (she didn’t trust her knees enough in that moment to attempt a curtsey), she then quickly approached the chair, preferring to get the slightly long walk between the entrance and the furnishings over with before she somehow tripped on the rugs or did something else equally embarrassing…
She tried to ignore the fact Baldwin was watching her intently, clearing her throat a little as she swept her skirts under her and sat down before placing the medkit in her lap for lack of anywhere else to put it. The room upon the table was insufficient, especially if she opened it, several baubles and candles already occupying the space. Chief among them appeared to be some sort of incense burner, its sweet-smelling smoke lazily wafting from the engraved brass piece, like a pale grey ribbon in the firelight.
Fair scents ward off the foul, from which come these dread illnesses…
As soon as she settled herself, however, a sudden motion from out of the corner of her eye nearly made her jump out of her skin. Until, however, she realized it was only a small boy emerging from the shadows to her right, garbed in a heraldic tunic similar in design to the surcoat the king himself had worn. Blinking, she glanced between Baldwin and the child in puzzlement, the former turning his whole head towards the latter and blessedly diverting his sharp attention from her for a moment.
The boy then came within a few paces of her, smartly bowed, and asked with uncanny eloquence for his age, “May I fetch His Majesty’s guest something to drink?”
So surprised by this event was she that, for a moment, Tabitha found herself utterly dumbfounded. And then it struck her – this boy was a royal page. Of the same occupation from which her own surname had originated, if she remembered her father’s words right.
“I…” she hesitated, not truly wanting to partake of anything at the moment but also not willing to risk insulting the king by refusing his hospitality. Thus, swallowing back her nerves, she put on a kind smile and replied with a nod, “Of course you may.”
Another bow, and he retreated as obediently and silently as he had appeared.
Swallowing again, she took another shaky breath and added directly to the king, “Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty. Both before and now.”
The masked visage shimmered as it fluidly turned back towards her, and that breath caught in her throat the moment those vividly-blue eyes met hers. Yes, they were just as intense in the light of the lantern as they were in the sun, she discovered, almost seeming to possess a radiance of their own. If eyes were windows to the soul, as people liked to say, then Baldwin’s spirit was still very much undiminished, even as his body slowly failed him…
“Kindness to those who have suffered is our Christian duty,” he replied at length. “And hospitality is the least we can offer to ease that suffering. Understand this: no matter the suspicions of others, so long as you live with respect for our customs, you will always be welcome within the walls of Jerusalem.” He paused, leaning back in his chair as he continued to regard her. “My intentions are not to make you uncomfortable, and I would not have summoned you again had I not sensed the need to speak with you of your methods myself. No doubt you have heard the rumors – ever since your testimony, my court has been turned on its head, and speculation increases by the day.”
She sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Yes, I heard about that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”
Her apology was quite abruptly halted, however, by his uplifted hand. “There is nothing condemnable in charity. You have offered the kind of hope for which so many flock to this city… given that which many have prayed for. There will always be those who fear that success, as much as those who praise it.”
It was at that moment the boy returned to her side, bowing again as he offered a silver cup half-filled with what appeared to be a deep violet wine. This time oddly charmed by his behavior, Tabitha smiled as she accepted the goblet from his small hands. “Thank you.”
Those words alone seemed to throw the boy completely off of his game. Up until that point, his manner spoke of well-trained discipline, but as soon as her thanks left her lips, he froze in place, his eyes wide, as if he had no idea how to respond to such.
A muffled hum of amusement came from Baldwin, then. “Courtesy repaid in kind, young William. A lesson you should remember.” The king cocked his head, pausing. “You’ve done well, today. You are dismissed until such time as I call upon you again.”
The boy’s face brightened and, all of a sudden, he looked precisely his age. Maybe this was an early break for him? With an eager but deep bow, he answered, “Thank you, Majesty!” Then he promptly spun on his heel, walking swiftly for the exit and only allowing that pace to increase to a spirited dash once he’d cleared the threshold of the king’s chambers.
It was then Tabitha finally allowed herself a small sip of the vintage, finding it quite dry, but also a touch sweet. The cup itself was beautifully made but by no means lavish, especially for someone like a monarch – only a thin band of floral engraving adorned the rim.
“Now,” Baldwin continued, leaning forward and propping his forearms on the table, though she noticed he moved one with greater difficulty than the other. Tabitha also suspected that if that hand hadn’t been bandaged he would have laced his fingers together, as the way he moved suggested the gesture was natural to him. “Perhaps we may speak of business.” He cocked his head at her – again that gesture of curiosity. “Tell me of how you have accomplished these astonishing feats of yours. What constitutes your cures?”
Swallowing quickly, she nodded, carefully setting the goblet upon the table and mentally warning herself not to knock it over. “I have brought my tools with me, if you would like to see them.”
“By all means.”
Huffing out a sigh to relieve her nerves, she at last opened the medkit on her lap, first withdrawing the hypospray. As soon as her slightly-trembling fingers took hold of the device, a sense of confidence flooded through her being, calming her in a way she hadn’t expected.
This was her world. Her arena. She knew it backwards and forwards and upside down. There was no reason to be nervous; she was the one who held the knowledge now…
“This is what my people call a ‘hypospray’, or ‘hypo’ for short,” she began, carefully placing the tool on the table’s surface where the king could see it clearly. “It’s an applicator for various medications, used to combat everything from headaches to fever to infections. Small vials of medicine are loaded into the hypospray chamber here, and then they are injected beneath the skin of the patient by pressing this trigger.” She indicated both with a tap of her finger. “The skin isn’t punctured or otherwise injured in any way by this injection – it’s propelled from the vial via air compression with such speed and force that it’s absorbed directly into the system. It can even go through clothing if necessary.” She glanced up. “Usually, we apply the head of the device to the patient’s neck near their carotid artery for easy access to the bloodstream.”
At that, Baldwin leaned further over the device, his head tilting downwards; no doubt his mask obscured his vision, making it necessary to move closer. She watched in silence as his gaze visibly flicked back and forth, examining the tool more closely. “Tinctures taken directly into the body? Of what kind, exactly?” he asked. “I am familiar with various tonics and collyria, but nothing like you describe…”
In answer, she withdrew one of the small glass vials from the kit, placing it beside the hypo so he could see. “This. The medicine used by a hypospray device is suspended in liquid, and this one in particular is the same kind I’ve already used on the patients you spoke to a few days ago. It’s a universal antibody developed by the doctor on our ship to rapidly treat any and all infections that might present themselves – everything our people know of. It’s highly-concentrated, and as such must be administered in a carefully-measured dosage.”
He looked up at her again, and she could imagine his brow furrowing behind the mask. “Just one?”
Something about his question elicited a smile from her. “For most, yes. Sometimes a follow-up is needed, depending on the severity of the illness, but one or two doses is usually enough. Which is good, because, unfortunately,” she glanced down at the rows of vials that lay cushioned in the medkit, “there’s a limited supply.”
Another head cock. “So you cannot create more?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not an...” she hesitated, trying to come up with a word he would understand, “apothecary? I’m trained as a field medic, to assist when our doctor was spread too thin. I can diagnose and treat most ailments with the tools I’m given, but I don’t have the skills to make the remedies myself. So when this supply runs out, it’s gone for good.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “Still… if my people don’t come back to get me, which is increasingly likely, then I’d rather use it on those who need it rather than hoard it.”
There was a soft hum behind the mask as he leaned back in his chair once more. “That is generous of you.”
Another small smile graced her lips. “If someone asks me for help, and it’s within my power to do so, my conscience won’t let me refuse. So if anyone comes to me with a problem these medications can cure, I’ll do my best to treat them.”
“And there are no ill effects from such treatment?”
At that, however, her smile became a grimace. “I wouldn’t say ‘no’, exactly. Especially given the nature of this particular antibody. There’s always a chance of symptoms like nausea, fatigue, dizziness… even a rash. Depending upon the individual, of course. But most of these side effects are mild and pass fairly quickly. Other medicines, like those for fever or pain, may cause drowsiness, but that’s about it.”
“I see.”
A long silence ensued, and Tabitha could tell he was thinking as his gaze refocused upon the hypospray and the medicine vial. She dared not break such silence, however, instead watching him closely in anticipation of what he might say next. Even so, she found her own eyes wandering a bit, tracing the delicate golden embroidery of his veil and the similar trim that framed the neckline of his tunic...
“I suppose you have heard by now,” he began after a moment, his eyes flicking back upwards to meet hers, “that I am a leper.”
She nodded. “I have, Your Majesty.”
A slow tilt of his head followed. “And yet you have made no offers of treatment, nor recommended yourself to me. Most others would have insisted upon it – for my own sake at the least, if not that of the kingdom.”
In his words was not a question, but a statement of fact. Her heart quickened its beat in her chest as she struggled to formulate a satisfactory reply on her feet, such words feeling distinctly like some sort of trap…
She took another steadying breath. “As a physician, I can advise you on the best course of action, but it’s not my right to force you into anything. The decisions regarding your treatment are, ultimately, up to you. But I promise: if you ask, and it’s what you truly want, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
There was a soft hum at that, resonating within his mask. His eyes squinted ever so slightly with the sound, their corners crinkling a little, and again came that sensation of being scrutinized. Had he revealed in that moment that he possessed the ability to read every atom of her being, she would have believed him. It was hair-raising, and yet she couldn’t tear her gaze from his, couldn’t stop holding her breath in expectation of what he might say next…
Yet the presence of another pair of eyes very suddenly drew her attention, a vibrant-yellow green materializing from the shadows just on the periphery of her vision. When she glanced that way, however, somewhat alarmed by the sight, she saw they belonged to a silver coated cat, stretching lazily as if just emerging from a nap.
“Ah, the true King of Jerusalem deigns grace us with his presence,” Baldwin remarked as he followed her gaze. “No doubt to inspect you to his own satisfaction.”
In an instant, the tension that had begun to build in the air was shattered.
“Is he yours?” Tabitha asked, finding herself smiling as the cat traipsed nearer to her chair. She saw that he had a great many irregular, jet black spots in that silver fur of his, some long enough to almost call stripes. His eyes were almond-shaped and intense in their color, although he had several scars running over one, that ear having also been chewed at some point in his life. Overall, though, he appeared healthy enough, coat shining and his body rather filled out, suggesting he certainly ate well. Upon closer inspection, she noticed there was a white leather collar around his neck, embroidered with gold thread, a tiny golden cross dangling from it.
An amused chuckle came from the king. “More like I am his. He was a stray who found himself in the palace, and no matter how many times he was shooed away, he always somehow returned to my chambers. It seems he feels quite at home in the royal suites, and as such I have taken to calling him ‘Charles the Great’, after the first Emperor of the Franks…”
It was at that moment the cat uttered a harsh rasp of a meow, a voice that befitted his battle-scarred appearance. Then, with a great bunching of his haunches, he launched himself upwards onto the table, deftly weaving between the objects there to sniff at the hypo and vial.
“I see I was right,” Baldwin remarked.
“May I pet him?” she heard herself ask.
Another chuckle. “Alas, that is not a permission I can grant.”
The king’s humor over the course of this conversation was not lost on her, and considering how advanced his condition probably was, she took its presence as a good sign…
Cautiously, she lifted a hand as she watched this great Charles, hovering it near his head to allow him the choice to make contact or not. After a few muzzle-wriggling sniffs, it seemed he saw fit to accept the offer, bumping the top of his head into her palm, at which she felt at ease enough to give him a generous scratch behind the ears.
“He seems like a lovely companion,” she commented after a moment, withdrawing her hand. Charles merely sat on the spot, curling his tail around his feet.
“He is, in his way,” Baldwin replied softly. “He is a quiet presence, and that quiet is often welcome.”
It was precisely such quiet that followed, during which an idea entered Tabitha’s mind. From his questions, it seemed the king was most certainly interested in what she had to offer but was being extremely cautious about it – though whether that caution came from personal or political reasons, she wasn’t entirely sure. But perhaps she had a way to help him make up his mind…
“Your Majesty, I know all of this must seem rather fantastical to you,” she began carefully, her voice almost too loud as it pierced the heavy silence. “And to everyone here at the court, too. But there is something very simple I can offer you to help you in your decision-making, if you like.”
Again those eyes met hers, boring into her. “And what is that?”
She took a breath. “One of these medicines is designed to alleviate pain. That is all it does. If you wish, I can administer it to you, and you can judge for yourself the effectiveness of it. It should work within half an hour and last for up to twelve hours before wearing off.” She paused. “Is that something you’d want to try?”
It was his turn to take a breath. She saw his chest rise with it, his eyes fixing upon the hypospray where it lay.
“I would, yes.”
She offered him a smile. “Good. It won’t take me long at all.”
With that, she replaced the vial on the table with a blue one, returning the other to her kit. Then, withdrawing the medical tricorder, she held it aloft so he could see. “I’ll have to scan you with this first to know how much to administer.”
“Scan?”
“Yes.”
Slowly rising from her chair, so as not to alarm either him or the guard, she set the medkit in its seat, then moved around the side of the table towards him. All the while he watched her, yet made no move to stop her. The cat, too, observed with keen eyes, although only during momentary pauses whilst washing his paws…
“This device and its accompanying scanner,” she began, removing the small cylinder as she opened the tricorder, “will tell me exactly what is ailing you, as well as vital information I need to give you the proper dosage of medicine. Things like your weight, your height, your nutrition levels…”
She paused as his slightly-widened gaze flicked to the tricorder, its lights having predictably drawn his attention, as they had everyone else who had first laid eyes upon it. “And how does it do that?”
Tabitha felt herself smile again. There was something about his questions that seemed far more curious than they were suspicious, and as such, she felt more comfortable explaining the tools in more detail, even if the likelihood of him truly understanding what she was saying was slim and none. He seemed to possess a genuine curiosity, and if he had any personal judgments about her or her equipment, then he kept them to himself. Because of this, she felt more inclined to actually reward that curiosity with more than she might have others…
“This,” she indicated the cylinder, “collects information from your body, just as a person can physically observe symptoms with their eyes and ears. Only, this does it at a much faster rate and with far greater accuracy. It then sends that information to this,” she waggled the tricorder, “which gives me something like a report. I read it, and then I know what to do.”
“I… see…”
It was rather evident from his tone and hesitation that no, he didn’t see, but it was apparent he was going to take her word for it. Which was good for her.
“Just sit still and let me scan you,” she instructed with a reassuring smile. “This won’t hurt at all, I promise.”
He nodded once, but that was all the response she got. Thus, taking a deep breath again, she held the scanner up and began arcing it slowly over his head. It hummed, the tricorder chirruping data and blinking lights, yet the king seemed rather intent on attempting to ignore it all, staring straight ahead. At one point, he even closed his eyes, which suited Tabitha just fine.
All the while, she read what the scanner had to say, and it wasn’t a pretty picture. In addition to the big fat Mycobacterium leprae flashing in bright red upon the interface, it seemed Baldwin was battling a host of other secondary infections. Each of these was on the verge of surging through his system like a wildfire at any moment, elevating his white blood cell count to extremely high levels. Whatever treatments these primitive “physicians” were giving him was only barely keeping these infections at bay. His temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate were all high while his oxygen levels were low, likely caused by the mask in addition to the infections. On top of that, he was suffering from malnourishment – not as intense as that of Jehan and his father, but fast approaching it.
And then there was the matter of his weight; the given one hundred and thirty pounds she saw on the screen was far below the ideal range for his height of five feet and eleven inches…
She chewed her bottom lip, a quiet rage boiling in her veins. She’d gotten the information she needed for the painkiller, which had been her primary goal, but it was obvious from the rest of the data that she was looking at a dying man – not only from the leprosy, but also from neglect born of ignorance.
“There,” she said decisively, returning the hand scanner and snapping the tricorder closed. “I have my information. Now I can give you the painkiller.”
With that, she set the tricorder down on the table, then reached for the hypospray and vial. Baldwin’s eyes opened again, and he watched as she jammed the vial into the base of the hypo, the hiss of air following. Programming the correct dosage for his underweight status, she then stepped closer to his side.
“Must I do anything?” he asked, his head turning slightly in her direction while he otherwise remained unmoving in his chair.
“Not at all,” she replied. “This will be over in just a few seconds…”
With two fingers, she sought the feel of his pulse in his neck, so she knew where to put the head of the device. In a gesture of what she could only assume was great trust, he slightly turned his head away as if for better access, though she also heard the rattle in his lungs as he fought back a cough.
“It’s all right,” she said softly, more on reflex than anything, though if it helped to assure him, she was glad of it. Even past the soft, almost gauzy fabric that had been wrapped around his neck, she could feel how warm he was, the quickened thrum of his heartbeat against her fingertips. She positioned the head of the hypospray directly overtop that pulse, and his eyelids slid shut.
“On three. One… two… three…” she counted.
The hypo hissed. The king didn’t move. Only when she rubbed her thumb over the spot to soothe it did his eyes flutter open again.
“That is all?” he breathed, his voice laden as if with weariness.
She nodded, moving away from him to disassemble the hypo and return her tools to their kit. “That’s it. Like I said, you should start experiencing some relief in half an hour. Just don’t take it as a sign you can go running up and down the halls or anything… you might feel better, but your illness is still there.”
Another hum behind his mask, and he slowly nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Evangeline.”
She smiled again. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?”
His throat bobbed beneath the white fabric, and his gaze settled upon her for a long moment before he finally replied, “I believe that is all, for the moment. If I have further need of you, and if God wills for us to speak again… I will call for you.”
It was at that moment the knight emerged from his shadowy spot by the entrance, his armor glimmering in the firelight, and Tabitha took it as her cue that their meeting was over. Granting Baldwin another smile and half-bow, she collected her medkit from the chair, turned, and followed the knight away.
All the while, she could still feel the king’s eyes upon her back, even after they’d rounded the corner out of sight…