Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

apprentice go in and tell me of their symptoms. I instructed him through an open window, facing north.”
    We are both relieved at this and feel more at ease in his presence again.
    “Is there any treatment?” I ask.
    Our servants interrupt us as they bring in our fish dinner.
    Hadrian takes one look at it and says, “We will not be having fish anymore. Who knows what water it has come from and what foul air it has inhaled.” He pushes the dish back at the servant. “Find something else quickly. Some animal that has breathed only London air, and remember, no spices at all!” He turns back to us. “They could be spices sent from the Genoans’ galleys, for God’s sake!” I must have shown my confusion, since Hadrian rolls his eyes and spits, “The dirty mongrels we have to thank for spreading this god-awful disease to Europe.”
    Mother looks embarrassed that I hadn’t known this too.
    “Is there any treatment?” I ask again.
    “Well, if the lesions ripen, one should skillfully rupture it, but who is going to get close to a peasant plague victim?”
    “Is there nothing else to be done?” Mother wonders, I’m sure, for her own reasons.
    “Well again, if there were anyone foolish enough to attend them, bloodletting would surely draw out the body’s heat from fever. There has been some talk in France about certain plague antidotes.”
    “Antidotes?” Mother perks up at this information. “Where can we obtain them?”
    “Lucky for you and Elizabeth, I was so clever to have recently received them from the Parisian apothecary.” Mother and I smile at this. “That is what I was picking up at the seaport that day, ironically.”
    “How much antidote do you have?” I begin eating again at this happy news.
    “I have the whole assortment. One mixture of fig, filbert, and rue—all said to be beneficial. A bottle of little white pills of aloe, myrrh and saffron. I also have a few little pots of theriac, mithridate, bol armeniac, and terra sigillata. But the most potent and rare antidote I sent for”—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little corked vial—“is this little beauty, ground emerald powder, the most powerful.”
    Our eyes sparkle as we fix them on the green shiny powder held in the glow of the candlelight.
    “How lucky we are, Elizabeth! To have such a wise and wonderful man in our house!”
    The dimple on the right side of his face deepens with pleasure at my mother’s recognition.
    “This is only to be used if nothing else works. Cost me a bloody fortune. Had to sell three horses from Windsor to obtain it, but it will serve us nicely, if need be.”
    “We made ten smelling apples this morning,” I say, trying to contribute.
    “Very good. I will need one for my apprentice and me on the morrow. I need to keep abreast of the emerging situation. Even though I have provided us the antidotes—”
    Mother interrupts. “But you will only save them for us, right? You are not intending to waste them on your patients, or worse, peasants!” Her voice rises to an uncomfortable pitch.
    “Calm down, Jacquelyn.” He leans back and stretches his long legs under the table. “Of course I will not waste them on peasants. The emerald powder is exclusively for us, but the other antidotes I will sell at a high price to dying lords and ladies in this city. We will reap a fortune from it.”
    “So wise, so wise,” she says, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
    Clearly relishing her praise Hadrian says, “The question is not what can be done once stricken, but more importantly, what can be done as a preventive measure.”
    Mother and I lean in, waiting to be blessed with the treasured knowledge.
    “Do tell us?” Mother pushes.
    “Wine, and white wine is best, should be consumed at least once a day.”
    Mother nods aggressively in agreement as he continues, “All excessive exercise should be avoided. Also any activity which would open your pores should be avoided, such as bathing and intercourse. They all allow the poison to seep in.”
    He looks at me as he says this, and I am relieved to be able to avoid the unpleasant act for some time.
    “Fine advice. We shall have a glass of wine this very night!” Mother calls the servant, and we toast our goblets in unison.
    “To health in the midst of pestilence!”

Chapter 3
    In the morning, I watch Hadrian dress for the day from under the warm covers of goose-down. He pulls on his constrictive hose, which unfortunately clings to