Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

every crevice and bulge. He throws his shirt over his woolen breeches that are dingy and loose from the infrequent washing. Lastly, he crawls into his forest-green kirtle, which is made of the finest crushed velvet from France.
    He nudges my shoulder. “Elizabeth, please wake for inspection.”
    I pull down the covers as he takes my pulse and feels for fever. He searches my abdomen, neck, and thighs for buboes: swellings caused by the plague. Finding none, he hands me the chamber pot. Used to this act by now, I casually get up, go behind the painted screen, and squat over the clay basin.
    “I have no bowel movement this early,” I say minutes later as I hand him my pot.
    He looks disappointed. “You should have them regularly. You need to eat more figs. I have mine every morning upon waking. My digestion is remarkable.” He points to his full chamber pot by the bed.
    Taking my pot under his nose, he inhales deeply and ponders for a moment. “Definitely not with child. Nevertheless, we have only been married three months, so that is nothing to worry about. These are terrible times to bring children into the world anyway.” He pulls the urine in for closer inspection. “I see no evidence of contaminants.”
    He leaves both chamber pots on the floor for the servants to dump out the window later and leaves without saying good-bye. I weave my long, dark brown hair into a thick, shining braid and tie the bottom with a burgundy silk ribbon. I finish dressing with my embroidered burgundy velvet kirtle that mother gave me as a wedding present and go down for breakfast.
    Mother is already sitting at the table. “Hadrian gave me excellent praise of my bowels this morning. He said for you to eat more figs.” She pushes the figs toward me and then pulls her kirtle up to scratch at a fleabite on her knee, exposing the birthmark that is darkening with age.
    “Yes, Mother.” I take one and shove it in my mouth.
    “You know, I was first wary of your father choosing Hadrian to wed you. He came from a poor peasant family with no title or property. But your father was relentless on the fact that he was a medical prodigy from Oxford and was going to be successful.” She scoffs. “Thank God that unruly horse threw that lord off, shattering his leg in so many pieces that only Hadrian could fix it. Had that not happened, poor young Hadrian could not have gone to University, and we would not have our emerald powder, my girl.” She pats my knee. “As dreary and boring as he is, it has proved very auspicious indeed for us.”
    I didn’t have much say in the decision but am glad to have served my mother in this way, remembering all the criticisms she made daily about Father’s ill choice.
    As the weeks progressed, Mother and I watch how the city changes from within the confines of our house. The hustle and bustle heard from afar fades, as the church bells ring constantly for funeral services. Men carry coffins on shoulders, with mourners trailing behind, at least twenty times daily down our street. People who venture out do so without stopping or speaking to passersby, holding their herbal remedies close to their noses all the while. Some of our faithful servants stop showing at our house, and no one knows if they fell ill or simply fear to leave their homes.
    Hadrian returns increasingly paranoid every night. “We have to ready to leave for Windsor soon,” he says at breakfast. “It is getting worse than I expected. Peasants are dropping in the streets off their carts and during their daily rituals. The city put an ordinance out today to force every property owner to make out a will. People are dying so fast they cannot find a notary to bequeath their assets!”
    “Have you made out a will?” Mother ventures.
    “Of course I have. All my business has been seen to.” He speaks with his mouth full of food. “I am worried about the peasants’ uprising as the death toll mounts. We need to ready ourselves to leave soon.”
    Mother wads up her cloth napkin and pushes her chair away from the table. “I can be ready by noon.”
    “I will wait until I see signs of danger, but we should always be ready.” He turns to me. “My apprentice has died.”
    I am shocked. “I had not even heard the boy was sick.”
    “Yes, he had been sick for a week. I had hoped he would improve. I left the aloe pills with his mother. I spent the last two years teaching him. What a waste.” He drops his fork in frustration.
    “The antidotes