Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

sees the wrapped parcel tucked under my arm. “Is that fresh bread there?”
    “Yes, four loaves of fresh wheat.” I want to save two loaves for the children.
    “No forr, I will take your dead for the pence and the bread, but only because you’re such a lovely little blossom.”
    He gives me a leering once-over. I point inside the house, and he thankfully leaves to fetch the poor woman’s body. I take out two loaves and tuck them into my underclothes. The sexton comes out backward, dragging the corpse.
    “Take keep! Take keep!” he’s shouting, trying to dislodge Rowan as he clings to his mother’s chest. The sexton drags both of them off to the cart.
    “Momma! Momma!” the child’s frantically crying.
    Oliver is torn between not wanting his mother being taken and understanding she must be taken. He keeps trying to pull his little brother off as tears silently runs down his dirty face.
    The sexton gives one strong kick to the clinging child. “Away, wenchel!”
    Rowan falls off howling, and Oliver tries to pull him up to comfort him.
    Oliver spits toward the sexton, “He’s a boy!”
    The sexton shrugs before hoisting her limp body clumsily, and without sympathy, onto the top of the heap. Oliver shuts his eyes and leans over Rowan so he can’t see. The sexton holds his hand out for payment. I tuck the coin into the package and hand the bread over. He greedily takes it and pulls out a loaf with the same hand that just handled days’-old plague corpses. He tears off a huge piece and chews it with his mouth open.
    “I usually get peasant rye, but this wheat’s a fine treat!”
    I walk away from him toward the children while he gets back up on his cart.
    “To which cemetery are you taking the children’s mother?”
    He laughs. “No room left in the churchyard. We have to bury them in Smithfield.”
    “Smithfield?”
    “The king’s set aside a whole cemetery for burying the victims of the Great Mortality.
    Today’s a slow day.”
    Makes me wonder what a busy day would look like.
    “You’re lucky she won’t be thrown into the pits. Get her own box, she will.” With that, he whips his horse, and the grim reaper creaks away.
    I go back into the house to see if the children have anything they can bring with them, and I see nothing. Everything is crawling with fleas and vermin. I open up the gate for the animals to be released to fend for themselves. I shoo the children back out and then slap off the fleas that are biting my ankles. I take each child’s hand but remember the loaves. I pull one out, tear it in half, and the grateful, salivating look on the children’s faces tells me that they haven’t eaten for days. I start to walk with no destination in mind as they happily chew on their bread.
    Where am I going to take them? Who will take in plague victims?
    I reason the only thing to do is bring them to Windsor with us. We can surely find one of our serfs to take them in once they’re cured. No one better to cure them than a surgeon! I see a loaded cart in front of our city house. Mother’s on the cart bench, and Hadrian’s making sure the items in the cart are tied down tightly. Mother, looking put out at my long absence, grows livid when she sees whom I brought back with me.
    She yells, “Hadrian, fetch her at once!”
    Hadrian glances up and looks confused at my company. He walks toward me briskly and reproachfully. “Where have you been? We sent you out for breakfast, and it is nearly midday now!” He looks down disdainfully on the children. “Why are these beggars with you? These are plague times, Elizabeth!”
    He grabs my arms, shakes the children loose violently, and pulls me to the cart. The children hug each other in fear.
    Mother shouts, “Elizabeth! Get on this cart at once! Have you lost your senses?”
    I pull back from Hadrian with all my strength and he yanks back with a drawn face. “Get on the cart and do as I say!”
    “Can we bring these poor orphans?” I try.
    He doesn’t even look at them. “Stop this nonsense!” He pulls me again.
    “Their father has left them and their mother has died of the Black Death!” I plead.
    He freezes at this. “You mean to take in plague children! What is the matter with you?” He casts off my arm like it’s ridden with plague vapors and pulls his apple out of his pocket to his mouth and nose.
    Mother, overhearing this, pounces down from the cart and marches over to me, fuming. “Stop embarrassing me and your husband