The stars appeared when Begiloc went to Sister Theodilde"s tent to check on Meryn. The nun explained, “The spear thrust missed vital organs and I washed his wound with vinegar, covered it in balm and bound it. Cowslip root made him sleep, but fever rages and he lost much blood; he is in God"s hands.”
“Will he pull through?”
The infirmarian pursed her lips. “I cannot be sure. The gash must not fester and the fever break in the night or he will not see the new day.”
The words gripped Begiloc"s heart like hands of ice. Poor Meryn sweated and murmured while Theodilde dabbed his face with a cloth.
“Pray for him.”
Not trusting to speech, a lump in his throat, he preferred to concentrate on the man wounded to the shoulder, in the next bed.
“And him?”
The nun dipped her rag in cold water an
