| General Fiction posted June 6, 2024 |
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We thought we had it bad with COVID
Death Is Death
by Claire Tennant
The bleak sun shines, heralding a new day. My heart is sad. The year is 1353, the day, May the tenth, one which once brought happiness, given it would have been Iain's twenty-fifth birthday. The tears run down my cheeks unchecked. When you love as Iain, and I loved, married earlier than most, you never think that the love you share would end abruptly by something vile. That plague called the Black Death, affected the semi-rich and poor alike. It had no favourites. Its sting was like a lion roaring with another bite following. Yes, many succumbed to it. Hygiene was irrelevant, and poverty was rampant. You got on with life. My thoughts this day are in turmoil my memories crowd in. Scotland, like any other British or European country, would survive this period eventually. Yet death is still death; whatever the cause and grief never stops, it gets easier with time...apparently.
My mind went back to the day Iain was summoned.
Oh, the halcyon days of 1349. I could not believe it when I heard it. Why would Scotland decide to take advantage of England's torment, believing God had bestowed His favour over her, because of England's desire for power? This was not the Scots way, who apart from the devil was behind it? Scotland and Wales, at that stage, were free of the black death. England's desire for power and control would go on for centuries until James the VI of Scotland became James 1st of England, there being no one else, as Elizabeth 1 had no other heir. At this time, while the pestilence, or Black Death, was rampant, the Scots powers chose to wage war on England. All young men were obliged to fight for their country.
England, like Europe, had the Black Death. There were no favourites, but there were rats. The symptoms were not a problem in themselves, but the fleas carried the germs of certain death.
Defeated once again, the Scottish armies scuttled back "home" with the fruits of the plague upon them. It reached Wales and Ireland about the same time, and the black death hovered. Were the Scots to blame for that too? The Irish and Welsh would wonder, but the smell of death, the rubbish, the human waste, both body and faecal, all combined made life a living hell.
Soon after his return, I saw my love struggle. His neck and armpits were swollen. His face was covered in a rash, indicating flea bites. His body temperature was rising. It was just as well food was scarce; Iain could not eat. If he did, his stomach worked overtime. How could I ask even my dear sister to help nurse Iain? She had her own life to lead.
True to form, I did not need to ask. Elizabeth was there anyway, insisting I would rest. She also insisted that we make enquiries via the priest about a physician. I knew, though, that there would be little we could do, particularly when Iain's fingers turned black. Only bloodletting would relieve the symptoms; there was no cure. I prayed that help would come to relieve the stress of nursing, but then, once exposed, who would be next?
I went outside as the sun was shining. I walked a little to get away from things. Who was I kidding? At least, though I was sorry it had not happened, there were no children to comfort or nurse or be left behind.
By the time I returned, the priest and physician were there.
I insisted on seeing Iain.
The physician looked tired. At least, unlike his European counterparts, he would not have to provide statistics on his patients; he could just advise how best to deal with them.
"Ach, I am sorry, lass," the physician said.
"I don't think it will be much longer. I just wish I could do more. If it is any consolation, the black death would have reached us eventually. It is the circumstances of battle that adds to sorrow."
I sat with Iain. He could hardly breathe, but a ghost of a smile emerged when he felt my hand on his.
"Mary."
His voice was a whisper.
"I am dying I had no... choice." his breathing was laboured.
"I know"
I knew it was dangerous, but I kissed him, not caring if I were the next victim.
1353
The Black Death diminishes for now. I was one of the few who did not succumb despite my last few minutes with my love. One day, we will learn that isolation holds one of the keys to control. The world will develop as God plans. I suspect that some men will seek control and power, and women, for the time being, will be subservient.
For now, I wait once more for the physician. This time, he is healing my heart. I can almost imagine Iain's approving smile.
The Black Death contest entry
The bleak sun shines, heralding a new day. My heart is sad. The year is 1353, the day, May the tenth, one which once brought happiness, given it would have been Iain's twenty-fifth birthday. The tears run down my cheeks unchecked. When you love as Iain, and I loved, married earlier than most, you never think that the love you share would end abruptly by something vile. That plague called the Black Death, affected the semi-rich and poor alike. It had no favourites. Its sting was like a lion roaring with another bite following. Yes, many succumbed to it. Hygiene was irrelevant, and poverty was rampant. You got on with life. My thoughts this day are in turmoil my memories crowd in. Scotland, like any other British or European country, would survive this period eventually. Yet death is still death; whatever the cause and grief never stops, it gets easier with time...apparently.
My mind went back to the day Iain was summoned.
Oh, the halcyon days of 1349. I could not believe it when I heard it. Why would Scotland decide to take advantage of England's torment, believing God had bestowed His favour over her, because of England's desire for power? This was not the Scots way, who apart from the devil was behind it? Scotland and Wales, at that stage, were free of the black death. England's desire for power and control would go on for centuries until James the VI of Scotland became James 1st of England, there being no one else, as Elizabeth 1 had no other heir. At this time, while the pestilence, or Black Death, was rampant, the Scots powers chose to wage war on England. All young men were obliged to fight for their country.
England, like Europe, had the Black Death. There were no favourites, but there were rats. The symptoms were not a problem in themselves, but the fleas carried the germs of certain death.
Defeated once again, the Scottish armies scuttled back "home" with the fruits of the plague upon them. It reached Wales and Ireland about the same time, and the black death hovered. Were the Scots to blame for that too? The Irish and Welsh would wonder, but the smell of death, the rubbish, the human waste, both body and faecal, all combined made life a living hell.
Soon after his return, I saw my love struggle. His neck and armpits were swollen. His face was covered in a rash, indicating flea bites. His body temperature was rising. It was just as well food was scarce; Iain could not eat. If he did, his stomach worked overtime. How could I ask even my dear sister to help nurse Iain? She had her own life to lead.
True to form, I did not need to ask. Elizabeth was there anyway, insisting I would rest. She also insisted that we make enquiries via the priest about a physician. I knew, though, that there would be little we could do, particularly when Iain's fingers turned black. Only bloodletting would relieve the symptoms; there was no cure. I prayed that help would come to relieve the stress of nursing, but then, once exposed, who would be next?
I went outside as the sun was shining. I walked a little to get away from things. Who was I kidding? At least, though I was sorry it had not happened, there were no children to comfort or nurse or be left behind.
By the time I returned, the priest and physician were there.
I insisted on seeing Iain.
The physician looked tired. At least, unlike his European counterparts, he would not have to provide statistics on his patients; he could just advise how best to deal with them.
"Ach, I am sorry, lass," the physician said.
"I don't think it will be much longer. I just wish I could do more. If it is any consolation, the black death would have reached us eventually. It is the circumstances of battle that adds to sorrow."
I sat with Iain. He could hardly breathe, but a ghost of a smile emerged when he felt my hand on his.
"Mary."
His voice was a whisper.
"I am dying I had no... choice." his breathing was laboured.
"I know"
I knew it was dangerous, but I kissed him, not caring if I were the next victim.
1353
The Black Death diminishes for now. I was one of the few who did not succumb despite my last few minutes with my love. One day, we will learn that isolation holds one of the keys to control. The world will develop as God plans. I suspect that some men will seek control and power, and women, for the time being, will be subservient.
For now, I wait once more for the physician. This time, he is healing my heart. I can almost imagine Iain's approving smile.
A little homework was done here. The spelling of IAIN is the Gaelic spelling of Ian, meaning John. I am sorry if my little sentence evokes grief regarding Covid
Pays
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