I did it! For our Saturday Story, I give you
"A Horse's Dinner". Enjoy!
Paris was in the grasp of a storm. The rain was dripping down the chimney, each drop hissing as it evaporated in the fire. The balcony doors were rattling in the gale. All those eerie sounds turned my study into a haunted room.
Annoyed I peered at the hourglass on the desk. I was not getting any work done today. Grumbling I chucked my worn-out quill into the vase on the bookcase. Perhaps reading the new medical encyclopedia from Brussels would cheer me up...
Just when my fingers grazed the new book's luscious leather spine, the door burst open. A breathless valet stumbled into the room.
"Doctor Lemay ... his majesty is ... come quickly ... please!"
That was everything I understood of his garbled speech. The poor man had run so fast, his rugged looks conjured up memories of a badly beaten dog. As fast as I could I grabbed my medical chest. I did not want to face a whipping for attending the king too late. My conscience would never forgive me that.
As I dashed down the hallway to the royal bedroom, my concern began working itself into a mad ecstasy. What had happened to his majesty? The servant had looked extremely worried.
Suddenly my reeling thoughts came to a dead stop. Ahead of me stood Rochefort, hovering by the bedroom door like a hungry lion awaiting his prey.
"Ah, doctor. It is about time you show your face," he said in a way of greeting. His voice oozed with contempt for me. "I heard the king was very ill. It would be a waste if he died because of your sluggishness."
I shuddered. As he spoke, he had winked at me in a frightful way. The man crept me out. I perfectly understood why the Musketeers kept their muskets close whenever they went near him.
"If you would let me pass, Monsieur, no time would be lost." I gritted my teeth. My eyes found the ornate crucifix on the hall's opposite side. I uttered a secret prayer to God, hoping He would remove this blond, scarily handsome obstacle from my path.
And God seemed to have an ounce of mercy to spare for me. Grudgingly Rochefort stepped aside, allowing me to slip into the king's chamber.
Once inside the room, I found Louis writhing on his ornamental fourposter bed. Servants bustled back and forth, bringing in basins of water, fresh sheets, platters of sweetmeats and jugs of wine.
But I had an inkling his majesty would not take well to food or drink right now. Just as I approached, he was doubled over, vomiting into a silver bowl.
"Your majesty sent for me?" I said and bowed to my royal employer. Carefully I took over from the valet who had held his hair during the episode of sickness.
In an involuntary embrace I rolled him over onto his side so he would not lie face-down in his vomit. In passing I gave the yellowish pulp in the bowl a cursory look. It looked normal with no signs of blood. I was glad of that.
"Are you in pain, sire?" I inquired while I took the pulse on his wrist and felt his forehead. It felt slightly clammy with sweat but was not hot to the touch. He had no fever. It was a good sign.
"Yes, a lot of pain!" Louis whimpered a little.
Sometimes he reminded me of an oversized baby. Albeit he was usually far more impulsive and far less lovable than an actual infant.
With professional detachment I smiled, encouraging him to talk to me. "Can you say where it hurts?"
"There," shakily and quite outof breath he pointed at his midriff. "Am I going to die?"
I tried not to groan. Louis constantly overestimated my predictive powers. Besides, his frequent flirting with death was certainly not aiding his well-being. Experience told me it was probably half as bad.
"Let me see." I took off my doublet and rolled up my shirt sleeves. Afraid he might be sick on me when my cold hands suddenly touched his aching belly, I rubbed my palms against each other for some warmth.
When a servant had folded up the king's shift, I pressed them against his skin, carefully palpating his stomach. I felt a lot of cramped muscle and some pockets of air. All the while a very unhealthy gurgle interrupted my examination. The case was clear. I sighed with great relief.
"What is wrong with me, doctor?" Louis asked in a half whisper as he kept cuddling up to the sheets with tangible unease.
"I believe your majesty is suffering from a very upset stomach," I explained patiently. "Most likely it was something you ate, sire."
"Wow..." Louis scowled at me. He was baffled and upset at once. "That cannot be... the king only eats the best, freshest foods."
Inwardly I rolled my eyes. With Louis, denial was not only a river in Egypt.
"Still, knowing what it was might help very much in your recovery," I retorted.
Not that I could not help him without such knowledge. I went over to my chest and retrieved the bottle of digestive tonic. The concoction would provide some ease for the king's minor ailment.
While I poured the remedy into a cup, a knock on the door interrupted me. As a servant ventured to open it a crack, the concerned face of Captain Treville gazed into the room.
When he saw me, the mild expression of worry grew into a deep frown. Quickly he pulled the door closed behind him. He nodded at me. "Forgive the intrusion, doctor."
His eyes travelled over to Louis who seemed most grateful of the captain's unexpected visit. After a bow to the king, Treville sighed in an unusually crestfallen way. "It appears I have come too late," he observed with unusual resignation.
"Too late, captain?" I gave him a shrewd look. The link between the king's illness and his sudden arrival eluded me.
"I came to warn his majesty not to eat the carrots," he explained, his fingers angrily working away at the wet hat he still held in his hand. He had definitely rushed to get here. "A part of the shipment went to the garrison. The stable boy got sick after stealing a few from the horses. They seem to have spoiled quickly in this wet weather."
"Carrots?" Louis burst out into a near shriek. Of course he had heard everything. And now he was working himself into a frenzy.
"Calm down, your majesty," I reached for his balled fist. When he tried to punch me with it, I took hold of his arm. "Please. Too much excitement harms your constitution."
Louis glared at me with the petulance of a sleepless toddler. "Vegetables are dangerous!" He grumbled. "They should be banned! Not even horses should eat them. They only need hay and ... and hugs!"
"Most assuredly, sire," I quipped. My gaze locked with Treville's. We shared a moment of quiet compassion for having to bear this kingly tantrum.
I considered adding a mild sedative to the stomach tonic. It could save Treville from a tirade over him neglecting his duty, protecting the king from monstrous vegetables.
But I decided against it. Louis had worn himself out so much, he would soon fall asleep on his own accord. I beckoned for the captain to pass me the cup of tonic.
"Drink this, sire. It will ease your discomfort." Gently I put the cup to his lips, waiting for him to take his medicine.
Moments after he had swallowed, Louis's eyelids became heavy. He was drifting off from sheer exhaustion. Before he dozed off, he gave me a weak smile. "You are my hero, doctor..."
The compliment was unexpected. I had done nothing special today. It was much more Treville who had gone out of his way to keep the king safe. Grateful for his service, I smiled at the captain. It felt wise to search my books for precedents of carrot-induced delusion.