Chapter Two
Hal put all thoughts of his new friend aside as he prepared for battle and Meg spent the next week trying to get home. She was refused entry to the abbey as at this point in history, it was still an abbey, rather than a Royal Peculiar and a tourist attraction and since it was a Benedictine monastery, they didn't exactly welcome women.
She retreated to consider her options and, hoping that his hail fellow, well met attitude would hold and he wouldn't be upset with her, she went into Hal's room and borrowed one of his shirts, a pair of his trousers and a hat to hide her hair. Meg wasn't particularly well endowed so with the loose shirt and her leather jacket over it, she looked fairly androgynous. Hiding her hair under the hat helped and with the judicious application of a little dirt and dust to her usually clean face, she managed to resemble a male youth.
Dressed as a boy she was able to obtain entry to the monastery but not to the chair, being escorted by a monk to the Abbot, who she had claimed to have a message for, and then escorted out. Learning to write with a quill and ink wasn't easy but after a little practice, she managed. Unfortunately her 21st century spelling and syntax made the Abbot question if the message was really from Prince Hal. She bluffed, claiming that Hal had dictated the message to her and her English was poor, but she didn't think he believed her.
If she could only reach the coronation throne, she was sure she could get home but when she tried the same ruse again, claiming to have another message for the Abbot, she was turned away and the monk took the parchment she clutched and closed the door in her face.
With little other option, she decided she'd have to break into the abbey overnight and gain access to the chair, while the monks slept. She spent three nights watching the comings and goings, noting when the final candles were snuffed out.
She slept late the following day, intending to break in that night. In truth she shouldn't have waited that long but she was eager to hear if Hal was all right, so she made excuses that the punishments for theft (and especially stealing from a church) were grave, so she had to be extra careful to ensure that she wasn't discovered. The fact she didn't plan to steal anything wouldn't be believed, so she had to be especially careful that she wasn't caught before she could reach the chair.
She now spent most of her time dressed as a boy, so when Hal swaggered into the Hog's Head to be greeted with cheers, he didn't immediately recognise her.
She hadn't meant to hug him, much less take a running jump but when he appeared before her, grinning and apparently healthy, instinct overcame her.
"How now, Sirrah, but I do not believe I am well acquainted enough with any boy to be met with such affection." He said as she hung off him like fruit on a tree.
Meg didn't release or answer him but continued to hold tightly.
Mistress Quickly cackled. "She's no boy, my lord, that is your new friend, Lady Meg." To prove her claim, she plucked the hat from Meg's head, catching her hairband.
"Oww!" Meg cried as the elastic band was pulled out of her hair and her head was wrenched back. She released her hold on Hal and scratched her scalp where the hair had been pulled, snatching the hat back from Mistress Quickly.
"My lady, you make a very fetching boy," Hal informed her, his eyes roaming over her figure and evidently enjoying this turn of events.
Meg looked him up and down. "You too," she said.
"I am no boy," he laughed with good humour at her jibe. "And are those not my garments?"
"I borrowed them, I hope you don't mind?"
"If thou will tell me thy reasons for thy subterfuge, I am certain I can forgive thee."
"It's easier to move around as a man," she shrugged as if it were obvious. In truth, a few patrons who knew her to be a women had got a little fresh with her, but they were usually drunk and she was well and to defend herself.
"But how are you? Are you hurt?" She had heard him groan when she hugged him.
"My shoulder and leg, though they are but flesh wounds."
"Did you get them treated?"
"But of course," he grinned. "Now enough of this fussing. We must celebrate!"
The others cheered and Meg smiled, feeling relieved that he was safe.
"My father thinks I am recovering in Windsor," Hal whispered to her, "so I have nigh on two weeks to relax and recover."
"You're incorrigible."
"And thou art encourage-able. Come, drink, celebrate my victory."
Her escapade could wait another night, she decided.
Meg awoke late the next day to a slight headache, but nothing compared to what most of the tavern patrons would be feeling.
She expected to see Hal at breakfast but he wasn't there.
"Has Hal gone out already?" she asked Francis.
"He is still abed, as far as I know, Miss."
Meg checked her watch discreetly (there had been much interest in such a small clock when she first arrived, so she had learned to hide it).
"That's not like him," she said to herself, a little concerned as she continued eating her bread. Breakfast here was bread or toast with sack or ale. Meg opted for bread and dripping and watered down cider (just enough to hide the awful taste of the water).
When Hal hadn't shown by the time she was finished, she made her way to his room and knocked.
"Hal?" she called when she received no answer.
It was quite possible he had a whore in there with him, and she had no desire to see him and his lady friend naked.
"Hal? Are you in there?"
She thought she heard a moan and was tempted to leave him to his hangover and lady friend but something stopped her and opening the door an inch, she peered in.
"Hal?"
The groan came again but it was definitely not pleasurable this time. She opened the door and found Hal lying on his bed, covered in sweat and mumbling in some kind of fevered delirium.
"Shit," she said, approaching and placing a hand on his forehead. He was burning up, dangerously so.
It appeared he slept nude so she pulled the blanket off his torso to see his shoulder wound, but it seemed to be healing nicely, even without stitches. She pulled the blanket off completely to examine his leg wound, keeping her eyes averted from… distractions, and found his thigh wound badly infected.
"Bollocks," she cursed, considering her best course of action.
Antibiotics would take at least a week to make, although better to have three, but the biggest danger was heatstroke from his temperature, which would carry him off before the infection could.
Paracetamol could be made in a couple of hours however, and that would bring his temperature down enough to allow his body to fight the infection, assuming she could find the right ingredients.
"Francis! Francis!" she called as she hunted for Hal's purse.
She faintly heard his call of "Anon, anon, Miss!"
She found the purse with his clothes and took a few coins from it, only just remembering to cover Hal up as she heard Francis approach.
"Yes, Miss?"
"I need you to watch over the prince and bathe him in cold water."
"Shall I call for a physician, Miss?"
Who knew what barbarity they would inflict upon him?
"No, I will go and get what he needs, but you must keep him cool and bathe him regularly." She opened the windows.
"Should I build a fire?"
"NO!" She yelled. "Keep him cool. If I get back here and find you've tried to sweat this out of him, I'll swing for you myself. Do you understand?"
"Y- yes, miss."
"Good." She twisted her hair up into a bun, wrapped her hairband around it and crammed the hat on top. "I may be some time, just remember what I said, keep him cool."
"Yes, Miss."
She ran out, heading to the apothecary.
It had been a long time since she made paracetamol at school and this time, it was far harder, as the ingredients weren't readily available, prepared and only needing to be measured out.
The phenol and nitrophenols she was able to extract from coal tar, the sulphuric acid was available as oil of vitriol and luckily, sodium nitrate, or salt, was easy to find in any time. With the help of the apothecary, whom she had bribed to help her, it still took her six hours to manufacture the drug, and it was far from as pure as she might wish. She had done her best to filter out the impurities though, and was confident that this wouldn't harm him.
She ran back to the Hog's Head and barrelled into Hal's room, only to find a man standing over him with a knife and a bowl, a fire burning in the grate and judging from a bowl filled with bile, poor Hal had been sick.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Attempting to rebalance the humours," he answered.
"I'm sorry, Miss," Francis tried to explain. "Mistress Quickly insisted we inform the palace and they sent for him."
"Step away from him right now," she said to the doctor, opening the windows once more to allow a breeze through.
"Young man, I must rebalance the humours. We have already made him vomit and emptied the bladder, now we must sweat him and let some blood so-"
"Step away!" she said, grabbing Hal's dagger and pointing it at him. "You're lucky if you haven't killed him already and I will not allow you to do further damage. Get out and don't come back."
Luckily the doctor seemed to be of a cowardly disposition because although it was blatantly obvious she didn't know how to wield a blade, he and Francis backed out of the room. Meg slammed the door closed after them and threw the bolt across. She heard voices out there for a while but they soon left.
"Humours indeed," she muttered as she tipped some water onto the fire, leaving enough to bathe him with. She left the candles lit though, since it was growing dark now.
There was a jug of sack in the room and she got the small box which contained the paracetamol powder out, then mixed some with the sack to make it palatable. Besides, alcohol acted as a vasodilator and sent the blood to the skin, which would help to cool him down.
"Hal," she called, pulling the blankets off him and mopping his brow with one. "Hal, can you drink?"
He murmured but seemed to be incomprehensible.
With some effort, she lifted him up in the bed and held his head up with one hand while she gently tipped the sack and power into his mouth. He swallowed, which was a good sign, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. The pills would take perhaps half an hour to start have an effect, and then she needed to see about the infection.
While the wound site was hot, there didn't seem to be any puss to release. She opened the door and called for Francis.
"Anon, anon, miss!"
He appeared a few moments later.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I had no choice."
"Forget that now," she dismissed his arguments. "I need you to find me all the mouldy bread and apples that you can, the mouldier the better."
"Miss?"
"Please, Francis, just do it. And we need more water and sack when you have a moment."
"Yes, Miss." He shuffled off and Meg used the remaining water to bath Hal, who thanks to the doctor's sweating him, was beginning to smell a little rank.
Francis came first with more water and sack, and Meg covered Hal with a blanket as she heard him running down the corridor. She fished a coin out and gave it to him, hoping that it would incentivise him to do his best to procure the mould.
He ran off again and Meg bolted the door, afraid that the palace would try and take Hal away and give him back to the butcher masquerading as a doctor. By the time Meg had finished washing Hal, he began to rouse.
"Hey," she sat beside him and took his hand, while pressing her other hand to his forehead. He felt cooler already. "How do you feel?"
"Whatever mischief I got into last night, it was not worth it," he said, sounding horse and weak.
"You're not hungover," she said. "Your leg wound became infected."
"And thou hast been nursing me?" He smiled but it was a pale reflection of his usual smile.
"Actually, I left Francis to tend you for most of the day," she teased.
"Thou art heartless and unduly cruel to me."
"At least you still have a sense of humour," she smiled.
"And is that to be wished for?"
"Put it this way, it's better than sleep and delirium. I need to see your leg."
Hal lifted his blanket and peered below.
"Thou has been attending to me all day while I am as bare as a newborn? By my troth, it's enough to make even one such as I, blush."
She got up and poured him a cup of watered down sack. "Drink up, it'll help spare your blushes," she joked.
She lifted the blanked only high enough to see the thigh wound.
"How do I fare?"
"As long as your temperature doesn't get too high again, you should be okay. I'll make you some penicillin tea to help you fight the infection, it's not as good as pure penicillin but that would take me at least a week to make. And I have a powder you must take every six hours, which will keep your temperature down and ease some of the aches."
"Wilt thou nurse me back to health, fair Meg?"
She realised that she hadn't even thought of returning home today. "I'll stay a little longer," she informed him. "I can't leave you to the mercies of that doctor until you're recovered. I think he almost killed you earlier."
"I would my lady would take me with you*, what is a doctor?" [*I wish my lady would help me understand]
"It's what we call a physician."
"Thou seems to be playing physician thyself, no?"
"I'm not a doctor or physician,"
"Where didst thou learn how to treat the infirm?"
"I'm a science correspondent for Modern Science Magazine."
"Thou claims to be a scientist now?"
"I claim a lot that you would think strange, Hal, but yes, I have a masters in Biology, although I don't work as a scientist. Basically I take research papers and distil them down into layman's terms"
"What strange tales thou do tell, my Meg."
"Tales or not, my understanding of nature and the body is not in question."
"I believe thee." He said, closing his eyes.
"Yeah, right. Finish that drink before you go back to sleep," she ordered. "You need to keep hydrated."
"That sounds painful."
She laughed. "It isn't. Now empty the cup or I'll tip it down your throat."
"Thou art more familiar with me than my dog."
"You don't have a dog."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've never seen you with one. Now rest. I'll wake you when the tea is ready."
Francis bustled along the corridor soon after and knocked on the door.
"Miss, I have your bread and mould."
"Thank you," she told him. "Now might I have some boiling water, a kettle, something to stir with and some honey?"
"Yes, Miss." He scurried off and Meg took a seat by the window and with Hal's knife. She sorted through the fruit and bread, shaving the blue-green mould off.
Francis returned with the water, honey and the kettle, although it was a cooking pot, not a kettle as she was used to. The water was still steaming hot and once she had locked Francis out, she added the water and mouldy skins to the kettle, stirring to free the antibiotic chemicals from the mould, then she left it to stew and cool while she continued preparing the fruit. She'd have to make the brew daily as, if left to sit too long, it could breed pathogens and become harmful.
Once the mixture had cooled a little, she added honey to taste, then filled a cup and approached Hal. Shaking his shoulder to wake him.
"I need you to drink this," she told him as his eyes opened.
"Prithee peace, chewet*, leave me to rest." [*please be quiet, you chatterbox]
"This will help you fight the infection in your leg."
"What is it?"
"It's a broth made from penicillium."
"Which is what?"
"When you're better, I'll explain everything if you want but for now, just trust it will help you."
He still looked unsure as he sniffed the contents of the cup.
"Look." She downed its contents. It wasn't pleasant but it wasn't as unpleasant as she feared either. "See, harmless but helpful." She filled the cup again and returned to him. "Drink."
He did so.
"It tastes like very weak cider."
"It's made from apples," she said, leaving off the mouldy part of that description. "Now you can sleep again, and I swear I will be as quiet as a church mouse."
She returned to her chair by the window and for the first time since this morning, she relaxed, so much so that she even began to doze off.
Meg was rudely awakened by a pounding at the door.
"We are the Royal Guard, sent to retrieve the Prince of Wales. Open up before we kick the door down!"
Hal was stirring on the bed. "What the devil is that noise?"
"They're here to take you away, Hal." She explained. "I kicked the doctor out when I found him making you sick and trying to give you hyperthermia. I think he went to the palace and called the guard to get me away from you."
He sat up in bed and nodded his understanding. "Let them in." he told her, just as someone pounded again.
"Just a second," she called.
She pulled the bolt back and opened the door, only to find herself nearly flattened as they forced it wide.
"What is the meaning of this?" Hal demanded.
The doctor bustled into the room along with the soldiers and Meg retreated to the end of the bed.
"That boy did threaten me this evening, my Lord," the doctor said, pointing at Meg, "and chased me from thy bedside with a dagger."
Hal met Meg's eyes and she could swear she saw amusement in his countenance.
"By my faith, he was following my instruction," Hal replied.
"But my Lord was insensible," the doctor insisted.
"Aye, and earlier I did instruct him on how to proceed. As thou canst see, I am much improved."
A guard stepped forward. "My Lord, who is this fellow?" he pointed as Meg.
"Why, the boy is my page."
"And he was obeying your orders?"
"That he was and thanks to the physician, he failed, I would cudgel the jack [beat the bastard] were I feeling more myself. Now let's hear no more of this, I need peace and must insist thou do away."
"Apologies, my Lord. We will away to the castle and inform your family that you are recovering well."
"If they do not know, do not add my condition to their burdens."
"By my troth, my Lord, if they are unaware, I shall not reveal your sickness."
"Then I am indebted to you." On order from the head guard, the others filed out, save for the doctor.
"I see my treatment worked," he said to Hal.
"Farewell, sir." Hal's tone brooked no further argument.
The doctor shuffled out, clearly disgruntled but unwilling to argue with the prince.
Meg let out a breath when the door closed and her posture sagged.
"Why so frightened?" Hal asked her.
"I did threaten him with a knife, I thought they might arrest me." She took her watch out and saw that he needed another dose of paracetamol, which she went to prepare.
"You believe in your treatment enough to risk imprisonment?"
"I believed his treatment was wrong enough to risk it. I genuinely thought he might kill you."
Hal smiled and watched as she opened a small box and tipped a little powder to a mug, adding some sack to it.
"Here," she said, swirling the contents of the mug. "It tastes foul but this will keep your temperature down and sooth your aches."
He accepted it, then after a sniff, tossed it back in one go.
"Can you eat?" she asked.
"Should we not starve a fever?"
"No, your body needs nutrients to heal from the damage the infections is doing. Not to mention that if you want to keep taking the powder, you need protein."
"Protein? Thou speaks most strangely."
"To my ear, you are the strange one," she smiled. "So will you eat something?"
"A little, if I must."
"I'll be back shortly."
Hal took the opportunity to pull a shirt and some trousers on, then used the chamber pot before he helped himself to the jug of sack in the room. He felt exhausted and lightheaded even after that minimal effort but considering how awful he had felt this morning, his recovery was miraculous. He might almost think Meg some kind of witch, were he inclined to believe in such superstitions.
He sat at the small table and, pulling back kerchief back that covered it, stirred the contents of the kettle, grimacing when he saw the mouldy fruit.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," she chastised him when she returned with two bowels of stew.
"Are thou trying to poison me?" he demanded.
"No," she smiled. "That is what's responsible for making you feel better. We call them antibiotics."
"Tis mould."
She passed him a bowl and got a kerchief from her pocket and unwrapped fresh bread and spoons from it.
"Art thou not going to enlighten me on why thou art feeding me old fruit?" He took the spoon from her but he wasn't inclined to eat until she explained herself.
"Where I'm from, we've discovered that things which can cause infection not only attack us, they attack each other. This mould, called penicillium, produces a chemical that's harmful to most infections."
"Does this 'chemical' not harm me?"
"A few people, are allergic to it. One in ten, on average, but the reactions are generally mild. Considering that you have few allergies in this time, I took a risk that you wouldn't be allergic. Besides, any allergy to the tea would not be as severe as with pure penicillin but although better at fighting off infection, it would take me too long to manufacture that."
"How did you learn of this?"
"In school, although I confess while I knew the theory, this is my first time making antibiotics."
He began to eat, satisfied with her answer, even if he didn't quite understand it.
"Where are you from?" he asked seriously.
"I told you, Hammersmith."
"But where is that? What land is this Hammersmith in?"
She considered lying, saying the Americas but she doubted Hal knew of that continent yet and besides, she wasn't prone to lying.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I'm still fevered," he replied. "I am likely to believe any tale you tell me now, more than at any other time."
She put her spoon down.
"Promise you won't have me committed or arrested or anything?"
"By my troth."
She licked her lips, pressed them together then meeting his eye said, "I'm from the future."
"The future?" Hal had learned to read people well and as far as he could see, she wasn't lying, but perhaps she was plagued with madness. He considered how best to reply and decided to play along. "When, exactly?"
"2015."
"The year of our lord, two thousand and fifteen?"
She nodded.
"Six hundred years?"
She nodded again.
"Canst thou prove it?"
"I have some things in my bag that might."
"Then fetch it."
"Once you eat up," she pointed to his bowl. "If you don't eat, it will take you longer to heal."
"Very well, then thou will fetch this bag and show me the future."
She nodded her agreement and he wondered that there was no fear of discovery in her eyes. She believed what she said, now it only remained to see why.
They ate in silence until Hal could stomach no more and pushed his bowl away. She didn't chide him to eat more so he presumed she was happy.
"Now, fetch thy bag, woman." He ordered once she had finished.
She nodded and left the room while Hal called someone to clear the plates and bring more sack, as well as cider for Meg.
He still felt weary but the sack was helping buoy his spirits.
"You should have some more of the tea before long," Meg said as she returned.
"I will afore bed. Now show me thy proof, I shall not be put off any longer."