I must have lost count of how many hours I spent beside Alexandros' bedside: watching; waiting; hoping; praying. Skipping meals and other activities, I started to grow rather weak and frail myself; I didn't care much though, for it was not my health which concerned me.
I had heard tales of the dreaded “black pox” and how it kills without fail anyone it infects[1] and so having seen black-ish lesions I naturally feared the worst. I shall admit that I was probably not the most approachable, fun-loving person during those days of melancholia and despair, and that our children were starting to worry about my health as much as they worried about their father's. Silly children. They were however kind enough to send for me a trained medicus, to look after their mother as much as their father I assume. “He” recommended that I make myself useful and travel on a pilgrimage to the Cathedral of St. David to pray for Alexandros' life on his behalf, as obviously my poor husband was in no condition whatsoever to go himself. I felt at the time that I must do absolutely anything I could no matter how small or large, no matter how easy or arduous, to help Alexandros overcome his ailment – I did not know then as I do now, that my decision on whether to stay or go would have a direct impact on whether my husband would live or die.
For you see, that medicus was no medicus at all, but an assassin sent by Alexandros' enemies to see that some harm should come to him. “His” medicine box contained nothing but the most vile poisons, “his” instruments nothing but the sharpest and most deadly blades. (And with not a single leech in sight, some medicus...) This latter-day Locusta[2] had nothing but the worst intentions, but I had nothing but the best – after all what kind of person would expect that a medicus sent by one's own filial children to actually be a vile poisoner? The obvious simply did not occur to me at the time, that this was actually a fiendish plot by the Norman weasel-spawn, in conjunction with the Norse barbarians and with the tacit support of the so-called kaiser of Nassau, to eliminate my dear Alexandros once and for all![3]
It was only by a sheer stroke of luck (or possibly divine intervention) that I was able to discern our assassin's true identity at the very last minute and save my husband's life. I had already set out from our palace on my little pilgrimage when I suddenly realised that I had left my favourite crucifix at home! One should never leave expensive crucifixes alone in places where thieving medicuses[4] could easily steal them; I hear the same principle applies to chalices. Besides, how could one be so stupid as to leave one's best crucifix at home while setting out on a pilgrimage? I returned home with much haste, and there I found that in my absent-mindedness I had left more than just a crucifix alone at home in dangerous hands.
I saw this “medicus” poised like a viper over my husband's resting body, with lancet in hand – dipped in a jar of oozing yellow or orange-coloured liquid which must have been some kind of poison. I questioned “him” and “he” turned around, I gazed upon her face for what must have been the first time. A female medicus! Who had ever heard of such a thing![5] I had heard of female poisoners who posed as medicuses[6] before however, and there before me was undoubtedly proof that such fiendish women still existed. I yelled for the guards to come and arrest her before pouncing upon her myself and wrestling her poisoned lancet out of her hands. I figured that she wouldn't just stand quietly and patiently wait to be arrested, thrown into our dungeons and then be impaled upon a large pike; I had to act decisively lest she escape. I was weak and frail from fasting and a good twenty years older than my opponent, but I feel I performed amiably in our little tussle – after all my head is at the time of writing still currently attached to the rest of my body, while it is not my skull which is currently seeing service as an inkwell, assisting in the creation of a marvellous and timeless history of the husband of Locusta: female assassin.
I think in retrospect I should have gone with the impalement once we imprisoned this fiend, but then I would be short of an inkwell...
Ever since that incident, I became fearful for Alexandros and for his safety. I placed our toughest soldiers as guards outside his room and could not bear to be away from his side for even one second. I prayed for his health almost constantly, almost to the point of delirium. It was at this point, when I too had almost crossed the border between life and death in which I experienced a vision, a moment of pure divinity. I received a visitation from an angel most pure, who said to me from upon high that Alexandros would survive as a reward for our piety. I awoke some time after, (I do not know for how long I was asleep, but some of my children told me it was for days.) to find Alexandros up out of his bed for the first time in weeks! He was a little scarred, which was unfortunate, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
The sun broke through the clouds when I saw with my own eyes that my dear Alexandros was alive, but those clouds soon turned grey and stormy again when I heard of Alexandros' insistence to return to the front. His kingdom was at war and he was a soldier first and foremost; pox or no pox his first duty was to his men. I naturally had misgivings – I'm sure any wife who had gone through what I had would – but I was in no position to argue and certainly had no intellectual basis on which to argue, for we all remembered the example of brave old Gruffyd who fought on the front lines of battle despite his age, and Alexandros constantly strived to live up to his example.
I followed my husband to Hibernia despite my own misgivings as any loyal and loving wife would, and saw his triumphal return with my own eyes. He rode down the lines of battle on his horse with sword in hand and flanked by his loyal sons, to much spontaneous rapture from his fellow men-at-arms. I saw the flight of banners and of swords, and the faces of tough, hardened men – some I would wager had never cried before in their lives – with tears streaming down their cheeks. Here before them was a man who had conquered a foe far more deadly than some drunken kern; death itself. It was a battle with the pox that they had fought together in spirit, and having won it I am sure that they felt they could take on almost anything.
Alexandros and his men fought bravely and success was all but guaranteed, so perhaps it was a little silly of me to worry so much about Alexandros' safety. Never one to rest on his laurels or to be satisfied by a paltry entrée like Leinster when the main course that was Hibernia was there for the eating, Alexandros wasted no time in acquiring a claim on more lands in Ireland.
As with virtually all the titles Alexandros created, it was not intended for him, but for one of our children. This time it was Kristof's turn to receive one.
But before Kristof could receive his inheritance from his father the upstarts in the county of Ossory would have to be dealt with. And so once more for what must seem like the thousandth time, the levies were raised and sent forth. One must wonder why the levies have to be raised and disbanded before a King is able to declare war. Would it not be simpler and easier to employ a standing army of one's countrymen instead? I am merely a humble woman though, and the Norsemen's rules of war will forever remain a mystery to me and to all other sensible people out there. Even more so the mystery why the monarchs of kingdoms as grand as England and the Roman Empire insist on following them...
Fortunately for his drunken enemies, Alexandros could not do much slaughtering himself as he came down with a fever while on campaign. I was initially concerned that it may be a relapse of the pox, and once more spent days by my husband's side caring both for his body and for his soul.
I had little to worry about as it turns out; it was nothing more than a little fever he suffered. I and his brothers in arms were much relieved and the campaign continued. For my part I was still a little shaken and – though I hate to admit so publicly – a little tired too. Not tired of being with Alexandros – who could suggest such a thing? – but tired of barbaric Hibernia. I longed for our home in civilised London.
I grew bored with all this constant warring with inferior peoples and so with my husband's most gracious permission returned to our palace in London. Once there I received some interesting news: our court chaplain had stumbled upon some Welsh fellow who was in possession of an ancient Briton history which allegedly proved that Britannia had once been settled by Trojans descended from Brutus of Troy. Fascinated, I agreed to meet with this man, Galfridius[7] who was obviously delighted to meet a Queen as intelligent, noble, beautiful and modest as I. He offered to lend me his manuscript which I duly read; I was enthralled, and without hesitation offered to act as his patron. I had a copy made by England's finest scribes sent to Alexandros, who I'm sure would have greatly appreciated a distraction from the dreary business of besieging. He too endorsed it's distribution heartily, much to the joy of his Briton subjects and despite more than a few objections from his Saxon, Norman and Dutch courtiers that the text was somehow politically subversive. Rubbish I say to those who dismiss his History of the Kings of Britain, it is a masterpiece of contemporary historiography which is unparalleled and surpassed only by Classical historians of the likes of Herodotus, Tacitus, Polybius and Livy. I must say that I still find it an inspiration, and I can only hope that my own history of Alexandros' life and times will be as entertaining – but more importantly as historically accurate – as Galfridius' History of the Kings of Britain...
While the scribes were busy copying Galfridius' manuscript, Alexandros was still busy fighting those pesky Irish. I know little of this campaign as I was not present, so I shall not write much on it. Suffice to say, there would probably be little to write about even if I was present. What is important is that Alexandros returned safe and sound, as did our loyal and brave sons and their levies.
Notes:
[1] What Anna refers to as black pox is what we now call haemorrhaging smallpox: a particularly nasty strain of the disease in which the skin does not pustulate (bubble or blister) as in ordinary smallpox, but instead bleeds internally, which causes the skin to char (like a sausage left on a barbecue for a little too long) hence the name 'black pox.” Survival is almost unheard of.
Because haemorrhaging smallpox does not look at all like regular smallpox, it is unlikely that the medically-untrained Anna would be able to identify it correctly until Alexander was close to death unless she had previously witnessed an infection (unlikely given her class and upbringing) and quite frankly, if Alexander had it he probably would have died from it by now. (the fatality rate is about 99%, as I said earlier survival is almost unheard of.)
Another possibility could be that Alexander has “flat” smallpox, which is slightly milder than haemorrhaging smallpox (the fatality rate is in the 90% range, so still a very severe illness) and can also result in a “blackening” of the skin (caused by necrosis, or the death of skin tissue) but this is unlikely for several reasons: for starters, necrosis does not usually occur until around the third week of infection, so it is unlikely that Alexander would show signs of it at this early stage. Secondly, flat smallpox sufferers (especially those with white skin, like Alexander) often show burn-like symptoms early on which persist until about the third week. If Alexander had flat smallpox, he would definitely be showing burn-like symptoms, which would be unmissable to Anna or anyone else. Anna does not mention anything about burn-like symptoms in her account of his illness last chapter. Finally, flat smallpox often leads to blindness, so I'd assume if he had it, Alexander would have received the “blinded” or “maimed” trait by now.
The most likely diagnosis is that Alexander has regular smallpox, which would explain how Anna knows he has a pox (because she can see the pustules) and that Anna has a touch of the old medical student's syndrome, whereby she assumes that either herself or someone she is close to happens to have whichever disease she happens to be studying at the time. Likely given the era, Anna has heard of some nasty disease known as the “black pox” and having seen her husband afflicted by a pox-like illness with “black lesions” (which could be anything: a bruise, an old war wound or even a figment of Anna's imagination), has put together two and two to come up with what she believes is four. Her reaction would fit in with her paranoid character – of which we have already discussed – when it comes to illnesses, stemming from her daughter's premature death from tuberculosis.
This being the high middle ages, I'd say Alexander's chance of survival is roughly fifty-fifty. This being CK2, I'd say it's a little bit higher than that.
[2] Locusta being the alleged poisoner of the Roman Emperor Claudius.
[3] I for one sincerely doubt that the German Kaiser would think up a plan that fiendlishly clever...
[4] The plural of medicus I believe is medici, but thieving medici (or rather, theieving Medici) gives quite a different impression I find...
[5] Semantically true, as a female medicus would be called a medica.
[6] Again, “female poisoners who posed as Medici” would totally give the wrong impression.
[7] You may know him better as Geoffrey of Monmouth, author of the wildly fantastical yet also wildly entertaining “History of the Kings of Britain.”
