Page 3 of The Viking’s Captive

But there was no comfort to be had this day.

Adam leaned forward over the pallet and pressed a soft kiss on his sister’s already cool cheek. Death wasted no time once the last breath was stilled. Soon the body stiffening would take place, and the skin color would change. He was a physician; he knew these things too well. “Good-bye, sweet Adela,” he whispered. “Forgive me for coming too late.”

A monk from the minster in Jorvik knelt on her other side and started to speak the last rites over her. It was a routine the priest must have played out over and over. Did his faith ever falter? Did he ever wonder why his God would take so many innocent people?

With a sigh, Adam rose to his feet and let Rashid lead him down the rows of pallets where dozens of people lay sick and dying of the wasting disease that had hit Jorvik with such devastation these past months. The toll in lives thus far was horrible to contemplate.

“Healer, help me,” one dying man called out to Adam.

“Master Adam, Master Adam …” another entreated.

“I hurt,” a child’s weak voice whimpered.

Over and over, the sufferers called for Adam and his healing skills, but he had nothing left to give. If he had not been able to save his sister, how could he help them?

Adam followed Rashid outdoors where the fresh air was at first a balm to his raw lungs. It was a momentary ease, however, for as his eyes scanned Rainstead for the first time in five years, he did not see the manor house, the orphanstead, the weaving sheds, stables and outbuildings, the hospitium … all that Rain and Selik had built over the years to aid the homeless of Jorvik. What he saw was the grave mound being dug for his sister.

Grieving mightily were Selik, who had adopted him and Adela all those years ago … and his wife, Rain, who had been more than adoptive mother to him. Rain, a far-famed healer, had taught him all she knew of medicine and encouraged him to study further in the Eastlands, where the Arab physicians were at the forefront of research amongst all those in the world. Rain and Selik had passed many winters together, having seen more than fifty good years. Today they looked every one of those years, while Adela had been a relatively young woman … only twenty-seven.

If only he had not stayed away so long!

He’d received the missive a month ago from Rain, informing him of the epidemic and how it was hitting so many in Jorvik and at her orphanage. “Come home, Adam. You are needed here.”

Adela had not been afflicted then, but he had made all possible haste at the summons. Immediately after receiving the letter, he’d left the caliph’s palace in Baghdad, where he’d been conferring with physicians who’d gathered from all sectors of the Eastlands to share their knowledge, but his longship had had to be prepared for the journey and then they had been delayed by sea storms for a sennight and more. He’d arrived two days past to find Adela near death.

“You came,” Adela had whispered on first seeing him, raising a hand weakly to caress his face. Already, the death rattle had been in her voice.

Then, “Thank you, dear brother, for caring for me all those years.”

And finally, “I love you, Adam. Be happy.”

He’d tried frantically to save her … everything Rain had taught him, everything the world’s best physicians had taught him … but nothing had worked. She’d died in his arms an hour ago.

“What will we … what will you do now?” Rashid asked.

Adam shook his head with indecision. “I must stay for the burial. Viking funerals are elaborate, drawn-out affairs. After that, I do not know. Mayhap I will go to Hawkshire … that small estate Selik and Rain gifted me in Northumbria years ago. Mayhap I will return with you to the Eastlands.”

A long silence settled over them as they walked aimlessly about the grounds.

Finally Adam said, “One thing is certain. No longer will I answer to the name of healer. I am forswearing medicine.”