On the Black Wind to Baldairn Motte

Part 6.

The following morning, Basilides watched the sunrise alongside the Earl from the aft castle of The Valor of Gaulang. It was not a peaceful sunrise. The shouts of sailors and dock workers loading ships cut through the chill morning air, and some ten thousand soldiers clogged the streets, waiting to board whichever vessel would be taking them to North Port. It was a scene the likes of which Basilides had never witnessed.

The ocean breeze shifted and blew the smoke from an oil lamp on the aft castle deck into the Earl's face, triggering a dry rasping cough that shook his entire body. Basilides extinguished the wick with the brass snuffer hanging there by a rope, then went to the Earl and grabbed the thumb of his right hand. Startled, the Earl tried to pull his hand away, but Basilides held it firm, pressing with his fingers onto the tendon atop the Earl's thumb. His coughing seized as abruptly as it started. The Earl stared at him in amazement as Basilides continued to probe his hand and fingers.

"Enough," the Earl said, pulling his hand free. "What's your name, leech?"

"Basilides, my lord."

"And your surname?"

"I haven't one, my lord. I'm an orphan. Master Garson named me, and he merely called me Basilides."

"I can at least call you Master Basilides, can I not?"

"Of course, my lord."

"You can dispense with the 'my lord'," the Earl said. "When we're alone, at least."

"Of course, and if it pleases you, you may simply call me Basilides when we're alone."

A tired smile crossed the Earl's face. "You're a strange one, Basilides. Are you always so formal?"

"I didn't realize I was being formal, my lord."

The Earl smiled again and opened his mouth to say something more, but changed his mind and instead turned away to look over the harbor.

"You can speak freely with me," Basilides said, resting his arms on the railing. "Anything you say I will keep in confidence."

"Tell me then your honest opinion about my physician," the Earl said after a moment. "It is plainly written on your face that you disagree with his treatment of my ailment, and your own methods are...."

"Master Dooley no doubt has good intentions, but his ways are antiquated and do you more harm than good."

"And your methods are better? You think you can cure me?"

"Perhaps. There is likely no way to cure you fully, if my suspicions about your melancholic lung are correct, but I can at least help treat your coughing spells without causing more damage and teach you what manner of things trigger your spells so you may avoid them all together. If it is your desire, my lord, I will treat you as Master Dooley has directed, but if you are willing I would prefer to examine you fully so I may determine the manner of your melancholic lung."

"But you at least agree with Master Dooley that I suffer a melancholic lung?"

Basilides frowned. "The term melancholic lung means nothing. It's a common term used to describe many different ailments. Even a dry melancholic lung can be caused by many things: contagion, lack of moisture in the air, or scarring of the lungs, as I suspect in your case. Were you ever exposed to smoke or dust as a boy? Heavy smoke or dust for a good length of time?"

"I lived through the siege of Langlon," the Earl said. "Those northern sheep-forners tried to burn the city and smoke us out. We doused all the thatch roofs in the city with water. It kept them from burning, but it smoked like Ordryn's bushy arse. You could hardly see, the smoke was so heavy, and the air was thick to breathe. We ripped the sleeves off our tunics, soaked them in water, and tied them around our faces—breathed like that for two weeks until young Dermid arrived with his army to break the siege."

"How long ago was this?"

The Earl pursed his lips. "Some twenty years ago now, but I've only suffered my melancholic lung for the last several years, so it can't be the cause."

"I'd not be so sure. That smoke likely scarred your lungs and it's only now starting to hinder you, much the same as a broken leg comes to plague a sailor many years after the break has healed."

The Earl snorted. "Captain Elver can certainly attest to that. The man won't cease to complain about his cursed knee whenever the weather turns."

As if on cue, Captain Elver began shouting orders torelease the moorings. The Valor of Gaulang was loaded and ready to setsail.