On My Lady's Honor (All for one, and one for all) Read Online Free PDF

not leave his side, forgetting her own hunger and thirst in the pain of watching, in terrified helplessness, as her brother’s life slowly ebbed away.
    When his face beaded over with sweat, she laved his forehead with water to cool down the raging heat of his body, and prayed for the Virgin Mary in her grace to heal him.   When he cried out in his sleep, tossing and turning in the grip of a fearful nightmare, she stroked his hand and murmured soft words of peace and love into his ear until he calmed down once more.   Towards morning, when she heard the death rattle in his throat and watched his breath fade away until there was nothing left, she brushed his eyelids over his staring, sightless eyes and held his hand until the warm flesh grew cold and stiff in death.
    She could not cry for him.   She was beyond tears.   She had gone far beyond grief to a place where utter desolation became a new normality.
    The gray of dawn was creeping over the horizon.   She stood at the window, irresolute.   One step was all it would take.   One step, and her body would lie broken on the cobblestones of the courtyard, and her soul would be winging its way to Paradise with her twin.
    Of its own volition her hand crept to the casement and began to open it.   Through the crack, fresh morning air crept in to dispel the putrid miasma of death.
    She hesitated.   Death would mean an end to her pain, but was she brave enough to face death – so unprepared as she was to meet her Maker?
    Besides, she was thirsty, and her hunger was beginning to return tenfold.   She dropped the casement again.   Before she made any such choice to join her family in death, she would slake her thirst and fill her belly.
    The kitchen was empty and the fire in the grate long since gone out.   There were no servants and no sign of life.   Sophie had not expected to find any, but she felt her heart sink even lower nonetheless.   There was no welcoming life or heat to greet her, only ashes long grown cold.   The kitchen, like the rest of the house, smelled only of decay and death.
    A quick rummage around the kitchen afforded her some smallbeer, a hunk of cheese, some crisp, green apples and a crock full of gooseberry preserves.   With her booty tucked securely under her arm, she tottered back to her bedroom.   She had no desire to explore the house further.   Her reserves of courage and endurance were gone, and she feared to find more unpleasant surprises.
    After a nibble of cheese and a sip or two of smallbeer, her stomach revolted and she did not want to eat anymore.   She had seen too much of death to be concerned with mere food.
    Still, she forced herself to plow through the provisions she had gathered.   There was little point in dying of starvation and weakness now that she had survived the plague.   She ate and drank half-heartedly through much of her plunder before falling deeply asleep, a half-eaten apple core grasped tightly in her fist.
    Late in the afternoon she woke for a while to eat the remainder of her supplies and drink the rest of the smallbeer, until exhaustion claimed her again.
    A new day had dawned before she woke once more.   Her body felt stronger than before, and her mind more clear.
    Desolation and sadness had replaced her utter despair of the previous morning.   No longer did she want to end her life – her natural will to survive was stronger than her desire to die.   Her duty lay in burying her loved ones with all the respect they deserved, in saying masses for their souls so that they may be released the sooner from Purgatory, and in honoring their memory in every word and deed.
    As she had feared by the oppressive silence, the house was deserted by all but bodies.   Her brother had simply been the last to die.
    She screamed when she stumbled across the bloated carcass that had once been Piers, the scullery lad.   No more would he sneak extra rations from behind the cook’s back, disarming those who would reprove him