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than the middle of the night.  The tension in the room was palpable.  People
were speaking tersely in Gaelic.  At this moment, I first learned the smell of
true fear.  It seemed to permeate the room, with its damp, adrenaline soaked
reek.  Leti drug me to the far end of the hall and pushed our way through the
throng of people toward the table where we had met for the first time only
hours before.
    He lay on the
table, glistening with sweat, which from my immediate assessment of the patient
stemmed from a raging fever, not from his close proximity to the fire.  His
body trembled slightly and his skin had a sickly pallor.  Leti dropped my hand
and grasped his flack, lifeless hand as if by will alone, she could hold him to
this Earth.  He was a handsome man and yet at the same time he had almost plain
features.  His sandy brown hair was crusted with blood and debris from his
injuries and his journey home on the pallet.  It fell in sweaty clumps about
his broad shoulders.  He had a kind, boyish face that was slack with fever and
expressionless.  His eyes were closed and fluttered behind his pale lids with
feverish dreams.
    I pushed my way
towards his head and realized instantly that I would have to take charge of
this situation or Brennan would surely die.  It was clear that no one knew what
to do for him, and consequently, no one was doing anything!  No one except Leti,
who was bawling her eyes out as she held onto his hand for dear life.  To what
good her efforts were, I was not sure.
    A kitchen maid was
gawking at the scene, and I pointed in her direction, breaking her trance with
my harsh orders.  The authority in my voice surprised me.  “Get clean, boiled
water.  Lots of it. Bring a kettle of cold water too.  I need clean cloths for
bandages and garlic.  See if you can find willow bark tea as well.  Get whisky
for the others, they will need to wait their turn for treatment.  Organize them
in order of most grave injury.”
    The maid nodded in
immediate acceptance of my orders, looking relieved to have something
purposeful to do that would remove her from the scene in the hall.
     “Everyone else,
get out of here!” I barked as I made my hasty preparations for my impromptu
healing debut. 
    The crowd of
onlookers dissipated, either from the authority in my voice or from relief that
they would not have to be the one who let Brennan die.  I moved up beside
Brennan’s head and placed my palm flush against his forehead.  His eyes
fluttered behind his eyelids.  His skin was dreadfully hot. 
    My requested
supplies arrived moments later and I knew that my first priority would be to
reduce his fever.  “Dip the rags into the cold water, and drape them over his
limbs.  We must change them as often as possible, keeping them as cool as we
are able to.  This should help to reduce his fever,” I explained.
     My assistant was
quick to follow my orders, soaking the cloths in cool water, ringing them out
and laying them over Brennan’s arms.  I took a sopping cloth and draped it over
his forehead, covering his rapidly moving eyes.  Next, we draped the larger
cloths over his legs, and began changing the cloths that were already placed,
refreshing them with the cold water each time.  In only a few minutes, Brennan
began to shiver in response to the cold cloths.  I hoped that this was a good
sign.
    Leti sat as if she
was made of stone, still holding on to Brennan’s hand for dear life.  Her
beautiful features were clouded with red, puffy eyes.  The color was still
completely absent from her face.  She looked like a different person all
together.
      “Thank you,” she
whispered, making eye contact with me for a fleeting instant as I peeled back
the woolen material of the kilt that was crusted to Brennan’s upper thigh,
dangerously close to his nether regions.  Now was certainly not the time for
modestly, but I placed the shreds of his kilt in such a way that they covered
his masculine parts from