“Do it,” she said tersely. “But you”—she pointed at Roswitha—“you must swear by all that’s holy that you’ll never say a word about who prepared the remedies. Swear it!”
“I swear it, mistress. Never will one word cross my lips.”
“Then you two better hurry along. If you’re going to help Sander, you must do so quickly.”
Madlen and Roswitha immediately sprang into action. In the kitchen, there was only a bit of herbs and frankincense left. Madlen scratched it all together, prepared the brew and the paste, and immediately smeared it onto the compress.
“You have to find more frankincense; I’ll go replenish the herbs.” Madlen noticed Roswitha’s eyes, now red from crying. She took a step toward the maid and gave her a short, reassuring hug. “Don’t worry. You have to trust that everything will be fine.”
Roswitha nodded but didn’t say a word. She was too scared that the man she loved and wanted to marry would be lost to this treacherous cough. She thanked Madlen, gathered everything she needed, and left the house. Madlen placed a cloak over her shoulders, picked up a knife and a basket, and left shortly after. She would need some time to collect enough coltsfoot. She looked up at the sky. Thick snowflakes fell soundlessly to the ground. Only a few people were at work around the harbor; everything seemed quiet and peaceful. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Since so much snow had fallen in recent days, she’d have to sweep the entire meadow to find any vegetation at all. She sighed. Even rain would have been better. Snow covers everything. She pushed the thought aside, tightened the laces of her hood under her chin, and trudged resolutely through the wintry weather.
It took Madlen several hours to gather enough herbs, scavenging every piece of recognizable vegetation for its medicinal properties. She was overjoyed when, near the base of the city wall, next to a small stream fed by the Rhine, she found a large patch of coltsfoot. She carefully snipped each plant into her basket and kept searching until it got too dark and she decided to go home. She sincerely hoped that this new bunch of herbs would suffice to heal Sander. Otherwise, she would need to find a spice merchant, and she still wanted to keep a low profile.
When she arrived back at Agathe’s home, she didn’t see Roswitha anywhere. Upon entering her bedchamber, Madlen saw that her aunt had dozed off while sewing. She snuck out and immediately went to work in the kitchen. As soon as she finished, Roswitha came through the front door.
“How’s Sander?”
Roswitha’s cheeks glowed red from the cold winter air. “He’s not doing very well. Mechthild is with him now; she’s making sure he keeps the compress on. He could hardly keep any of the herbal brew down. He vomited over and over again.”
“Remember how it was with Agathe. It’s a good sign that his body is fighting the infection.”
Roswitha had tears in her eyes. “I’m so afraid he will die.”
Madlen pointed at the compress, now filled with the herbal paste she had finely crushed with her mortar and pestle. “It’s ready. You should take it back to him now.”
All of a sudden, Roswitha stepped toward Madlen and grabbed her hand. “I know that my mistress would not approve, and I am asking much of you, but could you come with me? To assess his condition?”
Madlen stepped back with a start. “But I’m not a doctor. I will only see the same thing as you, believe me.”
Roswitha sobbed. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re a physician or not. One look into the eyes of a patient is enough for you to know whether you can help him or not.” She paused. “You can tell whether it’s already too late.”
Madlen held Roswitha close as she wept. “Don’t worry. Your Sander is going to get well. You must believe.” The maid’s whole body trembled.
“Agathe’s sleeping. I’ll go with you and see what I can do for Sander.”
“Thank you!” Roswitha hugged Madlen’s neck and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll never forget you for this.”
“Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
Darkness fell swiftly as the two women sped through the streets of Worms with their baskets. After a couple of short knocks, a young woman opened the door. When she recognized Roswitha’s face, she let them both in.
“This is Maria,” Roswitha said, and the woman nodded politely. “She can help Sander.”
“I will try,” Madlen clarified. She was uncomfortable giving Roswitha any false hope. Silently, Mechthild led them into a dark room, where Sander lay on a narrow bed. The pungent smell of incense and herbs permeated Madlen’s nostrils as she entered.