of canisters, the kind spices came in, with vermin-proof lids.
'Perfect.'
Sophia had gone by 'handful' measurement--but it was a very precise handful. Although it was a little awkward to work one-handed, Marco weighed the herbs in his palm, adding or subtracting a few leaves at a time until he was satisfied; then, carefully crushed what he'd selected into the tin, trying to get it as fine as possible.
He crushed the resulting canisterful yet again, until he had a mixture as fine as possible, then crushed a second bunch of artemisia into the second canister.
'Maria, that water ready?'
'Aye.' She must have seen how tired he was, and brought the pan of hot water and spoon and cup to him. 'Show me--'
'I intend to--you're going to have to do this from now on. Look, exactly two flat spoonfuls of this for every cup of water--you can put it in the cup or the pan, don't matter which.' He measured two spoonfuls into the cup and poured the still-bubbling water on it. 'Right, so I'm taking another flat spoonful of this stuff from the other canister and adding it. You want to keep him alive, you do the same. Now you let it steep for as long as it takes to count to a hundred.'
He concentrated on the dull throbbing of his hand while the mixture seeped. He noticed with a tired little chuckle Maria's lips moving silently as she marked the time. She could count if not read. He resolved, quietly, to teach her at least to cipher her own name. His own good fortune demanded that he pass it on.
'It ready now?'
'It's ready. We strain off the leaves. If you leave them, it'll get stronger and can kill a man.' He suited action to his words. 'Here--' He handed the cup to her while he got himself slowly and painfully to his feet. 'Let's wake him up.'
Maria brought a candle with her, and lit the oil lamp beside the door across from Aldanto's bed. Some of his instincts, at least, were still holding. Caesare was awake and wary as soon as the light touched his eyes.
'Got som'thin' for ye, layabout,' Maria said cheerfully--real cheer. Marco was touched at her implied trust. 'Marco here says it'll fix ye right up.'
'Oh--' Aldanto blinked, but before he could continue, he began shaking, great tremors that shook his entire body.
'Caesare--' Marco had never used Aldanto's first name to his face before, but it slipped out. 'I mean, Milord Aldanto--'
'Caesare is fine,' Aldanto said wearily, when the coughing fit was over.
'Caesare Aldanto, I've had what you've got--honest, this will help. And if you don't drink it, you could get a lot sicker. Believe me--I almost died. You don't come from Venice. Kids here get it when they're small. Lot of them die. But if they live, then they will live when they get it again. But you could die. Now, this medicine is going to make you feel even sicker, but I swear to you, it'll help. On my family's honor, I swear. But it is going feel like death.'
Aldanto gave him a long, appraising look--then wordlessly took the cup from Maria and drank it down in two gulps.
'Feh--that--is--vile!' he choked, face twisted in distaste. 'That better work fast, because if it doesn't, I'm not drinking more!'
'That's more words in a row than you've managed yet tonight,' Marco pointed out. 'We'll sugar it next time.' Without being asked, Maria brought the brandy and looked inquiringly at Marco.
'Good notion.' He approved, thinking that a bit more brandy wouldn't hurt and might help keep Aldanto in bed. 'Caesare--I hate to ask--but is there anything around here I can use as a bandage? I love old Sophia, but I hate to think where her rags have been.'
'Spare room,' said Aldanto around the brandy.
'I'll get it,' said Maria.
Aldanto sagged back against his pillows, eyes going unfocused again. Marco carefully unwrapped his hand. The poultice of coltsfoot and lance-leaf plantain and Heaven knew what else was working quite well--and Sophia had included more bundles of the herbs in his pack to allow him to put fresh dressings on the wound.
Despite the herbal poultice the wound looked bad, red and swollen. But it was sealing shut, and Marco thought by the look of it that it wasn't infected. He was just beginning to realize how lucky he was. His hand ached, but so far as he could tell all the fingers were still working. He could have easily gotten some tendons sliced and
