DV Ficathon
Sweet Remedy
From the prompt by shimere277
The Pelican had told him of Thomas' betrayal, but now the seawater slamming against the sides of the vessel gave the opposite testimony, and this couldn't really be happening, it couldn't just be the scurvy again, could it?
Scurvy, that dread scourge that took away many a good mariner before his time. Francis had suffered it on other voyages, and it was a fearful thing, but never before had he had such visions, such nightmares, such terrors as this. His mind boiled with scenes of bloody betrayal by his own fine gentleman; of withering mockery, with his dearest friend deriding his low birth, his honour, his very manhood; and of foul mutiny as his command was taken from him.
And there was pain, pain in his eyes, his limbs, his gums, but most of all, his heart; and anger - how could Thomas treat him so ill? Did he not love him better than a brother? And blood, so much blood. Whose blood was that splattered so carelessly upon the sand?
Now he was here; his friend, his betrayer. Which? Such damnable confusion confounded Francis' mind, and the incessant cacophony of claim and counter claim; of evidence and argument, as pelicans, penguins, lawyers, carpenters, trumpeters - the very sea itself, all screamed their testimony at him. For days he had been unable to comprehend, unable to speak.
"ENOUGH! I'll hear no more!" he shouted at last and struggled to rise from his bed.
"Francis, be still. Thou hast been not well." The voice was soft, concerned, silken; the hand that lightly gripped his shoulder was strong but kind. A slender finger gently spread something upon Francis' cracked and swollen lips. Sweet, warm, soothing.
"What be this? Poison? Will you poison me in my bed, Thomas?" Drake's voice rasped in desperation.
"I'd ne'r harm thee, Francis. I love thee too well to e'er do thee ill."
<>
"Da Silva did provide it, Francis. 'Tis an old remedy used by mariners of his homeland."
"Da Silva?" Drake replied, struggling to comprehend.
"Yes Francis, Nuno da Silva, the Portugael. Our pilot be a man of great wisdom and compassion. He said the salve would ease thy symptoms and restore thy health. I have been anointing thy lips with it these three days past. It did break my heart to see thee suffer so, to hear thy torment. But thou arte of better health now, I think?"
"Aye Thomas," Drake answered gravely, "Oh but such a madness did have hold of me; but yes, I do feel much restored and relieved. Da Silva, you say? Yes, yes, I remember him. It does indeed seem to be a most efficient and sweet remedy our gentle mariner has for me prescribed."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Nuno's sweet remedy: quince paste or love? The choice is yours, dear reader. ;)
I read that Magellan was saved from the ravages of scurvy by the use of quince paste. Sadly, it was only available to the officers and gentlemen. The lowly mariners of his fleet died by the score.
From the prompt by shimere277
The Pelican had told him of Thomas' betrayal, but now the seawater slamming against the sides of the vessel gave the opposite testimony, and this couldn't really be happening, it couldn't just be the scurvy again, could it?
Scurvy, that dread scourge that took away many a good mariner before his time. Francis had suffered it on other voyages, and it was a fearful thing, but never before had he had such visions, such nightmares, such terrors as this. His mind boiled with scenes of bloody betrayal by his own fine gentleman; of withering mockery, with his dearest friend deriding his low birth, his honour, his very manhood; and of foul mutiny as his command was taken from him.
And there was pain, pain in his eyes, his limbs, his gums, but most of all, his heart; and anger - how could Thomas treat him so ill? Did he not love him better than a brother? And blood, so much blood. Whose blood was that splattered so carelessly upon the sand?
Now he was here; his friend, his betrayer. Which? Such damnable confusion confounded Francis' mind, and the incessant cacophony of claim and counter claim; of evidence and argument, as pelicans, penguins, lawyers, carpenters, trumpeters - the very sea itself, all screamed their testimony at him. For days he had been unable to comprehend, unable to speak.
"ENOUGH! I'll hear no more!" he shouted at last and struggled to rise from his bed.
"Francis, be still. Thou hast been not well." The voice was soft, concerned, silken; the hand that lightly gripped his shoulder was strong but kind. A slender finger gently spread something upon Francis' cracked and swollen lips. Sweet, warm, soothing.
"What be this? Poison? Will you poison me in my bed, Thomas?" Drake's voice rasped in desperation.
"I'd ne'r harm thee, Francis. I love thee too well to e'er do thee ill."
<>
"Da Silva did provide it, Francis. 'Tis an old remedy used by mariners of his homeland."
"Da Silva?" Drake replied, struggling to comprehend.
"Yes Francis, Nuno da Silva, the Portugael. Our pilot be a man of great wisdom and compassion. He said the salve would ease thy symptoms and restore thy health. I have been anointing thy lips with it these three days past. It did break my heart to see thee suffer so, to hear thy torment. But thou arte of better health now, I think?"
"Aye Thomas," Drake answered gravely, "Oh but such a madness did have hold of me; but yes, I do feel much restored and relieved. Da Silva, you say? Yes, yes, I remember him. It does indeed seem to be a most efficient and sweet remedy our gentle mariner has for me prescribed."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Nuno's sweet remedy: quince paste or love? The choice is yours, dear reader. ;)
I read that Magellan was saved from the ravages of scurvy by the use of quince paste. Sadly, it was only available to the officers and gentlemen. The lowly mariners of his fleet died by the score.