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by Kath Middleton
Originally published by on 16/02/2015

She had felt ill for days but had finally collapsed. Her eyes were over-bright, her skin clammy and she coughed incessantly. Her bed of a blanket thrown over sacks of straw was no worse than most in the town. It was soaked in sweat. She shuddered with the fever; her teeth chattered as she shook in the grip of the ague. The rats were shuffling and scratching behind the wooden wall. Was that what she could hear? That rattling sound? Eventually she discerned the source. It was wooden wheels clattering on cobbles. The plague cart would come for her tomorrow.

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