23 The Grey-Robed Friar 10

Hearing such an archaic treatment method, Phyllis almost choked on her own saliva.

How could she have forgotten that bloodletting, which modern people relegated to the status of a joke, was the most common way to treat a fever in this place?

But she knew bloodletting didn't work! Not only was it ineffective, but excessive blood loss could even kill a person!

Seeing that the "encyclopedia" before her was of no use, Phyllis had to rack her brain to retrieve her own knowledge. Physical cooling might be helpful, but using cold water to wipe the body directly probably wasn't good, right? As for medicine, penicillin could fight inflammation... but what was penicillin made of? Moldy orange peels? That was an extract, and even if she could find orange peels now, simply chewing on them probably wouldn't help, would it?

Phyllis rubbed her face to calm herself down. No, she couldn't keep thinking about how to manufacture modern cold medicine. With her pathetic knowledge of chemistry—and that was no exaggeration—she couldn't produce those modern drugs even if she were given eight hundred years.

What she needed now was a medicinal herb capable of reducing fever that hadn't been discovered by this era yet, one that was relatively common and could at least be bought in a local apothecary...

Filtering through these seemingly harsh conditions, a thought suddenly made Phyllis’s eyes light up. She actually knew what was in a medieval apothecary! Thanks to her nitpicky former boss, not only did she know the items, but she had also drawn illustrations for several of them! Although most of those medicines had been proven toxic and replaced by safer alternatives in modern times, there was one...

Ignoring the calls of the ghost beside her, Phyllis suddenly took off toward the backyard. Before she could find the innkeeper, another young but dejected figure appeared before her. Phyllis remembered this young man—his name was Andrea, the nephew of the caravan leader. He was the one who had just suggested they should get a doctor for the feverish Francesco.

After hesitating for a second between two paths, she turned and walked toward the young man, who was hanging his head and kicking pebbles.

"...Mr. Andrea? Could you please do me a favor?"

Seeing him look over, Phyllis widened her eyes, trying to put on a pitiful expression.

"Brother Salvatore is taking care of Francesco and cannot come here himself... He asked me to request some hot water, and if possible, to buy some medicinal herbs..." She nervously took a few coins from her pocket and handed them over, whispering, "I—I only have these on me, I don't know if it's enough..."

Andrea looked into the girl's pitiful eyes for a long time before finally sighing and taking the coins from her hand.

"Tell me, what herbs do you need?" he said. "But I have to say, there likely isn't much medicine left in the apothecary, not to mention spices. Even if I go, I might not be able to buy anything."

"Of course!"

Hearing that he was willing to run the errand, Phyllis nodded gratefully and stated her request: "We want some willow bark."

"Willow bark?"

Andrea's furrowed brow relaxed in surprise. "What do you need that for?"

"I don't know, Brother Salvatore asked for it," Phyllis said, blinking her innocent, wide eyes. "It seems if you crush it and boil it into a tea, it can reduce a fever."

"Is that so? I've never heard of that..."

The young man muttered in confusion, but he eventually pocketed the money and beckoned her to follow him to the kitchen.

With Andrea personally requesting the hot water, the innkeeper, though pained by the cost of firewood, agreed after settling on a price. However, upon noticing that the young man didn't stay to watch the water boil, leaving only a child, the innkeeper didn't even wait for it to fully boil. He poured half a bucket in front of Phyllis and, without waiting for her to speak, shut the kitchen door to attend to his own business.

Phyllis: "..."

She knew it would be like this.

Looking at the half-bucket of water, she reached out to test the temperature on the surface. It was acceptable, so she didn't bother knocking on the door to argue with the innkeeper and hauled the bucket back.

"Is willow bark really effective for reducing fever?"

Professor Pyleuso, who had been holding back for a long time, finally voiced his doubt: "I know it can relieve pain; it is mainly used during childbirth. I have never heard of it reducing fever... Where did you hear that?"

Of course, from a middle school health class.

Although she couldn't remember why the teacher had mentioned it back then, the story that "aspirin was created from willow bark" was very interesting, and since she had happened to see a medicine box at home labeled "Aspirin," it had left a deep impression on her. Drinking water boiled from willow bark certainly wouldn't be as effective as taking a pill, but since it was already used as a painkiller in the Middle Ages, it should at least have some fever-reducing properties...

With too many thoughts flashing through her mind, and the sound of church bells ringing outside, the inn grew noisier. Phyllis didn't answer the professor's question; she bit her lip and hauled the bucket back to the room in one go.

Brother Salvatore was clearly surprised to find that the water she brought back was warm. However, he didn't ask questions and began to wipe down the unconscious boy. Although Brother Salvatore never mentioned his age, judging by his appearance, Phyllis felt he could easily be eighty. Even in modern times, most eighty-year-olds had trouble walking, let alone having much strength.

Francesco, as a developing thirteen or fourteen-year-old, already had a certain amount of weight and strength. Perhaps subconsciously sensing danger, he wasn't very still even in his delirium, occasionally grasping at the air or mumbling incoherent words. After a frantic struggle, by the time the water in the bucket had turned cold, the two of them had finally wiped him down from head to toe.

Just at that moment, a knock came at the door.

Before the person outside could say anything, Phyllis, ignoring the sweat on her forehead, ran to open the door. She saw Andrea standing there, holding a bowl in one hand and a cloth parcel in the other. He took two steps back when the door suddenly opened.

"My uncle said it's probably not convenient for you to go out, so I had someone at the inn boil a bowl... I'll bring some food and water to the door later." Keeping a distance, he handed the items to the girl with an embarrassed expression. "If you need anything else, just call out from the door; I'm in the next room and will hear you."

Seeing his stiffened arm and avoiding gaze, Phyllis immediately understood the concerns he and his uncle had. Avoiding harm was human nature; Phyllis didn't want to blame them... If anything, the fact that he was willing to help despite knowing someone might have the plague was already brave enough.

"Thank you... May our Lord protect us all."

Thinking that they might believe the plague could be transmitted through looks and conversation, Phyllis held back her thanks and instead bowed her head slightly before turning to close the door and return to the room.

"This was sent by Mr. Andrea."

Before the old monk could speak, Phyllis had already explained the source of the medicine. "I met him when I was getting water, and he said he wanted to help, so I asked him to go to the apothecary, thinking we might be able to buy some useful medicine..." She carefully observed the man's expression, feigning timidity. "I'm sorry... was it wrong for me to do that?"

Brother Salvatore sat at the head of the bed, wiping sweat, and shook his head with a helpless smile: "You don't need to apologize, my child. I know you did it out of kindness, and I only thank the Holy Mother for giving you such a precious virtue... I should also thank Mr. Andrea. May our Lord protect him; it must not have been easy to find an apothecary open at this time..."

"However, one should not take medicine blindly even when sick."

He said this with a softer gaze, beckoning Phyllis to come forward: "Let me see what he brought back."

However, even the well-informed Brother Salvatore was silent for a moment when he saw the bark in the bowl. Yet, he was clearly more patient than the professor hovering nearby, explaining some of the properties of willow bark as medicine to Phyllis in detail before feeding the entire bowl of warm decoction to the boy lying on the bed.

"...This is not the most specific medicine, but I suspect there wouldn't be any better ones at the apothecary right now..." He gave a wry smile and shook his head at the girl beside him. "Now, we can only look to the will of our Lord."

Soon, the sound of the monk chanting scriptures filled the small room. Phyllis sat on the other bed, listening silently, but soon grew bored and turned to look out the window.

*Drip.*

Suddenly, a drop of water hit the windowsill. Then a second, a third... Within a few minutes, the light drizzle turned into a torrential downpour, and it showed no signs of stopping even after the nearby bells had rung for the third time.

After so much time, Phyllis had learned how to tell time by the church bells under the guidance of the ghost professor. The first bell at dawn represented daybreak; the second, in the morning, was called the "Third Hour"; the third at noon was the "Sixth Hour"; the fourth in the afternoon was the "Ninth Hour"; and the final evening prayer bell was the "Twelfth Hour" at sunset.

Following this logic, Phyllis could roughly determine that the first bell was at 6 or 7 a.m., the "Third Hour" was around 9 a.m., the "Sixth Hour" was noon, the "Ninth Hour" was 3 or 4 p.m., and the final bell rang at 6 p.m., which was also when people ate dinner.

Now, although it was clearly noon, the dark clouds outside were so thick that not a single ray of sunlight could be seen, and the rain was only getting heavier. The caravan clearly couldn't depart in this weather.

Phyllis didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad one. The heavy rain would certainly delay their subsequent journey, and the costs for the caravan on the road would increase accordingly... But for now, this rain gave Francesco a chance to catch his breath.

Rainy days made people drowsy, and with a monk constantly chanting scriptures nearby, Phyllis couldn't hold on anymore after finishing lunch and fell asleep on the other bed without realizing it.

She was startled awake by a knock on the door—it was the signal that Andrea was bringing their dinner. Phyllis was surprised that she had slept for six hours, and she was also shocked by Brother Salvatore's persistence. Counting from the morning, he had been chanting prayers by the bedside for eight hours straight! And perhaps because his sleeve had been clutched by the sleeping Francesco the whole time, he hadn't even touched the lunch left beside him...

Phyllis felt a lump in her throat. Without thinking, she went to the door to fetch the food and then firmly pulled the old monk's sleeve from the boy's grasp.

"Please, go eat something!" Because she was so anxious, she didn't maintain her timid child persona and, for the first time, used a firm attitude to help him up. "If you keep going like this, you'll get sick even if you weren't before!"

It was probably the first time Brother Salvatore had been scolded by a child, and his first reaction wasn't surprise or irritation, but a look of curiosity. However, Francesco, having lost his anchor, began to grasp at the air again. The monk sighed, moved his stiff body slightly, and prepared to sit back down.

This time, however, Phyllis preempted him, pressing the flailing hand down. After pushing it to the bedside, she sat in the old monk's spot, giving him no chance to change his mind.

"You go eat, and then get some sleep," she insisted, looking up at him. "I slept all afternoon, and I have the energy to watch him now. You don't need to worry."

Seeing her persistent, Brother Salvatore had no other choice. He was indeed exhausted; after eating and walking around for a while, he lay down on the bed, and soon, steady breathing filled the room.

Phyllis kept an eye on him, and seeing him asleep, she finally breathed a sigh of relief. Only then did she notice that the hand she had been holding didn't seem as hot as it had been that morning. She tentatively touched the boy's forehead; although it felt a bit warm, it was at least not as scorching as before.

His body temperature had really come down!

Seeing that the situation was moving in a positive direction, Phyllis quickly went to the door to call Andrea, who lived next door, and asked him to boil another bowl of willow bark water, intending to feed it to the patient while it was still warm.

Francesco was awakened by the water. His limbs were still weak, and his eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the dim light; he could only see a silhouette close by.

"You're awake!"

The silhouette spoke with a voice full of pleasant surprise, then lowered its volume deliberately: "Let's be quiet... Brother Salvatore chanted scriptures for you for an entire day and just fell asleep. Let him sleep a little longer."

"...Phyllis? Why are you here..."

He touched his dry throat, suddenly reaching forward to grab the hand closest to him, his voice trembling slightly: "Are you... am I..."

"You haven't caught the plague. Brother Salvatore already checked you; there are no black sores or pustules on your body." Phyllis squeezed the trembling hand firmly to reassure him. "Don't worry. Since there are no growths on your body and your temperature has dropped so quickly, it means it's just an ordinary cold. Drink this medicine and sleep again; you'll be better tomorrow..."

The more she spoke, the more the hand she held seemed to tremble. Before Phyllis could continue with words of comfort, a few warm droplets fell onto the back of her hand.

"Thank you... thank you..."

"I actually heard it... they originally wanted to abandon me... it was you and Brother Salvatore... you saved me again..."

In the darkness, even though the boy tried his best to lower his volume, his sobbing was exceptionally clear.

"I will repay you..."

He held the hand, which was smaller than his own, with both of his, and said solemnly with a nasal tone: "Philicius, my brother... I swear to the Holy Mother, I will never forget this kindness for the rest of my life!"