The following morning, I wake up well before sunrise, hoping to see I have returned to my time, but the bed I am on is the plump feather bed. There is no light in the room. I don’t remember there being any matches for the candle. I feel for my trousers and put them on, grab the cloak off the wall, and decide to explore the house.
Light creeps into the room when I open the bedroom door. An oil lantern is burning at the top of the stairs. I walk over to the stairway. The house is quiet. I look at my wrist, remembering that I wasn’t wearing a watch. I have no idea what time it is. Another oil lantern lights up the landing on the main floor.
I walk down the stairs, holding onto the carved marble banister. Once I reach the main floor, I look up at the Athena statue, holding her shield and spear, taking up the center of the floor. Rose would love this statue, but it is too big for our entryway at home. I wonder how this family can afford it. I walk around the room and see floor-to-ceiling paintings of Greek gods and goddesses. The place is grand, with at least twelve-foot ceilings and marble columns. I knock on the marble to see if it is real and hear the sound of solid stone. It reminds me of the Medici Palace in Florence. A noise comes from the rear of the house.
I grab the oil lantern off its hook, go to the back stairs, and see light coming from the kitchen below. When I am about halfway down the stairs, I hear a male voice ask, “Who’s there?”
“I am John,” I say. I enter the kitchen and see Henry starting a fire in the fireplace.
“Anything I can do for you, sir?” he asks as dim candlelight casts shadows across his face.
“I was looking for a lamp for my bedroom.”
Henry looks around and pulls a lamp off the shelf. He lights a strip of rush from the fireplace and transfers the flame to the lamp in his hand. He adjusts the wick and hands it to me. “Here, have this.”
“Thanks.” I grab the lamp and turn to leave.
“Hold on now, sir. Is it right that I’m hearing your memory is gone?”
“Yes,” I say. “It hasn’t returned.”
“It’s terrible altogether,” he says. “I had a brother, lost his memory in the war. Never was the same after.”
“Sorry to hear. Is he still living?”
“Ah yes. He’s living up in the castle. He can still get about, but he has no memory of the battle or his life before.”
“What was the battle over?”
“It was land. He was protecting the lord’s property from the Irish clans. It’s been nothing but trouble since the English king stopped sending troops. There’s no relying on the Norman neighbors to help us anymore.”
“So my family is Norman?”
“Your ancestors come from Wales and were granted land for their service in the war. Nearly two hundred years ago.”
“How much land?” I ask, wishing I knew more about the history.
“Thousands of acres,” he says. “The Irish took back some after the plague. That’s why your father is seeking help from the English king.”
“Are we at risk of losing more land?”
“It’s possible. King Edward sent his son over a few years ago, but it was no good.”
I realize I need to relieve myself since last night, and don’t want to use the chamber pot. “Sir. Is there a privy or outhouse I may use?”
“Of course, but don’t be calling me sir, now,” he says. “I’m the house steward. Come on.”
Henry leads me up the kitchen stairs and to the main stairway, where I return the oil lamp I borrowed. We continue up to the second-floor landing. But instead of turning right to go back to my room, he turns left. We pass several rooms, and at the end of the hall, he comes to a door and knocks. Not hearing anything, he opens the door, shining his light within.
“So this is the privy,” he says. “Here, you can use this rather than the pot.”
“Great! This is much better.”
“Not a bother, sir. Just remember to put the lid back on when you’re finished, to keep the flies out. I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves the room and closes the door.
I lock the door with the sliding latch. The toilet is a hole in an enclosed bench with a cover over the opening made of wood with leather around the edge. It looks impeccably clean. Cloth rags are available on the counter near the toilet, with a bucket of water beside an empty pot with a lid. I set down the lamp and remove the toilet lid. I hurriedly untie my trousers and lower them and my undergarment, sitting comfortably on the toilet. Finally, I can relax.
After relieving myself, I dampen a cloth and wipe my bottom. This is actually better than toilet paper. At least I feel cleaner. I fold the used cloth and put it in the empty pot. Then I stand, pulling up my undergarment and trousers, replacing the toilet lid. I dip my hands in the water basin, pick up a bar of soap, and wash. When I finish rinsing, I dry off with a hanging cloth. This is actually pretty sanitary. I grab the lantern and unlatch the door, stepping out into the hall feeling refreshed.
The hall is quiet, with no one else stirring in their rooms. I return to my bedroom and lay down a little longer.