So Nostradamus has a stroke at the mead hall... and is comatose for days. The inn keeper gives him a room and a local wench is charged with sponge bathing, spoon feeding, etc., until the task exhausts her and the responsibilities fall onto the inn keeper himself. One day the sheriff comes to collect taxes, but finds the inn keeper away from his quarters. He hears cursing and groaning coming from a spare room, and walks in to find the innkeeper struggling to change the soiled sheets from beneath the vegetative Nostradamus. ""Come now,"" says the sheriff, clearly amused, ""Has it come to this, old friend?"" The Innkeeper retorts ""Hold thy tongue, ye who struggles not to turn a prophet.""