It was then that I remembered the opiate that Joseph had given me three days earlier. I had completely forgotten about it until then but fumbling now in the folds of my habit I found it was still in my belt pouch where I had put it. I drew it out and flourished it triumphantly aloft. The effect could not have been more dramatic than if I’d produced a rabbit from my undergarments.
‘This,’ I said with more confidence than I felt, ‘will alleviate the King’s discomfort and facilitate his recovery.’
Behind me I heard de Saye lightly clap his hands together as though I had performed a magic trick for children. But another hand, this one exquisitely manicured and be-ringed, came up and delicately plucked the phial from my grasp.
‘What is in it?’ asked the French physician uncorking the phial and sniffing the contents.
‘Oh, various things,’ I bluffed trying to remember what the hell it was Joseph had told me was in it. ‘Hemlock, opium, that sort of thing - plus a few other ingredients of my own concoction. It will make the King drowsy and deaden his pain. But only a few drops at a time as too much and the effect could be …dangerous.’
My words faded away because to my horror at that moment the King had opened his eyes and, seeing the phial dangling above his head, seized it from the French doctor’s grasp and poured the entire contents into his mouth swallowing the lot in one gulp.
The King slumped on the bed, dropped the empty phial onto his chest and let out a terrifyingly final-sounding exhalation of breath. De Saye roared and stepped forward, grabbed my cowl and lifted me bodily onto my toes practically choking me in the process while the Justiciar pulled a dagger from somewhere beneath his robes and waved it unnervingly close to my nose. Just in time to prevent me from being perforated or garrotted the King snorted in his sleep, rolled over in the bed and let out a loud and satisfying fart the aroma of which confirmed as nothing else could that my diagnosis had been the right one and it was indeed the lampreys that were the cause of his problems.
‘Ah, merveilleux!’ squealed the French doctor sniffing the air delightedly as though it were some exotic French perfume.
‘The King,’ I choked as de Saye dropped me back onto my feet, ‘should sleep for a day or two now. Then, God willing, he will have a goodly motion and expel the offending blockage. In the meantime I think rest and quiet is the best, erm, prescription,’ I said, deliberately using the Earl Marshal’s word and praying he agreed. He immediately went into a huddle with the other two courtiers and Abbot Samson. All I could hear was the thumping of my heart which I was sure everyone else in the room must hear as loudly as I did. They then called the French doctor over and all five had an animated conversation conducted at the level of a whisper. Finally, they emerged from their deliberations.
‘We agree with Master Walter’s conclusion,’ said William Marshal with his patrician voice again. ‘The King will be allowed to rest and recover. But none of this must get out. If it becomes known that the King is incapacitated it may persuade some to try their luck. I therefore direct that all who witnessed the events in this room today are on forfeit of their life not to reveal what they have seen here.’ He turned to Hubert Walter. ‘My lord Archbishop, will you administer the oath?’
The Archbishop nodded and asked everyone in the room to kneel. One by one each of us solemnly swore ourselves to silence and then a prayer of supplication was said for the King’s speedy return to health and for peace in the world. We recited the Paternoster and the Ave Maria and finally the Archbishop gave his blessing to seal the oath.
‘Father Abbot,’ said the Earl rising to his feet again, ‘you will ensure that all servants who wait upon the King are known by you personally.’ Samson bowed and nodded. ‘The story to be given out is that the King is tired after the events of recent weeks and will remain in the abbey a few days to recuperate. I will return to London with the Archbishop to secure the capital. You, my lord,’ he said to the Justiciar, ‘should remain here with the King.’
Earl Geoffrey opened his mouth to protest but shut it again and reluctantly bowed his assent. Earl William then turned back to Samson. ‘Father Abbot, please have a proclamation drawn up to the effect I have directed and posted on the abbey gate.’
Abbot Samson bowed his agreement, too. Then upon a gesture, the servants were let back into the room to adjust the King’s bed for his comfort and the assembly quickly broke up. As I scurried, thankful at last to be able to get away, I felt a restraining hand grip my shoulder. It was de Saye again.
‘If the King does not recover, bone-breaker,’ he whispered in my ear, ‘and you turn out to be a very clever assassin, I will personally pull out your entrails and make you eat them.’
‘Have I done something to offend your lordship?’ I asked in all innocence, but seeing Samson approaching de Saye merely let go of me and walked swiftly away bowing to Samson as he passed.
‘What did he want?’ Samson asked watching de Saye walk over to speak to the guard who had manhandled Alric.
‘In truth, father, I do not know.’
Samson frowned and tutted. ‘Be careful of that one. Geoffrey de Saye is the King’s new bullyboy, keen to demonstrate his loyalty to the new regime.’ He snorted. ‘As loyal as a dog is to the hand that feeds it. I hope you know what you are doing, Walter. If the King’s condition does not improve Brother Alric’s fate will be as nothing compared with yours.’
I watched as the guard came to attention and saluted before following de Saye smartly out of the room. I wasn’t too worried by Samson’s words. I was confident that Joseph’s potion would work and the King would recover in a day or two and then the whole royal circus would up sticks and be gone, de Saye with them. He had shown himself to be someone who took pleasure in the suffering of others and was therefore to be avoided. That would not be difficult since there would be no reason for our paths to cross again. I resolved to dismiss him from my mind, convinced that whatever the reason for his hostility it had nothing to do with me personally. But I was wrong in this as I was to be in so many things in the coming days, for there was indeed a particular reason for de Saye’s dislike of me and it would be a while before I found out the truth of it.
Chapter 5
A FOOTBALL MATCH
Looking back now with forty years’ hindsight, it is easy to see how the clues pointing to the impending disaster were steadily mounting although at the time there was nothing obvious to connect them. I doubt, for instance, if anyone would have thought the King’s ailment had anything to do with it for it had the air of farce about it. Those of us who had been witness to the bedroom scene kept to the official line that he was suffering from fatigue as we were bound by oath so to do, but frankly if any of King Philip’s spies truly were about they must have been laughing up their conspiratorial sleeves.
For once John’s well-known fondness for his bed actually worked in our favour since incredulous eyebrows were raised and knowing winks exchanged. After a few days even Abbot Samson was beginning to find the reports of the King’s progress embarrassingly implausible and eventually he gave up, leaving it to poor old Prior Robert to impart the daily bulletin. Since I heard no more from my lord de Saye, I presumed the King’s condition at least had not worsened. Still, we all prayed sincerely for the King’s speedy return to health if only to see the back of him and his entourage. But the King seemed in no hurry to go despite the undoubted pressing needs of his government. I could not help but reflect that this was one more aspect of John’s personality that contrasted with that of both his whirlwind father and his firebrand brother. Henry and Richard had both kept hold of their vast possessions by being – or seeming to be - everywhere at all times. In that respect John had more in common with another of his forebears, Ethelred called Unready, who through indecision and timorousness lost his kingdom to King Cnut of Denmark. Some wag even went so far as to suggest a new soubriquet for John himself: Not so much Lackland as Lackaday.
This dithering was very frustrating as Earl William’s secur
ity arrangements severely restricted movement. I felt this more than most of my brother monks as I was accustomed to passing freely between abbey and town in the pursuance of my medical ministry. I had patients that needed my urgent attention but instead I had to spend much of my new enforced leisure time in either study or preparation of various potions for use when I eventually did manage to get out and about again. There comes a point when reducing yet another solution of pig bile to paste begins to lose its novelty value. By the time the King’s health had fully recovered I should have collected enough magpie beaks to cure every case of toothache in the Liberty.
I did, however, have one new patient I was able to see. After I’d left the King’s bedchamber I’d gone down to the kitchens to see how Brother Alric was faring - the brother so badly mistreated by de Saye’s lout of a guard. No bones broken, God be thanked, but he had some nasty cuts and bruises which I duly dressed. I complained once again to Father Abbot about his mistreatment but Samson, ever one to smooth ruffled feathers, was of a mind to play down the whole affair reluctant as he was to prompt any more ill-will than already existed between the abbey and the King’s men.
And that was another bone of contention. With so many young men with nothing to do billeted within the abbey grounds tempers were beginning to fray. Drink was the main problem. Complaints from the cellarer’s office about drunken brawls had already led to a banning of alcohol within the abbey precincts. Needless to say this ordinance had no effect whatever. The men simply went out into town to get their drink there. And they returned, inevitably, with women.
Now, licentiousness within the abbey precincts was not something to be taken lightly. We are a celibate order and such behaviour brings disgrace upon the name of our virtuous – and reputedly virginal - saint. And our tonsures did nothing to shield us from the attentions of these…ladies. One evening as the light was beginning to fade I happened to be in the Great Cemetery behind the abbey church – I’d gone there for a legitimate purpose, it being too much of a trudge to the necessarium just to make water - when I heard a noise and out from the bushes emerged a soldier with two girls in tow. Startled, I had to finish my business quickly and just managed to hide in time to see him hand the two girls over to a grotesque creature perched cross-legged upon a coffin tomb. I crossed myself quickly, wondering what manner of devil this was when I recognised its shape: It was Mother Han, the woman I found selling fake relics in the marketplace a few days earlier. The soldier was just too much of a brute for me to tackle on my own, but Mother Han was not. She was so busy examining the coins the soldier had given her that she didn’t notice me scuttle over. Glancing quickly at the two girls who were quite unperturbed at seeing a monk in a habit, I challenged her:
‘Mother Han, what is the meaning of this outrage?’
‘Eh?’ she stared up at me with her one good eye. ‘Ah, the bone-breaker,’ she nodded. ‘It’s tuppence for you as for anybody else.’
‘Mother Han,’ I protested. ‘These girls can be barely above nine or ten summers!’
She shrugged. ‘A penny each then.’
‘Mother Han!’
‘We all have to make a living, brother. Anyway, these two are eighteen. Ask them.’
I bent to examine the smallest girl more closely. ‘This one still has her milk teeth!’ I said rising up again.
Mother Han squinted at the girl through her one good eye then tutted. ‘I thought they looked a bit small for eighteen. Ach, you can’t believe a word anyone says these days.’
I started spluttering again.
‘Oh, all right, keep your tonsure on. We were going anyway. It’s too quiet here. Quiet as the grave,’ she cackled and heaved herself laboriously off the tombstone. With the bell tolling vespers above us I watched with dismay as she corralled her two young charges out through Anselm’s gate tipping the gatekeeper a coin as she went. As they disappeared into the gathering gloom I realised something had to be done to distract so many idle young men before even worse befell us. But what?
I’m not sure whose idea it was to hold a football match but it certainly wasn’t mine. I had witnessed too many such tournaments when I was a student and there are fewer maimings in the aftermath of a battle than after a game of mob football. That is because on a battlefield there are strict rules governing the slaughter while on the football field there are none. The proposal was much debated in Chapter before agreement was finally reached. No-one was under the illusion that the whoring and the brawling would cease after the match but it would perhaps resume with a little less vigour than before - at least for a while. But it was agreed that a well-policed contest between the two teams – one from the town and one drawn from among the King’s men – would be a welcome distraction.
The game kicked off shortly after sext in the after noon. I had my work cut out coping with the multitude of injuries among both the players and the spectators - not that there was much to distinguish between the two since every townsman under fifty seemed to join in the game at one point or another. As usual these were mostly knife wounds, some malicious but most due to players and spectators carrying their weapons loosely about their persons. I vowed that if another game like this was ever arranged I would make it my business to insist that daggers be unstrapped and left in the sacristy. The game did manage to end more or less on time mostly because someone – I think it was the Prior – simultaneously got all the bells of the abbey to ring for compline while the army heralds trumpeted assembly at the other end of the ground. The only people still left playing at dusk were the town boys who had far too much energy and didn’t know when to go home. I have no idea what the final score was but Gilbert, my assistant who had been enthusiastically rushing in and out of my make-shift treatment room with progress reports all afternoon, thought we had scored thirty-seven goals to the army’s ten. In any event it looked as though our side had won the day, and judging by the rather boozy singing and chanting it had been a successful one.
With the last patient patched up and sent on his way I dismissed Gilbert with my thanks while I finished tidying up. By and large it had been a joyful day. As I stood at the door winding bandages and looking out over the long June twilight I saw a hooded figure standing by the gate. From his height and his stance I could see that it was Joseph. Surprised and delighted, I waved furiously and rushed over to him.
‘Greetings brother,’ I said breathlessly. ‘What’s the purpose of the hood? Are you in disguise?’ I was still exhilarated in the aftermath of the football match.
‘Greetings indeed, brother,’ he replied coolly. ‘It is a relief to see you too. When I didn’t hear from you for a few days I became worried.’
‘Worried about me?’ I chortled taking him to one side. ‘There was no need. Apart from being bored out of my mind. With the King ailing everyone’s movements are restricted.’
‘You don’t have to be coy, Walter,’ he said softly. ‘I know that it is your movements that have been restrained. And I know why.’
‘You’ve heard the news, then?’
‘Regarding the King’s rheum? Of course. Everyone has heard it and no-one believes a word of it. What’s really wrong with the King? I’ve heard he’s been poisoned.’
I laughed dismissively. ‘Poisoned? My goodness me, no! Where did you hear that? Poisoned indeed! Huh!’ But Joseph was not fooled by my denial. ‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ I conceded seriously. ‘But no, not that. Suffice to say your divining is as uncannily accurate as ever.’
He frowned. ‘Brother, you do my reputation no good by this constant inference of my sorcery.’
‘Doesn’t do it much harm either,’ I grinned. ‘Ah, it is good indeed to see you,’ I thumped his shoulder. ‘I have been so bored kicking my heels these past days. What news of the outside world?’
He waved a dismissive hand and looked at me seriously. ‘Walter, I have come to tell you that I am going away for a while.’
‘Hm, must be serious if you’re calling me Walter. Why? What has happened?�
�
‘Nothing – yet. But it is not safe for those of…my persuasion here in Bury while so many armed men are in the town.’
‘Jews, you mean,’ I said fixing him with a stern look.
‘Anyone who looks a little different. And I am hardly invisible.’
Taller than most and certainly darker, he had a point.
‘But you have the King’s protection.’
‘Such arguments are for lawyers,’ he dismissed. ‘It will be safer not to tempt fate.’
I was sad that he should feel so threatened. If he thought there was real danger then there must be.
‘Where will you go?’ I asked.
‘Best you don’t know, but I will be safe.’
‘It’s a pity you can no longer come here,’ I said indicating the strong walls of the abbey buildings. There was a time when he would have been able to find refuge within the abbey precinct. But since Abbot Samson banished the Jews from the town and abbey they can no longer find sanctuary here. Besides that, many of these soldiers must be veterans from the recent wars in the Holy Land. It would only take one man with a grudge to put a length of steel through Joseph’s superb brain. Yes, I could see that he might well feel safer with friends further afield.
‘You could go to my mother,’ I suggested.
He shook his head. ‘No, the lady Isabel is not in good health. I would not wish to burden her further. And it is unnecessary,’ he added quickly before I was able to protest. He became serious again. ‘Walter, listen to me. There is another reason for my coming here tonight.’ He looked at me earnestly. ‘I have come to warn you.’
Unholy Innocence Page 4
