The Burning Road

by Ann Benson

  Where was the fairness in it? How many women had her true father bedded, while being wed to only one of them? No one had kept an actual count, to the undeserved benefit of his reputation. He made only the most transparent attempts to hide his infidelities. And had her own mother not been Edward’s lover, albeit unwillingly, without benefit of marriage?

  She was certain that her lady mother was nestled in the arms of God Himself, being consoled by angels with promises of an eternal life less tragic than her earthly one. Any other fate for one so poorly used was simply unimaginable. God makes allowances, she assured herself, despite what the priests would have us believe.

  But Père had taken the Lady Throxwood to his bed; the outcome had not been good.

  I shall have to pray for forgiveness, she thought.

  But what delicious sin! She would pay the pardoner, without complaint, if only it could be made all right.

  And as they returned again to Marcel’s house, having not found Alejandro, Kate felt strangely relieved.

  De Chauliac’s servants scurried about the house in frenzied preparation for the night’s festivities. Alejandro sat at one end of the table in the Frenchman’s study, watching the madness swirl around him. Abraham’s manuscript was open before him. De Chauliac himself sat at the other end with a volume of medical lore in his hands, but his eyes could not seem to keep to the pages. They looked instead over his long nose and sternly judged the progress of the preparations. By the look on his face, the Jew guessed that his captor found the progress wanting, and wondered why de Chauliac had no mistress to see to such needs. And why was he himself required to be a witness to it? I would have you present during my studies, the French physician had explained when he’d had Alejandro brought out of his small room earlier. The need to discuss some point may arise.

  Then summon one of your students, Alejandro had said. Surely they all clamor for the privilege of studying at your feet.

  Indeed they do, but I much prefer the company of equals during my reading, de Chauliac had countered.

  “You are fretting, Frenchman, not reading. Why then must you have my company?”

  “Because I would have it. Spaniard.” He smiled caustically. “Although it seems worth little at the moment.”

  Because I will not satisfy you with conversation. Except for his recent complaint, Alejandro had spoken not a word unless first addressed by his host, though he ached for a decent discussion of something, anything, that would take his mind off his present difficulties. The puzzling word he had found earlier was still undeciphered, and there was so much more in his manuscript that begged clarification, yet he would not allow himself the simple pleasure of engaging in repartee, because to do so would give the same to his captor, and he would not be party to anything so repulsive as de Chauliac’s pleasure.

  As the shadows lengthened and the evening’s activities grew nearer, those who would provide the entertainment began to arrive. First came musicians and a fool, and then an exotic-looking woman with dark hair and a swarthy complexion, not unlike his own, who de Chauliac vowed would thrill him with her dancing. “She rotates her belly in a most enticing manner,” he said with a naughty, almost boyish smile. “She is glad to have employment in these lean times, so she will do her best to please her audience.”

  Alejandro followed her with his eyes as she crossed the vestibule. A small grin worked its way through his reticence and he said, “And how shall the ladies take to this entertainment?”

  De Chauliac laughed. “There will be none tonight. Most have been sent away until Paris is itself again.”

  Alejandro thought of Kate, who must now be somewhere in Paris. He prayed silently, though it galled him to do so, that she was still with Karle. “Is it really so dangerous for women here now?” he asked.

  “Only for noblewomen,” de Chauliac replied. “Those of the lower classes still come and go as they please.” He glanced out the window, judging the time. “I think perhaps it is time for you to return to your room now,” he said. “Though I do not wish to give up our inspiring discussions. You should rest for a while, and then prepare yourself.”

  For what? he wondered as the guards led him away.

  Perhaps an hour later, de Chauliac himself appeared to escort Alejandro downstairs again. “You look quite handsome, Physician,” he said. “But then, you cut a noble figure when I sent you off to England in all that finery. You have not lost your dash with the passing of the years. I must say, one would never suspect you are a Jew.”

  As you yourself did not, he thought. But he kept his sentiment to himself, for it would only agitate his keeper, and he wanted him as placid as possible. It would not serve his purposes to have de Chauliac angry tonight.

  As if he could read Alejandro’s thoughts of escape, the Frenchman said, “I will now do you the kindness of warning you. Do not try to take advantage of my occupation with my guests by attempting to run from here. There will be many guards posted tonight. You may move about the house as does any other guest, but you will be watched. Carefully. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You do,” Alejandro said.

  “Now, as to the matter of presenting you to the other guests, I will introduce you as Dr. Hernandez.”

  Are there any Jews among you? he remembered hearing de Chauliac say years before. This elegant fiend looked little different than he had in the papal palace in Avignon, where he had addressed all the physicians of Avignon who had somehow contrived to escape the plague’s clutches. If so, step forward. He had not, declaring himself instead to be his companion, the Spaniard Hernandez, who had been stolen from him only the day before by the dreaded plague. Still numb from the bitter loss, he remembered watching the other Jews with terrible envy when they were dismissed, judged to be unfit for the work of His Holiness Pope Clement VI. He remembered wishing with all his heart and soul that he had let his foot do what it had ached to do. One step, leading to an entirely different path.

  De Chauliac failed to notice his distraction, and kept on with his warnings. “I have faith that you will not embarrass me, because such folly will not come to any good. I would advise you just to enjoy the company, for you shall not know the likes of it again soon.”

  “And if anyone asks of our association?”

  “We shall say, quite truthfully, that you are simply a former student of mine, now a physician of some importance in your own land.” He made a sugary smile and said, “Perhaps we shall say that you have returned to Paris for a visit to your mentor. It is not entirely untrue.”

  Not if one adds, under extreme protest.

  “Nothing more need be said. But do not doubt that you will know great discomfort if I am shamed in any way by your actions.”

  The admonishment issued, de Chauliac turned and led the way. Alejandro followed, plotting madly.

  The entire house was awash with the light of torches and candles, and the air was filled with music, not the strange and haunting sounds that filled the churches of the Christian God, but lilts of a more lively and secular tempo. The entire manse smelled of the rare spices and exotic herbs de Chauliac’s cooks had used with the intention of pleasuring the palates of his guests. A pair of liveried menservants stood at the entry door, and all throughout the house Alejandro saw more, far more than would be needed to keep him prisoner. Positioned conveniently at all possible sorties, they stood motionless and grim, just as de Chauliac had promised they would. Every time he looked, he found their eyes upon him, watching, waiting with their instructions for him to do something foolish.

  One by one the luminous celebrants entered the sybaritic realm de Chauliac had arranged for them, and Alejandro was presented to each one according to the scheme his host had concocted earlier. When six gentlemen were already deep in conversation, a short and portly man, far less impressively attired than the others, stepped through the door. Alejandro was surprised to see that it was to this man that de Chauliac gave the most attention.

  The greeting was almost overbearingly s
olicitous. “Ah, Monsieur Flamel,” de Chauliac oozed, “How delighted I am that you have come! I was beginning to fear that you would not be with us this evening.”

  As he handed his cloak to a servant, Nicholas Flamel said, “Je regrette, Monsieur le Docteur, my tardiness. It was unavoidable. My wife, you see, does not take kindly to being left alone.” The little man made an exaggerated, unpracticed bow, and Alejandro was reminded of his own clumsy first efforts in Edward’s court, and of how Kate, then barely seven, had subsequently taken it upon herself to teach him the fine points of courtly behavior.

  She was my only friend for a time, he reminisced.

  Flamel elaborated on his explanation, though Alejandro was sure, by the look on de Chauliac’s face, that the host could have done without it. “I was forced to see to her demands before she would allow me to make my exit.”

  “I understand her anger at the loss of your inspiring company. We shall be certain to send you home with your arms full of sweets to make amends. One hopes that such a gesture will ameliorate her loss.”

  “Only if I feed them to her morsel by morsel,” Flamel said with a chuckle.

  Another unnecessary tidbit, but de Chauliac remained engaged. For some reason Alejandro could not determine, he seemed to want the strange little man’s attention. “Then permit me to encourage you to do so,” de Chauliac said with a wink. “One hopes you will find some pleasure in such activity yourself.” He took Flamel by the arm and drew him toward Alejandro. “And now I would have you meet another colleague of mine, the honorable Dr. Hernandez, a man whom I hold in nearly as much esteem as I do yourself, for he too is especially learned and wise. But how could he not be? He was once my pupil.”

  “At the university?” Flamel inquired unexpectedly.

  And before de Chauliac could change the dangerous and unanticipated direction of the discourse, Alejandro said, “In Avignon. During the first year of the pestilence.”

  Flamel’s face lit up with curiosity. “Were you one of those sent out, then, by His Holiness Pope Clement, may he rest in peace?”

  And as de Chauliac looked on in speechless horror, Alejandro smiled and said, “Aye. I was among them.”

  “How very marvelous! And to which court were you sent?” Flamel asked.

  He saw the color drain from de Chauliac’s face, and smiled inwardly. Your games will not always go as you wish, my friend, he thought. “I did a good deal of roving from place to place. I was, one might truthfully say, rather prone to wandering.”

  At this artful answer, de Chauliac seemed to recover some of his composure. “I am most eager for you to see a manuscript that Dr. Hernandez has brought with him,” he said to Flamel, “for it contains symbols of alchemy in the language of the Jews, and is sure to fascinate you.”

  Flamel’s red face nearly exploded with excitement. He foamed as he spoke. “Then the surprise you wrote of in your invitation is at last revealed!” He smiled broadly. “Truly, sir, at first I did not understand the reason for your kindness. This is more than I hoped for!” And then, for a moment, he took on a pensive look, which changed quickly into one of great excitement. “Dear God,” he said, “Monsieur de Chauliac … dare I hope … is this the manuscript of one called Abraham?”

  Feigning innocence, de Chauliac looked at Alejandro and grinned. His eyebrows raised, he said, “Colleague?”

  Alejandro’s heart dropped into his stomach. “It is,” he finally answered.

  “Praise be to all the saints!” Flamel almost cried. “I have heard of this book and sought it for years!”

  De Chauliac glowed almost victoriously. “And tonight you shall see it,” he said, “when my other guests are gone. It requires one’s complete attention. If you can contain yourself until after we have dined and seen our entertainment, we shall look upon it together.”

  “You had best prepare a wagonload of sweets for my wife, then,” he said almost giddily.

  “It shall be arranged,” de Chauliac said.

  More gentlemen arrived, but de Chauliac did not make such a point of introductions. Still, he was in his most charming and gracious glory as the house filled with revelers and the mirth increased. Alejandro found himself unwillingly caught up in the festivities, and was almost beginning to enjoy himself when a slight young man, who might more reasonably have been called a boy, came through the door.

  He was dressed in the attire of a page or a valet, and stood looking around with a piece of parchment in his hand, clearly wanting to deliver it. He seemed terribly out of place, far more so than even the groveling Flamel, and very nervous.

  And then Alejandro thought his eyes were betraying him: emblazoned on the page’s mantle was the symbol of the house of Plantagenet. His senses rose to full alert when this page questioned the guards in French that was clearly influenced by another language.

  English!

  De Chauliac came forward and extended his open hand. “Am I to assume that this message is for me?”

  “If you are, as my patron calls him, ‘The Illustrious and Magnificent Monsieur le Docteur de Chauliac,’ then it would be for you, indeed.”

  De Chauliac beamed. “And from your mantle, I judge that you are sent by the illustrious and magnificent Prince Lionel, young page.”

  Alejandro felt himself trembling; he looked around for someplace to hide. But where would he go? There were guards and other guests who would all observe whatever attempt he made to secret himself away. All would make note of his behavior; all would find it strange and curious.

  Lionel! The younger brother of Isabella!

  But then the boy spoke again. “Geoffrey Chaucer, at your service, O illustrious and magnificent physician. I am instructed to bid you the most hearty and enthusiastic good evening from that notable prince.”

  The older half-brother of Kate!

  “And might I inquire, young Chaucer, why your prince does not deliver this well-said greeting himself, as I have invited him to do?”

  “My prince begs your indulgence, sir. He regrets that he cannot be here tonight,” the page said.

  Alejandro’s horror began to drain away, but with agonizing slowness.

  “And yesterday he promised his presence!” de Chauliac said, pouting with disappointment. “I am most grievously offended!”

  The page went down on one knee and played out his prince’s apology in abject drama. “Have pity on him, sir! He has taken to his bed with an episode of gout. He is suffering much pain and vows not to rise again tonight.”

  “Oh, dear,” de Chauliac said sternly. “You must tell me, young man, if his keepers are mistreating him.”

  “Gracious no, sir,” the page said. “I daresay that the Dauphin has done himself proud in seeing to Prince Lionel’s confinement. And that of the rest of us, who are not royals, and therefore far less deserving of luxury. But we all find the arrangements to be most satisfactory.”

  De Chauliac motioned for the page Chaucer to rise. He was clearly pleased with the length to which Lionel had gone in instructing the page to beg for forgiveness.

  “Good,” he said. “I am greatly relieved. But then we French have refined the art of treating our captives with tenderness and affection, have we not?” And though de Chauliac did not turn his eyes away from Lionel’s page, Alejandro knew that the comment was directed at none other than himself.

  Chaucer seemed only too happy to agree with him. “Indeed, sir, the French seem very … affectionate.”

  De Chauliac laughed. “The Dauphin has charged me with seeing to Prince Lionel’s health and vigor while he is a guest on our soil. Apparently, I have failed, and I am sincerely sorry. Oh!” he said dramatically. “The shame of it! We cannot send the good prince back to his doting father with his vitality sapped by our profligate French ways, can we? No, no. This must be corrected.”

  “If you know of some cure for gout, good physician,” the page said, “then give it over to my lord’s benefit.”

  “Cure? Ah, well. There is none, I am sad to say
. But one may take precautions. I shall visit your prince again quite soon and reissue the precautions I have already given him. Advice he has clearly, and I hasten to add, imprudently ignored in favor of having his pleasures as he will. You must tell him that though I love him well, he is a most aggravating patient, and you must convey my annoyance. As well, of course, as my most sincere wishes for a speedy recovery from his affliction.”

  The young man nodded and said, “I shall do so, my lord, straightaway.” Then he bowed and turned toward the door.

  De Chauliac reached out and took him by the arm. “But there is a place set for him at the table, and it will go empty now. With so much want in the world, God will not look kindly upon me for failing to fill it.” He regarded the page for a moment. “You seem an affable lad. You must stay and take your liege’s place.”

  Chaucer seemed flustered by this offer. “But he expects me to return.”

  “Then he shall be disappointed, as I am that my table lacks his fair and dear presence,” de Chauliac said. “It seems a reasonable exchange.”

  “I am unqualified to fill the chair of a prince, sir. Of that there can be absolutely no doubt. And what of the guards who escorted me here? They have instructions to see me safely back.”

  But de Chauliac would not be denied. He put an arm around the young man’s shoulder and said, “We shall feed them well while they wait. I shall see to Lionel’s satisfaction on the matter personally. Now tell me again, for I have already forgotten, what is your name?”

  “Geoffrey, sir.”

  “Have you a surname, young Geoffrey?”

  “Yes, sir. Chaucer.”

  “Aha! ” de Chauliac said. “I have heard your name in Lionel’s household. You have made a marked impression on your prince, young Chaucer—he speaks highly of you! He tells me that you often amuse him with tales of great imagination. In English, he says. You must be clever indeed.” And as if he could not help himself, he shot a sly, sarcastic glance in Alejandro’s direction.

  “Do you speak English, sir?” the page inquired with excitement.