The Physician's Tale

by Ann Benson

  The boy did as he was told, though he glanced back reluctantly as he left his grandfather. Alejandro remained where he was, listening at the door to the quiet conversation within. Two women—one the nun he had seen entering, and another, unknown, with a clear, sweet voice—spoke of womanly matters. He wondered if the younger-sounding voice belonged to an initiate, and if she was being prepared for entry into the order. How strange, he thought, that they would give up their young women to a life of servitude, when there were children to be made and cared for!

  He heard the quiet dripping of water and assumed that the younger woman, whom the older nun seemed to be attending, was bathing herself. This thought pleased him, and he smiled, though there was no one to appreciate it.

  He listened for a few moments more, but it was fruitless, for he learned nothing of note. When the dripping came to a sudden end, he thought it best to leave, for the nun might have finished her duties to the woman and could come through the door at any time to catch him in his pointless espionage.

  But the sound of their voices was strangely soothing. A few more words, he told himself. And if she comes to the door, I will pretend that I am merely walking by.

  “Here is your towel, Mademoiselle,” he heard the nun say.

  “Thank you.” There was a brief moment of quiet—perhaps as she dried herself—before he heard the younger woman say, “The lace is so beautiful. Just like the tablecloth.”

  As he tiptoed quickly away, Alejandro knew he would be waiting at the door, well before the sun rose, to see just who it was that came out.

  The child was still abed when Alejandro slipped out of the straw in the morning. He found his clothing in the darkness and dressed quietly, then tiptoed away without waking anyone. Whoever was in that room, he reasoned, would rise early as well, if there was something to hide. He whispered a prayer that no one else would be about at that ungodly hour and stepped very quietly through the halls and passageways to the room where he’d listened the night before.

  A pang of discomfort arose in him as he recalled his short stint with his ear to the planks. After all, what business was it of his if a lady enjoyed bathing? Such healthy behavior was to be encouraged, especially among the stinking French. He assuaged his own guilt by telling himself that there might be some perilous plot afoot, some kind of duplicity taking place among the guards, and that de Chauliac ought to be made aware of it for his own safety and the success of their journey. If Alejandro discovered something untoward, he would find a way before they set out again to take his mentor aside and deliver the intelligence he had acquired, however shamefully.

  He heard stirrings within; they grew louder with each passing minute. Nevertheless, it seemed a lifetime to the physician until the door began to open. He stepped back a few paces and watched, with his back against the cold stone wall, as the room’s occupant emerged.

  “Dearest God,” he said aloud to the small soldier. “You are—a woman!”

  She took him by the arm with surprising force and pulled him into the room with her. When they were both completely inside, she shut the door, then whirled around to face him.

  In flawless French, she said, “And you, sir, are a Jew.”

  For a moment, he was speechless.

  “How do you know this?” he said.

  “How did you discover my sex?” she demanded.

  “I—I spied upon you last night, by putting my ear to the door as you were having your bath. I overheard your conversations with the nun.”

  “But I do not understand—what prompted you to do this?”

  “I thought you were—” He could not bring himself to say an English spy, so great was his relief to discover—if her speech was any indication—that such was probably not the case. “The tablecloth,” he said. “You aroused my suspicion with your admiration for the lace. I thought perhaps you might just be a man with a liking for niceties—there are many such men, I know—but I could not convince myself that you were one of them.”

  “You are very clever,” she said. “I shall have to exercise more care in my admirations.”

  “As for explanations,” he said, stepping closer, “what you have said of me just now demands one.”

  “Father Guy told me.”

  He searched her eyes for some clue about who the person she had named might be. A deep concern entered his heart; was there one among the guards who knew who he was, and had that guard revealed it to one of the brothers? Of course, there would be a handsome reward from the English king for such information.

  “I must assume you refer to one of the brothers here,” he said. “But how could—”

  “No,” she said. “Father Guy. Your teacher.”

  “Father Guy?” For a moment he was stymied. Then he said, “You cannot mean Guy de Chauliac?”

  “I can, and I do.”

  “But he is not a priest. I know this with certainty.”

  “No, not now, but he was once. How else do you think he could enjoy such proximity to the Holy Father?”

  Alejandro said nothing for a moment as he digested the astonishing information he’d just received. “One assumes it is because he is the best physician in Europa.”

  Now the woman laughed lightly; the sound of it was sweet and lyrical. “He would say, I think, that you yourself occupy that exalted position.”

  A surge of pride went through Alejandro to hear those words said, but this was not a time to let such utterances swell his head. “He would be wrong,” he said, “and there are too many other things to consider at the moment to let such flattery fog my thinking. On my mother’s soul, I would never have suspected this. He said nothing to me in all the time I have known him of having taken holy orders.”

  He stepped closer to her again. “Nor did he say anything of a woman on this ride. Some say it is bad luck. Therefore, if I am to be cursed on yet another journey, let me at least have full sight of the source of the trouble to come.” He reached forward and pulled on the bowstring that held her tight cap in place. She made no move to stop him. The cap came off, and her hair fell free; she shook it loose and brushed it back behind her shoulders with an annoyed look on her face.

  “It took me a great deal of time to put all this hair into that cap. Now I shall have to do it all over again.”

  “Why bother?” he said. “You are discovered. Appear as the beautiful woman you are.”

  She seemed to shrink a bit when she heard that. In a less defiant voice, she said, “I am discovered by you, but my fellow soldiers are still blind—I think and hope—to my true nature. I have many good reasons for continuing my charade, and for the safety of all of us, it must remain that way.”

  Alejandro stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. With a very slight smile on his face, he watched as the woman went through the laborious process of replacing the cap on her head and tucking the stray locks into place.

  “I shall not reveal you,” he said as she completed the task. “My name, though you perhaps already know it, is Alejandro Canches.” He bowed slightly. “I am pleased to meet you, though I suspect that the time for formal introductions is past.”

  “Philomène de Felice,” she said. “You have my deep gratitude for your discretion.” Then she became the soldier again. “On this journey, I am called Philippe. I will be most grateful, as will Father Guy, if you would call me by that name, should the need arise.” She replaced the helmet over her cap.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  But it would not be easy, having seen Philomène.

  He managed to corner Guy de Chauliac for a few brief moments before they all departed.

  Standing just far enough away from his mentor so they did not appear to be in conversation, Alejandro said, “I have met Philippe.”

  De Chauliac’s head turned quickly in his direction.

  “Most interesting,” Alejandro said. “A soldier of many talents. Indeed, many faces, one might more accurately say.”

  “Indeed,” de Chauliac said
quietly. “We will speak more of this when we are in Paris.” Then his tone became more urgent. “Say nothing to anyone of this. You do not understand the importance, nor will you, until more is revealed. For now you must trust me.”

  “You have said this before,” Alejandro told him.

  “To your great benefit. Never forget that.”

  “I shall not, Father Guy.”

  De Chauliac gave him a perturbed stare, then turned his horse and found his forward position in the party. Alejandro got onto his own horse, then took Guillaume by the hand and pulled him up. The soldiers of the pope rode by them, one by one.

  “Bonjour, Philippe,” he said quietly as she passed him.

  “À vous-même, Alejandro” came the reply.

  They stopped on the riverbank to water their horses before noon. Alejandro set Guillaume down on the ground to run and stretch his legs, then brought his mount alongside Philomène’s. He stood next to her at the water’s edge with no one else near. “If circumstances permit,” he said quietly, “may I call upon you this evening?” He qualified his intent by adding, “For conversation, of course. Depending on the nature of our lodging, if it happens to be advantageous.”

  Their reflections rippled as the horses drank. Philomène did not respond, but he did not see a discouraging look upon her face.

  “If you do not think it ill-advised, that is.”

  After a time, she said, “I would be amenable to some conversation. Of course, there are realms that I will prefer not to discuss, but one does long for good company on occasion.” They stood quietly together, watching the little waves in the pond, until the horses seemed satisfied. “You should know before you come to me,” she said, “that the other soldiers will talk if we are seen together. So you must be especially discreet. They think me odd and will think the same of you by association.”

  He almost laughed. “One can only imagine what they would think if they truly knew.”

  Her reply was blunt and humorless. “They would think me fair game for their appetites.”

  “Well,” Alejandro said, a bit flustered by her frank response, “I have no doubt they would think me fair game for their hatred, were they to know about me what you already do. I shall be especially careful, for both of our sakes.”

  The rest of the party began to remount. The physician called to Guillaume, then took up his horse’s reins. As he left Philomène’s side, he looked back and said, “Until this evening, then.”

  The captain of the English guard pressed a purse of coins into the palm of the cooper’s widow. She made no pretense of gratitude, but hefted and squeezed the linen sack to judge the value of the sum it held. It was well more than the thirty coins of silver that signified another betrayal. Her passage and resettlement into England were assured, and she would know comfort there.

  He has left Avignon in haste and has taken the boy with him. Yes, the boy has golden hair and eyes of blue. I know not where, but they left several days ago, on horseback.

  She stuffed the purse into the pocket of her apron and headed immediately for the public stables. The next party that goes to Calais, she told the stableman, I would go with them. She pressed one of her coins into his hand and told him where he might find her when the time came.

  The better part of that afternoon was passed in completing the arduous descent from Cluny to the edge of the plain. Digoin lay to the west, which town—with some luck—they would reach before the sun fell. As the terrain leveled, the party came closer together again, for it was no longer necessary to ride in single file as they had been forced to do on the rocky hills, where the roads were little more than paths. Words could once again be exchanged between riders without shouting. The day was fine, with full sun and a sweet breeze that carried the scent of meadow flowers to their noses.

  Alejandro felt his tension ease at last, for it was no longer necessary to look down with each step his mount made. The weight of his journey’s purpose never left his heart, but in this moment it seemed less of a burden than at other times. Guillaume began to nap against his back as the horse’s motion smoothed. The boy’s arms were warm and welcome, much the same as Kate’s small arms had felt when she was of the age her son was now. Up ahead, Alejandro saw Philomène among her fellows; she kept with them, though she did not seem to interact beyond riding in tandem.

  He allowed himself to think about her, to let this new intrigue have its due. Thoughts of the evening’s rendezvous were a pleasant diversion to the monotony of the ride. Would she wear a woman’s clothing when he came to call upon her? He doubted it. Should she be required as a soldier to react to some kind of emergency, she would be revealed, for the skirts of a woman were cumbersome and often difficult to remove. He tried to remember how old Kate had been when she began to complain of the complexity that folds of fabric created in riding a horse. At some point she had fashioned herself two pairs of breeches from one skirt and had worn them unabashedly in their travels.

  The ease with which Philomène wore her soldier’s mantle and breeches seemed more reasonable as these thoughts came back to him. The short sword at her belt, the arrows in her quiver—he had seen his own daughter wear them with something akin to enthusiasm. She often hunted their meat in the deep woods around the little cottage they’d shared, before Guillaume Karle stumbled upon them, dragging his wounded comrade. As Alejandro stood well back, ready to strike a blow if needed, the sixteen-year-old Kate had opened the door. Guillaume Karle seemed a giant as he strode in, carrying his comrade, whose wounded arm had to be removed to preserve his life. It had been a futile attempt. The forces with whom de Coucy rode had found them and had slain the wounded man, who had to be left behind as his would-be saviors fled.

  All because they desired their own little pieces of French soil! With such vast holdings as were theirs, how could Navarre and de Coucy reasonably deny them? In the end, it was a simple matter: With the English breathing down the neck of the French king, Charles of Navarre had tried to press his advantage and steal the throne for himself, and he needed all of his lands to bolster his strength. His efforts—despite bloody enthusiasm and a victory over the Jacquerie—had eventually been for naught.

  Alejandro patted Guillaume’s hand lightly as he remembered the day when their entire world was turned, in an instant, upside down. The boy did not stir but rested quietly, his breathing regular and deep as he slept. Alejandro’s vision settled on a dragonfly not an arm’s length from his face. The wings fluttered as the beautiful creature rose up and down, side to side, jerking in every direction—

  —until the whoosh of an arrow blew it away.

  The missile found its mark in the neck of one of the soldiers, who had been riding a few paces forward and to his left. Alejandro turned toward what he thought would be the arrow’s source, only to see another whiz past. He shouted a loud warning; Guillaume came awake instantly and clutched at his back. Up ahead he saw an outcropping of large rocks on the side of a rise.

  “Hold me tightly,” he said to the boy, who responded by clutching at his grandfather’s waist with all his strength.

  The rest of the party was already on its way to the rocks. Alejandro spurred the horse hard and brought it alongside the horse on which the wounded soldier now slumped. He grabbed the reins of the man’s frantic horse and pulled it along as he rode, with Guillaume clinging perilously, toward the haven of the rocks.

  An arrow flew behind them but caught the wounded man’s horse in the flank. The animal rose up on its hind legs; Alejandro’s horse did the same. He fought for control and felt Guillaume begin to slip. He grabbed the boy’s arm and threw himself against the horse’s neck. His weight brought the animal back down just in time to keep himself and Guillaume from being thrown. They reached the rocks a few seconds later; hands came up from all sides to help the boy and the wounded man down to the ground.

  Alejandro dismounted quickly, and for a few moments, he leaned over with his hands clutched around his belly, panting hard to catch his bre
ath. As he did this, Guillaume slipped between him and the side of the rock, where he cowered with his hands covering his face.

  “Free companies,” he heard someone say. Alejandro’s heart sank. He had hoped their reign of terror had passed by now, but such was apparently not the case; in his sheltered ghetto life, word of the bands of rogue knights who roamed the roads in search of easy victims had not reached him. With so many of France’s overlords taken at Poitiers and the skirmishes that had come after, hundreds of knights were left without a means of obtaining the plunder by which they made their livings. And so they had banded together—in companies free of allegiance. They made themselves the scourge of all honest travelers; this group was so desperate that they had chosen to fall upon a group traveling under the protection of the pope.

  As four of the guards sent their own arrows in the direction of the marauders, two more stood directly in front of de Chauliac. Another pair were on the ground, attending to their wounded comrade. One of those was Philomène.

  All of these observations swirled through Alejandro’s brain in an instant. He turned and took Guillaume by the shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  There was stark fear in the child’s voice. “No, Grand-père….”

  “Then stay close to this rock while I see to the man on the ground. Do not run from here, or you will have no protection. Do you understand?”

  On the boy’s frightened nod, Alejandro hugged him for a very brief moment of reassurance. Then he bent down close to the fallen soldier, who lay on his back with his arms and legs twitching. He pushed himself between Philomène and her stricken comrade. The shaft of an arrow protruded from the side of the man’s neck; the point did not protrude from the other side.

  “It is well embedded; I have seen such a wound before,” he said, hoping to explain away what he was about to do. “We must pull the arrow out slowly and keep a cloth against his neck, to stanch the blood.”