The Physician's Tale

by Ann Benson

  “We’ll have to talk to the others about the animal. You should be prepared to hear one of us say that we don’t know these people well enough to put our own welfare at risk for one of their children.” She lowered her voice. “It might even be me who says it.”

  She’d clawed her way through obstacles a thousand times to save a patient—one citizen—often in total disregard for the expense to society in a time when extravagant resources were deemed a right. Now resources were categorized by layers, stacked according to the effort of acquisition and the likelihood of replacement. They married off their daughter for three pigs, a goat, and a buffalo; if her complexion had been better, they might have demanded a cow as well. But in the end, the family was satisfied with the bargain. These tales no longer seemed so disgusting.

  She stood and looked around the lab. Tom had equipped it thoroughly—mostly on his daughter’s advice. They had everything they needed, according to what she’d just read, to work a miracle. Everything, possibly, but the will.

  Kristina’s face brightened when Janie said, “Let’s go talk to the others.”

  She allowed herself to be introduced to the new folks she hadn’t yet met and stayed connected with them just long enough to be polite and politic. Then Janie looked around the table and said, “If you folks wouldn’t mind, we’ll need a moment to talk about a few things.” A couple of the visitors started to rise, but Janie motioned them to sit again. “Please, stay here and relax, finish your tea and bread. We won’t be long.”

  She beckoned with her eyes to Tom, Caroline, and all the others. They all rose up with visible confusion and followed her back to the lab, where Kristina explained, at Janie’s urging, what she thought she could do.

  “A pig or a cow,” Ed said quietly. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t either,” Janie said.

  It was Michael, fresh off his earlier diplomatic success, who put forth the notion that it didn’t have to be their own pig or cow.

  “There won’t be time to go back there for one of their animals. It’ll have to be one of our own, with a promise of repayment. I don’t know if we should trust them to make good on it.”

  “They made good on their word about the suit and the gun.”

  The discussion continued for several more minutes; at times the words were heated. In the end, they all agreed that these were decent people who could be trusted to do what they said they would do.

  “Just one more thing,” Janie said to the others as they made ready to return. “The woman Lany Dunbar—something about her is familiar. I can’t help but think I’ve met her before, but I can’t place where.”

  She might have been a patient, or a relative of a patient, or a fellow student at one time or another. Despite a round of prompts from her companions, she drew a blank.

  “Ask her,” Michael said. “She’s friendly enough.”

  “Not yet,” Janie said. “I want to think about it a little longer. Maybe she’ll say something to me first.”

  They all settled around the table again in a few minutes. Michael, who’d already established his own credibility with the visitors, put the offer forward and explained the conditions. “We don’t have an animal to spare, but there isn’t time to go back for one of yours. We’ll go ahead if you’ll give us your promise that you’ll replace the animal.”

  The newcomers didn’t ask for privacy for their own discussion. It took place in front of their hosts, who listened carefully to the repartee, knowing that they would have a far better measure of these potential allies when the discourse was done.

  They directed their first question to Kristina: Was there a greater likelihood of success for one animal or the other?

  “Not that I can determine from what I’ve read,” she said.

  “Pigs have litters, cows have one,” someone said. Then another person asked: “What do you have, males or females?”

  “We have one of each,” Tom told them. “The sow is pregnant, so it has to be the male if we use a pig.”

  “We have three male piglets in a new litter. We can give you one of those.”

  And so the second treaty was ratified.

  All that remained was to enact its terms.

  Eleven

  Guillaume fell asleep quite easily when he was put to bed in the attic room of de Chauliac’s manse, unlike the nights of travel, when he often tossed and turned in the unfamiliar straw. Alejandro watched over him in the candlelight for a while, savoring the child’s apparent peace. But though the boy found easy rest, thoughts of the days ahead swirled through the physician’s brain, banishing all hopes of tranquillity. There was so much he wanted to ask of de Chauliac; the questions would not let him sleep.

  He rose from his own bed and looked out the window again. The street below was quiet and dark; no visions of days past presented themselves, no matter how desperately he craved them. He crept out of the room with careful footsteps so as not to wake the boy and went downstairs, candle in hand, not knowing if de Chauliac was about or abed. It was late, and the servants had all retired; the maison was disquietingly void of human presence. He wandered from the foyer to the dining room, then the salon, but found no one.

  The library, he thought. If de Chauliac was still about, he would be there, among his beloved volumes.

  He found, instead, Philomène. And for the first time since he’d met her, she was dressed entirely in woman’s clothing—no mantle and breeches, no tall boots. Her hair hung down her back in shimmering chestnut waves. Her eyes met his when he entered; she greeted him with a warm smile.

  Encouraged by the reception, he said, “May I sit, Mademoiselle?”

  She nodded her accord with another smile, and he sat down beside her. Before her on the table was a book, open to a page that showed a drawing of a woman’s organs of reproduction.

  “Such exquisite detail!” Alejandro said as he ran his fingers over the detailed sketch. “Who made this drawing?”

  “Father Guy, naturally,” she said. “It is his library, is it not?”

  “But he owns so many volumes, some of which I know have been made at the hands of others, or by copyists….”

  “This,” she said, touching the same sketch, “is his hand at work. I would know it anywhere.”

  “The womb,” he said.

  She nodded. “It tears at me, what I did. I have revisited that failure a thousand times, and I can see no way to a better outcome.”

  “Perhaps there is no way.”

  “I cannot believe that. Surely there will come a day when mother and child can be safely preserved, despite the earliness of the labor.”

  “If it is in God’s plan,” Alejandro said, “then it will come to pass. In the meantime, you must cease this self-reproach. It will do you no good.”

  “And you? Are you up and about to take air at this hour, when God Himself does not care to rise? Or have your own demons come for a visit?”

  “You are both beautiful and wise,” he said.

  His fingertips brushed against hers as he withdrew them from the page. A surge of excitement coursed through his veins, something he had not felt for too many years. She did not pull her hand away but let it rest, looking straight into his eyes.

  He saw in her expression those things that he had craved for so long: acceptance, understanding, perhaps even some admiration.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said in a whisper, “may I have your permission to kiss you?”

  A little smile came upon her. She drew very slightly closer to him.

  “You may, Monsieur.”

  He brought his mouth to hers, lightly at first, and then with more conviction. When their lips touched, he lingered so the sensation could be savored. He covered her hand with his and let the warmth of her skin flood through him.

  Later, as he returned to his bed, he ran his fingers over the place on his chest where he had been branded in Cervere. He could no longer feel anything on the surface of his skin, but there was the faintest hint of the circ
ular shape where the iron had been pressed down. It might have been my face, he told himself. To be scarred in that manner would have been horrible. He fell asleep with the kiss still lingering. A dream came to him not long after; he was walking along a wooded path, and the spirit of Adele appeared to him.

  Beloved, she called out to him. But it was not the plaintive cry of dreams past, when she reached out her arms beseechingly. Instead, it seemed to the sleeping Alejandro that she meant only to greet him, to pass a few pleasant moments in his company. After a time, she slipped quietly into the woods. When Alejandro awoke the next morning, his manservant was standing over him. He looked to the floor pallet and saw that Guillaume was still sleeping soundly.

  “Monsieur de Chauliac wishes to see you,” the man said.

  He made his toilette, then dressed quickly. A last look in the glass gave evidence of new gray in his dark, wavy hair; he tied it back with a leather thong, and wondered what any woman could find attractive in an old man such as himself. He followed the manservant downstairs to where de Chauliac awaited him in the dining room.

  In the middle of the table was a plate of fruit and breads. “Please, colleague, join me.”

  Alejandro sat across the table from his mentor and friend.

  “You are refreshed, I hope.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “I stayed awake far too late, thinking of the days to come.” He said nothing of his encounter with Philomène.

  “Ah,” de Chauliac said. “Naturally you are anxious. I would be surprised were it not so.”

  “I came downstairs hoping to find you, but you must have already been abed.”

  “Yes,” de Chauliac said. “The journey, you understand. It tired me greatly. And I feel a bit of rheumatism coming on. But do not worry; it is just my age.”

  Alejandro nodded. “It will claim us all, in one form or another.”

  “If something else does not claim us first. But you have another journey ahead of you,” de Chauliac continued. “This is why I wished to speak with you.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  “I have had a message from one of my associates.”

  “Ah. Your ‘associates.’ They have always been a talented bunch.”

  “Beyond your ken, Physician,” de Chauliac said with a wry grin. “The news they have delivered this time is especially useful. From Windsor.”

  “Windsor!”

  “Yes. It seems that the king has sent his soldiers out for ‘exercises.’ He intimates that these exercises extend into France, which is curious indeed. One wonders at their true purpose, with his current need for accord between this country and his. There is a wedding on the horizon—why would he need such a show of force at this time? It seems odd, indeed.”

  “The man is given to oddity and recklessness; I have seen it firsthand,” Alejandro said. “Perhaps he deems it necessary to remind de Coucy of what might await him should he fail to complete the proposed match. After all, it was not so long ago that de Coucy was allied with Navarre, against the French throne, to which Edward presses his claim!”

  “Ah,” de Chauliac sighed, “to be privy to the secrets of his exalted chamber! Well, we can only speculate. It is a dangerous waste of thought. We must let these events unfold as they will and make our plans accordingly. But regardless of how things progress, it will be dangerous for you to travel to England at the moment; you must stay here awhile, until these exercises cease—or at the very least diminish.”

  “But what of Kate?” he said anxiously.

  “There is time yet to bring her out, as I have advised you already—please do not fret. The pope has not yet issued an approval for Isabella’s match, let alone Kate’s legitimacy, so there is time to plan a proper course of action. Perhaps it is a blessing that I brought you to Paris a bit early. I apologize for my miscalculations, but matters such as these do not always unfold predictably.”

  Alejandro said nothing for a few moments as his thoughts returned to Avignon and his ailing father. Please, dear God, let him survive until I return.

  “And perhaps there is a blessing—beyond having time to plan—that comes of this development.”

  “How so?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Always,” Alejandro said. “But how, exactly?”

  “The Cyrurgia I showed you in Avignon,” de Chauliac said. “My reason, as far as the Holy Father is concerned, for this sudden journey to Paris. There is much work yet to be done before…before it is finished,” he said in a low voice. “Your help would be a great blessing to me. As I began this work, I often thought of you, in the wish that you might be part of its creation. I have students aplenty, of course, but only two to whom I would trust this work—yourself and the lady who has caught your eye.”

  The man seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of everything that went on in his realm. Alejandro wondered for a moment if his own manservant was informing de Chauliac of his activities. There was nothing he could do if that was the case, save to accept the situation and behave accordingly.

  “But I shall have to leave here soon.”

  “Then I will enjoy your help while it is available to me. Come, Alejandro, do not disappoint me.”

  “I do not know what to say to this honor.”

  “Then simply say yes. Now, I took the liberty of making arrangements for the boy; one of the manservants has a son of similar age. He will bring his child here each morning so the two can spend time together.”

  It was an undertaking the likes of which Alejandro might never know again. His heart soared, and then just as quickly fell, for he knew that at any moment he might be ripped away from it.

  And when the time for leaving arrived, he would also be ripped away from Philomène. Too much loss.

  “I must think on it,” he said to de Chauliac.

  On her return to the ladies’ quarters after the long and distressing hunt, Nurse greeted Kate with a hushed announcement. “Master Chaucer awaits you again, lady. He seems very eager indeed to speak with you. He has paced a furrow in the stones of your balcony!”

  She untied the bow at the neck of her cloak and dropped the garment on a bench as she crossed through the door to the balcony. On hearing her, Chaucer turned; he smiled broadly as she approached. She strode with purposeful steps over the stones and launched herself into his arms as the younger of her two guards reached the door. She looked back just in time to see Nurse’s arm go out in front of the guard, who stopped short and looked at her in astonishment.

  “Leave them be,” she heard Nurse say to the guard. The old woman’s voice was shrill and commanding. “Imagine having to court your sweetheart in front of the likes of yourself! And where do you think they will go, down the castle wall?”

  The dumbfounded man stepped back as if he had been chided by his own mother.

  God bless you, dear Nurse, Kate thought as she embraced her comrade in conspiracy. She kept one eye on the guard to be sure he was watching. When she released Chaucer from the embrace, she sat down on a bench and drew him to the seat next to her.

  “A kiss,” she said. She drew closer to him and closed her eyes.

  Chaucer looked intently at her but did not lean in for the kiss. After a few moments, Kate opened her eyes.

  Only then did he kiss her. Their lips stayed together longer than necessary.

  “Your eyes,” he said as he pulled away from her. “They are wondrous blue.”

  She blushed as she had on their first kiss, the heat of it rising up into her cheeks. “We have given them a convincing performance,” she said. “Soon the king will be asking you questions. What will you tell him?”

  “That I find you most alluring, and quite admirable.”

  “Then we must make our plan before he forbids you to see me, which he may well do, and soon, if our ‘courtship’ threatens his plans.” She shifted her position on the bench slightly. “All this long and horrible day, I have done little else but try to think of ways in which I might leave here. I can come u
p with no way to elude my keepers, except one. There is a passageway I used once, when I was a little girl, to leave the castle.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Good heavens, lady, why have you not tried it before now?”

  “Because, in part, I don’t know if it is still there. It was a flaw in the castle’s structure; it may well have been repaired in the interim. And,” she added, “because it was just barely large enough for me to pass through as a child. I am many hands taller now. And there is another reason,” she said. “My son. They threaten to take him if I flee.” She grabbed his hands and squeezed hard. “But I cannot endure this confinement any longer! I shall perish if I must remain here—more quickly if I must marry that beast Benoit!”

  “You have seen him?”

  “I have, and far too close for my liking,” she said with a shudder. “At first I was not sure, but as the hunt went on, I noted that there was a good deal of intrigue between him and his cousin de Coucy. Even de Coucy must find that tie of kinship a tenuous one! I should not admit relation to him were he even my brother. Dear God, he is vile! As God is my witness, Chaucer, I shall cut his lips from his face with a shard of glass if he ever tries to put them on me.”

  For a few moments, Kate seemed lost in imagining that horror; Chaucer did not disturb her until she seemed to relax a bit.

  “Dear lady, there is something I must tell you. And for once, it is news you will welcome.”

  She looked at him quickly. “Good news is indeed rare,” she said. “Speak it, please!”

  “I do not believe that the king knows where your son is,” he said. “Only last week he sent out a party to France, supposedly on ‘exercises.’ There is no need for any kind of war practice at this time, especially not in France; I can only assume that he sent them in search of your son, so that when they find him, they can use him to make you bend to their will.”

  A strange calm came over Kate. She sat in silence and considered what Chaucer had just told her.