The Physician's Tale

by Ann Benson

  Some of Eyam’s residents went willingly to their confinement; others protested vehemently and had to be dragged. By the third day of the outbreak, there were forty souls whose affliction by plague was certain, and twenty-five beyond that with the same terrifying symptoms. The church was filled to near capacity. By the end of the fourth day, more than half of the townspeople were confined, including four of the elders.

  When word of the pestilence spread to the surrounding towns, there came offers of assistance—most shouted across the very same graveyard from which the pest made its entry on Covington’s bolts. Soon people from the unafflicted towns to the immediate north of Eyam were bringing supplies: sheaves of wheat, loaves of bread, bags of lentils, hard cheese, all left in a pile at the edge of the graveyard. Once a day, one among the well would go forth to retrieve the supplies. The only person to leave Eyam was the drover of the death cart.

  The scourge continued, spreading like fire through the town. The melancholy hopelessness plague had brought to a thousand small towns settled over Eyam like a shroud.

  Until the seventh day.

  “How are you today, pretty one?” Kate said.

  Her question had been spoken rhetorically; she expected no response from the little girl who lay before her on a pallet on the church floor. When she had last examined the girl, her child seemed very near to death.

  “Very much better, thank you,” the little girl said. The voice was weak, but Kate still heard the conviction in it. She stepped back in surprise.

  “Remarkable,” she whispered.

  She gave the child a drink of water, then left her. When she found Alejandro, she pulled him by the arm out of the hearing of the man to whom he had been tending.

  Over his protests, she said, “You must come with me to see something.”

  He followed her to the place where the child lay, now awake and smiling. Kate fussed for a few moments with the child’s hair and stroked her head, then stepped back again.

  “She is recovering,” he said in a stunned whisper.

  Kate nodded. “Yesterday she was so ill that I thought we would surely be placing her in the cart this morning, perhaps even last night.”

  She glanced around the church at the dozens of people who lay sick and—presumably—dying. “I have noticed something odd, Père. Many in this village ought to have taken ill by virtue of their proximity to the afflicted, but they have not been stricken.”

  He had been so busy tending to the sick that he had simply not seen it. “You are right,” he said with wonder in his voice. He looked around for himself to confirm what Kate had put forth. Husbands tended to wives without falling ill themselves, and children—the tailor’s little daughter, for one—looked after afflicted parents without so much as a sniffle.

  “Unless the nature of plague has changed,” he said quietly to Kate, “and I see little evidence of that in those who have already been taken, there must be something about Eyam that protects its residents.”

  The man from Eyam stood over the pile of goods that the people from the north had left only a short while before. It would be a heavy load to carry into town, but he was glad to do it, for he was hungry and there was fresh bread in the supplies. He could smell it; he began to salivate.

  What would it hurt, he thought, if I took a loaf for myself? He considered how good it would feel to have a full belly and indulged in self-assurances that one loaf of bread would not make a difference to a town full of people, many of whom were too sick to eat.

  He followed the scent with his nose and found the bread in the third bundle. The loaf he pulled from the satchel was still warm, its crust not yet hardened—it must have been taken from the oven just as the offerings were being loaded.

  He wrapped his hands around the warm bread and enjoyed the warmth; it was a chill afternoon, under gray and threatening skies. He put the loaf to his nose and took in the rich, grainy smell. Just as he was bringing it to his mouth for the first bite, the loaf exploded.

  The man shrieked aloud and dropped what crumbs remained in his hand, then looked in the direction of the arrow’s origin.

  A short distance away in the woods, Sir John Chandos chuckled. He tucked his bow into a loop on his saddle, then held out his hand to Benoit, who scowled in disgust as he put a coin into it.

  “You are not wise with your wagers,” Chandos said. “One hopes you will fare better at what comes next.” He motioned for Benoit to follow, then spurred his horse and left the cover of the woods. They rode to where the stunned man stood, his hands still raised and trembling mightily.

  “‘Thou shalt not steal,’” Chandos said as he approached. He stopped a few paces short of the thief and stared down at him.

  The man fell to his knees and said, “Keep your distance, sir, there is plague within!”

  “I am well aware of that,” Chandos said. “I have seen your flag. And I am touched by the kindness of your neighbors in sending supplies to the afflicted. I shall convey a report of their generosity to the king, who will, I am certain, reward them. As for yourself, I shall convey a report of your actions to the people of your town, who may not look kindly upon them. It is disgraceful that you should steal what is intended to be shared around.”

  “I’m entitled to my portion, sir,” the trembling man said. “I was just taking it a bit early, that’s all.”

  “Indeed,” Chandos said. “Quite early, it would seem.”

  His horse snorted and pranced in place; the man scooted out of the path of his hooves. Chandos looked down at him and asked, “How are your townspeople faring in this scourge?”

  “Well enough so far, sir, though we are all still afraid for our souls…. We have brought out many dead.”

  Chandos glanced at the row of fresh graves. “I offer you your king’s condolences, as well as my own. But tell me,” he said, “is there a midwife or a barber in town to bleed those who have fallen ill?”

  The man became excited. “Why, no, sir, neither, but by a fine stroke of luck we have instead a physician—a traveler who came to town not a week before the outbreak began. And there is a lady with him—his daughter, he says.”

  “An extraordinary stroke of luck…. How is it that a physician just happened to be in the near surrounds when plague made itself known?”

  Though he was clearly frightened by the strange and impressive knight, the man found reason to ponder the curiosity Chandos had put forth. “I cannot say, sir.”

  “No, I suppose you cannot. It makes one wonder, though, if he perhaps brought it with him, with the purpose of gaining glory by caring for the ill.”

  On this matter, the man had a ready opinion. “Oh, no, sir. The elders say it came in on Covington’s bolts of woolens. He brought them in from London, against the edicts.”

  “Well, I am sure that is the case, then, if the elders say so. I’m certain this physician himself had nothing to do with it, no matter how coincidental.” He leaned forward and said, his voice lowered, “I will share an intelligence with you, for the good of your town. I have heard of a traveling physician, for he passed through the area around Windsor in the company of a handsome blond woman. The man is a Jew, and the woman a witch. We have heard that they possess the same poison that brought the Death to wells throughout France.”

  The man gasped. Chandos allowed a moment for him to absorb what he had just been told, then gave a nod to him and said, “Well, good day to you, sir. Do not steal anything more, for if I learn of it, I shall come back with a ready blade to steal your hand. I shall pray that your town fares well against the pest. And that the interlopers will not work too much magic upon you.”

  He turned his horse around and slowly cantered off with Benoit following. After a few steps, Chandos turned to his despised companion, who had said not one word throughout the encounter.

  He gave Benoit a smirk and said, “You did well.”

  The man was not in Eyam for five minutes before he began speaking of his encounter with the fearsome knight. T
he rumor spread like wildfire throughout the population; it flew through the church and the tavern as if it had wings. The whisperings were always the same:

  A witch and a Jew—they have brought it in with them.

  Alejandro and Kate were taking a brief rest on a bench in the market square when the elders confronted them.

  “Is it true, what they say,” one asked, pointing a finger of accusation, “that you brought plague to the innocents herein, just so you could make a name for yourself in treating it?”

  Alejandro stared blankly at the man. “You have me baffled, sir. I know nothing of the matter on which you speak.”

  “The plague didn’t come until you were here. Perhaps it did not come on the woolens at all, but through some poison! And now you’re treating us, and some are living.”

  “There is nothing we have done that—”

  Another elder stepped forward. “This is all your doing.”

  Alejandro and Kate stared at each other for a few horrified seconds. “We know nothing of what you are telling us,” he said. “But we have come to the conclusion after our observations that there is something about Eyam that impedes the spread of the pest. This is a remarkable thing, we realize, but—”

  “It would be the more natural course of things that they should die,” the third elder said. “You interfere in God’s plan, like Satan himself.”

  “The course need not be entirely natural. We have seen in the past some means of dampening the curse—”

  “There, you see! Witchcraft.” He pointed his finger at Kate. “She is a witch.” Then he turned to Alejandro. “And you are a Jew.”

  Father and daughter stood.

  The elder’s eyes narrowed. “You are the Devil and she is a witch, and you are using your evil poisons against us,” he hissed.

  After a quick glance at each other, Alejandro and Kate turned and ran off. They were followed by a chorus of curses and a shower of stones.

  Blackwell was astonished by the news. “I will admit to my suspicions, but this I can scarcely believe of you.”

  “You must believe me that we did not bring plague with us.”

  “But the dark knight said you are a Jew….”

  Alejandro looked directly in his eyes. “I am.”

  “Though you do not act like a Jew.”

  Alejandro did not say what was in his angry heart: And how is a Jew supposed to act? He said instead, “All of my actions have been to help the people of this town. At my own peril, and that of my daughter.”

  Blackwell said, “Aye, I’ve seen that myself.” He watched as Alejandro stuffed his belongings into his satchel. “You’ll be needing supplies,” he said. “I’ll give you what I can, though it will be little—without commerce, my stores are low.”

  “Do not deprive your family,” Alejandro said. “We will fend for ourselves. We have done so many times before.”

  He reached into his purse and extracted two gold coins, which he pressed into Blackwell’s hand. “For our keep,” he said. “We thank you for your family’s generosity.”

  Blackwell eyed the gold. “And you for yours as well, Physician and Princess,” he said. And then he surprised them by saying, “I shall not betray you. Now go with God, before I change my mind!”

  “We shall,” Alejandro answered. He climbed up on his horse and pulled Kate up behind him. They rode out through the cemetery, leaving Eyam’s secret undiscovered.

  Sir John Chandos waited just off the road that led out of Eyam, knowing that his quarries would be driven out of town eventually as the seed of mistrust he’d planted earlier grew. He’d stayed there all day with Benoit at his side, trying his best to ignore the man, who would not give him any peace but complained of his discomfort constantly. He was hungry, he was thirsty, his backside was tired of the saddle….

  The long wait was nothing new to Chandos, who’d seen many a war in which the adversary took its time in presenting itself. He had no regrets that he would not see the jousts and the jugglers at Isabella’s wedding, though he would miss the wondrous voices of the singers who had been brought in to sweeten the air. He wondered if the musicians would have adequate talent to override the shrillness of the bride herself. One hoped she would remain quiet and not spoil her father’s efforts. But that was unlikely.

  His loyalty demanded that he stay here—miles from Windsor—in the company of a man he despised, to wait for a man he admired and a woman he did not, in his heart of hearts, want to catch. He let his mind wander back to Kate’s childhood, when he had taught her to play chess and had created a fine adversary for himself.

  He was drawn out of those pleasant memories by the sniveling sound of another complaint.

  “I must have water, or I shall die!”

  That happy event could not occur soon enough, Chandos thought as Benoit dismounted. He watched the man pull his water bag off the saddle and head toward the small stream that flowed along the road’s path.

  Alejandro guided the horse through the woods at the fastest pace he thought safe, knowing that they must remain within that cover for as long as possible. But soon enough they found themselves on the edge of a cluster of trees, the last bit of cover before the road opened into a meadow. It disappeared after that into another stand of trees on the edge of a deep wood. But to reach that safety, they would have to cross over an open area.

  They dismounted and went as far to the edge as they could. For a long moment, they both scanned the opposite woods with their eyes, looking for any sign that Sir John was within and waiting for him to emerge.

  “I see nothing,” Alejandro said.

  “Nor do I,” Kate whispered in reply. “But I can feel in my bones that he is out there.”

  When a bevy of birds rose up from the woods across the meadow, Alejandro knew that she was right.

  “There,” Kate said, pointing to the small stream where Benoit was getting his water. “I see no one else.”

  “But Chandos will be close by.” Alejandro shaded his eyes and looked again, touching on every detail of what lay before him.

  A glint of light caught his eye. “Look to the right, perhaps ten paces from Benoit. I see a shadow that cannot be a tree. Only one.”

  Kate looked for herself. “I see him.”

  “Can you make the shot?”

  “Benoit, certainly,” she said quietly. “But then we will reveal ourselves to Chandos, and he will take himself out of range.”

  She looked back again. “He will try to come to Benoit’s aid. Otherwise, he would be shamed before his king. And in doing so, he will be vulnerable.”

  “Then shoot Benoit first, for we must kill them both.”

  Kate looked at him; the expression she wore was one of complete desolation. “Père, I am not certain that I can do this….”

  “Then he will find us. He will kill me and take you back to Windsor. God alone knows what fate would await you there.”

  She looked out from behind her tree for a moment, then looked back at Alejandro. He saw the tears threatening in her eyes. He nodded gravely, as if to reassure her that what she was about to do was necessary. She swallowed hard, then turned back to her quarry again.

  She saw Benoit, who had filled his water bag and was walking along the edge of the road to where his horse was hidden—or so he thought—in the trees. She nocked the arrow into the string of her bow and took careful aim. She pulled back slowly until the bowstring was taut and quivering, and then, with her breath held, let the arrow fly. Before she could even lower the bow, Benoit fell, with an arrow in his chest.

  “He is down,” she said. And as she had predicted, Sir John made himself visible. She positioned the arrow against the bowstring and peered along its length to sight her quarry. She had a clear shot as he dragged Benoit’s body into the woods. She pulled back the string.

  But her hand shook, and after a few seconds, she lowered the bow.

  “I cannot,” she said quietly. “I have it not in my soul to kill him.”

&nbs
p; Alejandro said nothing, knowing that his own heart would have overruled his hand, just as Kate’s had.

  Thirty

  Alex hadn’t seen or heard Caroline, so great was his concentration on his prize. So when she asked him what he had in his hand, he quickly closed his fingers around the metal treasure and put his arms behind his back.

  “Nothing.”

  “Let me see it, please.” Caroline stuck out her hand.

  With aching reluctance, the boy put the metal box into her hand. Caroline stared at it for a moment, then looked at him. “What is this?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He wasn’t exactly lying, but he wasn’t telling her the entire truth either. He’d wanted to open the metal box since the night he took it, but the opportunity had not presented itself. Today, with Kristina occupied with Evan and his mother still away, his dad resting, and most everyone else out working on the spring planting…

  He’d labored over it for the better part of an hour with a tiny screwdriver, and had finally achieved success. After examining the contents—about which he understood nothing—he was just replacing the cover when Caroline appeared.

  He stared up at her unhappily, keeping silent but thinking, Why did you have to come along just now?

  “Where did you get it?”

  He looked down guiltily.

  “Tell me.”

  “I took it off the eagle’s foot. When Dad fell.”

  On hearing this, Caroline softened. She bent low, bringing herself to Alex’s level. “This is important to you, then, I guess. I didn’t know that when I asked you to give it to me.” She turned the box over in her hands. “I just want to show it to Michael, and then I’ll give it back to you. I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”