The Physician's Tale

by Ann Benson

Lany hastily assembled the rest of their gear and stowed what wouldn’t fit in the saddlebags at the base of the travois.

  “James?” she said.

  “Uhn” was the reply.

  “I know you’re weak, but you have to walk now, just for a little bit.”

  James rose up stiffly from his seat on a log and stood, swaying slightly until he found his balance.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Lany said. “We have to go as quickly as we can, and it’s all uphill.”

  They headed off into the woods. About fifty feet into the journey, Lany came to an abrupt halt. After a look back at their campsite, she jumped off the horse and ran back to retrieve the canvas bag that held the cells.

  “The ax,” Lany said to Alex. “I left it by the pole. Go get it, but be careful.”

  Alex ran back and found the ax. The carcass of the eagle, forgotten in the confusion, lay on the ground only a few feet away.

  The metal box called out to him like a siren song. All the lessons of respect for living things that Janie and Tom had tried to instill in him disappeared from his consciousness in an instant. There, within reach, was the creature that had felled his father. Anger he didn’t understand and couldn’t contain welled up within him. He released it with a chop of the ax.

  The bird’s foot fell off. He reached down and pulled on the metal box. It wouldn’t come off, so he pulled harder. A small amount of the bird’s coagulating blood oozed onto his hand as the box came free; he wiped it off on his pants. Then he picked up the small metal box and shoved the trophy of his dark victory into his pocket.

  As soon as she had a feel for how the travois would work, Lany got down and put James in her place, and for another three hours they struggled up the slope, working their way through the mud and twigs. Alex walked alongside the travois whenever possible and talked to Tom, though he got little response; sometimes he ran ahead to pull away branches that he thought might snap back on his father. But when the sun was only half an hour from setting, they still had the better part of a mile to go to reach the vista, the most strenuous part of the journey. James was slumped forward on the horse in visible distress. Tom was conscious, but in such pain that he could barely express himself. The horse plodded along valiantly at Lany’s urging, but each step seemed a little slower.

  She brought the horse to a stop when the last of the sun was glinting through the trees.

  “Alex,” she called out.

  He ran back from his self-assumed point position.

  “We aren’t going to be able to make it to the compound before the sun sets, so we’re going to have to spend the night out here. I remember a spot that’s a little more level not too far ahead; when we get there, I think we should stop.”

  “What about my father?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But we can’t go any farther. It’s too dangerous.”

  “My mom can help him.”

  “As soon as we get back. But we won’t be able to travel without light. It’s too risky. If the horse stumbles, we’ll be in big trouble.”

  For a few moments, Alex remained silent. Then he said, “I can go get her.”

  “No” came the stern reply.

  The boy stood there, frozen for a moment as his mind worked through the situation, then said, “I can do it.”

  “No,” Lany said again.

  But the boy was already off at a run, all alone, in the direction of the compound. He stopped only briefly to turn toward her and call back, “Light a fire so we can find you.”

  Lions and tigers and bears…

  “Oh, my…” Alex said aloud. “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my…”

  He wanted his mother. He wanted his father to be okay. Neither of those things would happen until he reached the compound.

  Straight up, he told himself, this time silently. If I just keep going straight up, I’ll come out somewhere near the powerhouse.

  The sun was down; darkness came sooner to this side of the mountain, the eastern face, than it did on the other. Each step forward made his small legs ache more than the last, but if he didn’t continue, he knew he would have to spend the night by himself in the dark woods.

  And Alex was old enough to understand that in these dark woods, he was prey.

  The sounds of dusk enveloped him. The birds went quiet while the bugs screamed. Even in the early spring, there were already mosquitoes, and they buzzed around his ears, biting him viciously. Moths fluttered by, but the gnats were not so polite—they dive-bombed his eyes and nose, driving him to distraction. His face was stinging and welted from the twig-whipping it took as he charged through the brush toward the ridge path.

  Don’t cry, don’t cry, he commanded himself. But as he brushed the insects away from his face, he knew the moisture he felt was not sweat. Finally, after a full hour of frightened lurching, Alex saw what he thought might be the clearing of the path up ahead. He pressed onward, and tears be damned.

  Janie worked her way along the path from the powerhouse. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to check it out; Tom and James, an expert in such matters, had just inspected it the day before and found everything in order. Surely one day’s use wouldn’t break it.

  It was the habit that comforted her. This was something Tom had done almost every night since they’d taken up residence in the compound. And when they returned—any minute now, she hoped—they would emerge from the woods at the vista point that lay along the route to the powerhouse. When she came to that spot, she looked out over the valley. Stars were just beginning to appear, and she tried to envision where her husband and son might be at that moment. In her prayers they were on the verge of breaking out of the forest below, making their way up the narrow rocky path with their mission accomplished and all sorts of wonderful discoveries to report. Perhaps the world out there was not as threatening as they’d all reasoned it would be. Perhaps they’d stumbled upon another established community and they’d been welcomed heartily. Perhaps there were no lions and tigers and bears at all.

  She stood in front of the log seat for a moment, wondering if she should sit and wait, just in case…. A swarm of gnats assaulted her; she shooed them away with her hands and decided that it would be better to wait in the house. God alone knew when they would return; she might sit there all night waiting.

  Alex crashed through the woods, gulping air as he plowed forward. He scrambled up the last incline like a monkey, using his cut and bleeding hands, for his legs were so weak and rubbery that he could barely move them anymore. His wet face was smeared dark with dirt, and all of his fingernails were torn.

  One more minute, he told himself, before I reach the path. One more minute.

  Janie was about fifty feet past the vista when she heard the sounds in the brush.

  She stopped and turned back. “Tom?”

  There was no answer. She remained still and listened more intently.

  “Anyone there?” she said, a bit louder.

  She heard only the crackling of twigs and a deep panting. Against all wisdom, she started walking, her steps very measured and quiet, toward the sound.

  “Tom?”

  Alex heard her voice, but he had no wind left for speaking; all of his breath was consumed in simply reaching the path. He struggled through the last clump of brush and put his hands on the rock outcropping that marked the edge of the path. One foot after the other, he forced himself to continue, though he had little substance left.

  Mom will be so mad so mad so mad….

  I am so scared so scared so scared….

  He used all of his remaining strength to pull himself upward and heave himself over the rocks onto the dirt path.

  “Strange,” Bruce said as he watched the monitor. “Fredo,” he said, loud enough to be heard in the next room.

  The biker-geek appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Take a look at this.”

  He pointed to the dot on the screen. It moved but so slightly that it was nearly im
perceptible.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Fredo said. “Which bird is it?”

  “908.”

  Fredo stared at the screen for a few more seconds, then said, “Hard to say, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say she was—walking.”

  Janie crouched behind the trunk of a large tree. One hand gripped the hilt of the knife she kept hidden in her ankle strap. The sounds that came out of the brush were louder now, but no more human than they’d seemed before. She saw the brush part and pulled out the knife. A dark creature crawled onto the path on all fours; in the thin light it looked like a small dog. She readied the knife but stayed hidden.

  Then suddenly the creature flopped down on the ground in the middle of the path.

  Seventeen

  De Chauliac was sitting in a chair in the foyer when Alejandro came down the stairs in the morning.

  “I did not expect to see you before leaving,” Alejandro said in surprise.

  “I feel reasonably well, though I am still quite fatigued,” the Frenchman replied.

  Alejandro opened his mouth as if to speak, but de Chauliac waved him to silence. “I should have to be on my deathbed not to be here,” he said. And then he smiled. “I would fail in my duty as your host and teacher if I did not give you one last lesson.”

  Alejandro smiled as well. “Get on with it, then, for the day is wasting, and I have many hard miles before me.”

  “Indeed, you do.” De Chauliac rose stiffly from his seat. “Remember that you must be a simple traveler, so your appearance must not betray you as anything more.” He regarded Alejandro’s brown breeches, the plain mantle of gray wool that he wore over a linen shirt, the woven belt, his common-man’s hat. He nodded his approval. “If someone should ask you why you travel, it is wise to give a reason that does not involve money, say, as a messenger or a tutor. Otherwise, they will wait in secret for you and rob you. Do you carry much gold?”

  “Enough to see me through, I hope,” he said, “but hardly an excessive amount.”

  “Good. That is wise. But in the event that it is not enough, you can go to a certain banker in London for additional funds.” He reached into a pocket and extracted a folded parchment bearing his seal. On one of the outside folds was written the man’s name and the street in London where he could be found.

  Alejandro took it, then examined it briefly. “No,” he said. “I cannot put you at such risk. If I am captured and this letter is found, your complicity will be revealed. I will not have that on my conscience.” He held out the letter.

  But de Chauliac would not take it. “I am counting on your success, more than you are yourself, it would seem.” He sat back down in the chair, again somewhat stiffly. “I have been too long abed, I fear. My joints protest.” He put his hand into a deeper pocket in his robe and pulled out a parchment that had been folded in quarters. “Here,” he said. “This is a gift, on the occasion of your great northern journey.”

  Alejandro opened it and saw the lines and letters, the curves of the coastlines.

  “A map…colleague…this is priceless!”

  “I have been assured that the markings in England are accurate. The route from here to Calais, of course, is well marked and easily navigated. We cannot have you riding aimlessly all over France and England—there is much for you to do here.”

  “I will return as quickly as I can, I swear it.”

  “I will hold you to that oath. And one more thing, above all else—I feel almost foolish in telling you this: Do not reveal yourself as a physician! To do so will place you in grave jeopardy. And I would have you back here again, so I can be the cause of all your deepest troubles by working you to the point of insanity.”

  Alejandro saw in de Chauliac’s eyes the smallest hint of a twinkle.

  They embraced, somewhat awkwardly, after which Alejandro took up his satchel. He walked quickly out of the foyer and into the courtyard, where his horse was already waiting.

  He turned back to face de Chauliac after mounting the horse. “Look after my grandson,” he said. “And Philomène.”

  De Chauliac nodded. Alejandro slapped the reins on the horse’s neck, and the animal headed for the gate.

  As he disappeared onto the street, de Chauliac called after him, “Godspeed.”

  He rode, and rode, and then rode some more, for he had a long distance to travel and not much time. The desperate loneliness of his ride and the dread that grew within him were lessened to a small degree by the great beauty of the French spring. The earth seemed to be bursting out in wanton fruitfulness. The sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky as Alejandro worked his way steadily north and west.

  On the fourth day, when the solitude was beginning to take its toll on his psyche, Alejandro was fortunate enough to fall in with an affable lot of tradesmen, with the fruits of their labor jingling in their pockets and a great spirit of camaraderie. The despair he felt in his heart abated somewhat as he rode in their jovial company.

  The walls of the river-bound city were nowhere near as stout as those that enclosed Paris, but the fortifications were in superior condition, for Calais was a city well accustomed to siege. At the moment it was King Edward’s territory, but it was inhabited—and surrounded—by a French-allied citizenry that would throw him off in a heartbeat, had they but the means to do so. English bowmen lined the top of the southwest wall; Alejandro had seen their acumen for himself and knew that each one had a sharp eye and a ready hand. He stayed in the lee of other riders as they neared the bridge that crossed to the fortress, but when a small group of English foot soldiers approached, the entire party moved to the side of the narrow road to let them pass. His companions, it seemed, were every bit as edgy as he regarding the occupying English force.

  When the soldiers were safely past, he took a cordial leave of the others and rode ahead a bit. A crowd was gathered on the bridge, awaiting the midday opening of the gate. It was different—far better fortified—than it was when he had last passed through it in 1348. Now it had a decidedly English look, more like the outer gate at Windsor. Soon enough, he would ride through that gate, if all went as he hoped it would; the thought of it sent a shudder down his spine.

  Soon enough, he knew, he would have to ride between the oaks.

  Think of something pleasant, he commanded himself. There will be time for fear later. He thought of Philomène and remembered the feel of her arms around his waist, of her lips pressed to his own. Memories of their night of love, after so many years of solitude, absorbed his mind. The thought of her skin, her arms, her lips, the eagerness with which she had received him into her body—all kept him entirely distracted until he heard a sudden commotion near to where the tradesmen had settled, a few meters away on the other side of a stand of brush. The leaves were not yet fully opened, so he squinted through the twigs, hoping to see better. A number of men, including members of his own party, had gathered around something on the ground. He wrapped the horse’s reins around a slim young tree and walked around the brush, then pushed his way through the crowd.

  On the ground in the center of those gathered lay a large man whose enormous belly rose up like le Massif Central itself. His face was red, and his tongue protruded from his mouth; frothy saliva ran down the sides of his cheeks, puddling at his tight collar. There was fear in his bulging eyes, which darted around to the eyes of those surrounding him in a desperate plea for help.

  De Chauliac’s warning rang in his ears: Above all else, do not reveal yourself as a physician. He watched in agonizing frustration, doing nothing as the man on the ground gasped for breath and turned redder. His eyes met those of the frantic man, and he watched, feeling deep shame, as the man’s life slipped out of him. There was a moment of silence, after they were sure he was dead, in which no one dared to speak; the spirit of the dead man was taking its leave. Alejandro saw on the faces of those in the crowd the shock and fear that are the natural companions of an unexpected death. They made the s
ign of the cross, and lips moved in silent prayer all around, until one of the soldiers from the group that had passed before spoke up.

  “Does anyone know this man?”

  There was silence in the crowd.

  The soldier looked at one of his comrades. “Gather his belongings.” The other soldier nodded and came forward to remove the dead man’s traveling bag and money belt. That done, the leader looked among the crowd, his gaze finally settling on Alejandro.

  “You,” he said.

  Alejandro remained still, saying nothing, while everyone around him shifted slightly away. The soldier pointed to the ground. “Bury him.”

  A spade was brought; as he plunged it over and over again into the soft earth of the forest floor, he consoled himself with thoughts of what might have happened had he stepped forward to offer treatment. The dead man was not terribly old, nor had he a sickly appearance; he was just a man whose time had come.

  He brushed the dirt from his hands when he was finished, vowing silently that he would cling ferociously to this life, if only for the gain of an hour. As he tamped the dirt in place with his foot, he thought of his aged father and wondered with deep self-reproach how the old man was faring with Rachel. He considered Rachel herself, whose heart would be his for the asking. Then he thought of Guillaume, whose whole future, however molded it might be by the circumstances of his times, lay before him still. He let his mind wander again to Philomène, whose life he would share, given the opportunity. He longed for Kate, whose life was not her own at the moment. As he glanced up at the walls of Calais, his resolve strengthened anew to bring her out of England and return to those he loved. For at any moment, God might reach down and take him, in a bitter red-faced fit, into eternity.

  Kate entered the king’s private salon with her eyes cast downward, while her guards waited outside.

  “Ah, my lovely daughter,” King Edward said. He walked toward her, his hand extended. She looked away as he approached and clasped her hands together in front of her. Almost as an afterthought, she made a slight curtsy.