The Physician's Tale

by Ann Benson

  To the south, he knew, lay Canterbury. He envisioned the tall spires of the cathedral gleaming in the first rays of dawn. Hours passed and the river narrowed; the sun rose to its height and began its decline again. Those who had made this journey before—and were familiar with the route—began to stir in excitement at nearing London. With each turn in the river, the water grew more foul; rotted planks, assorted garbage, and the occasional clump of feces floated by.

  But no bodies that he could see; it was a relief.

  When the boat was finally moored at the dock in London, only a short distance from the Tower, the sun was quite low in the sky. Alejandro stood among the lower classes and waited his turn to debark. Here, Emily Cooper would have lifted her skirts and stepped down the plank and onto the soil of London, looking every bit the fortunate housewife. She would have disappeared into the throng of people on the muddy street that ran along the banks of the Thames. A bitter taste rose up in Alejandro’s mouth; he had given so much of his time and care to her husband, only to be sold away. He had had his revenge, but in its excess it would be far more of a burden to him than the relief it ought to have been.

  She would have died anyway, he told himself. She might have brought plague to many other passengers and to the heart of London. I did only what was right. It was a good thing that I—

  He could not finish the thought. Now Emily Cooper would join the young soldier Matthews, the old warrior Hernandez, the blacksmith Carlos Alderon, and the innocent Adele de Throxwood in haunting his dreams. It was a bitter company, from which he would never find an escape. His turn to debark came; he walked down the plank himself, his satchel over one shoulder. Halfway down its length, he stopped, for there on the dock was Emily Cooper’s satchel with the blanket still folded neatly under the handle. Someone must have brought it along, thinking it forgotten. The thing stared back at him in accusation. He steeled himself to the screams of guilt inside his head and forced himself to move forward. After a few more steps, he placed his foot once again on the soil of England.

  The physician did not need to consult de Chauliac’s map to know that there was no other route from the river; he would be forced to pass the Tower in order to leave London. He soon found himself surrounded by a sea of beggars, all of whom grasped at him with dark and blotchy hands, pleading for alms and mercy. Though he could not help but feel great pity for those whom fate had treated so shamefully, he pushed their grabbing hands away, for it would not do to reveal himself as a man of any sort of means. When he finally reached the open street again, he felt unclean. He washed his hands at a pump, and as he took a drink, he thought about the old man in the tavern who had warned him of the Jew-tainted water.

  But there were no Jews in London anymore, save perhaps himself.

  He watched as stevedores led the horses over the plank and onto the embankment; his own horse was among the last. As he waited, he saw the cargo being dragged from the hold. Bundles and crates were hoisted onto flat-planked pallets and tied in place, and then hoisted with pulleys over the boat’s edge and onto the pier.

  Dark little bodies scampered out of the clouds of dust that rose up when the pallets thudded onto the surface of the pier.

  Alejandro retrieved his horse and pulled the animal behind him as he walked through the London streets. He felt as if he were in a horrible dream and stayed well in the shadows. He could not bring himself to speak to anyone.

  Several times he was passed by soldiers of the king; once he had to pull his horse out of the path of a group of bowmen as they thundered past him. There seemed an inordinate amount of activity with a supposed “peace” through the land.

  But with a wedding on the horizon, and a peace that is tenuous…

  His senses told him to be careful. When he was finally past the Tower, Alejandro looked back at the strong, forbidding edifice and walked through its labyrinthine passages in his mind. What few English words he had when he came to the Tower in 1348 were learned from a man who knew little French; his first attempts at speaking the language, in the dining room of the Tower castellan, were laughable at best.

  But not so now.

  There lives a lady fair with hair of gold,

  Imprisoned in a castle built of old.

  He spoke, for the first time in England, to a passerby.

  “Can you tell me, kind sir, what is today’s date?”

  The man answered with no show of alarm or undue interest.

  “April twenty-eighth, I believe.”

  He thanked the man for the information, then broke himself free of the Tower’s spell and led the horse farther down the road.

  Fatigue overtook him as the sun slipped lower. April 28. He could allow himself a night of badly needed rest. He came upon a small tavern; cooking smells wafted out the open door. He tied his horse to a post outside and entered.

  The landlord was a short, thin man with stark white hair under a dark cap. He welcomed Alejandro into his establishment with a sweep of his hand. Alejandro removed his hat and said, in English, “Have you a room to let for a weary traveler? I will stay but one night.”

  The landlord nodded and called out to his daughter, who appeared in short order from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a filthy brown apron that Alejandro thought at one time might have been white.

  Alejandro wondered if she had washed it in the Thames.

  “Prepare the front room,” he said. The girl, every bit as skinny as her father, curtsied quickly, then hurried off.

  “A draught for your thirst?” the landlord asked.

  “Aye, and some porridge, if you have it.”

  “I’ve a fine leg of mutton, just roasted yesterday.”

  “That instead, then,” Alejandro said.

  He sat, waiting for his meal to be brought, thinking how good it would feel to remove his boots when he was finally upstairs. By now his feet would be swollen and sore; air and light would do them good after such a long confinement.

  He began to hear, in the distance, the sound of riders approaching. The noise increased, and soon the landlord came out of the kitchen and hurried to the window. The pounding of hooves became nearly deafening, and the whole house shook as a large retinue of soldiers thundered by. Glass tinkled in a cabinet; the landlord put one hand on either side, in the hope of stilling it. Finally, when the caravan was well past, the tinkling stopped.

  The landlord wiped his brow and turned away from the window. “Nothing broken, this time, thank the Lord,” he said nervously.

  It was a natural opportunity for Alejandro to speak of the concern that had been lurking in his mind. “There seems to be much activity among the king’s soldiers,” he said. “I have been traveling for a very long time; please, tell me, is there a war to come?”

  “Not a war,” the landlord told him, “but even worse: a wedding! The princess Isabella is to be married, God save her groom! There will be a masque on the eve of May at Windsor, and the whole world’s turned upside down in getting ready for it.”

  The man went to the window again and looked out. His movements were quick and tight, betraying his anxiety. “Still,” he said nervously, “it does seem a bit much.”

  He went back into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher and a plate. Alejandro ate and drank, sitting comfortably for the first time since departing Paris. He paid the landlord for his own keep and that of the horse, after which the daughter showed him the way up the stairs to a small room that overlooked the street. In one corner, there was an empty tub.

  “I will have a bath,” he said. He pulled out another coin and handed it to her. The girl gave him a curious look but pocketed the coin. She curtsied once again and ran off to set the water heating.

  Alejandro pulled a small chair to the window, then sat there as he waited for the water to be brought, watching the goings-on below. London was a thriving city, not unlike Paris—still crowded, though plague had taken half its citizens not too many years prior. He saw many children; nature was working her magic in fillin
g the void left by the scourge.

  Merchants hurried, carrying baskets and satchels; a woman pulled a small boy along by the hand, turning to scold him once or twice in the time it took them to pass. A lone soldier rode by, with his lance held upright.

  The girl returned with the first bucket of water. Alejandro turned to see the steam rising out of the tub, thinking how wonderful it would feel to sink into the soothing warmth of the water. When he turned back to the window, something far to the west caught his attention: a dot of bright red in a sea of brown and gray. He looked more closely and saw that it was a woman in a red shawl, and by the way she was bouncing up and down, it was a donkey she rode, not a horse. He rose up quickly from the chair and leaned out the window for a better look, but by the time he’d positioned himself, the figure was gone. He closed his eyes hard and then opened them quickly and looked into the distance again, but there was no sight of her.

  Eighteen

  Janie heard crying.

  Familiar crying.

  Oh, dear God… “Alex?”

  She jumped out from behind the tree and ran to where he’d collapsed on the path. She dropped instantly to her knees beside him and pulled him into her arms. “Alex, oh, my God, what happened? Where is your father?”

  “Dad—fell,” he managed to say.

  “But where is he?”

  “Down there still,” he panted, “with the others.”

  “Then why…how—”

  “James is hurt too. Lany is taking care of them.”

  She felt instant rage toward the woman who would send a small child out into the darkness alone.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Alex said quickly, “She didn’t want me to go. I ran away from her.”

  “How bad, I mean, he’s not—”

  His voice was weak and small. “Dad’s alive,” he said, “but his leg is really hurt.”

  “Was he awake when you left?”

  “No.”

  Unconscious from a fall; the news stabbed her in the heart. “What about James?”

  Alex struggled up on one elbow. “He cut his hand. The cell thing dropped on him. He bled a lot where the metal part cut him.”

  Janie supported her son with one arm and helped him get to his feet. “Can you walk okay?” she said.

  He tried a few steps but stumbled.

  Janie stood in front of him and hunched down. She reached her hands back over her shoulders and said, “Grab on. I’ll piggyback you.”

  Alex did as he was told, and his mother drew him up onto her back. As she hurried toward the lodge, he slumped against her back and fell into a deep and desperate sleep.

  Lany went as far as light and fatigue would allow. She found a fairly flat piece of ground and covered it with fallen leaves for cushioning. She laid out one of the blankets—the tents were folded under Tom—and arranged it so they would all be somewhat dry.

  “Come on, cowboy,” she said as she helped the dazed James down off the horse. “You can’t be too comfortable like that.”

  It was a test of strength for a small woman, but she got James to the blanket without any damage and made him lie down. He groaned as he lowered himself. When he was settled onto the blanket he nodded toward Tom. “How’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to get you down before I check him. Not good, I’m guessing. I think he must have passed out from the pain.”

  She walked over to the travois and knelt down beside Tom. There were leaf flakes and bits of dirt on his face; she brushed them off, then swiped at the black bugs that were gathering around his exhalations. “Tom?” she said quietly.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Still nothing. She spoke to him nevertheless, assuming that he could.

  “We’re going to have to stay here for the night,” she said. “I’ll make us a fire.” She tucked the blanket around his neck and made what she hoped would be comforting small talk. “I think it might be chilly tonight, so let’s get you covered.”

  He stirred and murmured, “Alex…”

  Lany wondered if he’d been aware of his son’s departure. She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “All right,” she said. She rose up, whispering a silent prayer to the God she hoped was still out there that Alex would indeed be all right.

  The fire crackled reassuringly, but Lany didn’t sleep. She was the only one capable of fighting something off, should the need arise. Before she’d settled herself in, she’d seen red eyes on the edge of the clearing, small and close-set, probably a curious raccoon or ferret. She hoped it wasn’t a fisher; they were unpredictable at best and mean when aroused.

  Nine hours until daylight—it would be an eternity.

  Janie and Evan stood on the edge of the path and looked down into the forest. Evan searched through the brush with binoculars, making sweep after sweep of the darkness, looking for the light of a fire. From what Alex had said, they judged that the encampment, if they’d made one, was at least a mile into the woods.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said. “I think we should just go ahead down and keep looking as we go. They may be on the other side of some outcropping, out of our line of vision. I know Mom would make a fire, especially after what Alex said. She’ll be thinking we’d expect it.”

  “Okay,” Janie said. “Let’s go.”

  With lanterns in hand, they worked their way down the first rocky section to the steeply sloped path below. The going was treacherous; their steps were small and careful, inches rather than feet. In her backpack, Janie carried the medical equipment she thought she would need, based on what Alex had told her about the accident. Its weight affected her already darkness-impaired balance. Once she slipped but caught herself on a tree branch. The lantern swung wildly in her hand, and she nearly dropped it.

  “Careful,” Evan said. He held her arm to steady her. “Mom and I can’t bring three of you back.”

  The eyes on the edge of the clearing were bigger this time, slanted in the way of cats, and wide-set. They were focused directly on Lany, who stared back, gun in hand.

  “Come on, one step closer,” she said evenly. “I could use a nice new coat.”

  The mountain lion made a low growling sound.

  “You must be really hungry to be so bold around this fire,” she said quietly. “Come on in, why don’t you.”

  The glowing eyes moved forward.

  Lany pulled the trigger back just far enough to hear the click.

  The cat leaped into the clearing.

  Lany fired one shot, jolting the cat in midair. Its forward momentum continued, but instead of landing on its feet with bared fangs at Tom’s side, it fell in a crumpled heap about a yard short of him. Lany saw Tom’s head, in silhouette against the fire, rise up and then quickly lower again. She crept over to him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, “I got it. It’s all right.”

  “Good,” he groaned. Then he said simply, “Alex,” and fell back into unconsciousness.

  “That was a gunshot,” Evan said.

  They reoriented themselves in the direction of the distant sound. Evan put the binoculars to his face and searched the vista below.

  “I see something,” he said. “A fire!”

  They lurched through the night in a direct line toward it.

  Twenty minutes later, Lany looked up the mountainside and saw the dancing light of the two lanterns as the searchers neared them. She stood and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Over here!”

  Evan signaled to his mother by waving the lantern back and forth.

  She slumped to her knees and clutched at her sides. For a few brief moments, Lany wept in relief. As the lanterns approached the edge of the clearing, she wiped her wet face on her dirty sleeve, then got up and brushed herself off.

  The lanterns hung from a branch above Tom’s makeshift bed. Janie examined him as well as she could without moving him.

  “Tom?” she said softly. There was no reply.


  “Tom!” she repeated, louder and firmer.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  “Hi,” he whispered. The hint of a smile came onto his face. “I fell,” he said.

  “So they told me. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Tell me where it hurts.”

  “My nose doesn’t hurt.”

  She sat up on her haunches at his side and wiped her forehead with the cuff of her jacket. Despite the seriousness of their situation, she made a small chuckle in response to his attempt at humor. She reached down and pulled up the pants on his injured leg and pinched the skin inside his sock. He didn’t react. She pinched harder still. He didn’t seem to know she was doing it.

  It took all of Janie’s will and strength to remain calm. As she examined him further, it became agonizingly clear that her husband had no sensation in his injured leg. She pinched the skin on his other leg, in the same place, and the leg twitched in reaction.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to hurt.” She put her hand in his. “Can you try to squeeze my hand?”

  Tom looked into her eyes. “Do I have to? It seems like it would be too much work right now.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she said.

  He squeezed, with enough success to convince her that he did not have a spinal injury.

  “Felt that,” she whispered. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.”

  He gave her a wan smile. She rose up and hurried over to where James lay. “Give me your wrist,” she said. He obliged her by raising it. She undid the wrapping and saw the deep gash in his arm, straight across the large surface vein. Blood oozed from the wound still, though not in spurts as it had before.

  “You I can definitely fix,” she said, “but not out here.” She poured sterilized water over the wound to wash it and pressed a clean bandage against the gash, then tied the bandage tightly around the wound. “That’ll hold you until we get back to the compound.”