The Unquiet Bones

by Mel Starr

  “’Tis an evil wound,” Lord Gilbert remarked. “I’ve seen few worse in battle.”

  I agreed with him absentmindedly while I considered what course I would follow to restore the shattered limb.

  “I know,” Lord Gilbert spoke again. “You will need wine.”

  “Aye, that is so, and candles. I must see my work.”

  “You can set the break?” Lady Joan asked.

  I did not know whether I should speak the truth or temporize. I decided on truth. “You have a severe injury. I mean to give you an agent to reduce your suffering and cause drowsiness, but when I attempt to put the break in place you will feel great pain.”

  Lady Joan nodded, but said nothing.

  “It has been four days since you fell from your horse?” I asked. She nodded again.

  “A fracture will mend most readily if it is dealt with immediately after the injury. When setting the break is delayed, as in your case, it may be that the bones will refuse to knit, or do so imperfectly.” I saw an expression of alarm creep across her face, so I quickly added, “but four days is not so long as to cause serious trouble, I think.”

  “Imperfectly?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  “The break remains fragile, and easily broken again.”

  Lady Joan was silent for a moment, then finally spoke again. “And is it possible the break will not join at all?” She cut to the heart of my worry quickly.

  “It is…possible…but not likely, I think. You are young and should mend completely.” I did not wish to speak of the unsavory potential of such an eventuality.

  I ended the conversation and turned to a closer inspection of the injury. I was pleased to see that the swelling and discoloration did not extend past the heel of Lady Joan’s hand. I feared the outcome if I found red and purple streaks lacing her palm and fingers. I conducted this examination with as little manipulation of the hand as possible, yet could not prevent inflicting some hurt. Lady Joan winced, and drew a sharp breath, but was otherwise silent. While I worked I heard Lord Gilbert send a serving girl for wine and candles.

  “You bear the discomfort well, m’lady,” I complimented her.

  “’Tis a feature of my sex,” she replied with more humor than I could have displayed in the circumstance. “God gave women greater endurance for affliction than men, so we might tolerate bearing children…don’t you agree, Master Hugh?”

  “Perhaps so you might tolerate the deeds of men, as well,” I observed.

  “Just so. You speak truth, Master Hugh.” I was pleased to hear mirth in her voice.

  The servant arrived with wine, and I prepared a draught. I added to the wine ground hemp seeds and root, as I had done for Henry atte Bridge, a pinch of willow, and also added powdered lettuce to bring sleep for Lady Joan when my task was done.

  I waited near an hour until I saw her eyes blink to focus and occasionally close, then breathed a prayer for God’s guidance and set to my work. Lord Gilbert and Sir John peered over my shoulder as I bathed the oozing wound with wine. Some surgeons might object to close observation of their labor, but I do not. I do good work. I do not care if others wish to observe as I do it.

  The swelling of Lady Joan’s wrist caused me some difficulty in finding the ends of the fractured bones. I had hoped that only one of the bones of her forearm was broken, but was disappointed to discover that both had been shattered in the fall. Through the injured flesh I sought to position the breaks so that they butted against each other. There would be no healing if I could not do this.

  Lady Joan was placid for most of this work. Only when I succeeded in placing bone against bone did she shudder and gasp. I cannot tell if the draught or her nature made her calm. Probably both. Whatever the cause, her tranquility made my task easier.

  When the bones were aligned to my satisfaction, I washed the broken skin in wine once more, then stitched closed the wound. You will know I prefer to leave such a wound open to heal, but this I could not do, for a splint was necessary so as to immobilize the wrist until the break should knit. I decided against applying egg albumin to draw pus from the wound. Instead I packed the wrist with moneywort, then wrapped a linen bandage about the sutures.

  All that remained was to fix splints about Lady Joan’s arm, wrap these in layers of linen strips, then coat the fabric with moistened plaster. Lady Joan had been awake for the procedure to that time, but fell to a restless sleep as I coated the linen with plaster. This was the first use I had made of hemp and lettuce together. I was pleased to see the combination work so well, and determined to use it again when need arose.

  “What is your prognosis?” Lord Gilbert asked as I straightened from my work and stretched the tightened muscles of my back.

  I watched Lady Joan to be certain that she slept. “She has received a cruel injury,” I told him. “There are two dangers we must guard against. We must observe her fingers…if they become streaked with discolor or swollen, I must remove the splints and stiffened linen and deal with the poison.”

  “And the other danger?”

  “The break may not knit. I should not have raised this concern in Lady Joan’s hearing.”

  “Why not? Sir William Caton suffered a broken leg while in my service at Poitiers. He sits a horse today as well as ever he did before.”

  “Aye, that is common enough, if the fracture is dealt with at once, and by a competent surgeon. But Lady Joan’s injury was four days past. Not too long to heal properly, but too far past for me to rest easy until I see signs of success.”

  “And what if those signs do not come, or her hand becomes discolored and swollen?”

  “You ask what is the worst which might occur?”

  “I do,” Lord Gilbert replied.

  “Gangrene. That is the worst.”

  “Then she would die,” Lord Gilbert rubbed his chin, “all because she wished to go a-hunting.”

  “She might not die.”

  Lord Gilbert shot me a glance under gathered brows. “How so? ’Tis commonly known to be fatal.”

  “Unless the gangrenous limb is removed.”

  “Removed?” he said with incredulity.

  “Aye; amputation. If the flesh of Lady Joan’s hand should die, that would be the only hope to save her life.”

  “Might she not die from such surgery?”

  “She might. But she would surely die from gangrene. So in such an event she must weigh a certainty against a possibility.”

  “We must pray,” Lord Gilbert sighed, “that such a choice is not presented to us.”

  “Amen,” I agreed. “I have done what I can. Now we must consult your chaplain and have him present the matter to God.”

  “I will do so. You must stay to watch over Lady Joan, until you are satisfied that great danger is past. I will have a room in the west tower made ready for you. Now, let us withdraw to the solar. I would hear the news of Margaret Smith and Sir Robert.”

  Lord Gilbert led me through the east range hall and past the chapel to the solar, on the northwest corner of the castle. The east range hall was crowded with poor folk, come to the castle for warmth and food, neither of which they could provide for themselves. There were twenty or more, men and women, old and young, crowded into the hall. Those seated stood, and those standing tugged at their forelocks, as Lord Gilbert strode through the room. He nodded greeting, but otherwise took no notice of his guests. I noticed them, and the smell, which may have been due to the condition of the hall’s occupants, or to the proximity to the garderobes.

  It was cold in the solar, away from the thin winter sun and with but a small flame on the hearth. Lord Gilbert commanded more fuel be placed on the fire, then dismissed Sir John and bade me sit.

  “Now, then, was the lad Thomas Shilton brought to trial?”

  “He was, but…”

  “Did the king’s eyre then find him guilty?”

  “Aye, it did so, but…”

  “Then he’s hung and there’s an end to that matter; now, what of
Sir Robert?”

  “No, m’lord. Thomas Shilton did not hang.”

  “What?” Then appeared that single lifted eyebrow again. I wondered if others had my success at raising that feature on Lord Gilbert’s countenance. “Did he escape? Sir Roger allowed him to escape?”

  “No, m’lord. Have patience and I will explain all.”

  I did. Lord Gilbert did not lift an eyebrow at this tale, but his eyes widened as I related the story.

  “So by good fortune you found the lass before Sir Roger could hang a murderer who was not so?”

  “Aye; good fortune, or the hand of God in the flawed work of men. A man, I should say, for it was my own flawed work. I thank Him daily that I do not live my life with Thomas Shilton’s death troubling my conscience.”

  “Yes, well, ’tis a good thing to have a conscience susceptible of being troubled.”

  We sat silently staring into the growing blaze for a moment before Lord Gilbert quietly continued. “Now you must begin this inquiry anew.” He went to pulling at his chin. “You must try again to identify the girl found in my castle, and also Sir Robert’s murderer.”

  “I have begun the task already,” I told him.

  “Oh? Which one?”

  “Both, I think, although ’tis hard at present to know of a certainty.”

  Lord Gilbert caught my meaning. “Ah; you think Sir Robert’s death is connected to the body – whoever it was – found in my cesspit?”

  “I fear this may be so.”

  “Then you know who it was found dead in Bampton castle?”

  “I suspect. I do not know.”

  “Who, then? Is she known to me?”

  “I have made already one grievous error in your service. I do not wish to make another. For that reason I hope you will, for now, be content with the knowledge I have given you, and the understanding that I will not let the matter rest here.”

  “You do not trust me with the information,” Lord Gilbert frowned. “Then it was someone known to me found in my cesspit?”

  “No, trust is not the issue. And no, if the girl was who I think she was, you did not know her, although you have seen her.”

  “If trust is not at issue, why will you not reveal your suspicions to me?” This Lord Gilbert spoke through pursed lips under a stormy brow. I saw that anger was close under his surface. He was unaccustomed to his employees refusing a request. A lord’s request is in fact a demand, as all know who must deal with gentlefolk.

  “I beg your leave, m’lord, to withhold my thoughts on the matter a brief time. I fear my own wits may be swayed not by the evidence I uncover, but by the influence of a mind more resolute than my own.”

  “Hmm…yes, I see. You believe such a thing occurred in the matter of Margaret Smith and Thomas Shilton? That I compelled your mistaken pursuit of the lad?”

  “I do not blame you, m’lord. I sought assurance for what I knew otherwise was weak evidence.”

  “And I was willing to provide it, so that I could then claim justice done in my demesne. You make a sound argument. Very well, keep your council, but I will be told of your discoveries so soon as you are sure of them!”

  “I will do so, m’lord. As soon as I am certain of what I now suspect.”

  Lord Gilbert dismissed me, and a valet led me through the great hall to the southwest tower, where a circular stairway led to rooms above the pantry and the buttery. “I have laid a fire,” he announced as he opened the door.

  The room prepared for me was circular, as were others in the towers, and hung with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. There were two glazed windows in this room. It was light and luxurious and warm. A man, I decided, could do worse than spend a fortnight or so in such a place keeping careful watch over a patient like Lady Joan.

  Chapter 14

  Twice each day I visited Lady Joan in her chamber. For the first two days I left each interview with a sense of optimism, for her progress seemed good. But on the morning of the third day I was alarmed to see what appeared to be reddened stripes on the back of Lady Joan’s hand, proceeding from under the stiffened linen.

  I tried not to show my unease at this development, and resolved that, three days hence, should the redness increase, I would cut away the plaster and splints to treat the wound with egg albumin so as to draw out the poison.

  I was not successful at disguising my concern. On the fourth day, as I inspected her injury late in the afternoon, she confronted me. “You observe something which troubles you, is that not so, Master Hugh?”

  “’Tis but a small matter,” I lied. “Some discoloration of your hand.”

  “I saw it appear two days past. I knew it to be worrisome, for I recall your words that discoloration or swelling point to misfortune.”

  “I thought…I am sorry, m’lady…I thought the draught had done its work, and you were sleeping.”

  “The draught did cause me to doze, but not so deeply that I could not hear you speak to my brother. I have been watchful since for the signs you warned against. I see but little swelling, and the redness. There has been little change since yesterday.”

  “I agree. The color does not deepen.”

  “Is that good, or ill?” she asked.

  “Good, m’lady. Very good. It means the toxin does not increase. If it does not advance tomorrow, it will then soon fade.”

  “I am reassured. Will you take a cup of wine before you go?” she asked. Foolish question. Any excuse to remain longer in her presence was sufficient, a taste of Lord Gilbert’s wine all the more so.

  “Agnes,” Lady Joan turned to her maid. “Fetch wine from the buttery…a flagon…enough for two.”

  The girl darted off and left us alone. Lady Joan turned in her chair, looked me in the eye, and spoke quietly: “I wish to thank you privily for your care.”

  I shrugged. “I am pleased to be of service, m’lady.” That was no simple pleasantry. I really was.

  “A woman of my state is never alone, to speak what she pleases to whom she will and no other.”

  I knew that was true. Great lords and ladies pay for their position in the coin of privacy. They can neither live nor die alone. Most gentlefolk, I am sure, think this a fair bargain. I could think of no rejoinder to Lady Joan’s remark, so remained silent, awaiting illumination. I have learned that when I have nothing to say it is best not to say it.

  “My brother would hear of no other surgeon but you to deal with this,” she lifted her right arm to punctuate the assertion. “I protested that I wished not to impose such a winter journey on you.”

  I nodded understanding and said something deprecating the hardships of the journey.

  “But,” she continued, “my heart was delighted when he insisted, and again when you came.”

  “I am satisfied if my poor talents may serve you, m’lady.”

  “Your talents seem to me splendid. Do not belittle yourself so. Modesty is a virtue only when it is honest. I think you know your worth to we who may be ill or injured. And I do not speak only of your talents as a surgeon.”

  “I have few others,” I laughed.

  “Ah…you have a talent I think you know not of,” she smiled.

  This was a puzzle to me. I would have made a witty reply but could think of none. Lady Joan seemed always to have that effect on me. When in her presence I did not think well, and the repartee I should have said came to me only after I was gone from her presence for an hour. “I do?” I muttered.

  “Aye. You are a thief of great skill.”

  “Not so, m’lady. I take from no man what is his,” I protested. “Is something from the castle missing? Am I blamed for this? I have heard of no theft!” I protested the accusation with perhaps more warmth than was seemly. She raised the index finger of her uninjured hand to quiet me.

  “I do not accuse you of common thievery. Your trespass is of another sort. You steal from ladies.”

  “But I never…I have not…” I spluttered.

  “You mistake me, Master Hugh,
” she smiled. “You steal only that which they wish to give anon; you steal hearts.”

  Her words shocked me to renewed silence. I am certain I appeared discomfited. Lady Joan smiled at my stupefaction. I was about to reply when Agnes returned with a tray. Upon it was a pitcher of wine and two goblets. It was well the maid returned just then, else I am sure I should have said something foolish. Why? Because I felt foolish.

  Agnes poured wine and we sipped it in silence. I sorted through responses I might make to Lady Joan’s assertion but could find none with the combination of wit and solemnity I sought.

  “Agnes,” Lady Joan called. “Go fetch John and tell him I would have more wood for the fire.”

  I thought the fire quite suitable, but realized heat was not her goal, although her words warmed me more than the blaze when the girl was again absent.

  “You are silent, Master Hugh. Are you offended?”

  “Oh, no, m’lady. I…I am often struck dumb in the presence of a beautiful lady.”

  “You have little opportunity to practice such speech in Bampton,” Lady Joan agreed.

  “Aye. Nor are scholars at Oxford trained to be students of witty repartee.”

  “You think my words call for wit,” she pouted, “and nothing more?”

  “No, m’lady. Such was not my meaning. I…”

  “Pray, tell your meaning…your true meaning.” She leaned to me as she spoke, and gazed unblinking into my eyes. I blinked.

  I thought to change the subject. “Who are these ladies whose hearts I have stolen? None have protested to me, or asked the return.”

  “They are not few, I am sure, but I know only three of a certainty.”

  “Are these ladies known to me?” I asked. This was becoming an interesting conversation. I began to see through the fog of metaphor a possible end to my loneliness and single condition.

  “They are.”

  “I would know who I have robbed thusly. Will you tell me?”

  “Perhaps I should not. The others might take my words as betrayal.” Her hand flew to her lips, and I then realized the significance of the word “others”. “And, in truth,” she continued, once again composed, “not all are ladies.” She smiled at me.