by Mel Starr
I tried to explain that adder’s tongue was most useful when employed to bathe ulcerated wounds which resist healing. I had kept my own injury under close inspection and was pleased to see that scabs had formed where the arrow entered my back, and where the point had protruded from the muscle under my arm. Some small drops of blood yet oozed from these wounds, but little pus, for which I was much relieved. Most physicians and surgeons hold that thick, white pus issued from a wound is a good thing, and thin, watery pus is to be feared. But I hold with de Mondeville that no pus at all from a wound is to be preferred.
Adder’s tongue is not so helpful when applied to a wound which is scabbed over, but if there was any use to its application to my wounds, Kate would hear of no reason to abstain from dosing me, back and front. Being an apt scholar, I had learned soon after we wed that when Kate was set upon her course I had best keep silent if I disagreed. Oddly enough, her determination in such matters often proved correct. I ceased my objection and allowed her to pull down the blanket and coat both entrance and exit wounds with the thin ointment.
When Kate returned from the lodging range she reported that Osbert was alert but in much pain. I bade her return to Cicily with a pouch of pounded hemp and lettuce seeds to add to ale. This mix was a favorite of mine for reducing pain and bringing sleep, and when Kate learned of it she demanded I drink some of the mixture myself. She did not need to argue this time.
I slept through dinner, which, when I awoke, surprised me, for the hall is just the other side of the door to my chamber, and dinner in Bampton Castle is not generally a quiet affair.
Another surprise, and a pleasant one, was that I awoke hungry. The wounds were yet painful, and when I breathed deeply or tried to turn in my bed I was reminded of them anew. But I have observed that when an injured man recovers his appetite he is likely to regain his health.
I did not wish to rise from my bed and eat supper in the hall, so Kate brought my meal upon a tray. The first remove was farced capon, a dish I dearly love, and apples in compost. Perhaps I ate too much of these, for when Kate returned with the second remove upon her tray, a game pie and cabbage with marrow and cyueles, a few bites of game pie was all I could manage. I saw concern in Kate’s eyes, for she knows I am rarely so discomfited that I cannot consume my share and more of a meal. Of the third remove I know nothing, for I begged to be excused from any more nourishment from Lord Gilbert’s table, asked only for another cup of ale with crushed hemp and lettuce seeds, and under the influence of these herbs and a too-full stomach soon fell to sleep again. The last I remember of the day is Kate drawing her stool close beside the bed to watch over me. I was unhappy that I was the cause of Kate’s distress, but reflected that I would be even more melancholy if there was no one to sit with me and mourn my infirmity.
Next day I felt well enough to rise from my bed. After a loaf and cheese I went, with Kate nervously attending every step, to the lodgings range to see how Osbert fared. He did not fare well.
His lesions were many and much pus and blood yet drained from them. The fellow was alert, no longer insensible from the thrashing he had endured, which is not to say he no longer suffered.
I asked Osbert how he fell into Sir Philip’s hands.
“Men come on me when I was past Frilford. They was afoot. I’d’ve made for a hedgerow if I’d heard horses comin’. I was enjoyin’ the walk, wool-gatherin’, like, an’ they come into the road before me afore I could take notice an’ hide. When I seen ’em begin to run I knew whose men they must be, though they was too far away to recognize faces. ’Twas John, Adam, an’ Martyn. Thought they was my friends. I ran into the fields, but Martyn cut me off. Fleet of foot, is Martyn. Sir Philip promised three pence to any man who could take me.”
Osbert lay upon his belly, an arm drawn up upon which he pillowed his head. It caused me some discomfort to bend over him to inspect his lacerated back, and this he noticed.
“’Ow’d you get me free?” he asked. “Last I remember, they’d tied me to a post an’ was layin’ on with the lash.”
“I will tell you all when you are recovered. Your back needs attention, else it will not heal properly.”
I told Osbert and Cicily that I would return shortly with instruments and salves, then with Kate ever at my elbow lest I grow faint, I returned to our chamber.
Some of my instruments I had taken to Abingdon, but what I needed to deal with Osbert’s back I had in the castle. From my supply of herbs I took a flask of ointment I had made by boiling leaves of moneywort in the juice of wild pears. This salve is of my own devising, as moneywort serves well for old wounds, and pear juice is useful for new. I decided a year past to try the two combined. Osbert provided my first opportunity to see how the two might serve when mixed together, for under most circumstances I apply no ointment to any wound.
Flayed skin lay in tattered ribbons upon Osbert’s back. I drew down the blanket covering him and hardly knew where to begin. I must first cleanse the lacerations of caked blood and pus, so sent Cicily to the buttery for half a ewer of wine. While she was away I used tweezers and a tiny scalpel to tease away detached skin. This did not trouble Osbert much, for the skin had been peeled from his back and was no longer sensitive. But when my scalpel touched living flesh he gasped and the muscles of his back quivered. I prepared another draught of ale with a strong dose of crushed hemp seeds for the fellow to drink. The work I must do would cause him some pain.
It caused me some discomfort also, to bend over Osbert as I must. Kate had accompanied me again, being unwilling to believe my protest that my strength was much increased. She saw me wince as I bent to the work, and dragged a stool to the bed so I might sit closer to my task and have less reason to bend to it.
Cicily soon returned with the wine and I gently flushed coagulated blood, shredded fragments of skin, and layers of pus from Osbert’s wounds. The flesh of his back convulsed as he felt the sting of the wine, but he bore the pain without crying out.
When I had cleaned his back as well as could be I stitched two of the lacerations which were deeper and wider than the others, then dipped a clean fragment of linen cloth into the ointment of pears and moneywort and daubed it thickly upon Osbert’s wounds.
De Mondeville taught that wounds heal more readily when left open to the air, rather than wrapped tight in bandages. Since my year of study in Paris I have practiced this method of his, and found good success. Most folk find this new procedure suspect, and when I told Cicily that she must leave Osbert’s back exposed till the ointment was dry, then cover him lightly only with a blanket to keep him warm, she frowned at the instruction.
I took dinner in the hall, and when the meal was done was about to seek our chamber and rest when John Chamberlain approached. Lord Gilbert, he said, would see me in the solar.
My wounds pained me, and where the arrow had pierced my back I felt a renewed flow of blood. Bending over Osbert had broken open the puncture. Kate would not be pleased to see another kirtle stained. But when a great lord calls, a man must answer, especially so if the lord is his employer and has given him a house in the town freehold.
Kate appeared with Bessie in her arms. I had not seen the child for many days, and felt a pang that I had neglected her. I vowed that when Lord Gilbert was done with me I would atone for my negligence.
I found Lord Gilbert in the solar, enjoying a blaze in the fireplace which warmed his back. He bade me sit, and asked of my health.
“My wound troubles me some,” I said, “but I am likely to survive.”
“Good. The villein that you attend, when will his wounds be healed so that he may be returned?”
“Returned? To the lord who abused him so?”
“Abuse or not, Sir Philip is his lord and he must be sent back. Since plague far too many of his station have fled their manors. Such must be stopped.”
“If he is sent to Sir Philip it will mean his certain death.”
“A lord has such warrant over disobedient villeins.”
“He fled his lord and manor,” Lord Gilbert frowned.
“Because of me. If he is sent back to East Hanney and to his death, you make me complicit.”
“Why so?”
“He was assigned to guard a maid who had been stolen from her father and held for ransom. Arthur and I approached Sir Philip’s manor after dark, seeking another woman we thought might be held there, and released the lass. Osbert feared Sir Philip would deal severely with him for being surprised in the night and allowing the maid to be freed.”
“So you carried him away as well as the lass?”
“What was I to do? Leave him to die at the hands of a wicked lord?”
“Wicked Sir Philip may be, but he was the man’s lord.”
“May be? He took a knight’s daughter and kept her for ransom. Because Osbert failed to assist this felony, he must now die?”
“Perhaps Sir Philip would not have destroyed the fellow.”
“He was doing so when Arthur and I freed him.”
“Ah, but that was for running away, not for failing to properly guard his prisoner.”
“You believe Sir Philip would have dealt more leniently with Osbert for allowing his captive, for whom he was demanding fifty pounds, to escape?”
“Whether Sir Philip is lenient or not is his business, not yours… or mine. The man was his villein and his to command.”
“He commanded him to aid him in a felony. Must a man obey his lord and violate the laws of God and the King?”
“It is for his lord to decide obedience to the King, and a priest to determine what is due God.”
“If you send Osbert back to Sir Philip, he will slay the man, and if the past days are a measure, he’ll seek some ghastly way to do it.”
“I cannot control what another knight does upon his own manor. I must do what law requires and send the fellow back. The man must be returned to Sir Philip as soon as he is recovered from his wounds.”
“When he will receive fresh ones. You may as well pack him upon a cart and send him back now.”
Lord Gilbert grimaced involuntarily, for he had seen the bloody flesh of Osbert’s back. He pounded a fist upon his table to punctuate his next words. “I will not permit my bailiff to aid a villein who would flee his lord, and there’s an end to the matter. When the fellow is strong enough he will be returned. See to it.”
“I cannot,” I said.
“You what?” Lord Gilbert stood, as then did I.
“I can no longer serve you, m’lord. If Osbert is to be returned to Sir Philip and his death, I must resign my post.”
“Bah… you think a surgeon in Bampton can find custom enough to feed his family?”
“Probably not. I will take Kate and Bessie to Oxford. I have treated men’s wounds and injuries there, and have some small reputation.”
“Then go to Oxford! Go where you wish. I care not. But my bailiff will not tell me where my duty lies. I took you into my service to ease my burdens. Now you seek to increase them. Of what use are you to me?”
The conversation was clearly at an end. I bowed stiffly, because I was stiff, and because my attitude toward my employer was rigid. I stalked from the solar, descended to the hall, and banged open the door to our chamber, causing Kate to start and Bessie to whimper.
“We are to return to Galen House,” I said.
Kate brightened. She had never enjoyed being required to live in my old chamber in the castle. Then I told her why we would return to Galen House and her countenance fell.
“You have displeased Lord Gilbert.”
“Aye. I wish it was not so, but I could see no other way.”
“What will become of Osbert?”
“I have a plan. It will require your help if I am to save him from Sir Philip’s vengeance.”
“You shall have it. Is there no way to compromise with Lord Gilbert?”
“None. Osbert must either be set free of his obligation to Sir Philip, or be returned to certain death. There is no middle way.”
“And you,” Kate smiled gently as she spoke, “are a stubborn man.”
“Principled,” I corrected.
“And Lord Gilbert is stubborn?”
“He is also principled, but not all principled men serve the proper principles.”
“They may be costly, these principles of yours.”
“Aye. We may be required to leave Bampton.”
“I would be sorry to do so.”
“And I, also. I built Galen House to be our home. We will remain within it if we can.”
“What of your plan for Osbert?”
“We will take him from the castle lodgings range to Galen House. If Lord Gilbert learns of it and asks why, I will tell him that Osbert requires constant care, which is no lie, and ’tis inconvenient for me to visit the castle several times each day to see to his wounds.”
“Can he recover?”
“I believe so, but his back will be badly scarred. He may never again bend to touch his toes.”
“What will you do when he is healed?”
“I will tell the man he must flee in the night, and leave Oxfordshire far behind him. If Lord Gilbert asks of his healing I will tell him it goes slowly, so he will not, I hope, require Osbert to be sent back to East Hanney before he can safely escape Bampton.”
“You would lie to Lord Gilbert?”
“To save a life? Aye, I would. But I will not lie to him… I will not tell him the whole truth, that is all.”
“What will Lord Gilbert do when he learns the man has fled? Must you then resign your post?”
“He may require it of me. So be it. I am content, whatever befall.”
“What of the dead chapman and his coin?”
“So long as I am bailiff to Lord Gilbert I will serve him in the matter, and any other. And it may be because of me that Amice Thatcher and her children were taken.”
“You will return to Abingdon to seek them?”
“I must… when my wounds are better healed.”
Before nightfall of that melancholy day I had assigned three grooms to move Kate and me and our goods from the castle to Galen House, and Osbert was placed upon a cart and taken there also. Kate laid a fire upon the cold hearth, and set a kettle of pottage to simmering for our supper. I went to our bed that night strangely content, for a man who had displeased his employer, was in danger of losing part of his income, and had been recently pierced by an arrow.
We had no bed for Osbert, so laid his pallet upon the floor, close to the fire. Even though he slept there upon the ground floor, and Kate, Bessie, and I were in our chamber up the stairs, I heard him groan in his sleep when he shifted upon the pallet and his wounds caused him pain.
Osbert’s appetite was returning, so next morn he ate readily a portion of maslin loaf and cheese, and drank from a cup of ale into which I poured more crushed hemp seeds. He asked why he had been taken from the castle to this place, and I told him where he now was, and why. His face fell as he learned of his peril.
“Sir Philip will send me to my grave,” he said when I had finished.
“So I told Lord Gilbert, but he would not be moved.”
“How long before I am well enough that you will send me back?”
“If all goes as I hope, that day will never come.”
Osbert looked up to me, questions in his eyes. “You think I will not recover from the beating?”
“I believe you will regain your health, though ’tis likely the scars upon your back will always be with you, and will prevent you bending as a man otherwise could do.”
“Then I do not understand. How is it the day I must be sent back to East Hanney may never come?”
“I have a plan. I intend for you to escape this place, when you are well enough to travel.”
“Where am I to go?”
“I will tell you more later, when I have thought more about it. For now, you must regain your health. W
e will worry about where you are to go when the time approaches for you to flee.”
Truth to tell, I had already in mind a plan for Osbert’s escape, of which I thought he would approve, but I wished to think more on it before I told him, so that, had he questions or objections, I would have answers for him.
Shortly after we broke our fast and I had told Osbert of his danger, there came a loud thumping upon Galen House door. I opened to Arthur’s smiling face, and saw in his hand my sack of instruments and herbs. I bid him enter and tell me of Abingdon. There was much to learn.
“The maid Sybil has returned to her father, who sent men for her. So the abbey hosteler said,” he began.
Here was reassuring news. I had enough to worry about with Osbert and Amice Thatcher and the death of John Thrale weighing upon me. I did not need more worries about the welfare of an irksome maid. I dismissed Sybil Montagu from my mind and asked Arthur of Brother Theodore.
“Told ’im of your hurt, an’ told ’im you’d return to deal with his wound when you could. He said ’e’d pray for your quick healing, as well ’e might. Must be a great trial to ’ave an’ oozin’ sore like that on yer face.”
Arthur looked past me and saw Osbert upon his pallet. I saw the question in his eyes, and hastened to explain why he was here, rather than under Cicily’s care. But I did not tell him all. I did speak of Lord Gilbert’s demand that Osbert be returned to Sir Philip when he was well enough to travel, but I did not tell him of my plan to have the villein escape. The fewer who know a secret the less likely it will be discovered.
Arthur did not respond well to this announcement. He served Lord Gilbert well, and, I think, held his lord in some esteem. But the thought of returning Osbert to a punishment so severe as we had already seen, and from which we had risked life and limb to rescue the man, brought a heavy scowl down upon Arthur’s face. I wished to tell him of my scheme to prevent the carrying out of Lord Gilbert’s wishes, but held my tongue. Arthur would continue to serve Lord Gilbert, I thought, but perhaps not so readily as in the past.
I told Arthur to be ready to return to Abingdon in three days, All Saints’ Day, when I thought I would be enough recovered from my wounds that I might renew the search for Amice Thatcher and John Thrale’s assailants. Kate thought otherwise, but I persuaded her that I should be about the tasks. The sooner I completed them the sooner I would be able to resume a peaceful life as husband, father, and sometime surgeon.