by Ruth Kaufman
The physician began writing, his letters thin and close together. It was difficult to make out the words upside down.
Lunatic. That word was easy to identify.
“How many physicians examined you at Amberton?”
“None,” she answered.
“None. Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Any lawyers? Escheators?”
“No,” Annora said. “I’ve only spoken to Morgan, Ninian, and Lord Hastings about this. And my maid.”
“How did your uncle reach his conclusion that you are a lunatic? What proof does he have?” Beauchamp tapped his nails on the desk. The clacking sound nettled Morgan’s nerves.
“No proof whatsoever…as Lord Hastings agreed. He made the story up. No servant or craftsman dared rise against his assumed authority,” Annora explained. “Nor have I relatives to stand for me.”
“There are laws to secure protection for those such as you. And the court of chancery to hear such cases. Could you not avail yourself of them?”
“I wasn’t aware of such laws,” she said. “Justices and local officials would want proof, in any case. I thought a well-placed, knowledgeable physician such as yourself was the best choice for aid. When I prove I have my wits, my uncle will have to return my property.”
“Are you a lunatic?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hmmm. Of course you would say that.”
“We’ve been traveling with her for days and haven’t seen any signs of lunacy,” Ninian offered. “Annora is compos mentis. I stand as a witness.”
“As do I,” Morgan said.
“Mistress, do not toss Latin verbiage at me. You are a woman, and while you have some skill, are not a schooled healer. Neither of your opinions hold sway here. Now. There are numerous diseases I must rule out, from inflammation of the brain to amentia,” Beauchamp said. “Excellent health is achieved only when the body’s four humors, yellow bile, black bile, phlegm and blood are in balance. An excess of black bile is often the cause of ailments of the mind.” More nail clacking.
His nails, Morgan noted, were yellow and cracked at the tips. The thought of those fingers touching his Annora…. Where had that thought come from?
“Some believe victims of such ailments are possessed by the devil,” Beauchamp continued. “Treatments range from bloodletting to trepanation, a process which requires boring a hole in the skull to release both foul humors and evil spirits.”
Both Morgan and Annora opened their mouths in horror. Ninian grunted. Morgan took Annora’s hand, the only way he could think of to reassure her that visiting this esteemed physician wouldn’t make matters worse.
“Don’t look so appalled. You’d be surprised how many patients survive it. Besides, I doubt such extreme measures will be needed in your case,” the physician said.
“Master Beauchamp, I’m not ill,” Annora said. “I merely need you to confirm that.”
“You’d also be surprised how many patients deny their diseases in apprehension of the cure,” he replied with a sad shake of his head. “So many suspect the ability of those who offer aid, others fear even their friends or family are against them. How do I know your uncle isn’t acting in your best interests? Depending on what I find, I may need to consult with my colleague William Hattecliffe or the surgeon William Hobbes. Who, by the way, is the warden at Bedlam.”
Bedlam. The miserable place where they housed lunatics who had no one to care for them.
Beauchamp placed another sheet of parchment before him and smoothed his beard. “I needs also examine your urine, for the color reveals many things. Now. Some questions I must ask might upset or offend you. Are you willing to proceed?” His voice was dispassionate, his arrangement of pen, ink and parchment efficient.
“Of course,” Annora said.
He could feel her shaking.
“Are you certain you wish this man to remain? Some questions are…intimate.”
She clutched his hand tighter. “Yes.”
Beauchamp dipped his pen in the ink and held it over the parchment. “Lady Annora, have you ever imitated wolves or other wild animals? Ever thought you were a wolf?”
“Beauchamp!” Morgan jumped to his feet.
“Sit down. Master ap Myrddin, if you cannot stomach my examination, you may leave.” He paused until Morgan sat. “’Tis my practice to rule out certain ailments first. Lycanthropy would be one of the simplest to identify, given its unique symptoms. Had I spoken with Mistress Annora’s physician or heard others describe her symptoms, this session might have been shorter.”
“I have no symptoms,” Annora insisted.
“None that you’ll admit to?” Beauchamp turned his attention to her. “Have you ever thought you were a wolf?”
“Of course not.”
Beauchamp continued to fire questions from the simple to the complex with the speed of archers’ loosed arrows, for hours it seemed. Was the physician trying to wear her down? Annora calmly answered without revealing even a flicker of impatience. He admired her bravery and endurance.
Watching her submit to such torture was difficult. Only for Annora could he sit still and listen to the inquisition. He held firm to her hand, offering the only reassurance he could.
“Can you recall a time when you exhibited any unusual behavior?” Beauchamp asked.
For the first time Annora seemed uncertain. “Well, that depends on what one considers unusual. Doesn’t it?”
“What did you do that one might consider unusual? Out of the norm?” The physician dipped his pen several times as if to be certain it was full of ink so as not to miss this answer.
Morgan swallowed. If he were asked that question and told the truth, he’d fail this test and be declared lunatic. So would Ninian. For they had done and were capable of doing countless things beyond the norm. The human norm.
All the more reason not to divulge his past, who he truly was, to Annora.
“Sir Roger said you threw a fit,” the physician said.
“He would say that. After he locked me away, I screamed and pounded on the door as soon as I was able. I escaped once, and resisted being captured again by kicking. Who wouldn’t defend himself against an enemy?” she asked. “Fight their captor for freedom?”
“Kicking and screaming,” he repeated. “Very much like a fit.” He studied his notes. “You said, and I quote, ‘as soon as I was able after Roger locked me away.’ What does that mean? Why did he lock you away? Did you lose consciousness at some point, try to harm anyone or yourself?”
“No, I never tried to harm anyone. Roger had drugged me—poisoned my food—so I was in a sort of stupor for a while. I knew what was going on around me but couldn’t move or speak. He locked me in my room so I couldn’t send for or seek help.”
“A drug, you say. Hmm. Sounds more like the illness that afflicted King Henry to me. And what else? You must be honest with me or I won’t be able to help.”
Suddenly Morgan realized that instead of looking for a way to validate Annora’s health, Beauchamp sought confirmation that she was indeed a lunatic.
He squeezed her hand. “Master Beauchamp, are you acquainted with Annora’s uncle, Sir Roger Scrope?”
Beauchamp sat up straight and set down the pen. His beady eyes darted back and forth. “Master ap Myrddin. You are neither Mistress Annora’s relation nor her husband. You have no authority here.”
“He’s here because I asked him to be,” Annora reminded him.
The physician shrugged. “I don’t answer to him.”
Annora repeated, “Master Beauchamp, do you know my uncle, Sir Roger Scrope?”
He pressed his lips together, then admitted with obvious reluctance, “Yes. What of it? Sir Roger seems an intelligent and respectable fellow.”
“’Twas you who told him so much about ailments of the mind, wasn’t it?” Annora asked. “Roger said the same thing about King Henry when he spoke to Amberton’s people and again before Lord Ha
stings. He wouldn’t have known of such a comparison on his own. That’s why you’ve been so hard on me, because you already believe Roger.” She stood. “One would think the king’s physician had scruples.”
“You are rude. One certain sign of mind illnesses is inappropriate and unseemly behavior.” Beauchamp paused for effect. “Your uncle is a knight in favor with the king. You are but an unwed woman with nothing. Who would you have me believe?”
“The one who speaks true,” Morgan said. “This examination is over.”
Annora trembled as they left the room and walked down the hall.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve completed my report,” Beauchamp called after them.
“You can be certain we’ll recall every word of this so-called examination,” Ninian called back. “I’m beyond stunned. Annora, I’m so sorry. I’ll investigate what we can do to salvage this. Before more damage is done.” She hurried away, robes flowing behind her.
When they were alone, he took Annora in his arms.
“I’ve cooked my goose, haven’t I?” Her voice wavered. “Now an even more powerful man believes my uncle. One simple step for him to persuade Hastings, too. Do you see how difficult my situation is? How far Roger’s connections go, how good he is at convincing others that what isn’t real is?”
Guilt stabbed him, sharp as his own sword. He, too, wanted to convince Annora that what she thought wasn’t real was. How could she possibly believe him if he told her he was immortal? When he described his powers? She would think him as bad, as conniving as her uncle. She might even think him a lunatic.
“I can’t live like that again,” she said. “If Roger gets control of me, I won’t be able to bear it. It would be all the worse after I struggled so hard and long to be free of him. I’d have to kill myself.”
“By the Grail—by God, Annora, don’t say that.”
“You don’t know what living under his authority was like. I was a prisoner in my own chamber. You’re a man, and never have to subject yourself to another person’s will, except the king’s. You don’t have to feel helpless and alone except for your maid who has even less authority than you. That’s not living.”
“We’ll find another way. Hastings seems reasonable and honest. And he trusts Ninian. Once he knows of Beauchamp’s bias, he’ll devise another solution. Edward has other physicians. One of them is bound to be outside your uncle’s influence. Come, let us request an audience.”
Morgan hoped he sounded confident. For the first time, he had doubts. Not about Annora’s ability to reason, but that they’d be able to persuade anyone to help or believe her.
Position, power and perception oft carried more weight than truth.
• • •
Annora’s heart melted. Morgan was so good to her, so understanding. Though they met with opposition everywhere they turned, he persisted. He believed. How wonderful his trust made her feel. Even if he wouldn’t trust her with his secrets as she so wished he would.
“I am glad you’re here.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “You are my champion. It means so much not to have to wage this war alone. But you’ve more than satisfied any debt you might owe. How can I ever repay you for continuing to come to my aid?”
“You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” she said as they made their way through the corridors. “But you’ve devoted yourself to my cause while temporarily abandoning your own. Surely it suffers in your absence?”
She couldn’t seem to stop wanting to know more about him, drawn to both his magnificent looks and his character. She and Morgan grew closer with each passing day because of all they’d endured and because, despite his secrecy, they were learning more about each other. Perhaps soon he’d trust her enough to tell her everything.
“Your need is more urgent. Though I didn’t anticipate the delays we’re facing,” he said.
We’re. They formed a team. She liked that. With Morgan by her side, Annora knew she could handle any challenge. She could even attempt a joke. “Such as spending the night in ap Lewis’s dungeon?”
Morgan’s smile was her reward. “Aye, that and the opposition from the king’s physician. But within a few days, you should be back at Amberton and I should be on my way.”
Her happy mood dimmed as if a cloud passed over her sun. Again he reminded her how limited their time together was. She had to face reality. They weren’t truly growing closer as she’d thought. She cared about him while he was merely being gracious and chivalrous, making the best of unusual circumstances. Morgan’s vision of the future didn’t coincide with hers.
What could she do to make him want her? How could she prove she was more than a damsel in distress when all he did was rescue her from one scrape after another? Though she had aided him, too.
“After you help your father, what will you do?” she asked.
“Because I don’t know when I’ll succeed, I haven’t pondered what comes afterward. So much time and energy has been focused on planning and then trying various options. Not unlike the time you and I have spent to free you. Why do you ask?”
Because she wanted him to return to Amberton with her. “You’ve never mentioned where your home is, or with whom you live.”
“I have no home.”
Stunned, she opened her mouth to pursue the topic. He shook his head to stop her. Difficult as it was for her to still her tongue, she respected his wishes.
They’d reached their room. She went in, but Morgan didn’t join her.
“I’ll arrange the audience with Hastings. Then purchase food for the remainder of our journey,” he said.
They could’ve done those things together. Her prying had pushed him away.
After Morgan left, Annora had a page send for Ninian.
When Ninian flowed into the room, wearing a borrowed gown she managed to make seem crafted for her. Annora, in another borrowed garment of deep blue, felt frumpy.
“What is it? Where’s Morgan?”
“He went to buy food,” Annora replied.
“Is aught amiss?”
“No more than when I last saw you. My throat is parched from so much talking.” And likely sadness made it hard to swallow. “May I offer you a cup of sweet wine?”
Ninian nodded and sat on Morgan’s bed. With a frown, she said, “I’m so sorry, Annora. I had no idea Beauchamp knew your uncle. Nor that he’d betray his position by aiding him.” She stood. “’Tis a good thing I haven’t given him the recipe for my potion. Beauchamp deserves nothing from me but scorn. Perhaps the next physician will be honest and provide the proof you seek.”
“I hope so.” That issue covered, Annora gathered courage to broach the next. “May I ask you something, Ninian?”
She sat back down. “Of course.”
Annora couldn’t stay still. She took Ninian’s cup and refilled it. “Will you tell me about Morgan? You said you would. The two of you have obviously known each other a long while and, well, I’d like to know more. But instead of sharing anything about his past, he finds a way turn the conversation to our journey or back to me. Flattering though that may be, it doesn’t grow a friendship.”
Ninian considered her carefully before answering, making her yearn to know what the apothecary was thinking. “I’d like to, Annora. Truly. In fact, ’twould be better for both of you were he willing to speak of it himself. But Morgan has most excellent reasons for being a private man. You know how it feels to be betrayed. To speak of him would be to betray him. I’ve come to accept that he’s right. It’s not for me to decide what you deserve to know. I wouldn’t feel right about telling you anything without his permission, which we both know he won’t give.”
Ninian’s words flung remorse deep into Annora’s chest. “Of course. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to press the bounds of our friendship. It’s just that—”
Why should she share her deepest thoughts when she knew so little of Ninian?
“You needn’t say it, Annora,” Ninian sa
id. “I understand. I can see your interest in Morgan every time you look at him. Whenever he enters a room, your whole face lights up.”
“Is it that obvious?” Annora felt a blush cross her cheeks. She’d have to work on concealing her natural reactions to Morgan.
“’Tis that obvious, but also sweet.”
Talking to Ninian had been a bad idea. The apothecary was so poised, so beautiful even in her old hag disguise, Annora felt awkward and unsure. Ninian had her own shop and ran her own life, while Annora needed significant assistance to manage hers. She couldn’t control much of anything, it seemed.
Or stop herself from asking another question. “You and Morgan are so close. That’s obvious, too. Have you and he ever—?”
For a moment she thought Ninian wouldn’t reply. Then she said, “Not for lack of trying on my part, I’ll confess. It took a very long time to accept that I am not the one.”
“The one?” Annora pounced on Ninian’s admission like a cat on a mouse. “Do you mean his betrothed?”
Ninian sighed. “He really hasn’t told you much of anything, has he? How can I put this…nay. I’d best not start in on that topic, either. But there is something I can tell you that might help your cause.”
“And that would be?” Annora felt silly. All she’d been doing was asking questions and getting nonsense instead of answers.
“Perhaps you’d like me to share some ways to entice a man.” She smiled broadly. “And that, my friend, I can most definitely do.”
Chapter 9
Once again Annora, Ninian, Morgan and Sir Roger stood before Hastings in his office. This time William Beauchamp joined them, his hat in his hands.
“This is beyond belief,” Hastings began. “The king will not tolerate such a breach of ethics among his staff.” He pointed to the physician. “William Beauchamp, you had a duty to examine the lady Annora to the best of your abilities. Yet you admittedly allowed your friendship with Sir Roger to sway your opinion. You’re relieved you of your duties as king’s physician.
“Lady Annora, I have arranged for another of the king’s physicians, William Hattecliffe, to examine you this afternoon. You have my word that he is beyond reproach. Roger will await the outcome, though I’ve suggested he not contact you until then. Should Hattecliffe’s diagnosis turn out as you desire, you may do as you please. But should he determine that you are ill, I’ll have to return you to your uncle’s care.”