I think,' the doctor said, that we had best try a thin gruel. Very thin, with some oil, I believe, or better still, butter. That thing tied about your neck is a strip of cloth which has been soaked in holy water. It was not my doing, but I did not forbid it. You Christians believe in magic, indeed you could have no faith without a trust in magic, so I must indulge your beliefs. Is that a dog's paw about your neck? Don't tell me, I'm sure I don't want to know. However, when you recover, I trust you will understand that it was neither dog paws nor wet cloths that healed you, but my skill. I have bled you, I have applied poultices of dung, moss and clove, and I have sweated you. Eleanor, though, will insist it was her prayers and that tawdry strip of wet cloth that revived you.
Eleanor?'
She cut you down, dear boy. You were half dead. By the time I arrived you were more dead than alive and I advised her to let you expire in peace. I told her you were halfway in what you insist is hell and that I was too old and too tired to enter into a tugging contest with the devil, but Eleanor insisted and I have ever found it difficult to resist her entreaties. Gruel with rancid butter, I think. You are weak, dear boy, very weak. Do you have a name?“ Thomas.”
Mine is Mordecai, though you may call me Doctor. You won't, of course. You'll call me a damned Jew, a Christ murderer, a secret worshipper of pigs and a kidnapper of Christian children.“ This was all said cheerfully. How absurd! Who would want to kidnap children, Christian or otherwise? Vile things. The only mercy of children is that they grow up, as my son has but then, tragically, they beget more children. We do not learn life's lessons.” Doctor?' Thomas croaked.
Thomas?'
Thank you.'
An Englishman with manners! The world's wonders never cease. Wait there, Thomas, and do not have the bad manners to die while I'm gone. I shall fetch gruel.'
Doctor?'
I am still here.'
Where am I?'
In the house of my friend, and quite safe.'
Your friend?'
Sir Guillaume d'Evecque, knight of the sea and of the land, and as great a fool as any I know, but a good- hearted fool. He does at least pay me.'
Thomas closed his eyes. He did not really understand what the doctor had said, or perhaps he did not believe it. His head was aching. There was pain all through his body, from his aching head, down to his throbbing toes. He thought of his mother, because that was comforting, then he remembered being hauled up the tree and he shivered. He wished he could sleep again, for in sleep there was no pain, but then he was made to sit up and the doctor forced a pungent, oily gruel into his mouth and he managed not to spit it out or throw it up. There must have been mushrooms in the gruel, or else it had been infused with the hemp-like leaves that the Hookton villagers had called angel salad, for after he had eaten he had vivid dreams, but less pain. When he awoke it was dark and he was alone, but he managed to sit up and even stand, though he tottered and had to sit again.
Next morning, when the birds were calling from the oak branches where he had so nearly died, a tall man came into the room. The man was on crutches and his left thigh was swathed in bandages. He turned to look at Thomas and showed a face that was horribly scarred. A blade had cut him from the forehead to the jaw, taking the man's left eye in its savage chop. He had long yellow hair, very shaggy and full, and Thomas guessed the man had been handsome once, though now he looked like a thing of nightmare. Mordecai,“ the man growled, tells me you will live.” With God's help,' Thomas said.
I doubt God's interested in you,“ the man said sourly. He looked to be in his thirties and had the bowed legs of a horseman and the deep chest of a man who practises hard with weapons. He swung on the crutches to the window, where he sat on the sill. His beard was streaked with white where the blade had chopped into his jaw and his voice was uncommonly deep and harsh. But you might live with Mordecai's help. There isn't a physician to touch him in all Normandy, though Christ alone knows how he does it. He's been squinting at my piss for a week now. I'm crippled, you Jewish halfwit, I tell him, not wounded in the bladder, but he just tells me to shut my mouth and squeeze out more drops. He'll start on you soon.” The man, who wore nothing except a long white shirt, con- templated Thomas moodily. I have a notion,“ he growled, that you are the godforsaken bastard who put an arrow into my thigh. I remember seeing a son of a whore with long hair like yours, then I was hit.”
You're Sir Guillaume?'
I am.'
I meant to kill you,' Thomas said.
So why shouldn't I kill you?“ Sir Guillaume asked. You lie in my bed, drink my gruel and breathe my air. English bastard. Worse, you're a Vexille.”
Thomas turned his head to stare at the forbidding Sir Guillaume. He said nothing, for the last three words had mystified him. But I choose not to kill you,“ Sir Guillaume said, because you saved my daughter from rape.”
Your daughter?'
Eleanor, you fool. She's a bastard daughter, of course,“ Sir Guil-laume said. Her mother was a servant to my father, but Eleanor is all I've got left and I'm fond of her. She says you were kind to her, which is why she cut you down and why you're lying in my bed. She always was overly sentimental.” He frowned. But I still have a mind to slice your damned throat.'
For four years,“ Thomas said, I have dreamed of slitting yours.” Sir Guillaume's one eye gazed at him balefully. Of course you have. You're a Vexille.'
I've never heard of the Vexilles,“ Thomas said. My name is Thomas of Hookton.”
Thomas half expected Sir Guillaume to frown as he tried to remember Hookton, but his recognition of the name was instant. Hookton,“ he said, Hookton. Good sweet Christ, Hookton.” He was silent for a few heartbeats. And of course you're a damned Vexille. You have their badge on your bow.'
My bow?'
You gave it to Eleanor to carry! She kept it.“ Thomas closed his eyes. There was pain in his neck and down his back and in his head. I think it was my father's badge,” he said, but I don't really know because he would never talk of his family. I know he hated his own father. I wasn't very fond of my own, but your men killed him and I swore to avenge him.“ Sir Guillaume turned to gaze out of the window. You have truly never heard of the Vexilles?”
Never.'
Then you are fortunate.“ He stood. They are the devil's offspring, and you, I suspect, are one of their pups. I would kill you, boy, with as little conscience as if I stamped on a spider, but you were kind to my bastard daughter and for that I thank you.” He limped from the room.
Leaving Thomas in pain and utterly confused.
Thomas recovered in Sir Guillaume's garden, shaded from the sun by two quince trees under which he waited anxiously for doctorMor-decai's daily verdict on the colour, consistency, taste and smell of his urine. It did not seem to matter to the doctor that Thomas's grotesquely swollen neck was subsiding, nor that he could swallow bread and meat again. All that mattered was the state of his urine. There was, the doctor declared, no finer method of diagnosis. The urine betrays all. If it smells rank, or if it is dark, if it tastes of vinegar or should it be cloudy then it is time for vigorous doctoring. But good, pale, sweet-smelling urine like this is the worst news of all.'
The worst?' Thomas asked, alarmed.
It means fewer fees for a physician, dear boy.“ The doctor had survived the sack of Caen by hiding in a neigh-hour's pig shed. They slaughtered the pigs, but missed the Jew. Mind you, they broke all my instruments, scattered my medicines, shattered all but three of my bottles and burned my house. Which is why I am forced to live here.” He shuddered, as though living in Sir Guillaume's mansion was a hardship. He smelled Thomas's urine and then, uncertain of his diagnosis, spilled a drop onto a finger and tasted it. Very fine,“ he said, lamentably fine.” He poured the jar's contents onto a bed of lavender where bees were at work. So I lost everything,“ he said, and this after we were assured by our great lords that the city would be safe!” Originally, the doctor had told Thomas, the leaders of the garrison had insisted on defending only the walled city and the castle, but they needed the help of the townsfolk to man the walls and those townsfolk had insisted that the Ile Saint Jean be defended, for that was where the city's wealth lay, and so, at the very last minute, the garrison had streamed across the bridge to disaster. Fools,“ Mordecai said scornfully, fools in steel and glory. Fools.”
