hear of it and soon I would be once again Master Hugh, surgeon. Not bailiff.
“Seek Walter tomorrow,” I advised John, “and tell him I will call on him should he yet be ill when next week he will owe four days repairing demesnes fences. Perhaps he may need some surgery, which I will be pleased to perform, to cure him of his malaise.”
John smiled broadly at my response. “I think Walter will be well next week,” he observed.
“I trust it will be so. But you may tell him also that as you left me I was preparing to sharpen my instruments.”
“Ha; I will do so!”
The reeve turned to leave my door as a figure approached through the great hall carrying a bundle of wood. The hall was nearly dark, so I could not see that it was the child Alice who approached until she stood before me.
“Cicily says I’m to lay a fire for you, Master Hugh.”
“Aye…enter.”
The girl busied herself at her work and soon, with a tin box of coals from the kitchen fire to aid her, she had a fire crackling in my fireplace. Heat, and the smell of woodsmoke, slowly permeated my room. Does the smell of smoke also warm a man, I wonder? As the odor is associated with fire, perhaps it is so, that the scent of warmth is of itself warming.
“I’m to return for more wood, an’ bring your supper, too,” Alice interrupted my thoughts. “I’ll be back,” she promised, and scurried off.
“A basin,” I called after her. “I would have a basin of hot water, also.”
The wood, enough for an evening and more, and supper, arrived as planned. And my basin of water. Supper was a rabbit pie and cabbage in marrow sauce. When a man is particularly hungry and cold he is more likely, I think, to remember his meal and the fire that warmed him.
I spent that evening staring into the fire, reflecting on what I had learned these two days. I had learned much, so there was much to ponder. Who had Margaret met in the churchyard? What became of the barley-haired contortionist? Rather than one day, it seemed to me I had lived half a lifetime since morning.
But the meditation of even a wise man, which I do not claim to be, is not always sound. And my experience of the last two days convinced me I was not so wise as I once thought. I stared into the fire for an hour or more, forming, then casting aside, one plan after another. Finally I rose from my chair and knelt before it. I needed guidance. Where better to receive it than from Christ, God’s Son?
You may find it odd that I did not beseech Mary, of the holy well at Bampton, or St Beornwald, to whom the church was dedicated, to intercede in heaven for me and my cause. Most in Bampton will, when trouble comes, go to the church, light a candle, and ask St Beornwald or the mother of Christ to intervene. But I had studied the scriptures as a student at Balliol and sat under the teaching of Master John Wyclif. Theology was not part of the trivium nor the quadrivium, but I read the sacred texts when I could, preparing, as I thought at the time, to study as a Master and spend my life as a clerk. These were not the first, nor the last, of my plans to go awry.
I rented a text of the gospels in my third year and burned many candles low copying the Gospel of St John. I well remember two passages. Actually, I remember more than two passages, but I mean there were in St John’s Gospel two verses which stayed in my mind and ever after directed my prayers. In one, Christ told his disciples, “If you ask anything in my name, I will do it.” In another, he said to them, “Until now, you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.”
From my third year at Balliol I dispensed with prayer to the saints as unnecessary and perhaps even useless. Christ himself directed his disciples to ask God for His mercy in Christ’s name, not in Mary’s name or St Peter’s name or the name of any other saint, no matter so holy they might be.
By the time the fire was reduced to embers and my prayers done, I had contrived a plan. I could not put it to purpose ’til morning, so crawled into my bed to sleep on it. I did slumber, eventually, but the cock in the poulterer’s yard was considering whether or not it was time to crow before I fell to sleep.
Because of my fitful slumber I was not yet alert when Arthur beat upon my door. I stumbled to it, barely able to see my way in the half-light of dawn. The fire was out, and the stone floor was shockingly cold against my feet. The frigid flagging jolted me awake.
“Master Hugh,” Arthur blurted apologetically, “Sir John Withington is here. He rode yesterday and most of the night to fetch you.”
“What does Sir John wish of me?” I stammered.
“He has come to tell you that Lady Joan has broken her wrist and is in great pain. Lord Gilbert would have you attend her.”
Those words caused the careful scheme I had devised during the night to fall to pieces. This was excellent, for the unexpected course set before me at that moment brought success. Would my plan have done so? Who can know? I see now that when God answers a prayer, it may not be in the manner we would wish him to. Surely Lady Joan would have chosen another method.
There were few things I would rather do than attend fair Lady Joan. Given the opportunity, I would have selected a different occasion. I do admit, however, to thinking that my skills devoted to her in this trouble of hers might soften her heart to me. Such thoughts were selfish, I know, and beneath the dignity of a charitable man. But I admit to them, anyway.
“Where is Sir John now?” I asked.
“In the kitchen, breaking his fast.”
“Tell him I will see him there. Has he had any rest this night?”
“Aye…some. He and his squire sought shelter in a barn at Sherborne.”
“We will need bread and meat to sustain us. And ale. ’Tis a hard road to Goodrich this time of year. Tell the cook to prepare food. I will come shortly.”
I washed the sleep from my eyes and the dirt from my hands and face in the basin Alice brought. The water was cold, so I was cleansed and completely awakened as well.
I walked across the castle yard to the kitchen, where I knew I would find warmth as well as Sir John, for in the twilight of dawn I saw a vigorous cloud of smoke rise from the kitchen chimney.
Sir John and his squire were chewing on the remains of the rabbit pies from last night’s supper. The pies were cold, but the loaves just set before them were warm, taken from the oven as the morning baking began. I picked a warm loaf from the basket and sat at the table across from Sir John. “Tell me what has happened,” I said between mouthfuls of warm bread.
“You know that Lady Joan enjoys the hunt,” he commented.
I did.
“And she has a good seat upon a horse…for a lady.”
That I also knew.
“Lord Gilbert thinks her over-confident of her skills.”
I knew that, as well. And I knew that Lord Gilbert had told her of his opinion. But informing Lady Joan of a conviction which differed from her own was not sure to effect a change in either her views or behavior.
“We were chasing a stag when her horse refused a jump. She was thrown to a wall and put her hands before her to break the fall.”
“And broke a wrist?”
“Aye.”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“Two days ago. ’Twas but a few days after they reached Goodrich. Lord Gilbert sent us to fetch you next morning.”
“How bad is the fracture? Did you see, or have you been told?”
“’Tis severe. Lady Joan was taken straight away to her chamber. A maid who attends her said the bone broke through the skin.”
“Is there no physician nor surgeon near Goodrich?”
“There is,” Sir John admitted. “But Lord Gilbert will have you.”
Evidently my expression required more from Sir John, for he continued, “There is a man in Gloucester, but Lord Gilbert will not call for him. He is old and knows little of your new knowledge of medicine. And he is reported to be often drunk.”
