Jeri Westerson - The Demon’s Parchment

“How dare you! I am no such thing! I save lives. It is against the code of the physician. It is against the code of my faith.”

Crispin proffered his knife again. “You will tell me exactly what you have been doing here. And I will examine the evidence for myself.”

Julian stepped into the candlelight. His face was contorted with frustration. His hands, those long-fingered hands, gestured at him. “I murdered no one. What do you accuse me of?”

“Very well. If you must play this game. Four boys were discovered murdered. They were found naked with evidence that their limbs were bound. Their bowels were skillfully ripped from their bodies. And they were sodomized.”

If actor he was, Julian showed superb skill. His pupils dilated until the irises were a mere pale green ring against the whites. At last his lips trembled and a hand came up to press upon their whitening pallor. “No,” he whispered. “Almighty Lord, no.” His hand groped for a stool and he found one behind him. Sinking down, his taut body fell limp. From the hearth light and the candle, Crispin noticed the sash around the boy’s waist. Such a thing could easily be used to strangle.

“You accuse me of this,” he said with a husky voice. And then, any amount of sympathy the youth might have engendered was lost as he raised his head and snarled an ugly laugh. His eyes gradually cleared and he gritted his teeth. “Get out.”

No more of this. Crispin grabbed his shoulder and yanked hard. The youth stumbled to his feet. “Explain it to the sheriff.”

“What? No! Unhand me!” The boy wrestled, wriggling like an eel until he slipped from Crispin’s grip and ducked away from him, melting against the wall. “I am not a murderer! What will it take to convince you?”

“Do you conspire with those other Jews? Is this an elaborate plot to kill Christian boys?”

Julian stared at him. “ Other Jews? You are mad. What are you talking about?”

“Do not play the fool with me, boy. I know of the secret Jews in London. And I also know of the plots to kill Christian boys. Is this part of a larger scheme?” Crispin’s hand hurt. He realized he’d been gripping the knife hilt tighter and tighter.

Julian’s green eyes darted to both of Crispin’s. “You make no sense. There are no Jews in England. Your own king saw to that.”

That was enough. Crispin lunged and grabbed the boy by his gown, pulled him forward, and shook him. “Do not play with me! So help me, I will flay you alive-” The blade speared toward the young man’s face and those green eyes contracted, staring down its tip.

“ Maître Guest!”

Crispin’s attention slid for only a moment toward Jacob staring horrified in the open doorway. But it was enough for the slippery youth to escape again. This time Julian’s blade was free and in his hand. His chest heaved as he inched toward the door.

“Father! Back away! This man is insane. He speaks nonsense and of horrible things.”

Jacob looked from one to the other, searching for some sense between them. Crispin sneered. “It is this son of yours whose sin you should fear, Master Jacob. His ‘experiments’ are an abhorrence to God. And these things ”-he gestured toward the table-“should be destroyed.”

Jacob entered and curled a taut hand around the lad’s wrist, pulling him none too gently behind him but not allowing him to leave. “Have I not warned you of this abomination?” he hissed at him. “We are not butchers. We do not need to have such filth in our midst.”

“But Father-”

“No, Julian! I have allowed it for too long. These things must go.”

Crispin was unmoved by the physician’s rhetoric. “All very well, Master Jacob. But surely you are aware that these are human entrails.”

Jacob did not loosen his grip on the boy’s arm but his attention now lay fully with Crispin. “Human? No! They are animal entrails, Maître . Animals! We examine these organs to understand their functions. Surely you can see-”

“I accuse your son of most foul murder, Master Jacob. That which you ascribe to some mythical Golem. It is your son who stands accused of murder, disembowelment. . and sodomy.”

Crispin expected much, but he did not expect the curiously stagnant expression on the physician’s features.

Jacob merely shook his head and chewed his lip. “No. No, Maître Guest. You are mistaken. On all counts.”

“I am not! This is the proof of it! These foul canisters! Can you deny it?”

“I do,” said Jacob firmly. “Julian might have been in error harboring these forbidden things, these animal things, but he means well.” He turned to his son, still holding fast to his arm. “Your notes are sound. Your conclusions scholarly.”

Julian beamed at his father’s praise, forgetting Crispin’s denouncement.

“Damn you both!” That snapped them out of it satisfactorily. The two turned toward him. “I am speaking of murder. Are you deaf?”

Jacob released the boy’s wrist and calmly set his hands before him, crossing those weathered fingers one over the other. Julian stood slightly behind his father, glaring. “I am far from deaf, Maître . And you are far too loud for the hour,” he said, his voice lowering. “I submit to you that you are mistaken about my son. He is no murderer. Nor is he capable of the other things you accuse him of.”

“Forgive me, Master Physician,” he said tightly, “but I have seen what lesser men are capable of.”

Frustratingly, Jacob shook his head again. Crispin dearly wanted to wrench it from his neck. “He is an apprentice physician. He stays at my side, learning. These things you accuse him of, and horrific though they may be, are not possible. We do not kill. We save lives. Further, Maître, the touching of blood is against our faith. True, I must bleed patients to revive their humors,” he said, raising a hand to Crispin’s openmouthed objection. “And in cleansing wounds.” He sheepishly nodded toward Crispin’s arm. Crispin felt a twinge where Julian’s knife had breached him. “But we are assiduous at purification,” said Jacob. “Some sacrifices must be made for our art. The Lord hears our prayers and our pleas for forgiveness. Julian has made his experiments, it is true. But to learn. These horrific tokens”-his hand swept over the table-“will be disposed of and shall not be spoken of again.”

“ Mon père !”

Jacob closed his eyes. “They shall not be spoken of again.” He waited for Julian’s silent submission before he opened his eyes and went on. “Julian is always at my side, as I said. Simply, he would not have had time to do the things you would accuse him of.”

“And yet he was here alone with me,” said Crispin.

“For a mere few moments. Tell me, Maître Guest, in your expert opinion, would a man have time to do that of which you accuse my son and still have time to erase the offal and blood that would surely follow such an abomination? From the room and from himself? You are a man used to combat. You must realize the amount of blood that would be produced from such doings.”

Crispin gritted his teeth. God’s blood! The damned man with his slowly blinking eyes and his calm demeanor merely gazed at Crispin, certain in his pronouncement. Of course he could be lying and Julian might have been missing for longer periods of time. But then again, where would he have performed these deeds?

“This does not sufficiently explain away his guilt.” But even as he said it his stomach swooped unpleasantly. It was explaining it away very nicely, as a matter of fact. “You could be lying to protect him,” he snapped. Only after it left his mouth did he feel a slight twinge of loutishness.