C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘Where is he?’ Nicholas asked in astonishment. ‘He couldn’t have — got up?’

‘That would have been impossible. Someone has taken him.’ I looked frantically round the darkness of the lane, but there was nothing to be seen.

‘But where?’

I thought hard. ‘If someone found him, they might have taken him to St Bartholomew’s. It is hard by. Come, we will go there first.’

We arrived at the hospital ten minutes later: Nicholas had had not only to accommodate his long stride to my own, but almost to run. The doors were closed, but a porter answered our knock, holding up a lamp. I spoke urgently. ‘We wish to ask whether a man was brought here tonight. He had a sword wound to the body and — he had lost his hand.’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was it you that left him there? A man so wounded, left on a dungheap?’

‘No, it was not us, we are his friends.’

‘Old Francis Sybrant found him, and brought him in.’

The porter still looked at us dubiously. ‘Please,’ Nicholas asked. ‘Does he live?’

‘Just, but he’s as near death as a man can be. He has been unconscious since he came.’

‘Has the doctor been sent for? Dr Malton?’

The man shook his head. ‘A doctor only comes once a day.’

‘Well, send for Dr Malton now,’ Nicholas said. ‘He is a friend of my master here, and also of the man brought in by Francis Sybrant.’

I looked at Nicholas’s face in the lamplight. I would swear new lines had appeared on it since this afternoon. I reached for my purse and thrust two shillings at the porter. ‘Here. Get someone to fetch Dr Malton, then take us to Barak.’

The porter stared at the coins in his palm, then back at me. ‘Who’s Barak?’

‘The man who was brought in. Please, hurry.’

He scurried away, leaving us in the vestibule. Nicholas smiled wryly. ‘With all the money you’re giving away, sir, you’ll have none left.’

I thought, insolence, the boy becomes more confident. Then I thought of Timothy, and wondered whether he was lost to me as well. Between the fight at the house, and my ordeal at Whitehall, I had forgotten him.

The porter returned, his manner obsequious now. ‘I will take you to your friend. Sybrant is with him. He is in a chamber we keep for those who may need the last rites.’

Barak lay in the same room where the Anabaptist McKendrick had died, in the same bed, a cheap candle on a chair beside it. His clothing had been removed and the blankets covered only his lower body; his strong scarred torso was as pale as though he were dead already. He lay on his side, a bloodstained bandage covering the place on his back where he had received the sword-thrust. His right arm, the stump of the wrist thickly bandaged, lay on a pillow. I put a hand to my mouth.

The door of the little room opened and a man with a lamp entered. I recognized Guy’s assistant, Francis Sybrant. His brow furrowed when he saw me.

‘You, sir? You were here before — to see that other man who was attacked-’

‘The porter said you brought Barak in. How —?’

‘I was coming on duty earlier this evening. I come by the back ways, always. Often one finds sick beggars, sometimes people who have been injured and abandoned, though never like this.’ He looked at us accusingly. ‘You left him there?’

‘No! We were prisoners, we could do nothing. Dear God, you must have come on him just in time.’ I thought, perhaps my prayers had been answered after all. ‘Please, this man is a good friend, can you tell us — ’ my voice faltered — ‘will he live?’

Sybrant looked at us dubiously. ‘That wound in his back — it was made by a sword?’

‘Yes.’

‘It has damaged no vital organs that I can see, but between that and what was done to his hand — he has lost much blood. Too much for him to survive, I fear.’

‘He is a strong man.’

Sybrant shook his head. ‘He would need to be exceptionally so to survive this. Has he family?’

I exchanged an anguished look with Nicholas. I had put thoughts of Tamasin from my mind. ‘Yes,’ I answered haltingly. ‘And a child. His wife is expecting another.’

Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps it may be better if she is not told till the doctor comes.’

Sybrant said, ‘Dr Malton has been sent for.’

‘You are right, Nicholas,’ I said. ‘I will wait for Guy.’

Nicholas turned to Sybrant. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

The old man looked at the ashen figure on the bed. ‘Only pray, sirs, pray.’

Guy arrived soon after, a heavy bag over his shoulder. He appeared shocked, haggard, for he had known Barak and Tamasin almost as long as I. He looked at us, then at Barak lying on the bed. He drew in his breath sharply. ‘What happened to him?’

‘There was a sword fight; he was stabbed in the back and his hand sliced off.’

‘Dear Jesus!’ Guy looked angry. ‘Was this sword fight part of this mission of yours?’

I lowered my eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘Were you there?’

‘Yes. But we were taken prisoner. We have only just been released.’

Guy moved across to the bed. ‘Does Tamasin know?’

‘I thought it better to wait for you.’

He did not reply, but knelt over Barak, gently removing the bandages from the wound on his back and examining it closely, then uncovering that dreadful stump, still oozing blood, white bones visible against the torn flesh. I closed my eyes. Gently, Guy replaced the bandages. He looked at me again, his face as sombre as I had ever seen it. ‘The wounds show no sign of infection — yet. They must be cleaned, properly. But he has lost enough blood to kill most men.’ He stood up briskly. ‘I must get fluid into him.’

‘Will he live?’

‘He is far more like to die,’ Guy answered starkly. I realized how hard it must be for him, having to treat a critically injured patient who was also a friend. ‘I knew something like this would happen, I knew it! Are there going to be any more men brought to me dead and crippled through whatever it is you are doing?’ His voice was full of rage.

‘No,’ I answered quietly. ‘It is over. It ended tonight.’

He looked at me, his face hard as stone. ‘Was it worth it, Matthew?’ There was an angry tremor in his voice. ‘Was it?’

‘I think one person was saved — a woman.’

‘Who? No, I think I can guess.’ He raised a hand. ‘Tell me nothing more.’

‘My master did not wish it to end like this,’ Nicholas said.

‘I do not doubt that,’ Guy answered in gentler tones. ‘Now, Master Nicholas, would you ride to Mistress Barak’s house, and fetch her here?’

I protested, ‘But in her condition — ’

‘Jack will probably die tonight,’ Guy said quietly. ‘What do you think Tamasin would say if she were denied the chance to be with him at the end?’

‘Then let me be the one to tell her.’

‘The boy will be quicker. I would rather have you here. And I may need your help if Francis is called away to other patients.’ He turned to Nicholas. ‘Tell Mistress Barak only that there has been an accident. Say I am in attendance.’

He nodded sombrely. ‘I will.’

‘Hurry now. Use my horse, it is outside. And tell Francis to come in and assist me.’

Nicholas looked at me. I nodded, and he hurried from the room. When he was gone Guy said quietly, ‘Can you face her?’

‘I must.’

He bent and opened his bag. Barak lay unmoving.

It was near an hour before Nicholas returned with Tamasin. Guy had been working to clean Barak’s wounds the whole time, moving deftly and quietly. I sat in the chair next to the bed, so exhausted that, despite the appalling circumstances, I had dozed off, waking with a start when I almost tumbled from the chair. By the light of a lamp which Sybrant held up I saw Guy re-bandaging Barak’s wrist, a concentrated expression on his dark face, suppressing God knew what emotions. He paused to glance across at me. ‘You slept near half an hour.’