Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

Other men might come and go, but Ralph knew a good thing when he saw one. A bright boy, he’d been determined from an early age to work in a well-paid profession. There was little point in learning how to do something if that craft would not pay the bills. Far better that he should enter a trade which would pay him well. He might as well earn as much as possible so that he could enjoy as easy a life as he could wish. After all, most skills would take much the same time to master — best to spend the years working on the best-paid one.

He’d learned his trade in Oxford, where the rigorous study had nearly unmanned him. Seven years of astronomy, philosophy and all the arcane arts of his trade had been bearable only because he knew that this was the essential means of qualifying, and once he was qualified, the world would be his own. In fact, his education had suffered a little from the very profitability of his chosen profession: his own master had assumed the job of lecturing at the university, and then taken a post worth twenty pounds a year with a rich lord in Yorkshire. They’d had to have some lecturers from the faculty of arts step in to fill the gaps. There weren’t enough qualified teachers.

Some of his friends were lucky, and as soon as they finished their studies they were also snapped up by rich benefactors, never having to work hard again. They would spend their time in warm rooms with the arcane charts detailing the movements of the stars, investigating their master’s humours and peering at his urine, never having to worry about money again, living in comfortable surroundings … for a long time such a life had appealed to Ralph too, and when he failed to find a patron he was miserable for weeks, wondering what on earth he could do.

It was a friend at the university, a man studying theology, who had suggested that there would be rich pickings for a man in a smaller city like Exeter. In fact Roger had suggested his own home city, Bristol, explaining that the place was growing quickly and that a decent man of business would find himself with a good livelihood.

Ralph would probably have enjoyed the life up there, but being a curious man he chose to travel before finding his way to the city, and ended up in Exeter after nine months of idle wandering about the countryside.

And Exeter suited him. There were few other physicians, and he was soon able to win some good clients on the basis that he was a newcomer, and therefore novel. When he was able to alleviate Lord Hugh’s steward’s pain for a little while (he died shortly afterwards) the potential for a good living here became plain to him. There was a good-sized population, plenty of less than perfectly healthy men and women, and since the end of the famine more people were starting to find their feet financially again, which meant that they had money to spend on ensuring that their health was as good as it could be.

There were men in his position who were little better than charlatans, but although he had occasionally taken money when he didn’t deserve it, when he had known that the patient was not truly unwell, or that the medication he provided could give nothing but a spurious feeling of improvement, he would only do that when he could see that the money wasn’t needed by the client. He rationalized that he was in more need of it than the client in many cases. Taking cash from rich merchants was not something that caused him embarrassment, especially since he was often taking from the very rich, which allowed him to subsidize occasional charitable works for the very poor. The latter was not professional behaviour, because professionals demanded the money they needed for their work, so it was something for which he could be censured by his professional colleagues, but he wasn’t ashamed. He made enough money generally.

One group for whom he would willingly work for payment in kind was the sisters in the stews. He wasn’t married, having little interest in the idea of such an expensive adornment as a wife, but he did have natural lusts like any other man. The women down there would often need specialized help, and he could accommodate them … in return for the favours of one of the ladies for a night.

Tonight he was not in the mood, though. He had spent much of the day running about the city trying to find certain roots and leaves, and just now he was ready for another full mazer of wine and then bed. So when he heard the fist pounding on his door, he groaned unhappily. ‘Whoever it is, tell them I’ll see them in the morning.’

His servant grinned and went to the door. Soon Ralph heard voices, and to his surprise they were soon raised. One was that of a woman, and she began to screech in what sounded like desperation. Soon Ralph had to decide whether to allow the woman in, or to suffer the complaints of his neighbours in the street. It was not a difficult decision: it was easier to accept one mad woman into his house than to suffer the pained, angry condemnation of his neighbours for what could be a lengthy period. ‘Bring her in!’ he called.

‘Master Ralph, I am truly sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here like this,’ the woman cried as she came in, wringing a cloth between her hands. ‘I wouldn’t if I had any choice, but I don’t know who else I can go to …’

‘Betsy, please come here and warm yourself by my fire,’ Ralph said courteously, bringing forward a seat for her and setting it near the flames. ‘Geoff, fetch a mazer and more wine.’

His servant caught the tone of his voice and scurried away. Meanwhile Ralph stood and studied the woman.

She was a little over the average height, with a pleasing oval face. For his part, Ralph had always liked women with slimmer builds, and this one was very attractive to him. Her features were regular, with soft eyes of a pale brown, and hair that was chestnut under her coif. He had slept with her a few times recently, when he had helped to treat a girl who’d been beaten by her pander, and another who’d fallen down a staircase and broken a wrist, fortunately not a serious break, and an easy one to splint.

‘Now,’ he said, when his man had passed her a mazer filled with rich red wine. ‘Tell me all. What is the matter this time? Has someone fallen over, or is it the pox?’

‘I wish it was only a broken arm or something, Ralph. No, it’s Anne. She’s … she’s been terribly attacked. Please, could you come and see her?’

‘Anne?’ He vaguely remembered the girl. A pretty enough wench, perhaps a little young and inexperienced, but pleasant enough on a cold night. ‘She always seemed a generous maid, not the sort to upset her punters.’

Betsy drained her cup. ‘Please, Ralph, we’re all so scared she’ll die. She looks so unwell. Could you come and see her?’

Of course he could. The streets were dark already, but the curfew bell hadn’t been rung, so the gates were still open. ‘You realize if I can’t get back I’ll need a room for the night?’ Ralph asked her matter-of-factly.

‘I’ll be happy to see to you,’ she said. ‘but please hurry.’

He drained his cup and collected some phials and tools, packing them into his little leather sack and drawing the thongs at the neck tight before indicating to her that she should lead the way.

She walked out and through the city to the South Gate. Here she nodded to the porter, who appeared to be on friendly terms with her and winked at Ralph as he passed, and then turned right to follow the wall south and west, out towards the island and quayside.

‘The porter seems to know you well.’

‘Every so often we give him a little favour, and in return our clients can pass in and out of the city unmolested if they need to. It’s not often, but sometimes it makes life easier to be able to get clients home before their wives notice,’ Betsy explained.