Michael Jecks - The Chapel of Bones

Thomas doubted that there could be any survivors in that monstrous heap, and yet someone must make sure. Reaching for the first, he tentatively pulled at the scrawny ankles until the thinly dressed figure of a girlchild of maybe nine years fell on the cobbles before him — a pretty little waif, with round face and fair hair. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed, his throat constricted with the horror, and reached for the next. ‘ Help me !’

Other willing hands were soon at work, and they began hauling bodies aside. Some were still breathing, and these they set apart, but the dead were the larger group, and it was easy to see why. They were all malnourished, the children with rickets, the adults with the yellow or grey skin that spoke of illness and hunger.

It was when he had pulled the fourth body from that obscene mound that he found Saul’s wife, poor Sara.

Udo extended his hand and nodded to the saddler.

‘I … er, I’m pleased to see you so well,’ Henry stammered.

‘Ja, well, your physician is very good,’ Udo said with a grimace. ‘He bled me twice, and assures me I can expect to have a full recovery.’

‘I am very glad to hear it!’ Henry said effusively.

Udo glanced at him. ‘It was exceedingly painful,’ he noted.

God in heaven, but how painful he could never describe. The physician, Ralph of Malmesbury, had arrived with two assistants, both carrying large leather bags filled with the tools of their trade. Almost as soon as he entered Udo’s hall, he subjected the room to a cursory investigation, and only when he had noted Udo’s silver plate and the pewter jug and goblet on the table at his side did he show any desire to study the patient himself. Blasted physicians always wanted to make sure a man could pay before bothering to exert themselves.

‘I understand you fell from your horse?’ Ralph began. He was a chubby fellow, with bright blue eyes set rather too close for comfort, and hair of a faded brown, like a fustian cotte that had been washed too many times. His chins wobbled softly whenever he nodded his head, which he did a great deal as though everything Udo said was merely confirming his initial opinion.

‘ Ja !’ Udo had grunted, the pain still overwhelming. ‘The verdammte saddle broke!’

‘I see. You put your arm out to break your fall, of course? Yes, as I concluded. It is a simple enough case, then. It is either a broken arm or a badly dislocated one. There is no bleeding?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed.’

The physician was nodding and looking bored, as though this matter was so simple and lacking in professional interest as to be almost beneath his skills. He motioned to his assistants. ‘Remove his shirt.’

At least these two were gentle enough. They gradually tugged the shirt from his shoulders and eased it from him until Udo was bare-chested. He glanced at his shoulder and saw how swollen and sore it looked. ‘Can you-’

‘My dear fellow, a barber could mend this!’ Ralph smiled. ‘Now, we shall need a good strong piece of wood. A lance would be ideal, but anything of that dimension would be fine.’

Udo could remember the rest of that day with perfect clarity. Apparently the operation was most straightforward. That was what the physician said. They had set Udo kneeling on his table, one assistant in front, the other behind, both holding a long wooden pole over their shoulders, which passed beneath Udo’s underarm. The physician gripped his wrist, and then, eyeing his patient speculatively, he yanked down with all his weight while the assistants pushed upwards. Udo shrieked with the agony of it, trying to stand and wrench his wrist from the damned physician’s grasp, but he could do nothing while the assistants raised the pole under his arm. And then, suddenly, there was a strange, painful, and yet noticeably right crunch. Something slipped sideways or backwards, or something, and although there was a sharp stabbing for a moment, instantly he felt indescribably improved. ‘ Mein Gott! ’

‘I felt that!’ the physician smiled, leaving go his hold.

The pole was removed and Udo flexed his hand. There was a sensation of pins and needles, but the feeling was already returning. His shoulder was painful, yes, but already he could move his arm a little without agony.

‘Very good, master. I am glad to have been able to help you,’ the physician said. ‘Now, is there anything else I can do for you? I specialise in hernias and haemorrhoids,’ he added hopefully.

Udo shook his head slowly, unwilling still to jolt his renewed arm. ‘I need nothing more. You may present your bill to Henry Potell the saddler.’

‘So he informed me. Very well. I thank you.’

Ralph had gestured to his assistants, who had packed their bags and taken them and their pole away. Soon Udo was left alone in his hall, flexing his hand and wondering how much that short course of treatment would end up costing the saddler.

There had been plenty of time to muse over his misfortune that day. He had gone to buy the damned saddle only because he wished to get to know the Potell family better, and introduce himself to their daughter Julia; instead he had hurt himself, scared Henry with talk of suing him, and probably petrified his wife Mabilla and the girl into the bargain! Udo had several times thought of going to the saddler’s house in the last days to put things right, but somehow he had never quite summoned the courage.

This appeared a perfect time to talk to Henry. They were both away from home, there was no reminder of that disastrous day, and Udo could perhaps hint at his interest still in Henry’s daughter. Yes, that was surely the best approach.

‘I have not seen your delightful lady for some days.’

Henry stiffened slightly. ‘I suppose your shoulder was too painful to be able to go out,’ he said drily.

‘Your physician was most competent. I have no complaints. He has mended me well.’

Henry was still apparently reticent. His eyes, Udo noticed, kept flitting towards the Charnel Chapel.

‘Henry — Master Saddler — I should like to talk to you about a matter of delicacy.’

‘You mean to ruin me?’

There was a depth of sadness in that question and in Henry’s eyes as he uttered those words which Udo felt compelled to ease. ‘Master Saddler, I have no intention of pursuing you. Any man can,’ he swallowed, ‘be unfortunate enough to have an accident. It was surely not your intention to see me hurled from my horse, so how could I prosecute you? That would be the act of a cruel man.’

Henry appeared stunned. He stopped dead, and turned to Udo with an expression of complete bafflement. ‘You mean you won’t sue me?’

‘I have not instructed a pleader, no, and I shall not, I think. No, I believe that you and I should become friends.’

‘I’m sure that’d be good,’ Henry stammered. ‘But, how can I thank you?’

Udo cleared his throat. ‘There is one way …’ he said hesitantly.

Without realising that she was the subject of a discussion between Udo and her father, Julia wrapped a neckerchief about her shoulders and pulled it tighter as she walked into the hall. Her mother was already there, sitting at her favourite place on a stool before the table, near to the fire. Against the cool of the afternoon, she was wearing her cote-hardie and a blanket wrapped about her, but Julia was sure that it was not the draughts but the family’s straits that chilled Mabilla’s blood.

‘Mother, may I fetch you some wine?’

Mabilla glanced up at her and gave a smile. ‘No, I am fine, dear. Just waiting for your father to return.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘He has some business to attend to,’ Mabilla responded slowly.

‘It’s nothing to do with that odious man, then?’