Susanna GREGORY - A Summer of Discontent

Julian’s sigh suggested he was bored by the discussion. He placed his elbows on the table, plumped his pox-ravaged face into his hands, and stared ahead of him in silent disgruntlement.

‘I thought we had agreed to say no more about that unfortunate incident, Welles,’ said Henry admonishingly to the other lad. Unlike Julian, Welles had a pleasant face, with fair curls and a mouth that looked far too ready for laughter to belong to a novice. ‘Julian has apologised to the Prior for committing an act of such cruelty, and we are all hoping he learns some compassion by working with the sick.’

Julian said nothing, but cast Henry a glance so full of malice that Bartholomew saw the physician would have his work cut out for him if he thought he could instil a modicum of kindness in a youth who was clearly one of those to whom the suffering of others meant little. It was clever of Alan to send Julian to the hospital, where he might be moved by the plight of the inmates, but Bartholomew suspected the plan would not work. He did not usually jump to such rapid conclusions, but there was something hard and cruel about Julian that was obvious and unattractive, even to strangers.

‘What particular ailment would you predict, judging from the colour of this urine?’ asked Henry of Bartholomew, bringing the topic of conversation back to medicine.

‘I would not make a diagnosis on the basis of the urine alone,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I would want to speak to the patient–’

‘To make his horoscope,’ agreed Henry, nodding eagerly.

‘No,’ replied Bartholomew, a little tartly. He did not believe that the stars told him much about a person’s state of health, and he certainly did not base his diagnoses on the movements of the celestial bodies, although many physicians did precisely that and charged handsomely for the privilege. ‘I would ask him whether he had experienced pain in his stomach or back, what he had eaten recently, whether he drank water from the river or ale that was cloudy–’

‘What does ale or the river have to do with his urine?’ asked Welles, intrigued.

‘In this case, probably nothing,’ said Bartholomew, holding the flask near his nose to smell it. The two novices exchanged a look of disgust. ‘I would say, however, that whoever produced this should not be quite so greedy with the asparagus, and that next time he should use a different dye to prove his point. Theophilus said that redness in the urine is caused by blood, but this is orange and was caused by the addition of some kind of plant extract.’

Henry gave a shout of excited laughter, and clapped his hands in delight. ‘Excellent! Excellent! That is indeed my urine, and I did add a little saffron to make it a different hue. I wanted to show these boys that the colour of urine is vital knowledge for a physician. I see now I should have used a little pig’s blood instead. I am not usually so careless, but none of us is perfect.’

‘Did you really eat asparagus?’ asked Michael distastefully. ‘Why?’

Henry laughed again. ‘Not everyone loathes vegetables, Michael. And your friend is right: asparagus does produce a distinctive odour in the urine. You should have smelled the latrines this morning! He would have known at once what we all ate last night.’

‘There is very little about urine that Matt does not know,’ said Michael drolly. ‘I knew you would like him. And that is just as well, because he will be staying here with you for the next week, since Blanche is going to hog all the beds in the priory guesthouse.’

‘Lady Blanche is generous to the priory, so we are obliged to give her the entire Outer Hostry when she visits,’ Henry explained. ‘But this time I stand to benefit – by having a fellow physician to entertain. I am sure I shall teach him a great deal.’

‘Oh, good!’ muttered Julian facetiously to Welles. ‘Now there will be endless discussions about piss and how to puncture pustules every time we move.’

‘I am glad I do not have to sleep here, like you do,’ replied Welles in an undertone. ‘Listening to them would give me nightmares.’

‘Matt is from Michaelhouse,’ said Michael to Henry, pretending not to hear their complaints. ‘He has some strange notions about medicine, so you should find a lot to talk about.’

‘We will,’ said Henry, grasping Bartholomew’s hand in welcome. He turned to Michael. ‘But what brings you to Ely, my friend? Have you come to rest from your onerous duties in Cambridge?’

‘Unfortunately not,’ said Michael. ‘De Lisle sent for me because he is accused of murder.’

Henry’s brown hands flew to his mouth in horror. ‘No! Do not tell me that you have agreed to investigate on his behalf? Oh, Michael! How could you do such a thing?’

‘I am his agent,’ replied Michael irritably, growing tired of hearing this. ‘I have no choice but to do what he asks.’

‘I admire de Lisle,’ said Henry sincerely. ‘He was not afraid to visit the sick during the Great Pestilence, and he gives fabulous sermons – but powerful men have powerful enemies. Let de Lisle clear his own name. He is innocent, so it should not be difficult.’

‘You believe de Lisle is innocent?’ asked Bartholomew, wondering why he was so surprised to hear this from a monk.

‘Of course,’ said Henry, as though it were obvious. ‘He is proud and arrogant, but he has a gentle heart. This charge has been invented to harm him by someone who is strong and resourceful, and Michael should not become embroiled in it. De Lisle can always petition for the Archbishop’s support if matters grow too hot for him, but Michael has no such luxury. Do not accept this commission, Brother. Go home.’

Michael smiled gently. ‘I cannot. But I am no longer the youth you protected when I first came to Ely, Henry. I can look after myself, and I have good friends in you and Matt.’

Shaking his head in disapproval, Henry turned to his apprentices. ‘Tidy this room, and then you can join your friends preparing to receive Lady Blanche. Meanwhile, Michael and I have much to talk about. It has been months since I last saw him.’

‘Free at last!’ mumbled Julian, leaping to his feet. ‘These duties are like a sentence of death. Who wants to spend all day wiping up old men’s drool, and helping them to the garderobe every few moments? I would rather work in the kitchens.’

‘I am sure you would,’ said Henry tartly. ‘There are dead animals and sharp knives in the kitchens, and I imagine it would suit you very well. But you have been committed to my care to learn how to care for the sick, and I shall do everything in my power to ensure that you do.’

Julian cast him another dark look, and then began to help Welles with the tidying, although Bartholomew noted that he left the more unpleasant messes for his classmate.

‘Julian does not seem to appreciate what you are trying to teach him,’ he remarked, as he followed Henry through the infirmary towards the other end of the hall, where the physician had a small bedchamber that also served as an office.

Henry agreed. ‘I fear he will never be a physician. I do not think there is a single shred of compassion or kindness in him. Alan gave him to me as a last resort: if he fails here, he will be released from the priory, but I do not think that will be a good thing.’

‘Why not?’ asked Michael. ‘It seems to me that he has no business being in a monastery.’

‘I do not like to think of a cruel and vicious lad like that loose in the town,’ said Henry. ‘At least while he is here we can control him. He would commit all manner of harm without someone like me to watch him.’

He gave a cheerful wave to an old man who occupied one of the beds. The inmate waved back, revealing a battery of pink gums. The other four were either asleep or did not seem to be aware of anything around them. All were ancient, some perhaps as much as ninety years, and Bartholomew supposed that life as monks had been kind to them. It was not a bad way to end their days, although he personally did not relish the prospect of lying in a bed while he slowly lost all his faculties.