Ariana Franklin: Mistress of the Art of Death

The little man opposite him nodded sympathetically. “I can understand, my lord. ‘Certum est, quia impossibile. ’”

That a shabby peddler should quote Tertullian amazed the prior further. Who were these people? Nevertheless, the fellow had it exactly; the situation must be so because it was impossible. Well, first things first. “Where is she gone?”

“She likes to walk the hills, my lord, studying nature, gathering herbs.”

“She should take care on this one; the local people give it a wide berth, leaving it to the sheep; they say Wandlebury Ring is the haunt of the Wild Hunt and witches.”

“Mansur is always with her.”

“The Saracen?” Prior Geoffrey regarded himself as a broad-minded man, also grateful, but he was disappointed. “Is she a witch, then?”

Simon winced. “My lord, I beg you… If you could avoid mentioning the word in her presence… She is a doctor, fully trained.”

He paused, then added, “Of a sort.” Again, he stuck to the literal truth. “The Medical School of Salerno allows women to practice.”

“I had heard that it did,” the prior said. “ Salerno, eh? I did not believe it any more than I credited cows with the ability to fly. It appears that I must now look out for cows overhead.”

“Always best, my lord.”

The prior spooned some more eggs into his mouth and looked around him, appreciating the greenery of spring and the twitter of birdsong as he had not for some time. He was reassessing matters. While undoubtedly disreputable, this little company was also learned, in which case it was not at all what it seemed. “She saved me, Master Simon. Did she learn that particular operation in Salerno?”

“From the best Egyptian doctors, I believe.”

“Extraordinary. Tell me her fee.”

“She will accept no payment.”

“Really?” This was becoming more extraordinary by the minute; neither this man nor the woman appeared to have a shilling to bless themselves with. “She swore at me, Master Simon.”

“My lord, I apologize. I fear her skills do not include the bedside manner.”

“No, they do not.” Nor any womanly wiles, as far as the prior could see. “Forgive an old man’s impertinence but, so that I may address her correctly, to which of you is she…attached?”

“Neither of us, my lord.” The peddler was more amused than offended. “Mansur is her manservant, a eunuch-a misfortune that befell him. I myself am devoted to my wife and children in Naples. There is no attachment in that sense; we are merely allies through circumstance.”

And the prior, though not a gullible man, believed him, which also increased his curiosity. What the devil were the three doing here?

“Nevertheless,” he said out loud and sternly, “I must tell you that, whatever your purpose in Cambridge, it will be compromised by the peculiarity of your ménage. Mistress Doctor should have a female companion.”

This time it was Simon who was surprised, and Prior Geoffrey saw that the man did indeed see the woman as merely a colleague. “I suppose she should,” Simon said. “There was one in attendance when we started out on this mission, her childhood nurse, but the old woman died on the way.”

“I advise you to find another.” The prior paused, then asked, “You make mention of a mission. May I inquire what it is?”

Simon appeared to hesitate.

Prior Geoffrey said, “Master Simon, I presume that you have not traveled all the way from Salerno merely to sell nostrums. If your mission is delicate, you may tell me with impunity.” When the man still hesitated, the prior clicked his tongue at having to point out the obvious. “Metaphorically, Master Simon, you have me by the balls. Can I betray your confidence when you are in a position to counter such betrayal merely by informing the town crier that I, a canon of Saint Augustine, a person of some consequence in Cambridge, and, I flatter myself, in the wider realm also, did not only place my most private member in the hands of a woman but had a plant shoved up it? How, to paraphrase the immortal Horace, would that play in Corinth?”

“Ah,” Simon said.

“Indeed. Speak freely, Master Simon. Sate an old man’s curiosity.”

So Simon told him. They had come to discover who was murdering and abducting Cambridge ’s children, he said. It must not be thought, he said, that their mission was intended as a usurpation of local officials, “only that investigation by authority sometimes tends to close more mouths than it opens, whereas we, incognito and disregarded…” Being Simon, he stressed this at length. It was not interference. However, since discovery of the murderer was protracted-obviously a particularly cunning and devious killer-special measures might fit the case…

“Our masters, those who sent us, appear to think that Mistress Doctor and I have the appropriate skills for such a matter…”

Listening to the tale of the mission, Prior Geoffrey learned that Simon of Naples was a Jew. He felt an immediate surge of panic. As master of a great monastic foundation, he was responsible for the state of the world when it must be handed over to God on the Day of Judgment, which might be anytime soon. How to answer an Almighty who had commanded that the one true faith be established in it? How to explain at the throne of God the existence of an unconverted infection in what should be a whole and perfect body? About which he had done nothing?

Humanism fought the training of the seminary-and won. It was an old battle. What could he do? He was not one of those who countenanced extermination; he would not see souls, if Jews had souls, severed and sent into the pit. Not only did he countenance the Jews of Cambridge, he protected them, though he railed mightily against other churchmen for encouraging the sin of usury in borrowing from them.

Now he, too, was in debt to one such-for his life. And, indeed, if this man, Jew or not, could solve the mystery that was causing Cambridge ’s agony, then Prior Geoffrey was his to command. Why, though, had he brought a doctor, a female doctor, with him?

So Prior Geoffrey listened to Simon’s story, and where he had been amazed before, he was now floundered, not least by the man’s openness, a characteristic he had not come across in the race until now. Instead of canniness, even cunning, he was hearing the truth.

He thought, Poor booby, he takes little persuasion to unload his secrets. He is too artless; he has no guile. Who has sent him, poor booby?

There was silence when Simon had finished, except for a blackbird’s song from a wild cherry tree.

“You have been sent by Jews to rescue the Jews?”

“Not at all, my lord. Really, no. The prime mover in this matter appears to be the King of Sicily-a Norman, as you know. I wondered at it myself; I cannot but feel that there are other influences at work; certainly our passports were not questioned at Dover, leaving me to opine that English officialdom is not unaware of what we are about. Be assured that, should the Jews of Cambridge prove guilty of this most dreadful crime, I shall willingly lay my hands to the rope that hangs them.”

Good. The prior accepted that. “But why was it necessary for the enterprise to include this woman doctor, may I ask? Surely, such a rara avis, if she is discovered, will attract most unwelcome attention.”

“I, too, had my doubts at first,” Simon said.

Doubts? He’d been appalled. The sex of the doctor who was to accompany him had not been revealed to him until she and her entourage boarded the boat to take them all to England, by which time it was too late to protest, though he had protested-Gordinus the African, greatest of doctors and most naïve of men, taking his gesticulations as waves of farewell and fondly waving back as the gap between taffrail and quay took them away from each other.