Paul Finch - Stronghold

"I can't answer your question," Zacharius said, still cleaning his tools. "But put it this way, I don't believe in sorcery."

"Even after everything we have seen with our own eyes?" Ranulf asked.

"Oh, it exists… superficially. But when a man performs acts of 'sorcery', what he's really doing is manipulating the laws of nature in ways not yet known to the rest of us."

"And you think you can learn about such laws by opening the flesh of one of these walking dead?"

"The Greek physician, Hippocrates, was convinced that diseases did not afflict mankind as a punishment from the gods, but because the systems of organs that make up our bodies were for some reason malfunctioning. He developed many remedies through his studies of the human body, often after life had expired. He saved innumerable lives and the human race was no worse off for that. The Roman doctor, Galen, produced countless books containing detailed sketches of human anatomy, which enabled his students to treat a variety of previously serious ailments with simple procedures. My proposal was similar, if not exactly the same — a straightforward investigation, the results of which might benefit us all."

Ranulf pondered this.

"Why do you ask?" Zacharius wondered. "Are you planning to go out there again, when the last time only two of you returned alive?"

"The choice would not be mine," Ranulf said.

"In which case don't agonise over it. The reality…" Zacharius shrugged. "The reality is that I am neither skilled nor experienced enough to reach immediate and accurate conclusions. I would need the assistance of other learned doctors. In addition, it would take time, which we clearly will have less of once the fighting recommences. I would also need a better place in which to work. Somewhere light and dry to tabulate my findings, collate my samples…"

"I don't understand any of these things."

"But you evidently do understand that this battle will not be won by the usual means. You proved that not two hours ago."

"It wouldn't take a clever man to realise that."

"No, but it would take a brave one to admit it." Zacharius continued cleaning his implements. "What are you called?"

"I am Ranulf FitzOsbern."

"You're one of the earl's indebted knights, are you not?"

"I am."

The doctor smiled to himself.

"Something amuses you?" Ranulf asked.

"It certainly does. You occupy the lowest of the equestrian ranks, yet you speak to Earl Corotocus almost as an equal."

"At some point I'll be punished for that."

"I've no doubt you will. But he tolerates you for the time being because during this crisis he clearly considers that he needs you. And after what I heard you tell him, about your wise attempt to parley with Countess Madalyn, I would make the same decision."

"It was a poor plan. It failed."

"At least it was a plan. And you have my commendation for it, FitzOsbern, if no-one else's."

There was brief silence, Ranulf eyeing the gleaming knives, scalpels and forceps arrayed in their orderly rows.

"Why do you clean those things so thoroughly?" he asked.

"Because I will have to perform more surgeries with them."

"Is one man's blood poisonous to another?"

"Maybe. I don't know for certain, but why take the risk?" Zacharius laid down another tool — a screw-handled speculum, which he regularly used to open and clamp deep wounds in order to remove foreign objects buried inside them. "It may also be that even the smallest speck of filth will cause an injury to fester, and lead to blood disorders and death."

"You have a strong instinct for your profession," Ranulf observed.

"As do you."

"All I do is fight. Any man can fight."

"I can't. Not to your standard."

"But almost no-one at all can do what you do."

Zacharius smiled again. "Don't flatter me too much, my friend. We all have our instincts. That stubborn fool Benan's instinct tells him that only God can save us now. He thus refuses to allow me to treat him. He wouldn't even be brought down here to the infirmary, but insisted on making his own way from the Constable's Tower to the chapel, where there is no bed, no warmth — and he had to crawl on his belly most of the distance, because he's lost too much blood to stand. But that's all to the good, he says. He has to win back the Lord's favour, and the only way to do that is by self-imposed penance."

"You criticise him for it?"

"Not really." Zacharius sighed. "Who is to say that I am right and Benan is wrong? If forced to make a judgement, I suppose I'd always rather men solved their problems by shedding their own blood rather than the blood of others."

"And yet you'd have no qualm about cutting one of these creatures open to examine its entrails… even if it is bound with chains and completely harmless?"

"None whatsoever."

"Some might say that God would object."

"Some might also say that if a man were brought to me with a mangled limb, God would object to my removing that limb in order to save the man's life. Do you think He would, FitzOsbern? When in all the great hunting-chases of England, limbs are regularly lopped for the far less edifying reason of punishing poaching, and yet those wielding the axe are almost never struck down or even castigated by holy Church, as far as I can see?"

Ranulf struggled visibly with his doubts.

"Surely this is not a difficult concept for you?" Zacharius said. "You who this very night has defied the conventions of his own martial world, bypassing your overlord to make what you believed was a correct decision? But don't trouble yourself with such seditious thinking, my friend. I understand your reservation. How many sacred cattle can we slaughter before we have nothing left to defend? Perhaps it's better to return to your post on the castle wall and leave me in my hospital, where we can both stick to our allotted tasks, which…" He lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. "Which, in truth, will yield the world little."

Ranulf moved away from the outhouse, still deep in thought — only to return a few moments later.

"I can't capture one of these creatures for you," he said from the doorway. "It would be impossible, so there is no point in my even offering to try. But I'll remember what you said for the future."

Zacharius nodded, as if that was as much as he could expect.

"And I will try to get you out of here alive," Ranulf added. "If I can."

"I wouldn't take any more risks if I were you, sir knight. Not on my behalf."

Ranulf shook his head. "You haven't been outside. You haven't seen what we're facing — not up close. The walls of this castle will not hold them for long."

"And more's the pity." Zacharius shrugged. "I'll never enjoy a comely lass again."

"That said, it's not unfeasible that one or two of us may escape. You should be among them."

"Battle my way to safety, you mean?" The doctor smiled. "My dear FitzOsbern, didn't I just tell you; I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"Maybe we can smuggle you out?"

"And would you smuggle my patients with me? You'd need to, because I won't abandon them."

Ranulf felt frustrated. "But what you've said here needs to be understood more widely."

"As I say, there are other doctors more learned than I."

"Doctor Zacharius! This thing that's been unleashed… it won't end here."

Zacharius regarded him carefully, before shaking his head. "You think more deeply than is good for you, FitzOsbern. More deeply than is good for any of us." He had now finished cleaning his implements and began to wrap them in separate bundles of clean cloth. "Go back to your post."

"I fear Christendom faces a graver peril now than ever came from the Moslem desert or the Mongol steppe."

"Then why should I want to survive to see it?"