Matilda Bone

  Someone shoved Matilda aside as he pushed his way through the crowd. It was Master Theobald. People whispered and stood back. "I am Theobald, master physician. What is amiss here?" he asked the bearded giant.

  "My wife was shoved off the road by your English drunkards, knocked into the tailor's sign, and fell off her horse," the giant said. "She is sufferin' terrible. Ye can help us, can ye not?"

  The injured woman moaned, and the giant grabbed Theobald's arm.

  "Tell me," Theobald said, "the month and day she was born."

  "I am lyin' here in the road like yesterday's barley bannock, my head achin' somethin' fierce, and you want to celebrate me birthday?" the woman said. "Enough."

  "The help you require, woman, lies in astris, the stars. Therefore I need to know the month and day of your birth."

  Matilda watched Master Theobald closely. She did not understand why his mixture had failed to help Nathaniel, but here was another chance for him to perform a miracle of healing, as he had so many times before.

  "I be Hamish MacBroom," said the giant to Theobald. "This is my Effie, and she were born the day after Christmas near thirty year ago."

  The physician consulted the book at his waist. "Move your arms this way," he said to Effie, "and that way. Try to sit. Now bend."

  The woman obeyed, grunting and moaning as she did so. "I feel like the pig's dinner," she said. "Me side hurts like the Divil were dancin' on it."

  Theobald turned to the giant, saying, "Take her up and come with me." Hamish MacBroom lifted Effie and carried her cradled like a babe in his big arms.

  Matilda, still holding the chamber pot, followed along, eager to see Master Theobald's miracle. She assumed they were bound for the physician's great house, but instead the little procession turned into Blood and Bone Alley and entered Peg's shop, where Peg and Margery sat eating.

  Sweeping remnants of bread to the floor, Peg had Hamish lay the woman down on the table. Theobald, bowing slightly to Margery and smiling an icy smile, said, "Mistress Lewes, and how do you find the ills of women this day?"

  "Mostly the fault of men, Master Theobald," she said, bowing back to him. "Now, what have we here?"

  Theobald ignored her and turned to Peg. "This woman has broken two or more of her ribs. Bandage them for her. I will send over a jar of my hare's-foot salve for the cut on her head." The physician left.

  The giant looked at Peg and shouted, "You will tend my Effie?"

  While he spluttered, Effie said, so softly all had to bend to hear, "Hamish MacBroom, you great sausage, stand out of the way and let her get on with fixin' me, for yif I die, I swear to come back and haunt you, you and the new young wife you will take."

  The giant stepped back, and Peg said, "Take heart, little Effie. Why, I have mended more ribs than there are stars in the night sky." She wrapped a strip of linen around Effie's rib cage and pulled it tight. Effie moaned and fainted.

  At that Hamish fainted also, but too big was he to be moved, so they left him where he fell and Peg worked around him.

  Tildy came with Master Theobald's hare's-foot salve. "Smells like old meat," said Tildy, handing it to Matilda, "but the master has healed many with it."

  "This Effie is fortunate such a man as Master Theobald is caring for her," said Matilda with a glance at Margery, "else she would surely die." Doctor Margery took the salve from Matilda, smelled it, and spread it gently on Effie's forehead. Tildy nodded and left.

  Hamish awoke and was doctored next with warm ale seasoned with pepper. "She will live," Peg said to him, "but she should not be moved for a sevennight. Let her stay here, where I can watch her."

  Hamish carried Effie to Matilda's bed in the buttery, where she could have a bit of rest.

  All was quiet in the shop that day, for no one wished to disturb Effie. That night Matilda slept in Peg's bed, her sleep soft and deep in that warm place that smelled of Peg and sausages.

  Effie stayed in Matilda's bed for seven days and nights, but Peg got her own bed back, and Matilda slept wrapped in a blanket on the floor. Peg kept an eye on Effie and checked her bandages now and then, muttering, "Hmm" and "Ohh." Master Theobald did not return or send to hear how she was doing. Instead, it was Margery who came unbidden each day and tended the woman. "How do you feel?" she asked. And "Does this hurt?" and "Can you move this way?" Matilda feared Margery would undo all of Theobald's good work, but Effie did not send her away.

  "You, Matilda, you do this, too, each day," Margery said, pressing her ear to Effie's chest to hear her heart and her lungs. "If you hear a soft crackling sound, it means her lungs have been pierced and we must despair of her. Thus far I hear nothing amiss, but we must keep listening." Matilda was about to say that she was Peg's helper and not Margery's, but Peg huffed and narrowed her eyes, so Matilda said nothing and just nodded.

  When Effie's head wound showed signs of putrefaction, Doctor Margery cleaned it with warm wine, placed cobwebs and a pinch of bread mold gently over it, and bound it all together with clean linen. Although Matilda looked and looked, she never did see Master Theobald's salve again.

  Matilda worried that if Effie did heal, Margery would take the credit for it. But once Margery was sure that Effie was mending, she left most of the tending to Matilda, who listened to her chest, changed her bandage, brought warm ale for her stomach and cold cloths for her head, and asked her how she did and was all well with her.

  One night after Peg was asleep and Hamish back in his bed at the inn, Effie leaned over and shook Matilda's shoulder. Matilda, fearing that Effie had been taken worse, jumped up. "I will get Peg," she said.

  "No. Dinna bother Peg." By the dim light from the fire in the other room, Matilda could see Effie shake her bandaged head. "It's just that I am near daft from this achin'. Peg gave me a wee dram of poppy juice, but still my side aches some'ut fierce. Perhaps if you talked to me, I could forget it. I know you are wretched tired from working all day, little Matilda, but I sorely need your company."

  Matilda was taken aback. What can I say to this bandaged stranger? She thought for a moment. If I ask Effie questions, she realized, she must do the talking. That may serve just as well.

  So Matilda searched her mind for a question and asked Effie, "Do you think spring is finally here?"

  "Not inside this cold, dark shop," answered Effie.

  And another: "Did you know an eel with a big head is no bargain?"

  Effie answered, "I think any eel is no bargain."

  And one to which Matilda truly wanted to know the answer: "How long does it take a priest to ride to London and back?"

  "Depends on the priest," Effie said.

  There was silence. Matilda thought she was not doing well at getting Effie to talk. Perhaps Matilda's questions were at fault. She thought a minute and then asked Effie, "How did you come to be here with Hamish? I can hear that you are not local born."

  "I come from the Border Country along the wall that Hadrian built so long ago," Effie said, "where the heather grows purple in the sun and the grass ripens into gold. With six daughters before me, my parents promised me, the youngest, to the Convent of Saint Finbar if the next child be a boy."

  "And was it?" Matilda asked as Effie paused. This was better. Effie, like Peg and Father Leufredus, was happier talking about herself to an interested listener.

  "Aye, it was—Finbar, a right sturdy boy with my father's red hair and red nose. But my mother died in the havin' of him. They sent me to the sisters as promised, but the nunnery was not for me, all prayers and poor food and thinkin' on God instead of people. When Hamish came one night and stole me, I was not at all unwilling, me thinkin' God had truly cheated on His part of the bargain, takin' my mother like He did. Besides, in those days Hamish was the most beautiful man in the dale."

  "But you broke your promise to God."

  "Not mine, little Matilda. And is it not true, as Saint Paul says, that all sacrifices are as nothing in comparison with love, which purifies and brightens the heart?"

&
nbsp; There was silence as Matilda struggled with Effie's words. Love brightens and purifies the heart? Never had she heard such a thing from Father Leufredus. She was beginning to think there was much she had never heard from Father Leufredus that she would like to hear now.

  Into the silence Effie moaned, hand to her head, pale face grown paler still. Matilda, fearful of Effie's pain and anxious to relieve it, found her tongue and began to talk. "I myself was raised on Lord Randall's manor a day's ride from here, with servants and Father Leufredus for tutor. We wore dresses of crimson samite and Spanish leather boots and ate cheese from our own cows fragrant with the rich green grass the cows fed on. Never did I have to sweep or eat sausage, for I was used to better things."

  "How then did you come to this poor place?" Effie asked. She had stopped moaning. Matilda could see that her talking was helping, so she hurried on.

  "Father Leufredus brought me. I am here only to await his return. Or a summons to join him in London."

  "Yet I am glad you are here now, to tend me and listen to me of a long night. To help me live." Effie reached out and patted Matilda's hand.

  "It was fortunate for you Master Theobald was there to see to you," Matilda said.

  Effie snorted. "The man talked like a fool, would not listen to anyone, and did not even look at me."

  "But he is a great wonderworker. Everyone says so. And he did save your life."

  "No. It were you and Peg and the bigfooted Doctor Margery."

  "In that case it was truly a miracle you survived."

  "No, I think the miracle was the skill of Margery and Peg and your kind heart. And the will of God." She crossed herself.

  Matilda could see in her mind Effie, bright with health, riding her horse through purple heather and golden grass. As much as she wished to argue with her about the merits of Master Theobald and the faults of Doctor Margery, Matilda said only, "Amen."

  There was silence again until Effie said, "Tell me more of Matilda."

  Matilda was ready to speak further of bright dresses and warm fires but stopped. She found herself wanting to tell Effie things she had rarely thought about and certainly had never told anyone. Maybe because she was hidden there in the darkness. Matilda did not know. She sighed and began again, slowly. "My mother was a brewer's daughter who married Lord Randall's clerk, gave birth to me, and, tiring of marriage and motherhood, left us both soon after."

  "No! Did she nivver come back?"

  "Never. My father and I lived at Lord Randall's manor, where my father taught me Latin and reading and writing and then, when I was six, died at his desk. Of too much drink, I was told. Lord Randall did what he considered his Christian duty. I was given to be fed by the manor servants and tutored by the manor priest."

  "And so ye lived well in a great house, eating fine food and wanting for nothing."

  "Yes, I..." Matilda stopped and shook her head. No. I wanted for much, she thought. And once thought, it had to be said. "No. I wanted for much. The house was great, but no part of it was mine; the food fine, but given begrudgingly. I lived somewhere between servants and those they served." She shook her head again. She had been lonely there. Why had she not known that?

  "And the priest?" Effie asked her.

  "Father Leufredus found me willing and clever, so he raised me to be saintly, meek, and obedient, above the things of this world. When he left the manor, he brought me to Peg. I had nowhere else to go. But he has not come back or sent for me."

  "And what will ye do now?"

  Matilda was silent for a moment before replying, "I do not know. I cannot stay in this place. I know so little of what matters here. I cannot heal the sick like Master Theobald or mend bodies like Peg. I am useless."

  "Pish. I have been watchin' ye these days," said Effie. "Ye're far from useless. Ye must just use the tools God gave you. Why, a farmer could till a field with a horn spoon if he had to. Find your tools... and ... put them ... to good use." There was silence. Effie had drifted off to sleep.

  While Effie slept, Matilda's thoughts ran around and around in her head. She thought about living at the manor, being lonely, using her own tools. Why had she spoken so freely to Effie? Was she right to do so? All the same, she had a sweet, full feeling inside that warmed her, and soon she too slept, and all was silent in the little house with the bright-yellow bone on the door.

  Chapter Fourteen: Sending a Letter

  Often Matilda and Effie would talk quietly into the night, and Matilda grew fond of her. Too soon she and Hamish were leaving. Effie, her side still swaddled and head wrapped in linen to keep the wound clean, said farewell to Peg and Margery, who hugged and clucked and fussed. Then Effie turned to Matilda. "My prayers stay here with ye, Matilda," she said. "I wish ye well."

  Matilda wanted to reply but instead gave Effie a little nod and turned her head to hide her tears.

  Unable still to ride, Effie settled herself in a litter swung between two horses. She looked at Matilda once more and said quietly to Hamish, "I long to cuddle her like a babe, and sing to her as my mother sang to me: 'Hush thee, hush thee, dinna fret thee, the Divil willna get thee.' But she be too stiff and proud for cuddling." Matilda, overhearing, thought if Effie tried, she might not find Matilda as stiff and proud as she thought. But Effie did not try.

  Matilda watched as the woman was carried away. Would she never be able to ride again? Would she always see the purple heather from behind the curtains of a litter? She lived, which did count for something, but would she never recover? Matilda shook her head. If only Master Theobald had tended Effie instead of Doctor Margery!

  Matilda watched for a long while as the riders disappeared into the distance. Peg's little shop would seem very empty now.

  Across the alley she saw Walter heading toward the apothecary shop. There was much she had neglected while tending Effie. She had failed to meet Tildy at the well. She had not seen to Sarah—Peg had done that. And she had not thought even once of Nathaniel's troubles. She would remedy this right now, she thought, as she wiped her hands on her skirt, patted her hair, and hurried off to Nathaniel's.

  "Who is this here to see me? Do I know you?" asked Nathaniel as she entered.

  She hesitated for a moment and then said loudly, "Who is this old man in Nathaniel's shop? Does he know you are here?"

  Nathaniel smiled a big smile and nodded at her. "Welcome back, Matilda Bone. We have missed you."

  "Has not Peg come to tend Sarah's legs?"

  "Yes, but she is not you. People are not as replaceable as ... as boots."

  Matilda wondered for a moment if she should look behind her to see who Nathaniel was speaking to. But she knew it was she. He had missed her, and she smiled inside and out with pleasure.

  "How is it you come here today, Matilda Bone?"

  "Effie has gone, and I found myself wondering how your eyes do. I have not heard that your sight miraculously improved while I have been busy elsewhere, so I came to see for myself."

  He shook his head. "No better, but I have Walter's help and my Sarah, so I try to be thankful for those. And what have you been busy elsewhere about?"

  Matilda sat and told him about Effie and Hamish, and he listened and nodded. Finally she got up and said, "Forgive me. There is much I must attend to," and she was off.

  Talking about Effie had reminded her of something Effie had said, and Matilda decided to try again to help Nathaniel, this time with her own tools. She had already tried her Latin and her prayers, and they had not worked. What else could she do but read and write? (And start fires, brew tonic, and bargain for fish, and she did not know how those could help Nathaniel.) Perhaps a letter? She could write a letter and ask someone very wise for help. Someone wise in medicine. But who?

  Her father used to say the wisest minds in England were in Oxford. She would send a letter to Oxford.

  Matilda hurried to the market, where she traded her pennies for parchment and ran back to Peg's. She smoothed the page, scraping off a bit of dirt here, a splash of
something else there, taking time to smell the beloved, familiar smell. Carefully she took knife to quill to cut a sharp point, touched the tip to her tongue, dipped it carefully in the ink bottle, and wrote in Latin on the precious sheet, enchanted by the look of the words as they tumbled and trailed across the page:

  Salutem dico to the greatest of all physicians who reside at Oxford, whoever you may be, from Matilda of Blood and Bone Alley at the sign of the yellow bone, Chipping Bagthorpe:

  There is in this town an apothecary, by name Nathaniel Cross, who is patient and kind and full of loving but lately has been gloomy and disheartened, for his eyes have gone bad in such a way that he cannot see what is right in front of his face. He looks to starve or die if no one helps him. We have prayed, dosed, salved, and bled, to no end. Have you any knowledge of cures or miracles or remedies that might allow him to spend the days God has given him as an apothecary?

  Please send word of any such to me, Matilda Bone, for I can read as well as write, although I fear it is not important like saving souls or saving lives and no one here seems to see the value of it at all.

  I know Nathaniel's gratitude will be yours if you can assist him in this matter of seeing.

  With all thanks and respect due your great

  physicianness, I am yours,

  Matilda Bone

  She spit on the tip of the quill and wiped it on her sleeve, cleaned the wooden ruler on her skirt, and capped the ink bottle. She carried her letter back to the market, where she found a tinker who was heading north to Oxford. He would for a price deliver her letter to the physicians' guild. "I have no silver," said Matilda.

  "A kettle?" asked the tinker. "Good wooden spoons? A dress, well brushed and gently worn? Velvet slippers?"

  "Naught but what I wear," said Matilda.

  The tinker reached out and touched her shoulder. "This cloak looks old but of good English wool—I could get a few pennies for it."