The Physician's Tale Read online

  A long drop, but not impossible with a tether of some sort…

  And then where would you go?

  Her position at the balcony wall afforded her a fine view of the countryside. Small plumes of smoke dotted the landscape; beneath each one would be a hearth. An apple tree stood at the crest of a hill; many years before, when they had looked out over the same vista together, Alejandro had promised to make her a rope swing from one of its stout branches. She thought about the country folk who inhabited the cottages in the near surrounds; most of them were tenants to Windsor itself. They would not be unlike the folk she had come to know north of Paris while she and Alejandro hid in that region. There would be pots hanging in the hearths, boiling turnips, perhaps a pheasant or a goose strung from the rafters to ripen for a special repast. In all of these cottages, the housewife would possess a rough broom—probably fashioned by herself—which she would wield with great endeavor to chase out the mice and rats, or to beat the rug, if she was fortunate enough to have one. The straw of their bedding would be bug-infested in summer, dank in winter, and when it was finally discarded for new, the cows would eat it, lest it go to waste. It was a mean and frugal life at best, fraught with uncertainty.

  And now I sleep on silk, I never touch a broom, and I dine on the finest delicacies. But, oh, the freedom…

  The view was lovely and captivating, especially as the sun set. She let her eyes wander over it and found a small measure of peace. She hoped the effects of the moment would linger in her soul.

  “Good evening, my lady Kate.”

  She turned and saw Geoffrey Chaucer standing a few feet away from her. He was a pleasant-looking lad with an open expression; light-brown curly hair framed his youthful face. He wore a blue mantle with wide sleeves that draped to a point behind his wrist. In his hands he held a small clutch of flowers. He bowed deeply, then approached with a smile.

  “Good evening to you, Master Chaucer.” She took the offered flowers. “Such a beautiful bouquet—how kind of you!”

  “Beauty to beauty,” he said. “It is only fitting that you should be the recipient.”

  Kate made a show of enjoying the fragrance. “I was pleased to receive your request for this rendez-vous.” She moved a step closer and lowered her voice. “As you perhaps know, I am a keen student of history, as it must be repeated if it is not learned. Or so says my père, who is a wise man indeed.”

  Chaucer stepped closer and took hold of her hand. He pulled it to his face and kissed it dramatically. “By which do you mean your father, King Edward?”

  She smiled bitterly as she withdrew her hand from his. “I think you know that I do not.” She pointed to a stone bench near the balcony wall, well away from the door, on the other side of which were her detested guards, whose attention through the glass never wavered.

  They sat down together. “Well,” Kate said, “let us not waste time. You must illuminate me on the nature of this—history.”

  “I hardly know where to begin, lady,” he said. He leaned closer to her, as if in confidence. “As you most likely know, I serve the king and queen on occasions when their own servants may be unavailable. This puts me in a position of—trust, I suppose. I am often privy to things that a man of my lowly station might not otherwise hear. I was recently called upon to write a message for your—for the king. Naturally, I am sworn to secrecy regarding all of the royal correspondence.” He sighed deeply and stared at his hands for a few moments. When he looked up again, he continued. “I am loath to betray the trust of my patron, but I cannot hold my tongue at present. The consequences of doing so may be…dire, if I might use that word. The message was written to His Holiness himself, so I am doubly pained, as I am a good Christian, and I do not in any way wish to jeopardize the sanctity of my immortal—”

  “I understand,” she said impatiently. “You have expressed your dilemma with admirable detail.” She smiled politely, adding, “I see that you are still fond of words.”

  Chaucer reddened. “Indeed, lady, my apologies, but I feel that I must lay the proper foundation on which to excuse my own sin.”

  Kate laughed softly; she found Chaucer wonderfully entertaining. “How very wise.”

  “I aspire to wisdom. Perhaps someday I will actually acquire some, through the grace of God and no effort of my own. In any case, the message the king dictated concerned your sister, as well as yourself. The king seeks the pope’s permission to formalize an engagement between the Princess Royal and the Baron de Coucy, of which you are already aware, but there was another request also—I do not know how to say this properly, but you are, apparently, to be ‘legitimized,’ for the purpose of—”

  Chaucer stopped speaking when he saw the look of shock on Kate’s face.

  “My lady, are you ill? Is the night air too much for you? If so, we can go inside—”

  She vetoed this suggestion with a wave of her hand and rose up quickly from the bench. “He would not dare!”

  Chaucer rose as well and looked directly into her eyes. His tone of voice was more urgent now. “He does indeed dare. The letter was sent nearly a fortnight ago. I have agonized since its sending on whether I ought to speak to you or not. I expect it has already reached Avignon and that the matter is under consideration.”

  “But why would he…I mean, of what use could it be to make me his daughter after all these years?”

  Chaucer’s voice softened. He revealed less than the entire truth. “A daughter is a tool of diplomacy to a man who wishes to solidify his kingdom. De Coucy has vast lands in France, as you well know, and the same is true of his kin—in particular, one cousin, a certain Count Benoit. He is here, among the celebrants. Our king still presses his claim to the French throne, and should he desire to press it more vigorously, he will need the support of the French nobility. What better way than to curry favor with the overlord of a territory as vast as that of de Coucy?”

  He glanced at the guards again. They seemed completely disinterested in the intimate conversation taking place before them. “Benoit is a weasel…. Why one would claim such a kinship is beyond my ken. But he seems to love the man well, for whatever reason. Benoit’s family lands are in Bretagne, though surely not as vast as those held by la famille de Rais in that region. The king would cause a stir there if he could, for instability among the local lords would help him in his quest for the throne of France. As I was saying, I suspect—if you will forgive me—that the king would incite all this with another marriage. For that he needs another daughter.”

  She made no comment on the notion of another marriage, but her voice was dark when she said, “It might well have been de Coucy himself who put the sword to my husband’s neck.”

  “I know that, lady, and it pains me to speak of him in your presence.”

  Kate was quiet for a moment. “The king has already spent one daughter on diplomacy,” she said. “I was just a small child, but I remember still how they wailed and cried in this household when Joanna fell to plague on her bridal journey! When the news of the tragedy came, Nurse could not be consoled for what seemed an eternity; she was my only joy in Windsor, and I was frightened by her great sorrow.”

  She paused and looked out at the sky. “I have since learned even more fully what it means to be in the depths of sorrow.”

  Chaucer reached out, with some hesitation, and took hold of her hand. She did not pull it away. “They say your husband was a brave man.”

  She met his eyes again and saw sympathy and kindness. “More than most will ever know. But history will speak only of de Coucy and how he preserved the monarchy in that battle. They will not remember how my husband gave his life to throw off the chains of servitude that held his countrymen. His legacy is forfeit.”

  “Except through his son.”

  “His son,” she whispered bitterly. “I have not seen his child, my son, since the day he was born.”

  “Such sadness cannot be imagined by anyone who has not experienced it.”

  “That wisdo
m to which you aspire seems to have found you, Master Chaucer.” She looked down at the chapel roof again. “You’ve come forward as a friend in my time of need.” Then she turned and stared at him. “I would know what compels you to do such a dangerous and forbidden thing.”

  Chaucer paused. “I will tell you the truth—though you may find it odd. I developed an admiration for your père while he was in Paris. There is something pure about him, something almost noble. He is an intriguing fellow, and I liked him immensely. He treated me well—far better than Prince Lionel and Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Were you punished for what happened?”

  “No. Lady Elizabeth was angry, but she was equally embarrassed by the events of that afternoon. Of course it was her own fault—she flirted with your père shamelessly, and had she an ounce of sense, she would have recognized him for the man of high morals that he is. She would have known that he would not enter into an actual assignation with a married woman, only a charade.” He hesitated briefly, then asked, “May I speak frankly, lady?”

  His candor made her relax a bit. “A true friend always does, Chaucer. Speak your peace, I beg of you.”

  “She was horrified to learn that she had been touched by a Jew, though she did not know him to be a Jew at the time. He looks so—”

  “Ordinary?” Kate said.

  “Indeed. So normal. So unlike a Jew. Why, he is handsome and well appointed, a man much taller than other Jews I have seen. And elegant in his demeanor, fastidious to a fault…”

  “Well, he is human, after all. Jews are not animals, I assure you. He is the most fastidiously clean man I have ever known. They ridicule me here for my habit of bathing, which I acquired from him. And he is fearless! A most exceptional example of masculinity and fatherhood, though he owed me nothing when he took me out of here, nothing at all. I only hope that my son is still with him, so he might be properly fathered himself.”

  “By your description, one would take him for an adventurer rather than for a physician.”

  “A true assessment.”

  “What a tale his exploits would make!” Chaucer sighed, then continued. “In any event, I was not punished. My position within the household is secure.” He leaned closer. “Unless, of course, my revelations to you are themselves revealed.”

  “Never,” she whispered. She let her glance stray briefly to her guards. They were watching the interchange intently.

  “You must kiss me,” she said.

  Chaucer pulled back momentarily and looked into her eyes, as if to ascertain her sincerity. “Lady, I hardly know what—”

  “Just lean forward and kiss me, tenderly.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged and did as she asked. She grabbed hold of his mantle and pulled him close, and then held him in the kiss for a long moment. Chaucer gave himself willingly to the intimacy; he put his arms around her waist and drew her closer.

  He opened one eye just a slit and looked in the direction of the guards, who watched with great interest.

  Finally, after their dramatic moment, she let go of his mantle, and he of her waist, and they parted. For a long moment, Chaucer stared into her eyes. “Your kiss is as sweet as the dew on the honeysuckle. I am blessed to have tasted it. I will admit to you, lady, that I am also compelled to come to your aid simply because—well, I admire you.”

  She blushed slightly. “You have my admiration as well. But please do not think me brazen in kissing you—I am in dire need of your help, and I beg you to continue to come to me as you have today, so that I may have your aid in plotting my escape.”

  “But you cannot escape from here; it’s impossible!”

  “Would you have said that it was impossible for Père to escape de Chauliac’s men in Paris?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And was the plotting of it not exquisite?”

  “I must avow, it was a masterpiece of theater.”

  “Then take this challenge, and plot with me now. You have a sublime intelligence, and you can help me!”

  He stepped back from her for a moment but could not take his eyes from her.

  “All right,” he said quietly, “I will help you. God save me, but I cannot resist the intrigue.”

  She embraced him again, this time without pretense. And once more, she kissed him on the lips.

  “I will owe you a debt of such enormity that it will never be repaid.”

  “We shall see if that is true. Repayment often comes in surprising ways.”

  “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Now you must depart, for propriety’s sake. Come to me tomorrow. It will give me some time to think of how we might accomplish our intent.”

  He bowed slightly and began to turn. She caught his hand and placed it lightly on her chest.

  “Your heart—it beats wildly,” he said with genuine surprise.

  “Your kiss did this to me,” she told him. “There was no theater in it.”

  Six

  Caroline had squelched Tom’s suggestion that the suit be saved for a rainier day by pointing her finger in his face and suggesting that he himself go into a known hot zone without it. This was, in her opinion, a monsoon.

  Now one rigid black boot sat on the table; plastic crinkled as Janie unwrapped the other. She put it down next to its mate, then carefully folded the bag and set it aside. She grabbed the boots by the tops with one hand and placed them on the floor. “I forgot how heavy these things are,” she said.

  “Very,” Caroline said. “I can’t even imagine wearing them.” She turned and took another plastic bag from a hang-hook on the wall behind her, then reverently laid it out on the table surface. Janie went to one side of the table, Caroline to the other, and together they unzipped the bag from opposite sides. Caroline pulled back the front flap and stared at the green suit.

  She looked at Janie and said, “I remember my mother doing this with her wedding gown.”

  “Mine too,” Janie said with a dreamy fondness in her voice. “What was that blue paper supposed to do, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Keep it white, I guess. Didn’t they add something blue to the white laundry? Maybe it was the same kind of thing.”

  “It was probably just another wives’ tale.” A little laugh slipped in. “God alone knows what will turn out to be our wives’ tales a hundred years from now.”

  The rest of that sentiment remained unvoiced in Janie’s head: May it please the Force that there will still be wives’ tales a hundred years from now.

  “They’re bound to be doozies,” Caroline said. She sighed heavily. “Well, here we are, just like samurai women, preparing the armor for our warrior.”

  That sobering simile put an end to the girl talk. Janie skirted the edge of the table with quick, small steps and put her arms around Caroline. She felt her friend’s shoulders trembling. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered with the hug. “He’ll be okay.”

  Caroline wiped tears away and said, “He has to be. I can’t even think about what it would be like without him.”

  Janie tightened her hug but did not speak. The idea of their little tribe losing one of its adult males was not something she wanted to consider either.

  The map covered the central and western part of Massachusetts in fairly good detail. It was secured to a long wall on one side of the large meeting room, a space that had once hosted the board of overseers for Worcester Technical Institute. Above the map was a hand-lettered sign:

  THINK GLOBAL ACT LOCAL

  “Globally, locally,” the scar-faced man said to himself. He’d often wanted to correct it, but the sign had been there long before he arrived and it had seniority. He turned his attention back to the map.

  If I just stare at it long enough, let my vision just go where it will, mused the man, if I let that rapid eye movement thing take over, then some kind of pattern will appear, something to explain what’s happening.

  Dozens of yellow-tipped pushpins lived on this map, each one inserted at a poin
t where the probes had detected a positive result. The dates of discovery were printed neatly in small block letters beneath each pin.

  His eyes were tired. He wiped his hand downward over his face to revive himself and felt the hard tissue that had replaced his once-smooth skin.

  He pushed himself up from his chair and went to the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face and dried it with a towel, taking care not to rub too hard—cracks were a constant problem in his leathery skin. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and looked away quickly. He considered it a good thing that he didn’t come into contact with too many children, because he would surely frighten them. He frightened himself.

  My kingdom, such as it is, for a surgeon.

  His self-pity was interrupted by the sound of his assistant calling him.

  “Hey, boss, you all right?”

  “Fine,” he answered into the mirror. The word echoed back at him accusingly. A fine liar.

  “Just checking. We need you, don’t forget that. You’re the heart of this organization.”

  At their first encounter, Bruce would not have taken him for a geek; Fredo looked more like a biker bodyguard than a braniac. He was large and long-haired with a full mustache, and he had colorful tattoos running from his wrists to his elbows. His huge hands appeared to be a better match for a football than a trackball. When he walked into the ICU of the abandoned Boston hospital looking for spare computer parts, Fredo was wearing a leather vest festooned with all manner of studs and unidentified metal things. His voice was deep and scary.

  “Anyone home?”

  Bruce had remained hidden in his supply closet and watched as Fredo sat down at the nurse’s station and started opening drawers.

  After a time he’d stopped searching and, having found nothing of value, moved on to his next task, lunch. He pulled a hunk of bread from one pocket and tore off a piece of it with his teeth. He chewed with what appeared to Bruce to be annoyance.

  “I hate this eating-alone crap.”