Matilda Bone (3 page)

The rain had stopped for a time, and the square was packed with people, bundled up in woolen scarves and gloves, buying and selling, begging and thieving. Never before had Matilda been to a market. Her nose filled with the smell of beeswax candles, fine perfumes, onions, and nutmeg. She pulled her cloak tighter against the wind as she paused to watch the magicians, acrobats, and jugglers. She lingered at the silk stall and the leather booths, lost in the sights and sounds and smells, until her stomach rumbled a loud, hungry rumble. A
chicken,
she thought. It was not Lent, and she was not fasting today. Father Leufredus would approve of a chicken.
Let us have a chicken, then, fat and juicy and golden from the fire.

She turned toward the Poultry, where chickens lashed together by their feet hung squawking and wriggling from the beams of the stalls. "How much for a chicken?" she asked the poultryman.

"Three pennies."

It was all she had. There would be no bread or cabbage. She thought again of the chicken, roasted golden.

"One chicken," she said. "Kindly kill it and pluck it clean."

The poultryman laughed. "You bought it, you kill and pluck it," he said, handing her a chicken by its feet. She reached out warily to grab it. The chicken squawked, Matilda squealed, and she dropped it as though it were on fire. The chicken made its escape amid baskets of duck feet and wild partridges.

"Where are my pennies?" asked the poultryman.

"Where is my chicken?" asked Matilda softly as she walked quickly away. The poultryman cursed loud and vulgar curses as he jumped over the duck feet in his haste to get his chicken back.

"Obviously God did not intend for us to have a chicken for dinner. Perhaps something easier and already dead," said Matilda to herself. She headed back to Fish Street to find a fishmonger's stall.

There were so many kinds of fish. "I need for dinner some fish that is fresh and cheap," she said to the pock-faced man at the stall.

"Do you know much about fish?" asked the fishmonger, looking hard at her.

"Oh, yes," said Matilda. "Fish escaped God's curse on the earth by dwelling in the water and thus are blessed among living things. The fish is the symbol of Saint Peter, who was a fisherman, and Saint Zeno of Verona. We are allowed to eat fish during Lent and on other fast days when meat is forbidden."

"But do you know what fish is good to eat?"

"No," Matilda admitted.

"Then it is your happy fortune that you came to me, for some others would try to cheat you. You can trust me." The fish man smiled a smile empty of teeth but full of guile. "The best fish for eating is the eel, and," he said, lowering his voice, "I have a special one here. See how big his head is—means he was sharp-witted and wise. Eating a wise fish makes
you
wise. And his skin is that mottled brown that means he is ripe. I will give you this eel for ... how much do you have?"

"Three pennies."

He shook his head. "This eel is worth much more than three pennies. I cannot sell it for so little. Oh, well," he said, with a great sigh, "you look so little and so hungry. Here, take it for three pennies. Take it and go. Quickly. Quickly. And show no one, for they will all rush to my stall looking for a bargain to equal yours." He took her pennies, wrapped the eel in wet grass, and handed it to Matilda.

She stepped back. "It smells so strongly offish," she said.

"Strong smell means fresh fish," said the fishmonger. "Do you not know the saying?"

Matilda shook her head, took her eel, and left.

On her way back to Peg's, near as tortuous a route as that she had taken to the market, people crossed the road to avoid walking near her, but she did not notice as she was occupied pretending to be Saint Doucelina floating three feet off the ground in ecstasy.

As she turned onto Frog Road, she saw a crowd following behind an impressive-looking man in black sur-coat lined with fur and embroidered red shoes. At his waist was a leather belt, from which dangled a small book bound in gold and russet. He looked learned. And worthy. And clean.

"Who," she asked one of the crowd, "is that man?"

"It is Theobald, the physician," she was answered.

"Master Theobald the Wonderworker," said someone else. And yet another person said, "It is that Theobald who saved the Lord Mayor's life by dosing him with pepper and spikenard and sitting on his stomach."

Matilda watched him with awe.

He was approached by a well-padded woman—a goose girl, perhaps, or a butcher's wife—with a broad red face, strong teeth, and feet like mandolins. "Master Theobald," the woman said, "I am come again to beseech you. You say I am not worthy to physick. Then teach me. Or assist me. Or—"

"I do not teach those who can read neither Latin nor the stars," the master physician said, wrapping his cloak about him. "Nor those who are loud or blasphemous. Nor women." The crowd murmured in agreement.

"I have just seen a woman give birth to a dead son and three days later follow him to Heaven or Hell," the red-faced woman responded. "I dosed and cleansed, patched and prodded, watched and listened, held her and sang as sweetly as I could. I used massage, rare stones, tansy wine, holy amulets, prayer, everything I know. For nothing. Her life poured out of her with the blood that drenched her pallet. How would your reading and your Aristotle have changed that?"

"I believe the answer must lie in the stars. Perhaps she chose to begin her labor at an ill-omened moment—"

"
Chose!
As if a woman could choose when to begin labor!"

The man turned to leave. "Wait, Master Theobald. Wait," the woman called. His steps slowed. "I am sorry for my temper. Let us say perhaps she did choose to begin labor at a less than propitious time. What then could I have done to save her? Help me! Teach me!"

"Read Galen and Aristotle," he said as he walked away.

"Galen and Aristotle," she muttered. "If he wants to know whether a frog has teeth, does he read Aristotle and Galen on frogs? I want to know what
he
knows, not what dead men have said."

Matilda watched the physician disappear, the goose girl calling, "Master Theobald! Master!" as she ran after him. Father Leufredus always said, "Learned authority is more true than mere experience." No doubt that was what made this Master Theobald a great man. Anyone could look in the frog's mouth.

Matilda sighed.
Would that I had been sent as attendant to this great and learned doctor instead of the loud and unholy Peg,
she thought as she walked on.

"What do we have for dinner?" asked Peg when Matilda returned.

"Eel," said Matilda, flopping it onto the table.

"And what else? Cabbage? Onions? Parsley? Bread?"

"Just eel, Mistress Peg. It took all the pennies, but I made a good bargain." She unwrapped the fish.

The door opened and closed. "What is that loathsome smell?" asked a voice Matilda had heard before. It was the goose girl from the street.

"Dinner, dear Margery," said Peg, "purchased by my new and useless helper, who hasn't the wit to know rotten fish." Peg shoved Matilda forward.

Matilda's face burned. She longed to hide, be gone, vanish altogether.

"Were you not put off by the reek?" Peg asked her. "Strong smell means fresh fish, he said," Matilda told Peg.

"He said this was fresh?"

"Yes, Mistress Peg."

"A fresh eel has a white belly, a small head, glistening skin, and a mild salty smell. This eel was neither sound when alive nor edible now." She shook her head. "How much did he ask for it?"

"Three pennies."

"And how much did you pay?"

"Three pennies!"

"For that reeking eel? You were cheated mightily." Peg sighed. "Never give what is asked at first. And never buy an eel with a big head. Throw this into the alley for the cats. We will have porridge for dinner."

Matilda opened the door. She wished to disappear into the alley with the stinking fish. To be made to do lowly things, and then to fail! She sighed loudly as she tossed the fish out, slammed the door, and turned back toward Peg and the goose girl.

Peg poured grains and water into a kettle and hung it over the fire for a porridge. "This," said Peg to Matilda as she stirred, "is our physician, Margery Lewes—a woman, of course, for no true physician would work here on the alley with barbers and bonesetters."

"True physicians work where the streets are cleaner, the houses larger, and the fees bigger," said Margery, laughing a laugh like the screech of a rusty cart wheel as she sat down on the bench.

"But woman though she be," Peg continued, "she is physician indeed. Have you fever or boils? Fallen arches or wambly gut? Marg here can mend them all."

A physician! Matilda measured the woman with her eyes the way Peg had measured the rope for the pulley. The short, stout Margery could not possibly be a physician! No wonder her patient had died.

"Tell me, sweet Margery," Peg said, placing bowls and spoons on the table, "what comes of your wooing of the great Theobald?"

"Little enough. I saw him just a few moments ago and chased him through half the streets of this town, begging and cajoling, to no use. Theobald will not help me, nor send me patients, nor agree to offer whatever instruction he thinks I need. God's wounds!" Margery said, banging her fist on the table so that the spoons danced. "It is bad enough I must go crawling to Theobald because he is the city's leading physician, but worse to be turned away. I will speak no more of this. Tell me some news."

"Old Agnes sold a love potion to the sheriff and was taken as a witch," Peg said.

Margery frowned. "Perhaps more cheerful news."

"I saw Nathaniel Cross at the butcher's in the east market yestermorn. He and Sarah have taken in yet another stray cat and her kittens."

Matilda stood listening. What kind of place was this? she wondered. Blood and Bone Alley. Goose girls who masquerade as physicians. People who consort with cats. Matilda could hear the cats outside the door fighting over the eel she had thrown there. She hated cats. Father Leufredus said a cat was more likely a witch than an animal and refused to bless a house with a cat in it.
Saliva mucusque!
she thought.
Do these peo-pie know nothing of the Devil and his creatures? For certain the air will be corrupted and we will fall dead in fevers and consumptions.
Matilda crossed herself. And then again.

"Don't you be mocking Nathaniel, Marg my dear," Peg was saying. "I warrant his gooseberry liniment and sweet temper have done more to soothe the aches and pains of this town than all my pushing and pulling."

"You ever did have a sweet spot for Nathaniel, Peg."

"In truth I do, for his is the best soul God ever made." Peg turned to Matilda. "Nathaniel has suffered much these last years. His good wife is sore sickly, and his own eyes are failing him, yet still he is sweet and comforting as honey wine. But as Margery knows well, my Tom is the only man for me." Peg patted Margery on her arm. "Mayhap you, dear Marg, should start looking for a man of your own. Might dull that sharp tongue of yours."

Saint Paul did say it was better to marry than to burn,
thought Matilda,
although who would ever marry that goose girl I do not know.
She snorted as she pictured this Margery bedecked in bridal finery.

Peg and Margery looked at Matilda, who felt her cheeks flame. Margery cleared her throat and said, "Good day to you, Peg. And good fortune. She seems a bit unusual, your pious new servant girl."

"The cook fire is calling the candle hot, dear Margery," said Peg with a laugh.

Margery winked, turned, and left, kicking up little dust storms as she hurried to the door. Matilda frowned at her departing back. Servant girl? She was here to attend to Peg, not to be a scullion.

Peg looked at Matilda's frown and said tartly, "Mistress Margery, whatever you may think, is twice the physician, three times the person, and at least four times a better soul than that person who calls himself Master Theobald or any other hundred people I could name."

"Of course, Mistress Peg," Matilda said.
I sincerely doubt it, Mistress Peg,
Matilda thought.

Alkelda Weaver from Acorn-under-Bridgewater brought in her baby daughter, whose right leg had been broken in a fall from her cradle some months before. The leg had been set by the village barber but was healing crookedly, so the right foot pointed west while the left pointed north. It was so cold in the shop that ice shone in the cracks on the wall, and the cracks in Peg's work-worn hands bled; still, she examined the baby's tiny bones slowly and gently.

"Why do you trouble yourself about such matters?" Matilda asked hesitantly as Peg moved the right foot back and forward. "Could you not call on the saints for help? Saints Victor and Peter and Servais are said to be excellent for foot trouble. Surely they would cure her, were it God's will."

"God gave me this brain and these hands to
do
His will, I think," said Peg, "and by Saint Elmo's elbow, I plan to do my best."

Matilda frowned in confusion. She could find nothing to dispute in Peg's statement, yet she felt sure that Father Leufredus would not agree with it.

"Watch what I do," Peg said to Matilda. She rubbed the child's leg with colewort ointment, goose grease, and ginger, then pulled and pushed. "We must loosen the joint that has healed crooked and get her foot used to turning another way." Peg sang over and over, "Tumbling toadflax and pimpernel, soon your leg will be all well," but the little girl cried with pain.

Matilda was appalled.
Dear Saint Hippolytus, who knew suffering,
she prayed,
please deliver this child from her torture at the hands of the bonesetter.
But the saint replied,
You consider this torture? Why, I was tied by my feet to a team of horses and dragged through thistles and thorns. That was torture! This is healing. Watch and learn.

So Matilda watched, and finally it was over. Peg told Alkelda Weaver, "Bring her to see me every week, and mayhap we can have the right foot facing northwest at the least." Then she set out the remains of the bread and sausage for mother and daughter.