Clement considered this as he sipped his wine. ‘I have never seen this yellow variety, where the bodily humours are stained with bile,’ he admitted. ‘There are many sorts of fever, as everyone knows, and some seem to pass easily from person to person. But this present ailment is outside my experience.’
‘You know there has been an outbreak in the city, with five dead already?’
The physician nodded. ‘I had heard that, but they were down in the poorer area of the town, I understand. Where living conditions are bad, then it seems that whatever poison causes it can spread more easily.’
‘Is there nothing that can be done to limit the spread of this sickness?’ demanded John. ‘With more than four thousand people crammed inside these walls, there could be devastation!’
The physician raised his hands helplessly. ‘As no one knows the cause or how it is spread, what can we do? I think the power of prayer is our only defence. We must throw ourselves on the mercy of God the Father and His Blessed Son and Virgin Mother.’
At this, the doctor crossed himself, reminding de Wolfe of his clerk’s almost obsessional habit — and confirming the fact that Clement of Salisbury was an extremely devout man. Matilda growled in agreement and imitated the physician by making the sign of the cross herself. John noted that Cecilia said nothing and did not join them in their fervent religious gestures.
‘I have heard the plague being blamed on an excess of rats about the place, as is more common in slums like Bretayne,’ he persisted, doggedly determined to squeeze any useful information out of this professional man. Again, he failed to get any satisfaction, for Clement replied that though it was possible, these distempers could arise anywhere, whether there were rats or not. As without exception those ubiquitous vermin were everywhere, this was hardly useful. Even in this house, old Brutus caught at least one every day, usually in the kitchen or yard, but sometimes in this very hall.
Mary came in with the first ‘remove’ of the meal, balancing a tray heaped with food. Matilda, with a scowl at her husband to get him out of his chair, conducted her guests to the long table of dark oak and sat them together on a side bench, while she and John took the one opposite. He promptly rose again to fetch a pitcher of different wine from a side table, and while he was refilling his looted glasses Mary began placing dishes on the table. For a small gathering like this, there were only three removes and each consisted of three dishes, from which the diners could choose what they wanted. Again, Matilda had insisted on using pewter plates instead of the usual trenchers of thick bread. There were horn spoons at each place, but everyone also used the small eating-knife they always carried, together with their fingers. There were bowls of lavender-scented water on the table, together with napkins to wipe their hands. Mary was an excellent cook, though she received nothing but grumbles and criticisms from her mistress. This evening, she had started with pastries filled with beef marrow, a large platter of boiled mutton slices and a brewet of veal pieces with a spiced sauce of pounded crayfish tails.
The physician seemed very fond of his food, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the cook-maid’s efforts. ‘A most attractive menu,’ he enthused as he helped his wife to slices of mutton and a couple of the small pastries.
‘She does her best, poor girl,’ said Matilda deprecatingly, which was an insult to Mary’s prowess, especially as she had to cook everything with the primitive facilities of the shed in the yard, which was also her sleeping quarters.
Eating took precedence over conversation, and the food rapidly vanished. The brewet of veal was especially popular, the sauce being provided in small dishes at each place, into which the diners dipped their right little finger to spread upon the meat. Before the harassed Mary could bring in the next course, there was time for more talk and Clement expounded upon his medical practice.
‘Salisbury was too small to contain an ambitious doctor like me,’ he declaimed. ‘I needed to offer myself to a wider clientele, and Exeter is famed for its burgeoning prosperity.’
‘My husband has a chamber in Goldsmith Street where patients can consult him,’ offered Cecilia, delicately wiping sauce from her finger with a linen cloth. ‘Already he has a substantial practice.’
‘Entirely among the better class of citizen, of course,’ added Clement. Matilda murmured her approval, but John was determined to put a brake upon the doctor’s conceit.
‘Perhaps you could spare some of your undoubted talents to helping the less fortunate as well,’ he suggested. ‘I’m sure that Brother Saulf at St John’s Hospital would welcome your expertise with some of his poor sufferers down there.’
The physician put on a doleful expression. ‘I would like to do that; it would no doubt be an act of Christian charity,’ he said sententiously. ‘But unfortunately my practice is growing so rapidly that I would have little time to spare — but I will try to assist them when circumstances allow.’
He went on to speak more honestly. ‘Also, I fear that my patients, who come from the higher levels of county society, might not look with favour on the possibility of my carrying contagion to them from the legion of ailments from which the poorer classes suffer.’
Matilda nodded in agreement, but de Wolfe again noticed that Cecilia made no effort to support her husband’s selfish attitude.
‘So you also wish to keep well clear of any victims of this yellow distemper?’ observed John with a harder edge to his voice, which made his wife glare at him.
The elegant doctor made a deprecating gesture. ‘What purpose would it serve? There is nothing I or anyone else can do to help. As I said, it is in the hands of God, whose ways are mysterious.’
Any developing dispute was avoided by Mary returning with a large platter of grilled trout and a dish of capons’ legs, which the diners seized upon with relish. The cook-maid took away used dishes and returned with a pudding of rice boiled in milk with saffron and raisins, together with fresh bread, butter and cheese. All this occupied them for a further hour, including John’s further ministrations with a wineskin of white Loire and a flask of strong brandy-wine. When they eventually left for their short walk home, the physician seemed a little unsteady on his feet, but nonetheless effusive with his appreciation of their hospitality. John thought somewhat cynically that his excessive zeal for religion did not diminish his fondness for good food and drink. Cecilia also thanked them, less enthusiastically, but quite charmingly, for their kindness, and for once Matilda was smiling smugly as they at last said their farewells to their guests at the front door. The moment it closed, however, her amiable mask slipped immediately.
‘It would have been a perfect occasion tonight but for your constant ogling of that poor lady!’ she snapped. ‘Cecilia is too refined and genteel to have men like you lusting after her.’
As she turned away from him to lumber off towards the solar and her bed, John felt his fingers aching to settle around her fleshy neck, to release him for ever from her mean-spirited nature.
CHAPTER THREE
Soon after a grey November dawn, when the cathedral bells were ringing for Prime, the coroner made another call upon the sheriff and brought him up to date with the events surrounding the bizarre killing of Nicholas Budd. Then he went across to his chamber in the gatehouse, where he found Gwyn and Thomas huddled over the brazier. The wind had dropped outside, and it was marginally warmer but still miserable.
‘A lot to do today,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘We’ve got the Shire Court first, though that should be disposed of quickly. Then there are hangings to attend out on Magdalen Street as well as this murder to pursue.’ As he stood rubbing his hands above the charcoal glowing in the iron bucket, he sensed that Thomas was itching to say something.