The Apothecary Rose

So had he resolved to tell no one of his suspicion but Lucie Wilton. She needed to watch Nicholas. He'd dreaded telling her. But she'd taken it with remarkable calm.

Wulfstan trusted Lucie. But he was tormented by his own guilt in the deaths, his own carelessness.

And in this state, he did not welcome company. Yet he could hardly turn away one who carried a message from the Archbishop's physician.

When Owen entered the infirmary, Wulfstan looked up from his worktable, but his eyes did not meet Owen's.

Owen handed him the letter.

The monk's hands trembled as he broke the seal and read. He had a soft, kind face, red-cheeked and full. But Owen could see anxiety in the pale eyes. It was gone when he looked up from the note.

'Master Roglio. May the Lord bless him for remembering me. I did very little. A physick for the Archbishop.' Wulfstan frowned. 'I can't remember what exactly. I had all but the mandrake. Don't grow it here, you see. It is the devil's weed.' He rubbed the white bristles on his chin, wandering in memory.

'The Archbishop needed a painkiller?'

Pale eyes looked up, anxious once more. 'You know something of the craft, I see. Yes, mandragora for pain.'

It did not surprise Owen that the monk would be touchy. Two men had died in his care. But he'd hoped the man would be comfortable talking of what he knew. 'I am surprised you insisted on mandrake. Surely you grow monkshood — aconite?'

The monk blanched. 'Of course. But Master Roglio said the Archbishop's humours were too sanguine. Aconite would overheat him. So I sent to Wilton — he has a fine garden, most complete — for the powdered root and mixed the physick myself. Yes, that's how it went. And for so little Master Roglio remembers me’

'Master Wilton.' Owen nodded. 'I've met his wife. She mixed a salve for my eye.'

'Nicholas Wilton is fortunate in Lucie. She is quite competent.'

'I've no doubt. Her mixture was an improvement over what I'd gotten in Warwick.'

'You are in good hands.'

'My room at the York overlooks Wilton's garden. Do you often do business with him?'

Shoulders tensed. 'From time to time.' The monk bent to his work.

Owen glanced around the room. Bright and warm, perfumed by the physicks mixed at the monk's work-table and stored in pots and jars on the shelves above. The rushes on the floor were fresh and dry. At the moment there were no patients in the cots against the far wall.

'The brothers of St. Mary's are a robust lot, I see.'

'No more than usual. The spring bloodletting is coming up. It is always quiet before.'

'No one wants to face the leeches too often.'

Wulfstan gave him a slight smile. 'You are a student of human nature.'

'As Captain of Archers I needed to be.' Owen decided to take the plunge. 'I am glad to see that this winter's bout of illness has passed over.'

The red cheeks blotched. A nervous hand disturbed the pile of orris-root powder. A cloud rose up to Wulfstan's face- He sneezed into his sleeve, wiping his eyes. Coming out from behind the table, he sat down by Owen. 'How do you know of the illness here?¹

Owen shrugged. 'I listened to the gossip at the tavern last night, didn't 1? It is the way to learn about a city. Folk make note of two deaths, similar symptoms, within a month. One death means little. It was his time. But two deaths could mean three, four, a dozen’

Wulfstan rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, a tired, troubled man. 'Enough time has gone by that they know not to worry.' He shook his head. 'In any case, two deaths mean only that it was time for both of them. God in His goodness called both as pilgrims, in states of grace. Two such acts reveal His boundless benevolence.'

Owen shrugged. 'I presumed their deaths followed from travelling north in winter. I found it a difficult march, and I'm in good health.'

The light from the garden window lit the sweat on the monk's face. 'Of course that, too, is true. The first pilgrim was in no condition to travel. I think he knew that death might come for him here.'

Owen noted emotion in the old monk's voice. 'You knew him well?'

Wulfstan bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment before he answered. 'We became friends while I treated him.'

'That was the most difficult part for me in the camps. To lose a friend who was under my care.'

Wulfstan stared silently at the far wall, his eyes wet.

'Did it fall to you to inform his kin?' Owen asked gently.

That would be Abbot Campian's place. But as far as I know he came as a nameless pilgrim, an everyman.'

'He did not speak of his home to you?'

'He'd been a soldier for so long, I doubt he remembered his home.'

Owen nodded. 'That is a state I can well understand.'

'You are thoughtful for a soldier’

'I have a wound that changed my life.'

Wulfstan glanced at the patch with a sympathetic look.

'And the other pilgrim who died? Fitzwilliam. Did he, too, arrive ill?'

Wulfstan shook his head. 'A dissolute life caught up with him.' Then he looked hard at Owen. 'How did you know his name?'

'They spoke it last night. It was that caught my attention. He was in Lancaster's service, too. I was at Kenilworth when news of his death arrived.'

The monk tensed. 'What did they say of it?'

'That his enemies had been cheated out of killing him. Forgive me. I have brought up a subject that disturbs you.'

Wulfstan took a deep breath. 'It is not good for the abbey, the death of two pilgrims.'

'We heard only of Fitzwilliam's. And we assumed he'd been left for dead on the road by one of his enemies.'

Wulfstan bowed his head.

'He was a rogue’ Owen said. 'There was always talk of him’

'He had a wayward soul. Born under a dark star. That's what the folk around here would say of him’

'Did you know him well?'

'I knew of him. He spent much time here. But until this time he had managed to stay out of my infirmary’

'You did not like him’

'I did not know him’ Wulfstan's voice had an edge that warned he was at the end of his patience.

'Forgive me. I did not come here intending to pry.'

'No matter.'

Owen looked out at the medicinal garden. Lavender and santolina edged the beds, whose snowy blankets would be dark earth dotted with green shoots in a month.

He felt the Infirmarian's eyes on him,

'Master Roglio said I must make a study of the two great medicinal gardens in York — yours and Master Wilton's. I thought the medicinal garden at Kenilworth magnificent. Twice the size of this. But Roglio said it offered far less variety’

'We have a long tradition at St. Mary's. But the Wilton garden is the work of one man — Nicholas Wilton. It is his pride and joy. His masterwork, in fact. It was I the Guildmaster brought in to judge Nicholas's worthiness to be raised to Master Apothecary. I had no idea a layman would have access to the books he must have consulted. But I think he was already planning this when he was a student here.'

'He went to the abbey school?'

The guard went up again.

Owen wondered what Wulfstan feared he would ask.

'You must excuse me’ Wulfstan said. 'I have much work to do.' He rose.

Owen stood also. 'I am sorry to take your time. I look forward to seeing your garden in spring.'

Wulfstan frowned. 'You intend to be here so long?'

'I have come seeking work.' Owen touched the patch. 'One-eyed men do not make good soldiers, in my way of thinking,'

The eyes were sympathetic. 'Master Roglio could do nothing?'