‘What deterred you? I prescribe regular exercise to all my patients. Now, turn round to the light.’ He ran his fingers over my upper back and neck and his touch was gentle but firm — like a woman’s.
‘Tell me, rather, how you came to leave the life of holy contemplation for this squalid haunt of whores and other outcasts,’ I said.
‘Did not Christ himself live among whores and outcasts? This may hurt a little.’ He pressed firmly on the broken bone. ‘This is what we medical men call the clavicula. It is particularly vulnerable to fracture but mends itself readily. What we have to do is make sure that it is straight when it reknits. You don’t want that fine physique marred by a crooked shoulder, do you? So we just tighten this binding a bit… like this.’ I winced as he did so.
‘Three weeks should see it completely mended,’ he continued, ‘though you should wait a little longer before you draw a bow again.’
‘You avoided my question,’ I said.
‘How came I here? I was the infirmarian at Farnfield for more than twenty years. Looking after the health of a community of men — many of them aged — provides one with a wide knowledge of simples and poultices, broken bones and fevers, herbs and tinctures. I had a good teacher and I also read the standard texts — Galen, Mundinus, even some of the Arab anatomists in Latin translation. But we were a small house and getting smaller, year by year. It’s hard to recruit novices these days. Young Jed — he was my companion on the road the other day — was the last to join us. Our prior was old and close to death. So, when Master Cromwell sent his commissioners out, Farnfield was ripe for the picking. We were all offered generous bribes to abandon our vows and threatened with being accused of unnatural vices if we refused. We took the easy option.’
‘But why come here?’
Longbourne shook his head. ‘That’s enough of my story for one day. Let’s get your shirt back on. I’ve a sling here for your arm and a tonic of mugwort that will rebuild your strength.’ He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You could say it was mugwort, or Artemisia, that brought us together. Jed and I were out gathering roots along the roadside on Tuesday when we came upon you.’
‘What day is it now?’
‘Saturday. You had a bad concussion but, God willing, there is no reason to fear permanent damage.’
‘Then, I may go home?’
‘Whenever you wish — though I would counsel another two days of rest to build up your strength. Jed makes a very efficacious chicken broth with leeks, and the women keep a good pottage on the go. Your horse is not yet rideable. He’s been reshod and I’ve poulticed his pastern. Come Monday he should be fit for duty again.’
‘You’ve taken a deal of trouble. I’m sorry I took you for a common highway thief.’
Longbourne was busy repacking his knapsack. ‘You had reason. ’Tis not for nothing Southwark has its reputation. There are many of our neighbours who would have cut your throat for the clothes you stood up in. But not all men are bad and most men are not all bad and no man is so bad as to be beyond redemption. You might want to think on that.’ He shouldered his bag and left. Once more I heard the door being bolted.
Still a prisoner, then, despite the apothecary’s assurance. I prowled the room, looking in vain for some means of escape. Manoeuvring through the window with one arm was out of the question. There were two doors but one led only to a tiny latrine closet. The stench suggested that the bucket had not been emptied for days and I quickly shut the door again. Sitting on a rickety chair beside a small table (these were the only items of furniture besides the bed), I assessed my situation. Should I watch for a chance to break free of my confinement or trust these strange people? How much easier it would have been, I reflected, if Ned and Jed had been murderous ruffians; if they had despatched me and thus reunited me with Jane.
I was still nursing these melancholy thoughts when the woman came in. She set down on the table a kettle, from it ladled soup into a wooden bowl and plonked a small loaf of grey maslin bread beside it. It looked and smelled good and I stared at it.
‘Well, eat it,’ the woman said, hands on hips. ‘Or perhaps you think it’s poisoned.’
‘Would that it were,’ I muttered.
‘Oh!’ She gave a light laugh. ‘Weary of life today, are we? In that case I won’t waste good food.’ She stooped to retrieve the bowl.
‘No,’ I said hurriedly, taking up the spoon. ‘Thank you for the soup.’ I began to eat hungrily.
‘I’m sorry if I appeared ungrateful yesterday,’ I mumbled, not catching her eye.
‘You did not appear ungrateful; you were ungrateful.’ She shrugged. ‘But that’s no less than we’re used to.’
‘I don’t know your name,’ I said, trying to thaw the atmosphere.
‘Lizzie.’
‘Just Lizzie?’
‘We have no use for family names here. We’re all family.’
Now that I could see her more clearly I realised that this young woman was quite pretty — in a basic sort of way. No vulgar stain coloured her lips. Her cheeks still had the bloom of youth and needed no creams. There was about her a strong smell of rosewater, presumably another concoction of Master Longbourne. Southwark had yet to turn her into a jaded bawd.
‘Your apothecary suggested I might walk free,’ I ventured. ‘Yet I see the door is still kept locked.’
‘There’s too much of the monk about old Ned.’ She scowled. ‘He says, because you’re a gentleman, you’ll see us right. Well, I don’t set no store by gentlemen. You see this?’ She pulled her hair back and turned her head to the light, revealing a long, livid scar across her neck. ‘That was done by a gentleman. Gentle is as gentle does in my reckoning. We aren’t a charity. I’ve given up several customers these last days, looking after you. Well, I deserve payment for my services, don’t I?’
‘Of course.’ I finished the soup and held out the bowl for a refill. ‘As soon as I get home I’ll have money sent to you.’
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh yes, my fine merchant. Part with the goods now and accept payment later? Is that the way you do business? When you walk through that door that’s the last I see of you, isn’t it?’
‘Then come with me and collect your fee in person.’
‘And have your servants send me off with a flea in my ear? I don’t think so.’
‘Lizzie, I don’t know what else to suggest. There has to be trust somewhere.’
‘What I trust is silver with the king’s head on it — here!’ She held out her hand.
I could see her point. The question was whether I could make her see mine. I seized the hand and held it. ‘Look, we seem to have made a bad start. I’m sorry. Blame the bang on my head. You ask how I do business. Well, the answer is only with people I trust. And I find that trust breeds trust. That whole city over the water has its foundations in trust. Without trust London would not be one of the greatest trade centres in the world. I owe you a debt. You and your friends probably saved my life. I will honour that debt. Trust me. Please.’
She withdrew her hand but her frown had gone. She looked thoughtful. I tried to read the thoughts behind her dark eyes and she quickly turned away. Then she stood suddenly. ‘Very well. I’ll probably regret this but I’m prepared to put your “honour” to the test. Come with me and I’ll show you something. Make a run for it and I’ll know what a sham your “honour” is.’
She led me out into a corridor that had been formed by reducing the size of what had once been interconnecting rooms so that each chamber now had its own door and enjoyed privacy. We descended the original wide staircase into a hall where half a dozen women sat huddled around a hearth in which logs blazed. An outer door led into the courtyard, which we crossed to the main gateway and so passed out, under the creaking signboard with its image of a mitred saint, into a busy, narrow street.