“Is there no surgeon in Glastonbury who can couch your cataracts?”
“Nay. Brother Jerome is an herbalist of great wisdom, but he knows little of surgery, and even did he possess such skill, his hand now trembles with age. A year and more past a traveling surgeon visited Glastonbury. The man claimed competence in couching cataracts. I thought to seek him, but he departed the town but a few days after he arrived. His treatment of a town alderman failed.”
“Failed?”
“Aye. Went blind in the eye the fellow couched.”
“What then?”
“Gone next day, when it was known about the town what happened. Of course, when a man has cataracts so cloudy as mine, he is blind already, so it matters little whether the surgery succeed or not.”
“You would have sought relief from this surgeon even after his failure?”
“Aye. A woman of the town also went to him and she is pleased. Can’t see so well as when she was a lass, but better than if a shroud was hung always before her face.”
“Master Hugh be a surgeon,” Arthur said. He and Uctred had followed the conversation and as I had not told the monk of my training, Arthur decided it was his duty to make it known.
The monk turned to me, although was it his intent to study me for evidence of competence, the effort surely failed. The chamber was on the east side of the guest range, facing a yard which was enclosed by the dorter and refectory. Little light entered the space, even though the window was of glass. The darkness and his cataracts surely rendered Brother Alnett blind in such a place. Perhaps he turned to me of custom, behavior learned when he could yet see clearly, as an old man will turn to watch a winsome maid pass by, though the exercise will bring him scant satisfaction.
“A surgeon? I thought you were a bailiff.”
“I am both. An odd combination, I know, but ’tis so.”
“Do you treat men such as me for cataracts?”
“I have never done so. Such work was part of my training in Paris, but I’ve had no opportunity to practice the skill.”
“Paris? You trained in Paris?”
“For but one year. I lacked coin for further study.”
“The university there is renowned for training men who repair another’s broken body. I have heard much of the new methods taught there. Tell me, do you practice in the manner of de Chauliac or de Mondeville?”
“De Mondeville… although de Chauliac has much to teach us of mending human flaws and injuries.”
“But you have never couched a cataract?”
“Never. I observed surgeons at the university as they worked the remedy, that is all.”
“I cannot leave the abbey to seek treatment,” the monk sighed, “and no surgeon able to succor my affliction is likely again to visit. When the wandering surgeon appeared I thought ’twas an answer to my prayers… but not so.”
“Master Hugh will fix most any hurt a man can have,” Arthur claimed. “Seen ’im put a man’s skull back together after the fellow had an oak tree drop on ’is head. Well… I didn’t actually see ’im do it, you understand, but I see the fellow up an walkin’ about regular like, him bein’ Lord Gilbert’s verderer.”
Brother Alnett made no reply, but looked away into the dim corners of the chamber, as if there was some object there which required his study.
“I don’t know when another itinerant surgeon will visit Glastonbury. I am not a youth. I fear I will go to my grave blinded, never again to read a book or watch a goldfinch flit about the abbey orchard.”
I was cautious of my ability in dealing with cataracts, but Arthur felt no such reticence, as he was neither the sufferer nor the untried surgeon.
“No need to await another,” he said confidently. “Master Hugh can fix you up proper as any man can.”
“It would be a blessing can you do so,” the monk replied.
“Even when couching for cataracts is successful,” I warned, “vision is often poor.”
“Ah,” Brother Alnett smiled, “I do not wish to be twenty years of age again. But to read once more… I yearn for that. And Brother Andrew wears upon his nose the bits of glass and brass which allow an old man to read like a youth. If you can remove the veil from my eyes, I will seek such an aid for myself.”
I did not reply for a moment. I had come to Glastonbury Abbey seeking rest, not labor. And I feared that the work asked of me was beyond my competence. I saw couching done twice while in Paris, near four years past, but had never put my hand to the work. If I should attempt the business and succeed, I might bring much pleasure to Brother Alnett, but should I fail, I would lay much distress upon him.
I told him this. When I had finished my warning the monk was silent for a time, then spoke: “One eye, then… the worst. Work your craft upon my left eye, for that is cloudiest. Then, if you fail, I will be no more blind in my left eye than I am now. But if you succeed, then the reward will be worth the risk, and you may couch my other eye when you will.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Arthur and Uctred grinning broadly at me, as if the surgery were already complete and successful. It is a good thing when others have confidence in my skill, but not so when their expectation is beyond my competence. I feared this was such a time. I thought of an escape.
“Will the abbot approve? Will he accept an unknown surgeon poking about the eye of one of his brothers?”
“We will seek him and ask,” Brother Alnett said, and turned to the chamber door as he spoke. “Your companions may wait here for our return. Master Hugh, come with me.”
Brother Alnett found the stairs and descended with no hesitation. In the dark passageway I was uncertain when my feet might find the last step, but not so the monk. He did not stumble upon his way, but strode firmly to the door, reached unerringly for the latch, and lifted it for our passage.
The abbot’s lodge at Glastonbury is grand, as befits the head of one of the richest houses in the realm, second only to Westminster in its lands and tithes. I did pause to wonder, though, how men who had taken vows of poverty could live so well. In my youth, while yet a scholar at Balliol College, I asked this of a monk, a Benedictine. He replied that the wealth of a monastery belonged to God, not the brothers who inhabited the place. As God had no need of gold and jewels and rich tapestries, his servants felt free to use them. Cistercians take a different view.
The monks had but a short time earlier completed nones, so we arrived at the abbot’s hall as he and the prior approached from the direction of the church.
Brother Alnett heard their approach, guessed who it was, bowed respectfully, and introduced me to the abbot, Walter de Moynyngton. The abbot is a severe, thin-faced, somber-appearing fellow, and greeted me with a scowl. I did not take this personally. He seemed to me a man who received all in the same manner.
“Master Hugh,” Brother Alnett continued, “has sought lodging in the guest-house, with two companions. He travels to…” The monk turned helplessly to me.
“Exeter.”
“Master Hugh is bailiff for Lord Gilbert Talbot on his Bampton estate.” I saw the abbot’s lip curl in distaste. “And is also a surgeon, trained in Paris.” The lip seemed to relax.
Brother Alnett hesitated, and the abbot turned to enter his hall, assuming, I suppose, that the introduction was done.
“He knows how to couch a cataract,” Brother Alnett continued hurriedly. “Saw it done in Paris when he studied there.”
All this time neither the abbot nor his companion spoke, but after this announcement the abbot turned and, with a frown, examined the hopeful face of Brother Alnett.
“You wish this surgeon to seek to clear your vision?”
“Aye, m’lord abbot.”
The abbot dismissed Brother Alnett with a wave of his hand. “As you wish. You have my permit.”