Time and Tide (23 page)

Hew wished that Giles would not dwell on the blackened limbs, which did little, as it seemed, to reassure the crowd.

‘This sickness, then,' continued Giles, ‘is called the holy fire. Which is the name that we have given to that febrile sickness called the rose, for this other was unknown here.'

‘Until now,' said Robert Wood.

‘Until now,' acknowledged Giles. ‘It was also known of old as St Antony's fire, because the monks of that order had some skill in curing it. And why was that?'

‘Because it was the devil caused it,' someone else suggested. ‘And it is the devil brings it to us now.'

‘Tsk. We cannot count the monks a force against the devil,' put in the man from Holy Trinity. ‘Or we might cure it now, by our own more honest prayer.'

‘There is no cause to cure it, for the risk is passed,' insisted Giles. ‘Yet I am interested to know what led to their success, for as far as I can tell it was no art or medicine they employed, but rather . . .'

‘A more potent form of magic,' came a murmur from the baxters, which Giles chose to ignore. ‘They took the afflicted into their monasteries, and there they were themselves immune to the affliction, which leads me to suppose that it was not infectious. Indeed, I am persuaded it was not what they did, but something they did not do there, that brought about the cure.'

‘You are too diffuse, and too mysterious,' Hew whispered. ‘Take them to the point.'

‘I come to it. I am persuaded, it was something that their patients ate or drank, that was different from the matter that the monks ate or drank, that brought about recovery. The monastery was selfsufficient, and had its own supplies. Well then, what? I asked myself. The notion that the sickness came in food or drink is there in Jacob's letters, and I sense that he suspected it. For here he says,
We sailed up coast to Rotterdam, for casks of Rhenish wine. The schippar and his friends ate well that night. The meat and bread were fresh . . . I made my small supper of biscuit and salt
. . . and here,
It began with Frans Hanssen, the wine merchant, who suffered flux and creeping of the flesh, and burning in his limbs.
Something, I would hazard, that they ate or drank, and that the whole crew did not eat or drink, at least at first. The cabin boy, Joachim, was last to be afflicted. What was it that they ate, they did not give to him?'

‘Wine?' suggested Hew. The doctor shook his head. ‘Tainted wine is foul. And likewise, when we feast on tainted flesh, though we sweeten it with spices, yet we know tis rotten by the taste and scent. We know our food is rank, when we see the little worms. Whatever
it was that they ate, they had not suspected it. What was it then, in common use, that did not taste amiss, and yet was not consumed in common on a ship? Something that was plain, and yet was somehow fresh. Jacob told us, he ate biscuit bread and salt, and he was not afflicted, not at first. I asked myself, what was it, they ate on that ship, that nothing has remained of it, no single scrap or crumb. And then I came to thinking of the
Kreuterbuch
.'

‘And what is that?' demanded Andrew Wood, impatient for an ending to the tale.

‘It is a book of herbs by Adam Lonicer, who is the chief physician in the town of Frankfurt – I spoke of him before, when you paid little heed,' Giles said aside to Hew. ‘As some of you may know, my wife just recently has had a child; a few may be aware she suffers from the falling sickness.'

Hew wondered why on earth his friend would mention that, at such an awkward time, and frowned at him. Giles continued, unperturbed. ‘In the months that led to the confinement, I was greatly exercised, in finding any physic that might help her in her pains. And to this end, I wrote to Adam Lonicer, and he was kind enough to write to me. I have a copy of his latest
Kreuterbuch
, in which he talks of Kornzapfen
–
that is a little cone, that grows inside the grain – a grain of corn like this –' he held up the sheaf, ‘save that this is barley, and no doubt his was rye, which is not quite so common in these parts. This little corn of grain he says the midwives use, to ease a woman's childbirth and make strong the womb. I wrote to Adam Lonicer, to ask him where and how this grain core might be used, to which he gave a caution, that using in excess provokes the symptoms that I have described to you, as holy fire. And he sent me the case notes of a poor woman who had died most painfully in childbed in this way, on which account I set aside his book, and did discount the grain, as any use to Meg. But the symptoms he describes were the self same symptoms Jacob has described in his letter from the ship. And so I ask, again, what is such a common food that no one would suspect it, and yet is scarce upon a ship, so
that they kept it from the cabin boy? The answer is
fresh bread
.' Giles held up his loaf. ‘My theory is, the blight that killed the sailors was present in the corn, that they baked into their bread.'

There was a moment's heavy pause, before Patrick Honeyman rose roaring to his feet. ‘
Bread
?'

‘It looks like one of yours,' James Edie put in dryly. ‘For at least, for certain, it is not one of mine.'

It was a peculiar irony, reflected Hew, and a particular misfortune, that the loaf that Giles had brought up from the kitchen as his prop had chanced to bear the stamp of Patrick Honeyman.

‘You misunderstand me,' Giles responded hurriedly. ‘I do not mean to say it was
your
bread . . .'

He offered too little too late, for the cry had already rung out, ‘He says it is the baxters, the baxters who have poisoned us!'

Giles protested faintly, ‘I do not say that at all.'

But the room was in an uproar. He had lost control.

As Honeyman loomed dangerously, Hew's eyes were drawn to the far side of the room, where a group of students passed from hand to hand some object they kept hidden underneath their cloaks. Hew could not tell what it was. It came to rest at last with George Buchanan, who accepted it reluctantly. He stood a moment, wretchedly, and held the object close, until his friends propelled him forwards and he opened up his hand. Hew watched the drama build, a series of small incidents impressed upon his mind, like the vague reflections of a dim and distant dream, which bore no sense or meaning for the present place or time. George Buchanan lifted up his arm, and launched his missile – later, it transpired, a Honeyman bread roll – in a perfect arc, before the words of warning could settle on Hew's lips. And for a second, as he threw, the boy's glance crossed with Hew's, an actor's comic mimicry of horror, guilt and fear. The bread roll rose and soared. It struck the bailie Honeyman, even as he glowered, his grim and heavy menace coming close to Giles. Honeyman fell forward with a little grunt. He staggered to his feet, and turning with a roar, felled the man behind him with the full force of his fist. A second man rose up to answer for his friend, and knocked the fleshy baxter whimpering to the ground. And in a heartbeat, all the baxters fell to pummelling, as fierce and heavy battle broke out in the hall. George stood pale and gawping at the carnage he had caused. Benches were upturned, and someone seized the lectern from the stage to hurl the whole thing bodily, clean across the room. Andrew Wood
withdrew his sword, and blustered ineffectually. He was not heard above the din. A rain of bread and buttons showered above the hall, collected from the lining in the students' coats. The students and the baxters fell out into the night, and spilled onto the cloisters beneath the gaping moon, where the battle ranks split up and gathered strength. Close combat had commenced, between the college and the town.

‘Make fast the gate and keep them here, and I will fetch the guard,' panted Andrew Wood. The students stormed the dormitories, and from the upper windows scattered ink and books, pouring out the water pots onto the green below. From the kitchens, they emerged with sacks of flour and eggs, and the baxters were anointed with the raw tools of their trade, baffled and bewildered by the cloud of wheaten dust, lashing out and thundering, thrashing left and right. They were a steady match for the sheer, delighted fury of the boys. The fight was stilled at last, by the return of Andrew Wood with soldiers from the garrison, and a single, bitter pistol shot, blasted at the moon, that blew away the clouds that hung above the square. The students and the baxters stopped and stood aghast, their floured and bloody faces ashen in the gloom.

Andrew Wood said brusquely, ‘I will rout these people out into the street, if you round up your students.' The baxters were dispersed, and the college gates were closed once more upon the night.

It took a little time to gather in the students, and settle them again into their former groups. Beneath the dirt and bruising, restless faces shone, exhausted and exhilarated in their battle lines. Hew sent Bartie Groat for cloths and bandages; the mathematician fluttered round the close, like an agitated moth trapped inside a lamp, and as little use, thought Hew. ‘Dear, dear,' said Bartie weakly, ‘it cannot do us good to be standing in this air.'

‘We shall stand here,' answered Hew, ‘until all are accounted for.' He saw no sign of Giles.

Gradually, the roar died down. The students clustered meekly as the scale of their delinquency began to dawn on them. A hundred
watchful eyes were turned to Hew. The regents reported, ‘All found, except for George Buchanan and Professor Locke.'

Hew suppressed his fear, calling through the ranks – impossible, it still seemed, not to think of them as troops – ‘Has anyone seen George Buchanan? George?'

A student answered meekly, ‘I do not think, sir, that he left the hall.' He spoke it in the Latin, anxious now to please. The words seemed strangely comical against his flour-stained face. They were boys, not savages, thought Hew. ‘Take them to their rooms,' he ordered his regents, and see them safely settled for the night. Our inquest on this matter will keep until the morn.'

As the students trooped to bed, quiet and subdued, Hew went back to the hall. All the lamps but one had been extinguished in the fray. The one remaining light was set upon on the floor, to cast a gloomy commentary upon the doctor's face. Giles knelt there in the dust, like a penitent at prayer, before the lifeless form of George Buchanan.

‘Dear God,' Hew whispered. ‘Is he dead?'

‘He was not breathing when I found him. He draws breath again, though he is not yet sensible,' Giles spoke, dull with weariness.

‘Then you have restored him to life.'

‘I have restored him,' Giles agreed, as though he found no comfort in the fact.

He placed his right hand tenderly beneath the student's head and raised him from the ground.

‘I cannot see a mark on him,' said Hew.

‘His hurts are deep within. He fell here by the door, and was trampled upon by the crowd. This arm is broken, as I think.' Giles was on his feet now, with the student in his arms. The boy lolled back upon the doctor's shoulder, yet he did not stir, as if he was the smallest bairn, or Matthew, in his swaddling bands.

Giles said, ‘I will take him to my house.'

‘Giles . . .' Hew began.

‘Do not say it, Hew,' his friend pleaded earnestly. ‘I pray you, do
not
say, that this was not my fault. I will take him to my house,
where Meg will nurse and care for him. Can I leave you, to see to things here?'

‘For sure. The students are dispersed, and sent off to their beds. The house is quiet now.'

‘And no one else is hurt?'

‘Cuts and bruises, nothing more,' said Hew. ‘Sir Andrew Wood has gone to vent his wrath upon the town. I heard him vow to make examples in the marketplace. Yet he will find it difficult to put to good effect. The bailies were complicit in the fray. I saw the minister himself lash out and floor a college macer who had trodden on his gown. It will occupy the sheriff for a while, before his close attentions are directed back at us.'

‘As no doubt they will be, in due course. This poor boy! I did not apprehend the whole place was a tinderbox. God help me, Hew! To think that I held out a loaf of bread before a room of baxters, and told them that was what had made the sailors sick.' Giles groaned.

‘To be fair,' reasoned Hew, ‘that was not what you said.'

‘It was what they understood. And what else, after all, should they understand, by such wanton showmanship? It was pride, pride, Hew! I thought it was so clever, and so subtle, and ingenious! God help me, I did it with
bread
. And the outcome of my vanity is grave for this poor little boy.'

George indeed looked like a child, nestled in the doctor's arms.

‘Yet George was not blameless in this,' noted Hew.

Giles stared at him. ‘Not blameless? Of course he is blameless! He is in my care, and under my authority.' He turned away, trudging from the hall and down towards the Swallow Gait, without another word. Hew stood to watch him go, each anguished step made heavy with the burden of the boy.

A calm had fallen on the college, rooted in despair, as the students lay awake, and wondered what the dawn would bring. The cloisters were littered with debris: eggshells and bread crumbs, sharp shards of pottery, the remnants of a chamber pot, its contents still intact.
The servants were alert and watchful at the gate. One of them undid the locks to let Hew pass. ‘All quiet, sir?'

‘All quiet now. I will be in the tower, if I am wanted here. Wake me, at the slightest sound.'

‘Do you expect more trouble, then?'

‘It would surprise me, to hear more of it tonight. Nonetheless, do call me, if you have concerns.'

‘The kitchens are concerned that there is no flour, and likely no more bread for the students' desjones, sir. We cannot hope our order will be filled,' the porter pointed out.

‘Then they must go without. The fast may concentrate their minds on the rigours we have doubtless yet to come. If you hear complaints, refer them back to me,' instructed Hew. He hardly noticed that he had assumed command. Yet the college mustered gladly, and bowed to his authority.