Read Online Revelation by C. J. Sansom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. J. Sansom
Tags: Historical, Deckare
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the sleeves of his robe, revealing strong arms, the muscles bunching as he crushed the herbs.
'How long have you been with Dr Malton now?' I asked.
'Just a year, sir.' He turned and smiled, showing sparkling white teeth.
'Your old master died, did he not?'
'Ay, sir. He lived in the next street. Dr Malton took me on when he died suddenly. I am lucky, he is a man of rare knowledge. And kind.'
'That he is,' I agreed. Piers turned back to his work. How different he was from most apprentices, noisy lewd lads forever looking for trouble. His self-possessed, confident manner was that of a man, not a boy.
It was an hour before Guy and Roger returned. It had grown dark, and Piers had to bend closely to his work, a candle beside him. Guy put a hand on his shoulder. 'Enough for tonight, lad. Go and get some supper, but first bring us some beer.'
'Yes, sir.' Piers bowed to us and left. I looked at Roger, delighted to see an expression of profound relief on his face.
'I do not have the falling sickness,' he said and beamed.
Guy smiled gently. 'The strangest matters may have a simple resolution. I always like to start by looking for the simplest possible explanation, which William of Ockham taught is most likely to be the true one. So I began with Master Elliard's feet.'
'He had me standing barefoot,' Roger said, 'then measured my legs, laid me on his couch and bent my feet to and fro. I confess I was surprised. I came expecting a learned disquisition on my urine.'
'We did not need that in the end.' Guy smiled triumphantly. 'I found the right foot turns markedly to the right, the cause being that Master Elliard's left leg is very slightly longer. It is a problem that has been building up for years. The remedy is a special shoe, with a wooden insert that will correct the gait. I will get young Piers to make it, he is skilled with his hands.'
'I am more grateful than I can say, sir,' Roger said warmly.
There was a knock, and Piers returned with three pewter goblets on a tray which he laid on the table.
'Let us drink to celebrate Master Elliard's liberation from falling over.' Guy took a stool and passed another to Roger.
'Roger is thinking of starting a subscription for a hospital,' I told Guy.
Guy shook his head sadly. 'Hospitals are sorely needed in this city. That would be a good and Christian thing. Perhaps I could help, advise.'
'That would be kind, sir.'
'Roger still holds to the ideals of Erasmus,' I said.
Guy nodded. 'I once studied Erasmus too. He was in high favour when I first came to England. I thought when he said the church was too rich, too devoted to ceremony, he had something — though most of my fellow monks did not, they said he wrote with a wanton pen.' His face grew sombre. 'Perhaps they saw clearer than I that talk of reform would lead to the destruction of the monasteries. And of so much else. And for what?' he asked bitterly. 'A reign of greed and terror.'
Roger looked a little uncomfortable at Guy's defence of the monks. I looked from one to the other of them. Guy who was still a Catholic at heart, Roger the radical reformer turned moderate. I was not so much between them as outside the whole argument. A lonely place to be.
'I have a case I wanted to ask your advice about, Guy,' I said to change the subject. 'A case of religious madness, or at least perhaps that is what it is.' I told him Adam's story. 'So the Privy Council have put him in the Bedlam to get him out of the way,' I concluded. 'His parents want me to get him released, but I am not sure that is a good idea.'
'I have known of obsessive lovers,' Roger said, 'but obsessive praying — I have never heard of such a thing.'
'I have,' Guy said, and we both turned to look at his dark grave face. 'It is a new form of brain - sickness, something Martin Luther has added to the store of human misery.'
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'There have always been some people who hate themselves, who torture themselves with guilt for real or imagined
'How long have you been with Dr Malton now?' I asked.
'Just a year, sir.' He turned and smiled, showing sparkling white teeth.
'Your old master died, did he not?'
'Ay, sir. He lived in the next street. Dr Malton took me on when he died suddenly. I am lucky, he is a man of rare knowledge. And kind.'
'That he is,' I agreed. Piers turned back to his work. How different he was from most apprentices, noisy lewd lads forever looking for trouble. His self-possessed, confident manner was that of a man, not a boy.
It was an hour before Guy and Roger returned. It had grown dark, and Piers had to bend closely to his work, a candle beside him. Guy put a hand on his shoulder. 'Enough for tonight, lad. Go and get some supper, but first bring us some beer.'
'Yes, sir.' Piers bowed to us and left. I looked at Roger, delighted to see an expression of profound relief on his face.
'I do not have the falling sickness,' he said and beamed.
Guy smiled gently. 'The strangest matters may have a simple resolution. I always like to start by looking for the simplest possible explanation, which William of Ockham taught is most likely to be the true one. So I began with Master Elliard's feet.'
'He had me standing barefoot,' Roger said, 'then measured my legs, laid me on his couch and bent my feet to and fro. I confess I was surprised. I came expecting a learned disquisition on my urine.'
'We did not need that in the end.' Guy smiled triumphantly. 'I found the right foot turns markedly to the right, the cause being that Master Elliard's left leg is very slightly longer. It is a problem that has been building up for years. The remedy is a special shoe, with a wooden insert that will correct the gait. I will get young Piers to make it, he is skilled with his hands.'
'I am more grateful than I can say, sir,' Roger said warmly.
There was a knock, and Piers returned with three pewter goblets on a tray which he laid on the table.
'Let us drink to celebrate Master Elliard's liberation from falling over.' Guy took a stool and passed another to Roger.
'Roger is thinking of starting a subscription for a hospital,' I told Guy.
Guy shook his head sadly. 'Hospitals are sorely needed in this city. That would be a good and Christian thing. Perhaps I could help, advise.'
'That would be kind, sir.'
'Roger still holds to the ideals of Erasmus,' I said.
Guy nodded. 'I once studied Erasmus too. He was in high favour when I first came to England. I thought when he said the church was too rich, too devoted to ceremony, he had something — though most of my fellow monks did not, they said he wrote with a wanton pen.' His face grew sombre. 'Perhaps they saw clearer than I that talk of reform would lead to the destruction of the monasteries. And of so much else. And for what?' he asked bitterly. 'A reign of greed and terror.'
Roger looked a little uncomfortable at Guy's defence of the monks. I looked from one to the other of them. Guy who was still a Catholic at heart, Roger the radical reformer turned moderate. I was not so much between them as outside the whole argument. A lonely place to be.
'I have a case I wanted to ask your advice about, Guy,' I said to change the subject. 'A case of religious madness, or at least perhaps that is what it is.' I told him Adam's story. 'So the Privy Council have put him in the Bedlam to get him out of the way,' I concluded. 'His parents want me to get him released, but I am not sure that is a good idea.'
'I have known of obsessive lovers,' Roger said, 'but obsessive praying — I have never heard of such a thing.'
'I have,' Guy said, and we both turned to look at his dark grave face. 'It is a new form of brain - sickness, something Martin Luther has added to the store of human misery.'
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'There have always been some people who hate themselves, who torture themselves with guilt for real or imagined
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