Read Online The Butchers Funeral: A Medieval Murder by C. M. Harald - Free Book Online
Authors: C. M. Harald
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even tried burning herbs to try and drive away any miasmas that were assailing her.
Anna knew some people would call a priest, but she did not think it likely a priest would come to her with any useful advice, she would just be told feeble stories of how she was being punished by God and should turn from her wicked 'heathen' way of life. Other people would call a physician, especially the well off, but what was the point of that? All a physician would do is explain that her Humours were imbalanced, and after charging her a tidy sum, would suggest she saw an apothecary or surgeon for treatment. Honestly, what use was a physician? She could try the apothecary, but all he would do is try to sell her some elixir with God knew what in it. At least her own potions were natural. There were a couple of other wise women she could call, but since she had rubbed them up the wrong way over the years, it would not be the best of ideas. Nor would they hurry to see her. Anna thought long and hard. The barber surgeon Alvin. He was reliable and not too far wrapped up in his own importance. Besides, he had often made use of her skills when he felt out of his depth and likewise, she had referred people to him when they needed help that she could not provide. He was pretty knowledgeable and not too bad with ointments and potions as well, maybe not up to her standards, but much better than those self-righteous apothecaries.
It was several hours before she was able to gather the strength to go summon one of her neighbours, sometime around dawn. The neighbours were used to her impatient calls and she had long suspected that they were developing a selective deafness. At one time they used to come running at the slightest sound of her voice, but this was no longer the case. It was not that Anna had overused their goodwill, rather she thought it was because they had become overly familiar and had lost their fearful respect of her. She made a mental note to publicly hex them, or at the very least, imply that they were going to suffer bad fortune. A few mumbled words always lead to people reading too much into things and it was bad management to let your neighbours slip like this. Fortunately, when the neighbour's young daughter eventually arrived, a last well-placed glare had ensured that the girl had rushed off to find the barber surgeon.
Fresh waves of sickness saw Anna squatting over the bowl as time seemed to become as fluid as her bowels. When the pains finally eased, her thought went back to the girl, who in near terror, had taken her message. That lass might make a good apprentice if she only listened more diligently rather than lusting after the young men with their outlandish, and fashionable, long toed shoes. How anyone could walk in those ridiculous things, she did not know. She was interrupted from this line of thought by a firm knocking on the door.
'Come in.' She croaked, her voice sore from the torments of the night.
The neighbour's daughter showed Donald Alvin in. She quickly scuttled away, not that Anna would have bothered with a chaperon anyway. Alvin looked around, quickly taking in his surroundings, quickly disguising his shock at the unpleasant smell that had built up during the night.
'Donald, now don't you go wrinkling your nose. You'll soon get used to the smell.' Anna had seen through his subterfuge and he looked embarrassed, "I'm sure you've smelt far worse from some of the things you've had to chop off.'
'Absolutely. Nothing beats a rotten limb.' He placed his bag against the wall, 'So what's the problem then?' He was curious about why Anna had not been able to fix herself.
'I've got water squirting out of my backend; I've thrown up everything I've ever eaten; and I feel like the morning after a night of heavy drinking.' She ticked off her complaints on her fingers as she listed them, 'I haven't felt this bad since I had the Plague when I was young,' This
Anna knew some people would call a priest, but she did not think it likely a priest would come to her with any useful advice, she would just be told feeble stories of how she was being punished by God and should turn from her wicked 'heathen' way of life. Other people would call a physician, especially the well off, but what was the point of that? All a physician would do is explain that her Humours were imbalanced, and after charging her a tidy sum, would suggest she saw an apothecary or surgeon for treatment. Honestly, what use was a physician? She could try the apothecary, but all he would do is try to sell her some elixir with God knew what in it. At least her own potions were natural. There were a couple of other wise women she could call, but since she had rubbed them up the wrong way over the years, it would not be the best of ideas. Nor would they hurry to see her. Anna thought long and hard. The barber surgeon Alvin. He was reliable and not too far wrapped up in his own importance. Besides, he had often made use of her skills when he felt out of his depth and likewise, she had referred people to him when they needed help that she could not provide. He was pretty knowledgeable and not too bad with ointments and potions as well, maybe not up to her standards, but much better than those self-righteous apothecaries.
It was several hours before she was able to gather the strength to go summon one of her neighbours, sometime around dawn. The neighbours were used to her impatient calls and she had long suspected that they were developing a selective deafness. At one time they used to come running at the slightest sound of her voice, but this was no longer the case. It was not that Anna had overused their goodwill, rather she thought it was because they had become overly familiar and had lost their fearful respect of her. She made a mental note to publicly hex them, or at the very least, imply that they were going to suffer bad fortune. A few mumbled words always lead to people reading too much into things and it was bad management to let your neighbours slip like this. Fortunately, when the neighbour's young daughter eventually arrived, a last well-placed glare had ensured that the girl had rushed off to find the barber surgeon.
Fresh waves of sickness saw Anna squatting over the bowl as time seemed to become as fluid as her bowels. When the pains finally eased, her thought went back to the girl, who in near terror, had taken her message. That lass might make a good apprentice if she only listened more diligently rather than lusting after the young men with their outlandish, and fashionable, long toed shoes. How anyone could walk in those ridiculous things, she did not know. She was interrupted from this line of thought by a firm knocking on the door.
'Come in.' She croaked, her voice sore from the torments of the night.
The neighbour's daughter showed Donald Alvin in. She quickly scuttled away, not that Anna would have bothered with a chaperon anyway. Alvin looked around, quickly taking in his surroundings, quickly disguising his shock at the unpleasant smell that had built up during the night.
'Donald, now don't you go wrinkling your nose. You'll soon get used to the smell.' Anna had seen through his subterfuge and he looked embarrassed, "I'm sure you've smelt far worse from some of the things you've had to chop off.'
'Absolutely. Nothing beats a rotten limb.' He placed his bag against the wall, 'So what's the problem then?' He was curious about why Anna had not been able to fix herself.
'I've got water squirting out of my backend; I've thrown up everything I've ever eaten; and I feel like the morning after a night of heavy drinking.' She ticked off her complaints on her fingers as she listed them, 'I haven't felt this bad since I had the Plague when I was young,' This
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