prim servants, waiting for the master of the house to inspect them and pay their weekly allowanceâbut their clothes were undone about their tops. Even though I struggled not to gape and stare, I could not help myself.
When I heard a familiar voice demanding, Let me past, whore-monger , I turned to see my master, red-faced and ordering me to leave the place at once. I have never felt such gratitude and such shame at once.
âAnd will Titus recover?â my master asked now.
âIf indeed he has the poxâand I have no doubt he doesââ I could not complete my painful diagnosis, respectful of my masterâs feelings.
âWill he live?â William insisted in a tone of sad exasperation.
âNo, my lord,â I was forced to say. âGod forgive us all, he will be as we see him now, but grow worse, over hours or perhaps days. He will surely die.â
âSo it is always with the pox, Thomas,â said my master. He was quiet for a moment, unable to continue out of sorrow for his old friend. âAnd Titus was a good Christian scholar, and knew Ovid by heart, and Sallust by the verse as well as any man. Ten or twenty years ago he galloped with a whore, or even some honest poxy womanâand he caught this curse.â
It was called the French welcome , and I knew by my training that it killed as many, over time, as the plague. âMy lord,â I said now, my voice hoarse with feeling, âI neither touched nor spoke to any of the women in the trugging shop.â This was not the first time I had made such a protest since my embarrassing rescue.
âIf I hadnât passed by, in a hurry to try my luck,â said William, âyouâd confront the same ultimate illness as my poor friend. It must have been Godâs grace that let me see a familiar red-haired young man, big as any farmer, walking into the Wildrose Inn.â
I nodded in red-faced agreement.
I was grateful for my escape from this evil. And yet, I wondered, why was such a dangerous sin so quick to stir desire? Shouldnât a merciful Heaven have created women less beautiful, more unlikely to warm the blood? Because certainly when I closed my eyes at night I still saw the women around the broad, unpainted plank table.
Besides, a certain spirit stirred in me. I wanted to hear my master explain a certain mysteryâhow a man could be wise on the question of pox, and on many other matters of man and God, and still lose his wealth down to the last bad penny betting on a bear notorious for its feebleness.
I was ready, with the question on my lips.
But loud steps crashed up the stairwell before I could speak. Nicholas, our landlord, burst into our room without the courtesy of a knock, wide-eyed.
âSoldiers!â he said breathlessly. âBy Jesus, armed men are coming, good doctors, wearing helmets and carrying pikes.â He let us consider this news, and added, âThe tavern-boy has come back terrified, saying they are marching from the Tower itselfâon their way here.â
While not strictly yet a doctor, I was sometimes addressed as one, as an additional courtesy, and the title did not displease me.
But I was startled by this news, and so was my master, judging by his shocked silence.
Nicholas knotted his hands together, breathless with anxiety. âCould your patient be a spy ?â He said the word with special emphasis, dropping his voice to a whip-lash whisper.
Chapter 8
âThis sick gentleman is a doctor,â said my master in response. âHe is in need of our medicine and your prayers. As you are in need of a cup of strong wine to strengthen your nerves.â
âOh, let me have my boys carry your sick gentleman friend out the back way, my lord,â said Nicholas, âdown into the alley, if it please you. He could prove to be an officer attempting to run off, a naval secret in his heart, before poison lay him down stiffâin my tavern!â
The sound