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water, and departed the house. I have rarely been so glad of leaving a place.
    “Lord Gilbert would see you before you return to Oxford,” Arthur told me as we walked across the castle yard. It was now past the ninth hour, and gray clouds hung low in the autumn sky. It would be dark before I would see the High Street and Oxford. But when a lord wishes to see me, I usually make time for him.
    We found Lord Gilbert in the solar, sitting with his wife before a small fire. It was a picture of connubial bliss. I hoped to insert myself into a more modest version of such a scene one day, but to that point had made no progress toward the goal.
    “You have done with Alfred, then? Did the surgery go well?” Lord Gilbert asked.
    “I am optimistic. I left him resting without pain. Not much pain, anyway.”
    “Good…good; well done. I have directed a room be prepared for you. It is too late to pack you back to Oxford tonight. We will share a light supper shortly. I will send John for you. John!” he called to his chamberlain. “Show Master Hugh to his chamber.” John did so.
    The room was light and airy, or as airy as a room of stone walls can be. The chamber was off the great hall, and lit by several narrow windows of glass. I had rarely slept behind glass before, so this would be a special experience to me. I lay back gratefully on the bed; John had to thump heavily on the door to wake me two hours later.
    A light supper, Lord Gilbert said.
    There was parsley bread and honey butter, cheese, pea soup, a pike, a duck pie, a capon, cold sliced venison, and a lombardy custard.
    When I had eaten my fill and was rested and satisfied, Lord Gilbert steered the conversation to my profession. I see now what he wanted, but at that moment I had no clue to his direction and so was caught off guard. I had been off guard for most of the meal; Lady Joan was in attendance. She was silent while Lord Gilbert questioned me about medical and surgical practice. But when the conversation lagged, she spoke.
    “Where did you train, Master Hugh?”
    Her joining the conversation so disconcerted me that I nearly choked on the capon leg upon which I was at the time gnawing. “Uh…Paris, m’lady. And Oxford.”
    My conversation with Lady Joan was ended as soon as it began. Lord Gilbert retrieved the end of our parley he had momentarily dropped, and Lady Joan returned to her fish, peeling white flesh from bones with dainty fingers.
    “You are, no doubt, engaged in your profession at Oxford?” he asked. It was a question, not a statement. I might have answered, “yes,” to salve my vanity. Then my vanity might have been intact, but my future laid in ruins. It was not the first or last time I found that uncomfortable honesty was a tree which might bear agreeable fruit.
    “No, Lord Gilbert. I am new to my profession, and new, as a surgeon, to Oxford. My clients are few.”
    “Ah. Well…” I saw him smile, and wondered why my lack of patronage should bring him pleasure. “There would be work for you here, in Bampton. The village has no physician, only a barber who draws blood from the ill. But he has not your skill. A house of mine in the town is empty – several houses, to be truthful.” He frowned. “The recent plague has left many empty dwellings. But the town has yet enough citizens that a surgeon would find himself regularly occupied.”
    Lord Gilbert told me he would show me the house in the morning. I told him I would think on the offer and give him an answer then. Truth is, there was little reason not to accept his offer. Should clients prove few in Bampton, I could move back to Oxford, where I would be no more unemployed then than now. Meanwhile it seemed unlikely I could have less custom in the village than in Oxford. But I did not want my services to seem too easily acquired. Hard won is most relished.
    The house Lord Gilbert showed me in the morning was a substantial dwelling, two stories high, of solid timber construction, wattle and