The Killer of Pilgrims Read Online Free PDF Page A

previous years: the monk was likely to
     be disappointed. Still, Bartholomew thought, surveying the ample bulk with a professional eye, it would do him no harm. Michael
     had lost some of his lard over the previous weeks – a combination of being busy, and the College’s dwindling resources – and
     was much healthier for it.
    ‘Are you coming?’ asked Michael, when the physician made no reply. ‘We have delivered the bad news, so you are free to leave.’
    ‘Where are
you
going, Doctor?’ demanded Emma, when the scholars aimed for the door. ‘Your chasing criminals on my behalf did nothing to
     relieve the agonies in my jaws, so we shall finish the consultation we began earlier. The monk can leave, though.’
    ‘I cannot stay,’ said Michael, determined to give the impression that he was leaving because he wanted to, not because he
     had been dismissed. ‘I am far too busy. Good morning, madam.’
    ‘I am going to the kitchen,’ announced Odelina, when he had gone. ‘The cook is making marchpanes, and you may share them,
     Celia. Mother may not – she needs to watch her figure.’
    As Odelina was a good deal portlier than her dam, Bartholomew expected a tart rejoinder, but Alice merely rolled her eyes
     and followed her daughter out. It was not many moments before Bartholomew and Emma were alone.
    ‘My torment is getting worse,’ said the old lady, putting a gnarled hand to her face.
    ‘Well, yes, it will,’ said Bartholomew. ‘As I have explained before, you have a rotten tooth, and the pain will persist until
     it is taken out.’
    ‘But you have also informed me that the procedure will hurt.’
    ‘It will hurt,’ Bartholomew acknowledged. ‘But not for very long, and then you will recover. However, if you delay, the poisons
     may seep into your blood. They could make you extremely ill.’
    Emma shook her head firmly. ‘I do not approve of this “cure” of yours. Devise another.’
    Bartholomew stifled a sigh. ‘There
is
no other cure, but if you do not believe me, then hire another
medicus
. Gyseburne and Meryfeld arrived in the town a few weeks ago, and they are skilled practitioners. Or there is Rougham of
     Gonville Hall.’
    Emma grimaced. ‘Rougham is a pompous ass, while Gyseburne and Meryfeld are not members of the University. Besides, you come
     free, in return for my generosity in mending Michaelhouse’s roof, and I do not see why I should squander money needlessly.
     So, you had better consult a few books and invent a different treatment, because I am not letting you near me with pliers.’
    Bartholomew tried to make her see reason. ‘But it is the only—’
    ‘Why can you not calculate my horoscope, and use it to provide me with potent herbs? I know you own such potions, because
     Celia Drax told me you gave her some when she was your patient.’
    ‘Potent herbs will afford you temporary relief, but they will not solve the problem long-term.’
    ‘I will take my chances,’ said Emma brusquely. ‘Besides, only barbers pull teeth, and you are a physician. It would be most
     improper for you to do it.’
    It was something Bartholomew’s colleagues were always telling him – that not only was it forbidden for scholar-physicians
     to practise surgery, it was demeaning, too. But Bartholomew believed patients should have access to any treatment that might
     help them, and as the town’s only surgeon now confined himself to trimming hair, he had no choice but to perform the procedures
     himself.
    ‘It is the only—’ he began again.
    Emma cut across him. ‘Give me some of your sense-dulling potions, so I can rest for a few hours. The agony kept me awake all
     last night, and I am exhausted. We shall discuss the matter again later, when my wits are not befuddled by exhaustion.’
    Bartholomew was tempted to refuse, in the hope that pain would bring her to her senses, but there was something in her beady-eyed
     glare that warned him against it. He was not usually intimidated by