minds in England were in Oxford. She would send a letter to Oxford.
Matilda hurried to the market, where she traded her pennies for parchment and ran back to Peg's. She smoothed the page, scraping off a bit of dirt here, a splash of something else there, taking time to smell the beloved, familiar smell. Carefully she took knife to quill to cut a sharp point, touched the tip to her tongue, dipped it carefully in the ink bottle, and wrote in Latin on the precious sheet, enchanted by the look of the words as they tumbled and trailed across the page:
Salutem dico to
the greatest of all physicians who reside at Oxford, whoever you may be, from Matilda of Blood and Bone Alley at the sign of the yellow bone, Chipping Bagthorpe:
There is in this town an apothecary, by name Nathaniel Cross, who is patient and kind and full of loving but lately has been gloomy and disheartened, for his eyes have gone bad in such a way that he
cannot see what is right in front of his face. He looks to starve or die if no one helps him. We have prayed, dosed, salved, and bled, to no end. Have you any knowledge of cures or miracles or remedies that might allow him to spend the days God has given him as an apothecary?
Please send word of any such to me, Matilda Bone, for I can read as well as write, although I fear it is not important like saving souls or saving lives and no one here seems to see the value of it at all.
I know Nathaniel's gratitude will be yours if you can assist him in this matter of seeing.
With all thanks and respect due your great
physicianness, I am yours
,
Matilda Bone
She spit on the tip of the quill and wiped it on her sleeve, cleaned the wooden ruler on her skirt, and capped the ink bottle. She carried her letter back to the market, where she found a tinker who was heading north to Oxford. He would for a price deliver her letter to the physicians' guild. "I have no silver," said Matilda.
"A kettle?" asked the tinker. "Good wooden spoons? A dress, well brushed and gently worn? Velvet slippers?"
"Naught but what I wear," said Matilda.
The tinker reached out and touched her shoulder. "This cloak looks old but of good English wool—I could get a few pennies for it."
Matilda hesitated. Spring was here and summer on the way. She could do without a cloak until fall, by which time who knew where she would be or whether she would need a cloak there. So off it came. The tinker took Matilda's letter, folded it, and tucked it carefully inside his shirt. "A few days only and your letter and I will reach Oxford." He rode away with her cloak and her letter, pots and pans and kettles clanking.
When Matilda returned, Peg was not at home. Nor was she there very often in the next few days. She was with Grizzl, who was failing despite Peg's care and Matilda's prayers. One day when primroses bloomed in the refuse in the alley, Peg and Margery came slowly in. "Grizzl has gone," Peg said to Matilda, her red and freckled face almost unrecognizable in its grief.
Matilda crossed herself. She pictured the little hobbled woman with the big smile. Poor gentle Grizzl was in Heaven now, but Matilda would miss her. Looking at Peg's pain, Matilda thought,
Grizzl should not have died!
And then she said it aloud. "Grizzl should not have died. Master Theobald should have been consulted. He would have known what to do."
"Enough, Matilda," said Peg as she put an arm about Margery's shoulder. "Enough." But still Matilda thought with sorrow,
I should have taken Master Theobald to Grizzl
There was no money for a coffin or a crier to call, "Pray God for the dead," but Matilda joined the small procession that carried Grizzl, wrapped in Peg's best bed linen, to the churchyard. Margery brought all her ends and pieces of candles to add to Peg's and Nathaniel's store, so each mourner had a bit of lighted candle to carry. Violets, buttercups, and columbine basked in the May sunshine and nodded their many-colored heads as the mourners passed by. The small
Matilda hurried to the market, where she traded her pennies for parchment and ran back to Peg's. She smoothed the page, scraping off a bit of dirt here, a splash of something else there, taking time to smell the beloved, familiar smell. Carefully she took knife to quill to cut a sharp point, touched the tip to her tongue, dipped it carefully in the ink bottle, and wrote in Latin on the precious sheet, enchanted by the look of the words as they tumbled and trailed across the page:
Salutem dico to
the greatest of all physicians who reside at Oxford, whoever you may be, from Matilda of Blood and Bone Alley at the sign of the yellow bone, Chipping Bagthorpe:
There is in this town an apothecary, by name Nathaniel Cross, who is patient and kind and full of loving but lately has been gloomy and disheartened, for his eyes have gone bad in such a way that he
cannot see what is right in front of his face. He looks to starve or die if no one helps him. We have prayed, dosed, salved, and bled, to no end. Have you any knowledge of cures or miracles or remedies that might allow him to spend the days God has given him as an apothecary?
Please send word of any such to me, Matilda Bone, for I can read as well as write, although I fear it is not important like saving souls or saving lives and no one here seems to see the value of it at all.
I know Nathaniel's gratitude will be yours if you can assist him in this matter of seeing.
With all thanks and respect due your great
physicianness, I am yours
,
Matilda Bone
She spit on the tip of the quill and wiped it on her sleeve, cleaned the wooden ruler on her skirt, and capped the ink bottle. She carried her letter back to the market, where she found a tinker who was heading north to Oxford. He would for a price deliver her letter to the physicians' guild. "I have no silver," said Matilda.
"A kettle?" asked the tinker. "Good wooden spoons? A dress, well brushed and gently worn? Velvet slippers?"
"Naught but what I wear," said Matilda.
The tinker reached out and touched her shoulder. "This cloak looks old but of good English wool—I could get a few pennies for it."
Matilda hesitated. Spring was here and summer on the way. She could do without a cloak until fall, by which time who knew where she would be or whether she would need a cloak there. So off it came. The tinker took Matilda's letter, folded it, and tucked it carefully inside his shirt. "A few days only and your letter and I will reach Oxford." He rode away with her cloak and her letter, pots and pans and kettles clanking.
When Matilda returned, Peg was not at home. Nor was she there very often in the next few days. She was with Grizzl, who was failing despite Peg's care and Matilda's prayers. One day when primroses bloomed in the refuse in the alley, Peg and Margery came slowly in. "Grizzl has gone," Peg said to Matilda, her red and freckled face almost unrecognizable in its grief.
Matilda crossed herself. She pictured the little hobbled woman with the big smile. Poor gentle Grizzl was in Heaven now, but Matilda would miss her. Looking at Peg's pain, Matilda thought,
Grizzl should not have died!
And then she said it aloud. "Grizzl should not have died. Master Theobald should have been consulted. He would have known what to do."
"Enough, Matilda," said Peg as she put an arm about Margery's shoulder. "Enough." But still Matilda thought with sorrow,
I should have taken Master Theobald to Grizzl
There was no money for a coffin or a crier to call, "Pray God for the dead," but Matilda joined the small procession that carried Grizzl, wrapped in Peg's best bed linen, to the churchyard. Margery brought all her ends and pieces of candles to add to Peg's and Nathaniel's store, so each mourner had a bit of lighted candle to carry. Violets, buttercups, and columbine basked in the May sunshine and nodded their many-colored heads as the mourners passed by. The small
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