The Cole Trilogy: The Physician, Shaman, and Matters of Choice by Noah Gordon Page B

race.”
    The spectators were moved. While they were still sighing, Barber was holding out a flask of the Universal Specific. “Friends,” he said. “Just as the Lord has found the medicine for your spirit, I have found the medicine for your body.”
    He told them the story about Vitalia the Herb of Life, which obviously worked equally well with the pious as with sinners, for they bought the Specific greedily and then lined up by the barber-surgeon’s screen for consultations and treatment. The watching priests glowered but had been sweetened with gifts and soothed by the religious display, and only one old cleric made objection. “You shall do no bleeding,” he commanded sternly.“For Archbishop Theodore has written that it is dangerous to bleed at a time when the light of the moon and the pull of the tides is increasing.” Barber was quick to agree.
    They camped in jubilation that afternoon. Barber boiled bite-sized pieces of beef in wine until tender and added onion, an old turnip that was wrinkled but sound, and new peas and beans, flavoring all with thyme and a bit of mint. There was still a wedge of an exceptional light-colored cheese bought in Bridgwater, and afterward he sat by the fire and with obvious gratification counted the contents of his cash box.
    It was perhaps the moment to broach a subject that lay heavy and constant on Rob’s spirit.
    “Barber,” he said.
    “Hmmm?”
    “Barber, when shall we go to London?”
    Intent on stacking the coins, Barber waved his hand, not wishing to lose count. “By and by,” he murmured. “In the by-and-by.”

9
    THE GIFT

    Rob mishandled four balls in Kingswood. He dropped another ball in Mangotsfield but that was the last time, and after they offered diversion and treatment to the villagers of Redditch in mid-June he no longer spent hours every day practicing his juggling, for the frequent entertainments kept his fingers supple and his sense of rhythm alive. He quickly became an assured juggler. He suspected that eventually he could have learned to manage six balls but Barber would have none of that, preferring that he use his time assisting in the barber-surgeon’s trade.
    They traveled north like migrating birds, but instead of flying they wended their way slowly through the mountains between England and Wales. They were in the town of Abergavenny, a row of rickety houses leaning against the side of a sullen shale ridge, when for the first time he aided Barber in the examinations and treatment.
    Rob J. was afraid. He had more fear in him than the wooden balls had inspired.
    The reasons people ailed were such a mystery. It seemed impossible for a mere man to understand and offer helpful miracles. He knew Barber was smarter than any man he had ever known, to be able to do that.
    The people lined up in front of the screen, and he fetched them one by one as soon as Barber had finished with the preceding person, and led them to the partial privacy afforded by the flimsy barrier. The first man Rob took back to his master was large and stooped, with traces of black on his neck and ingrained in his knuckles and under his fingernails.
    “You could do with a wash,” Barber suggested, not unkindly.
    “It’s the coal, you see,” the man said. “The dust sticks when it is dug.”
    “You dig coal?” Barber said. “I’ve heard it’s poison to burn. I’ve seen at first hand that it produces a stink and heavy smoke that doesn’t readily rise through the smoke hole of a house. Is there a living in such poor stuff?”
    “It is there, sir, and we are poor. But lately there are aches and swellings in my joints, and it pains me to dig.”
    Barber touched the grimy wrists and fingers, poked a pudgy fingertip into the swelling at the man’s elbow. “It comes from inhaling humors from the earth. You must sit in the sun when you can. Bathe frequently in warm water but not hot, for hot baths lead to a weakness of the heart and limbs. Rub your swollen and painful joints