Unhallowed Ground
me.
    “Exeter.”
    “Master Hugh is bailiff for Lord Gilbert Talbot on his Bampton estate.” I saw the abbot’s lip curl in distaste. “And is also a surgeon, trained in Paris.” The lip seemed to relax.
    Brother Alnett hesitated, and the abbot turned to enter his hall, assuming, I suppose, that the introduction was done.
    “He knows how to couch a cataract,” Brother Alnett continued hurriedly. “Saw it done in Paris when he studied there.”
    All this time neither the abbot nor his companion spoke, but after this announcement the abbot turned and, with a frown, examined the hopeful face of Brother Alnett.
    “You wish this surgeon to seek to clear your vision?”
    “Aye, m’lord abbot.”
    The abbot dismissed Brother Alnett with a wave of his hand. “As you wish. You have my permit.”
    I bowed respectfully to the abbot as he walked past me to his hall. If he noticed he gave no sign.
    Brother Alnett also bowed and turned, prompted more by the departing abbot’s fading footsteps than the sight of the abbot’s back.
    “M’lord abbot,” the monk said when he was sure his superior was beyond hearing, “is an even-tempered man. He is always angry. But he did grant permission for you to restore my sight. Will you do so? This day?”
    “Nay. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I am weary from the day’s travel. My hand may not be steady, and I must sort through the instruments I have with me to see if any will serve in place of couching needles.”
    The monk seemed disappointed at the delay, but had borne his affliction so long that another day would seem but small abeyance.
    Brother Alnett sent a lay brother with straw pallets for Arthur and Uctred. Our chamber in the guest-house had already a bed where I might seek my rest. We were served a light supper of pease pottage, maslin loaf, and ale, and because the days grew long there was enough light after supper that I could sort through my instruments for lancets and thin scalpels which might serve in place of couching needles.
    The sky was yet aglow when we three took to our beds, and soon Arthur’s rumbling snore filled the chamber. Uctred duly joined the chorus, adding his tenor to Arthur’s bass. I reviewed in my mind’s eye what I had seen of couching for cataracts while a student in Paris, planning the next morning’s work. The effort was not conducive to slumber, and I heard the sacrist ring the bell for vigils before I slept.
    Brother Alnett appeared at the guest-house as soon as Lauds was sung. The man was eager to undergo treatment for his affliction; more eager than I to venture the work. I have heard scholars suggest that St Paul might have suffered cataracts – the “thorn in the flesh” he prayed unsuccessfully for the Lord Christ to remove. Now I spoke a silent prayer that my hand might be guided to good success this day, and Brother Alnett’s burden be lifted, even so the apostle’s was not. Perhaps St Paul required a surgeon.
    I chose the abbey infirmary for the work. While I had brought instruments, I had not thought to bring herbs and salves. These the infirmarer could supply, though, in truth, few are needed to couch a cataract. When the needle is applied the patient feels little pain. Nevertheless, I prepared a draught of crushed lettuce and hemp seeds mixed in a cup of ale. Brother Alnett did not need to be persuaded to drink it down.
    The seeds of wild lettuce will calm an anxious man. I know not if the draught succeeded with the monk, for he seemed a phlegmatic sort anyway, but I was tempted to prepare a cup for myself.
    The patient whose cataract is being couched must not be permitted to blink while the work is done. I required the infirmarer and his assistant to fix Brother Alnett’s upper and lower eyelids in place, took a deep breath, and began my work.
    I had among my instruments a needle, used for stitching wounds, which would serve, I thought, to couch a cataract. The milky corruption of a cataract is but a humor collected

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