Matilda Bone (12 page)

Matilda thought for a moment, then said, "My mother ran off when I was a babe and—" She stopped suddenly, surprised to be confiding in Walter in the broad daylight, but then continued. "I was living there at the manor where my father was clerk, and when my father died, I became ward of Lord Randall ... no, in truth, since I was there already, Lord Randall said, 'Let her stay but keep her out of my way,' and Father Leufredus said..." The words poured out of her like beans from a broken pot.

"Hold up. I cannot listen as fast as you talk," said Walter.

Matilda looked down at her feet and then up into Walter's impudent, friendly, familiar face. "These boots," she whispered, pulling them back on, "are all I have that is truly mine. They belonged to my father. All else was given me by those at the manor and taken back when I was sent away. I am more welcome in Peg's little shop than ever I was in that fine house." She looked at Walter. "Never have I told anyone this. I myself did not know it."

There was silence for a moment as they loaded Walter's back with hides and continued on their way. "Last night I had a dream about Hell," Matilda said as they walked. "Beelzebub was dining on roast heretic with garlic sauce. I was there, but was I dinner guest or dinner I do not know."

"You think much on demons," said Walter.

"Father Leufredus taught me well to fear them and the roiling sea of fire that is Hell."

"What about God's love?"

God's love. Walter must know a different God than she did, remembering Father Leufredus's warnings about Hellfire and punishment and God's anger. Now she thought of it, so did Tildy, who spoke of laughing prayers. "Father Leufredus was not one to speak much of love," she said at last.

"I do not doubt that," said Walter.

"I used to think it would please God if I became a martyr," Matilda went on, "but when faced with the choice of death by fire, drowning, or disemboweling, I decided it was sufficient to have learning and Latin. Now it happens that is worth nothing at all here."

Walter looked puzzled. "You're a strange duck, Matilda."

"In truth I feel much like a duck, a duck living among chickens. I walk differently, cluck differently. I used to think it was the chickens who were strange, but now I do not know."

"My mum used to say, 'Ducks may be useless birds, but only a duck can lay a duck egg.'"

Matilda looked at him sharply. Did he mean that she, too, was useless? But what she saw in his face made her think she was being comforted, so she smiled, and they walked in silence all the way back to Peg's.

May warmed and deepened, promising to turn into summer soon. More customers came with assorted breaks, sprains, strains, and attendant ill tempers. Tom came back, and the small shop was again filled with the sounds of whispering and laughter. Matilda felt alone and restless. She had just told Walter that she felt welcome at Peg's shop, and now she felt welcome nowhere. Her mind was all
ab hoc et ab hoc,
here and there, and so were her feet.

"Go," said Peg. "Somewhere else. I can pace and sigh as well myself," said Peg. "And, Matilda, there is no need to hasten back."

It being Friday and nearly the hour of Sext, Matilda headed for the well in the market square. She would see Tildy, and Tildy would make her laugh.

Matilda sat down next to Tildy on the well's edge. Before either girl could open her mouth, Fat Annet rushed up, waving a basket cradling a joint of beef. "There you are, you lazy nincompoop!" she shouted. "Lollygagging and leaving
me
to face the butcher." She struck Tildy sharply with the basket and stomped off. Tildy teetered for a moment and then fell right into the well, banging her head sharply on the edge. The well was shallow enough for Matilda to reach Tildy's feet but deep enough for her head to be in the water.

Lucy Goode the rosary maker and Tomas Tailor's skinny wife, wet from laundry, tucked up their skirts and helped Matilda pull Tildy out. She was breathing, but shallowly, face pale, big cut on her forehead streaming blood, tinting the water the color of sunset. Matilda feared for her. Would she die, as Grizzl had?

Lucy shook her head. "So much blood."

"That Annet ever was hotheaded and brutish," said the tailor's wife. "The girl will likely die."

"
Saliva mucusque!
She will not die! I will fetch someone to help," Matilda said. She ripped a strip of cloth from her kirtle (not without regret, for it was her only kirtle) and wrapped it around Tildy's head. "I will return as soon as I can," she said. "Don't let her die!"

Matilda ran as fast as she was able, her bare feet tripping over cobblestones and splashing through the slimy water that ran down the middle of the streets, thinking,
Tildy cannot die.
Matilda could not wrap her in linen and put her in the ground, as Grizzl had been put.
Tildy cannot die! I must find Master Theobald,
she thought.
Please God he is at home.

Matilda ran through the market square, skirt flapping about her ankles and hair tangled about her face. At the turning to Master Theobald's, she found herself slowing down, strangely reluctant to go farther.
I must fetch Master Theobald,
she told herself.
He is the towns leading physician.

He talked like a fool,
said Effie's voice. And
he failed to help Nathaniel,
Matilda's own voice added in her mind.

"
Saliva mucusque!
What shall I do?" She turned in the direction of Blood and Bone Alley and ran to ask Peg's advice. But Peg was not there. Nor were Nathaniel and Walter. They were gathering wood sorrel and birthwort root, Sarah said, and would not be home until supper.

Another
Saliva mucusque!
as Matilda sat down to catch her breath. What would Father Leufredus suggest? Probably he would pray and quote Saint Augustine. That was no help. She thought a moment. Whom could she trust? Who would help her? And the answer that came surprised her.
Doctor Margery.

No, she thought, jumping up.
Not Doctor Margery, with her big feet and wrong-headed opinions.

But yes,
her mind said again.
Doctor Margery with her clever fingers and common sense
.

Master Theobald saved Effie
.

No, that was Peg and Doctor Margery
.

She let Grizzl die
.

No,
her mind said.
Grizzl died despite Margery's attention, not because of it.

Mistress Margery,
came Peg's voice,
whatever
you
may think, is twice the physician, three times the person, and at least four times a better soul than that person who calls himself Master Theobald.

But Margery had no learning, no languages. How would Matilda ever explain it to Father Leufredus?

Finally she bit her lip and said aloud, "I need not explain it to Father Leufredus. I must do what I think best." She ran back toward Frog Road, where she knew Margery lived.

"Doctor Margery? Doctor Margery?" she asked passersby until one of them pointed out a tiny cottage between a barber-surgeon's shop and the Prince and Hedgehog Tavern.

Matilda arrived at Margery's door and pulled it open, as disheveled and red of face as the woman herself.

"Peg? Is aught amiss with Peg that you should come to my house?" Margery asked.

"No, it is not Peg but Tildy. My friend Tildy."
Matilda paused a moment, panting for breath, and then hurried on. "I sorely need your help. Tildy was pushed into the well. She is battered and bleeding and will not wake. Please go and look at her."

"Well, then, let us hurry and see what can be done for the poor mite," said Doctor Margery, putting things into a bag.

As Doctor Margery hastened to Tildy, Matilda went looking for Tom and his wagon. She knew where Saint Brendan was stabled, and there was Tom, sharing turnips and onions with the ox. He yoked Saint Brendan, and they raced back to the market square. In truth they did not race. Matilda's thoughts raced. Her heart raced. But Saint Brendan ambled as he always did, despite Tom's pulling and shouting in Latin.

A crowd of people was gathered about when they arrived, but all were strangely quiet. Doctor Margery was kneeling beside Tildy, who lay still on the ground. "No!" Matilda cried as she jumped from the wagon and ran to Tildy. "No!"

Doctor Margery looked up at Matilda. "Hush, she still lives," the doctor said. Matilda crossed herself in relief as Tom gathered Tildy in his arms. He deposited her gently in the wagon and drove to Doctor Margery's, where he placed her carefully in the doctor's bed before taking himself and Saint Brendan away.

Margery washed Tildy's face. She felt her head and limbs, looked into her eyes and mouth and ears, listened to her chest, and thumped her here and there, while Matilda hovered like a mother bird.

Finally the doctor said, "She has no broken bones, but I think her skull has been fractured, in which case bits of bone endanger her. Her head must be opened further and any pieces removed." She took her knife to Tildy's head and began to clean the wound.

"Are you not afraid the Devil will enter her head through that great hole?" Matilda asked, suddenly worried. Had she done right to fetch Margery?

"It may well be," said Margery. "But there is nothing I can do to prevent that. It is more likely that dirt and sharp bits of bone will enter, and that at least is preventable by careful cutting and cleaning. In any case, a doctor who is afraid is good for nothing. All is in God's hands."

Matilda watched, astonished, as Margery cleaned the wound with a solution of water betony and sanicle, then put her fingers inside Tildy's head. Matilda's innards groaned and leapt, as if she were spinning herself dizzy, at the sight of so much blood.

The doctor's face glowed red, shiny with sweat, but her hands remained steady and sure as she anointed the wound with bread mold and a salve of mandragora fruit and sewed it closed just as a tailor might. She covered the wound with cobwebs, wrapped a bandage tightly about Tildy's head, and then looked up. Her smile was gentle, and her blue eyes brimmed with compassion. "I have hope she will live, but she may have lost too much blood, or the wound may turn putrid." She lifted the still-sleeping Tildy up and gently poured some foul-smelling tonic down her throat. "She will sleep quite a while now. We can but watch and wait."

Doctor Margery went out, but Matilda sat by her bed all day, watching over Tildy. Had she done right to call Margery? Matilda wondered again. She looked around her as if she could find some clue there.

The doctor had only one small room, but that was, to Matilda's surprise, neat and clean. Knives and other instruments were kept in a small chest, there were bottles and jugs on a table, and herbs hung from the ceiling over the fire pit. There were no books and no astrological charts. Matilda sighed. She had done what she thought best for Tildy, and she was determined to help Margery to help Tildy in any way she could.

That evening Margery returned with a meat pie for Matilda. "I have gone to Peg," Margery said, "to ask if you might stay here for some days. I cannot tend your Tildy and deliver babies at the same time. I need your help. Will you stay?" Matilda nodded, pleased to be needed and happy to stay near Tildy.

Each night, wrapped in Doctor Margery's cloak, she slept on the floor near the sleeping Tildy while Doctor Margery curled at the end of the bed. Each morning and evening the doctor gave Tildy the foul-smelling syrup. Every few hours she would return from this house or that cottage to check on her and give Matilda instructions. The rest of the day Matilda cared for Tildy. When Tildy grew restless and feverish, she wrapped her in cool, wet linen, praying as she did so. She tucked quilts around Tildy's thin body when the chills began. She cleaned Tildy's head wound with wine and changed the bandage. At times Tildy's breathing grew so slow and labored that Matilda thought to run for a priest, but she did not wish to leave her friend alone.

One morning Matilda woke to find Tildy's lips blue and her face pale as death. Doctor Margery was sitting beside the bed, her rosy face near as white as Tildy's. "Her pulse and heart are strong, but her breathing is not. I fear for her," she said. "Tildy is in God's hands now."

And mine,
thought Matilda. "I will not let you die, Tildy," Matilda said, squeezing her friend's hand. "I know dying means you will go to God, but I do not want you to go. I want you to stay here with me." As Tildy passed from sleep to fretful waking and back again to sleep, Matilda bathed and stroked, warmed and cooled her. Tildy did not know her, but still Matilda talked to her. "Live, Tildy!" she whispered. "There are so many raisin pies we have not eaten, and chicken legs, and fresh bread. And somewhere there is a great lady in a wimple in need of starching looking for a girl just like you."

And Matilda prayed. Her
Aves
and
Pater nosters
could have been piled clear to Heaven, so diligently and ceaselessly did she pray. She called upon Saint Aldegund who defended against fevers, Saint Placid who protected from chills, and Saint Lucy who guarded against loss of blood—and just to be safe, she included Adalbert, Godbert, Swithbert, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Day after day Matilda sat with Tildy, held her hand, washed her face with cool water, and forced thin porridge between her lips. "I will not let you die, Tildy," Matilda said again and again. "Who will tell me gossip? And try to make me laugh? Do not die. Stay here and make me laugh."

Finally, slowly, Tildy's face passed from pale to pink, and her cheeks from fiery to rose, and her feverish restlessness became quiet sleep.

The next morning Tildy woke, sore but hungry, her fever gone. Matilda leapt up from her doze with a cry that brought the doctor full awake. She examined Tildy's tongue and pulse and the wound on her head. "You should live now," said Margery, "although it appears you will have a mighty scar here on your forehead."

"Gor," said Tildy with a smile, "how tragic I will seem."

Tildy stayed at Margery's while she grew stronger, and Matilda visited often. Once, when Tildy's head tortured her, when she seemed about to go mad with pain, Matilda found herself picking up an apple and peeling it in one long slow spiral while Tildy watched spellbound, her pains and torments for a time forgotten. Matilda reminded herself to thank Tom when next she saw him.