The
Physician
Part Seven
Another day, after vespers, Father Anthony asked Paul a question while they stood around the fireplace waiting for Jocko to get the fire going. "Brother Paul, you have been a great help to us since you came here, with your advice on herbal remedies and medicinal matters generally. You mentioned once how you had studied under the physician at St. Augustine's Abbey in Fordwich. Was this during the time of Cnut?"
"No. That was in the '40's. They took me in for the winter of '42, and because I had a good knowledge of medicine, they had me work with Father Osbert in the hospital. He taught me a few tricks."
"What do you mean, you already knew medicine?"
"Yes. It was my trade, when I was young." Old Paul turned to brother Jocko, "When are you going to get that fire going? That's a lot of smoke for no heat."
Jocko had his face in a cloud of soot as he blew hard on the old embers to get them glowing hot again. It wasn't working.
"Go up to the hall and bring back a scoop of hot coals, brother Jocko."
"Right. Good idea."
Jocko stood up and dusted off his robe, scattering a cloud of soot around the kitchen. He turned and went out the door.
"Brother Jocko just doesn't get the hang of it, Father."
Father Anthony stood there staring at the soot settling around them. "No, he hasn't quite mastered it yet." Old Paul smiled.
"So, you were a physician when you were in business?"
"Yes."
"And you learned medicine at St. Augustine's"
"No." Paul walked over to his chair and sat down. He could see where this conversation was going.
"Where'd you learn it?" asked brother Anastasius.
"From my neighbour."
"From your neighbour?"
"Yes."
"What neighbour? Who learns medicine from their next door neighbour?"
"I did."
The monks were sitting down, sensing a story coming on. Jocko rattled around upstairs in the hall. They heard him drop something made of iron. Father Anthony came over and sat down, too.
"Okay, brother Paul. What's the story?"
Paul was beginning to like this attention. "No story. When I was a boy, we lived next door to the physician."
"He must have been quite a good one. What was he doing working in London?"
"He was just getting by. Keeping a roof over his head."
"Why was he working there, though? Why wasn't he in an Abbey hospital?"
"Because he wasn't like the rest of us."
"Monks never are," offered brother Ealdmund.
"He wasn't a monk."
"What do you mean? Was he a soldier? An old army first aid man?"
"No, I mean he wasn't like us... a christian."
"He wasn't a christian? What was he? A jew?"
"No. He was a Frank. But neither a christian or a jew. He was raised in Egypt. His father was a merchant from Marseilles, but his mother was Egyptian." Paul paused, waiting.
"An infidel!"
"Here? In England? I've never seen one."
Paul had expected the outburst. "You wouldn't have thought anything of it if you had seen him. He looked like any Frank from south Gaul. But he was a Muslim physician."
"An infidel!" whispered brother Anastasius, as Jocko entered the room with his shovel full of hot coals. Everyone watched as Jocko carried the fire starter over to the fireplace and tried once more to get the fire going.
"A physician," said Paul, "and a damn good one. The best I've ever known. Jocko, do you mind not blowing so hard? Those coals will burn fine without all that wind."
Jocko grabbed a handfull of kindling and dropped it onto the coals. It wasn't long before the flames licked the dry wood, and he began heaping logs onto the fire.
"That's enough wood, Jocko!" said Father Anthony, and they all turned back towards Old Paul to hear the rest of his talk. But brother Ealdmund spoke up first.
"How can an infidel be a better physician that a christian monk?"
"By knowing what he is doing, brother. Believe me, John the Frank knew his business. And he let me assist him when I was a boy. I worked for him on and off for four years. Until I was fourteen, and he was arrested by Lord Wulfric for witchcraft."
"Ah! He was a witch!"
"No. He was no witch. He was a Muslim physician from Gaul. A rare bird in these parts." Paul was getting irritated.
"Yes, there's not many infidels in England."
"No, I mean there's no men in England who know medicine like he did."
Father Anthony spoke up. "All right, brother Paul. I'm sure there are at least one or two better physicians among the godly christians here in England. After all, it is He who heals us, not we ourselves. We can understand it if this Egyptian Frank was a learned man, with many cunning methods of his own. At least I think most of us can. But what was he doing here?"
"He was a slave, Father. Bought in Brittany by one of King Aethelraed's bishops, to teach his skill here at the bishop's abbey. But the Abbot wouldn't let John the Frank enter the Abbey when he found out he wasn't christian. Nobody would let him live under their roof. The bishop set him up in London with a small shop, next to ours, and told him to earn money practising his trade. The sheriff was licensed to collect the fees from his patients on behalf of the bishop. It was a good little business. I'm sure the bishop earned back the cost of his slave several times over."
"Until Wulfric hanged him."
"Um... he wasn't hanged. He was burnt at the stake. That's the christian way."
Again, Father Anthony objected mildly, "Brother Paul, we do not burn anybody at the stake. You know full well that only the ignorance of our earthly Lords and masters is to blame for the evil that is done in the name of Our Lord Christ Jesus. I have never known a true christian man to ever suggest such evil be done to another man for any cause. It is always the meanest and most ignorant among us who cause such things to be done. And among such christians as they, I doubt we could find one who loves his neighbour half so much as he fears him."
Old Paul nodded, "Well put, Father."
Part Seven
Another day, after vespers, Father Anthony asked Paul a question while they stood around the fireplace waiting for Jocko to get the fire going. "Brother Paul, you have been a great help to us since you came here, with your advice on herbal remedies and medicinal matters generally. You mentioned once how you had studied under the physician at St. Augustine's Abbey in Fordwich. Was this during the time of Cnut?"
"No. That was in the '40's. They took me in for the winter of '42, and because I had a good knowledge of medicine, they had me work with Father Osbert in the hospital. He taught me a few tricks."
"What do you mean, you already knew medicine?"
"Yes. It was my trade, when I was young." Old Paul turned to brother Jocko, "When are you going to get that fire going? That's a lot of smoke for no heat."
Jocko had his face in a cloud of soot as he blew hard on the old embers to get them glowing hot again. It wasn't working.
"Go up to the hall and bring back a scoop of hot coals, brother Jocko."
"Right. Good idea."
Jocko stood up and dusted off his robe, scattering a cloud of soot around the kitchen. He turned and went out the door.
"Brother Jocko just doesn't get the hang of it, Father."
Father Anthony stood there staring at the soot settling around them. "No, he hasn't quite mastered it yet." Old Paul smiled.
"So, you were a physician when you were in business?"
"Yes."
"And you learned medicine at St. Augustine's"
"No." Paul walked over to his chair and sat down. He could see where this conversation was going.
"Where'd you learn it?" asked brother Anastasius.
"From my neighbour."
"From your neighbour?"
"Yes."
"What neighbour? Who learns medicine from their next door neighbour?"
"I did."
The monks were sitting down, sensing a story coming on. Jocko rattled around upstairs in the hall. They heard him drop something made of iron. Father Anthony came over and sat down, too.
"Okay, brother Paul. What's the story?"
Paul was beginning to like this attention. "No story. When I was a boy, we lived next door to the physician."
"He must have been quite a good one. What was he doing working in London?"
"He was just getting by. Keeping a roof over his head."
"Why was he working there, though? Why wasn't he in an Abbey hospital?"
"Because he wasn't like the rest of us."
"Monks never are," offered brother Ealdmund.
"He wasn't a monk."
"What do you mean? Was he a soldier? An old army first aid man?"
"No, I mean he wasn't like us... a christian."
"He wasn't a christian? What was he? A jew?"
"No. He was a Frank. But neither a christian or a jew. He was raised in Egypt. His father was a merchant from Marseilles, but his mother was Egyptian." Paul paused, waiting.
"An infidel!"
"Here? In England? I've never seen one."
Paul had expected the outburst. "You wouldn't have thought anything of it if you had seen him. He looked like any Frank from south Gaul. But he was a Muslim physician."
"An infidel!" whispered brother Anastasius, as Jocko entered the room with his shovel full of hot coals. Everyone watched as Jocko carried the fire starter over to the fireplace and tried once more to get the fire going.
"A physician," said Paul, "and a damn good one. The best I've ever known. Jocko, do you mind not blowing so hard? Those coals will burn fine without all that wind."
Jocko grabbed a handfull of kindling and dropped it onto the coals. It wasn't long before the flames licked the dry wood, and he began heaping logs onto the fire.
"That's enough wood, Jocko!" said Father Anthony, and they all turned back towards Old Paul to hear the rest of his talk. But brother Ealdmund spoke up first.
"How can an infidel be a better physician that a christian monk?"
"By knowing what he is doing, brother. Believe me, John the Frank knew his business. And he let me assist him when I was a boy. I worked for him on and off for four years. Until I was fourteen, and he was arrested by Lord Wulfric for witchcraft."
"Ah! He was a witch!"
"No. He was no witch. He was a Muslim physician from Gaul. A rare bird in these parts." Paul was getting irritated.
"Yes, there's not many infidels in England."
"No, I mean there's no men in England who know medicine like he did."
Father Anthony spoke up. "All right, brother Paul. I'm sure there are at least one or two better physicians among the godly christians here in England. After all, it is He who heals us, not we ourselves. We can understand it if this Egyptian Frank was a learned man, with many cunning methods of his own. At least I think most of us can. But what was he doing here?"
"He was a slave, Father. Bought in Brittany by one of King Aethelraed's bishops, to teach his skill here at the bishop's abbey. But the Abbot wouldn't let John the Frank enter the Abbey when he found out he wasn't christian. Nobody would let him live under their roof. The bishop set him up in London with a small shop, next to ours, and told him to earn money practising his trade. The sheriff was licensed to collect the fees from his patients on behalf of the bishop. It was a good little business. I'm sure the bishop earned back the cost of his slave several times over."
"Until Wulfric hanged him."
"Um... he wasn't hanged. He was burnt at the stake. That's the christian way."
Again, Father Anthony objected mildly, "Brother Paul, we do not burn anybody at the stake. You know full well that only the ignorance of our earthly Lords and masters is to blame for the evil that is done in the name of Our Lord Christ Jesus. I have never known a true christian man to ever suggest such evil be done to another man for any cause. It is always the meanest and most ignorant among us who cause such things to be done. And among such christians as they, I doubt we could find one who loves his neighbour half so much as he fears him."
Old Paul nodded, "Well put, Father."
"No. That was in the '40's. They took me in for the winter of '42, and because I had a good knowledge of medicine, they had me work with Father Osbert in the hospital. He taught me a few tricks."
"What do you mean, you already knew medicine?"
"Yes. It was my trade, when I was young." Old Paul turned to brother Jocko, "When are you going to get that fire going? That's a lot of smoke for no heat."
Jocko had his face in a cloud of soot as he blew hard on the old embers to get them glowing hot again. It wasn't working.
"Go up to the hall and bring back a scoop of hot coals, brother Jocko."
"Right. Good idea."
Jocko stood up and dusted off his robe, scattering a cloud of soot around the kitchen. He turned and went out the door.
"Brother Jocko just doesn't get the hang of it, Father."
Father Anthony stood there staring at the soot settling around them. "No, he hasn't quite mastered it yet." Old Paul smiled.
"So, you were a physician when you were in business?"
"Yes."
"And you learned medicine at St. Augustine's"
"No." Paul walked over to his chair and sat down. He could see where this conversation was going.
"Where'd you learn it?" asked brother Anastasius.
"From my neighbour."
"From your neighbour?"
"Yes."
"What neighbour? Who learns medicine from their next door neighbour?"
"I did."
The monks were sitting down, sensing a story coming on. Jocko rattled around upstairs in the hall. They heard him drop something made of iron. Father Anthony came over and sat down, too.
"Okay, brother Paul. What's the story?"
Paul was beginning to like this attention. "No story. When I was a boy, we lived next door to the physician."
"He must have been quite a good one. What was he doing working in London?"
"He was just getting by. Keeping a roof over his head."
"Why was he working there, though? Why wasn't he in an Abbey hospital?"
"Because he wasn't like the rest of us."
"Monks never are," offered brother Ealdmund.
"He wasn't a monk."
"What do you mean? Was he a soldier? An old army first aid man?"
"No, I mean he wasn't like us... a christian."
"He wasn't a christian? What was he? A jew?"
"No. He was a Frank. But neither a christian or a jew. He was raised in Egypt. His father was a merchant from Marseilles, but his mother was Egyptian." Paul paused, waiting.
"An infidel!"
"Here? In England? I've never seen one."
Paul had expected the outburst. "You wouldn't have thought anything of it if you had seen him. He looked like any Frank from south Gaul. But he was a Muslim physician."
"An infidel!" whispered brother Anastasius, as Jocko entered the room with his shovel full of hot coals. Everyone watched as Jocko carried the fire starter over to the fireplace and tried once more to get the fire going.
"A physician," said Paul, "and a damn good one. The best I've ever known. Jocko, do you mind not blowing so hard? Those coals will burn fine without all that wind."
Jocko grabbed a handfull of kindling and dropped it onto the coals. It wasn't long before the flames licked the dry wood, and he began heaping logs onto the fire.
"That's enough wood, Jocko!" said Father Anthony, and they all turned back towards Old Paul to hear the rest of his talk. But brother Ealdmund spoke up first.
"How can an infidel be a better physician that a christian monk?"
"By knowing what he is doing, brother. Believe me, John the Frank knew his business. And he let me assist him when I was a boy. I worked for him on and off for four years. Until I was fourteen, and he was arrested by Lord Wulfric for witchcraft."
"Ah! He was a witch!"
"No. He was no witch. He was a Muslim physician from Gaul. A rare bird in these parts." Paul was getting irritated.
"Yes, there's not many infidels in England."
"No, I mean there's no men in England who know medicine like he did."
Father Anthony spoke up. "All right, brother Paul. I'm sure there are at least one or two better physicians among the godly christians here in England. After all, it is He who heals us, not we ourselves. We can understand it if this Egyptian Frank was a learned man, with many cunning methods of his own. At least I think most of us can. But what was he doing here?"
"He was a slave, Father. Bought in Brittany by one of King Aethelraed's bishops, to teach his skill here at the bishop's abbey. But the Abbot wouldn't let John the Frank enter the Abbey when he found out he wasn't christian. Nobody would let him live under their roof. The bishop set him up in London with a small shop, next to ours, and told him to earn money practising his trade. The sheriff was licensed to collect the fees from his patients on behalf of the bishop. It was a good little business. I'm sure the bishop earned back the cost of his slave several times over."
"Until Wulfric hanged him."
"Um... he wasn't hanged. He was burnt at the stake. That's the christian way."
Again, Father Anthony objected mildly, "Brother Paul, we do not burn anybody at the stake. You know full well that only the ignorance of our earthly Lords and masters is to blame for the evil that is done in the name of Our Lord Christ Jesus. I have never known a true christian man to ever suggest such evil be done to another man for any cause. It is always the meanest and most ignorant among us who cause such things to be done. And among such christians as they, I doubt we could find one who loves his neighbour half so much as he fears him."
Old Paul nodded, "Well put, Father."