Chapter 6: The Three Doctors (cont'd)
-Tales of the Ten Princes, A.D. 1200
He was nearly done writing his letter to the Sultan on behalf of the Commandant. He sensed someone near, someone escorted by Beadra. He knew in the shadows of his mind that this was his patient, a body and a soul that must be attended to. But he was in his writing trance; the letter was going well, would not have to be rewritten at the cost of labor, ink and papyrus. Absently he noted the scratching of his quill, always a thing that helped maintain his trance.
…as to the thought among some of your trusted advisors that this eating of people may be a disease of the body, some wicked agency of the flesh to devour like flesh, I must respectfully decline to agree. The ancients, from Aristotle to my dear Sina, are silent on this account. That as it is, the urge, and indeed the acting upon the urge, to eat another’s flesh is not universal—not nearly so—and thus cannot be attributed to a submerged animal nature within man’s breast. As to the charge that women are more often guilty of this—buttressed by the vast number of women who have been found in the possession of half-eaten children—I say the women who were caught with the proof of their crime, is a circumstance which in my opinion arose from the fact that women are less crafty than men and cannot so readily flee to escape pursuit. As to the poor being guilty of this to the exclusion of the well-to-do, well, the pantries of the well-to-do have not yet been depleted, and the poor, are, well, the poor and have little if any higher mental faculties, verily little more than beasts as they are. As for the assertion of our praiseworthy and most sublime Imam, I have some notion of concurrence, and not simply out of reverence for God and his most diligent servants. I hesitate that the dirty Christian hordes might have brought some flesh-eating plague with them to Syria, as the plague is not reported up there, and therefore did not migrate from that locale—vile though it has been made by the tramp of the unclean hooves of Christ. Rather this plague came where the waters of the Nile did not. The waters of the Nile, according to my Ethiopian manservant had from your kind hand, rise in the Mountains of the Moon, a black country where the eating of men is a common religious observance among that heathen kind. The plague of the flesh-eating mind has thus likely floated over the dying river down to us, perhaps the heathen impetus of those who serve The Deceiver in the absence of Oh Merciful God, seeking the worms of the earth that are the Christian filth of Frankdom who have come so near this great land. It is a fact that Christians exult in the ritual of the eating of their Christ and the drinking of his blood, and if the thrice-damned Jews can be credited with any pious thought it is the rejection of this vile notion. I submit to you, in partial agreement with his most learned and pious Imam of Cairo, that The Deceiver, that vile husband to remorseless soul-eating Kismet, has, in defiance of Mighty God, sought to unleash famine upon the bread basket of The-lands-who-do-so-kneel-in-submission-to-God, in hopes that the flesh eating humors of the black kingdoms might float downriver in the place of the life-giving waters so that they might mingle with the flesh-eating spirits of vile Christendom whose unclean hordes have muddied the clean waters of the Middle-sea, and await like fiends in the night to eat of our flesh. I say this Mighty and Most-just Sultan, in agreement with the clergy-high that your Realm hangs now like the very Fruit in the Garden of Aden, with which that hussy Eve so tempted Adam. Your Realm, I fear, has become the very Fruit of The Deceiver, with which he tempts the heathen hosts of dark Africa and pale Frankdom alike. As such, the Commandant’s policy of burning the eaters of the dead is in keeping with strict medical opinion on the banishment of unhealthy humors.
I shall write further of my findings as this pestilential curse—and curse I deem it—scourges the land. Your Obedient and Loyal Slave, Worshipful slave-to God-in-subtle-guise.
‘I wonder if I should re-write this as perhaps two or three paragraphs?’
‘Don’t be silly. The length and complexity of your thoughts shall reflect well on your mind—as it is, so it goes.’
As he folded his papyrus he heard the impatient jangle of mail behind him.
He turned on his stool to see an impatient horseman of a minor house, standing next to a good young wife, a bit disheveled and clutching her fat little child as if all the djinn of the Sahara were sniffing at its tender heels. The woman was still shaking from some ordeal and was being fanned and comforted by Beadra, who continued to grow more favorable in his lonely eyes.
He met the eyes of the horseman and the fellow addressed Abd al-Latif, most astonishingly, “Lord Doctor, the Commandant has directed me to bring this woman to you, having saved her from a ruffian down on the canal bank. Her husband is away to the Mahgreb on official business and the Commandant has assumed guardianship over her virtue and her person, this duty therefore ours as well.”
“May you stay warrior, or is your betrayed need to go an urgent one?”
Looking around and noting that Ibis was off with Awn al-Muzan and that even little Ibrahm was nowhere to be seen, he felt fearful, even in this palace, without a fighting man near. He himself was still shaken from the ordeal among the tents.
‘Curse you for a coward Abd!’
‘Indeed I am.’
The warrior bowed. “No worry Lord Doctor, the duty house guard patrols the grounds—Abyssinian archers, rough fellows, will butcher those rascal bands and leave them for the crows. I must be off to Misr. We have thirty women to burn today, all child-eaters.”
His stomach almost loosened into his throat with those words. But he put up a good front and saluted the warrior before the young man turned and left. As the man marched out he longed in his mind for that courage possessed by such men, that it one day be found beating in his faint heart. For now though, he had a patient to attend, and fair she was, despite her obvious ordeal.
He looked to the green eyes of the good wife above her veil, which had clearly been soiled and recently cleaned by Beardra, and smiled. As was proper, Beadra introduced the woman, who should not ever be known to have spoken directly with a man, even a doctor, other than to her husband or a man of her blood.
“Master, I introduce the wife of Sildat awn-Mohamed. She has some slight bruises which I have anointed and some scratches which I have salved.”
He smiled to the stricken woman and motioned for the baby. With some encouragement from Beadra she gave over the infant and they all three gathered around his writing table where he unswaddled the child and examined it, speaking absently to the mother as he did so. They did not face one another, and in this manner he hoped that she might speak freely as they both gazed upon the child heir of her husband’s hopes.
“So Noble Wife, good for you it was that the horseman came to your rescue.”
He said this as he examined the now naked boy who was quite calm, even wise of eye, despite being just weaned. Many a bruise, those caused by a man’s strong dirty hand and those caused by a woman’s small dainty hand, marked the child as the subject of a veritable tug-of-war, which she described rather laconically, as if her mind was upon something else.
“Beadra, cleanse and salve these nail scratches and anoint the bruises. Find a clean cloth to swaddle him in also.”
Beadra was off and then the woman glanced around and began to speak in a hushed tone. “The horseman was in sight from a distance the entire time, but did not see me until I managed to scream. He did not save me and I did not save myself, though I must credit him lest I be burned like the baby eater women. As a man of medicine I trust you where I would not trust my good husband. May I speak of things best unspoken doctor?”
He regarded her eyes over her veil and thought, ‘This woman has seen a thing to make her quake, a thing perhaps that might serve my quest to stave off this devil plague.’
“Lady, you have my word of honor on the ghost of my dear mother that your words stay between us.”
“Doctor, you are known about town, indeed known by my husband who aspires to become a naturalist, as a man of learning and well-travelled ways, as well as a gentle soul. Abd al-Latif is a name a wife can evoke in her husband’s hearing without the invoking of jealousy or the charge of impropriety.”
‘Not a man in this great city can even imagine me swaying a woman! Why I must appear a dolt indeed! Ibis must laugh under his breath at my faintly regarded manhood—no eunuch necessary when pathetic Abd al-Latif is in the harim!’
“I was walking along the canal bank in sight of the horseman who just left, thinking myself and my baby quite safe. I then spied, down in the canal waters, which have been all dreadful and full of nothing but algae, scum and dead fish, a beautiful blossoming expanse of lilies, of a pallid variety I am not familiar with, despite having been raised from a girl in my father’s gardens—he being the chief naturalist to the Caliph in Bagdad.
“I walked down gingerly on the bank to pluck a lily. The very water plants seemed to beckon with a soft song, their rustling together I thought. Every tenth lily or so had a bobbing iris, like a black-eyed flower of the Tarsus bobbing in the late spring breeze above the Cilician Gates—my father collected those you know. How grand, how queer, how wonderful, I thought! So I crouch-walked cradling my baby and cooing to the lilies and he all together, feeling like I was back home in Father’s garden; a curious girl with her doll.
“When I neared the patch of lilies the entire patch seemed to gather toward me, crowding as if pushed by a current. But there was no current in the canal. The lilies crowded as if pushed by a breeze. But the Sahara has not breathed upon us since Aquarius. I then took note of how fruit-like the bobbing flower iris seemed and was compelled—as if by some hunger—to pluck one. Then it looked at me! It was an eye I tell you, an eye! And I must tell someone lest I go mad, but if I tell people shall believe me mad and I will be burned!”
‘Oh my—this accords with the Imam’s assertion—and your naturalistic equating of such in terms of fruit—why is this coincidence or the hand of God? Encourage her to continue.’
He left one caring palm on the serene baby’s belly and gave her the hand of relaxation, with the light patting motion indicating the banishment of anxiety. “Good, sane, woman—loyal wife; fierce mother, you have nothing to fear. I have been charged by the Commandant at the Sultan’s very request to ascertain the nature of this flesh-eating scourge that has come downriver in the wake of famine, and you may well have one of its secrets; a secret that I shall forget was brought to light by a woman defending her child. Go on, continue and quickly.”
‘This baby is most unusually serene. Take care to examine him as she rambles.’
“Doctor, when that eye turned on its stalk to regard me like a mind up out of damnation, my stomach turned, and my heart yearned to embrace the lily patch, to place my baby like Moses upon its peddles, which somehow held out a promise to keep him afloat, as I swam among them. Then came the dirty hands of the rascally ruffian tugging at my baby and I tugged back, the lily-spell broken. We tugged and tugged; the ruffian and I. Until finally I made my way to the top of the canal bank and threw myself on my baby. The rascal then lurked and snatched at, even tried to eat raw, the little hands and feet of my soft baby boy. This caused me to cry out and scream. Soon the pounding of hooves could be heard. Through all of this my baby cried not, acting as if he were a martyr in service to God—these same kind eyes.”
Abd al-Latif was intrigued and nodded for her to continue with urgency as Beadra could be heard at the door. He raised his hand toward the door and heard Beadra stop in her tracks. Then whispered, “Continue in a hush mind you.”
And so she spoke leaning closer and whispering beneath her veil, her baby quiet beneath them, as if he understood and already knew the tale. “Doctor, on my soul and before God what I say is true. As the distant hooves of the horseman’s charger pounded nearer, but before they were close enough to feel the vibrations under me, the ruffian leaped up in consternation, looked around, and then bounded down the canal toward the water. He made to cross, wading among the lilies. It then came to pass that he waded among no lilies! The lily peddles, instead of parting, came up out of the water. Those peddles with the bobbing eyes came up the highest—perhaps three hands above the water, with the eyes looking about, craning their long thread-like necks this way and that. And beneath these pedals, which were not peddles at all, but the palms of cadaverous-green pale hands draped with lily-peddle-like flaps of skin, were wrists, as if the arms of an aquatic army up out of hell reached for the sky. The other peddles became claw-like hands and clutched at the rascal, who gurgled with such terror that he could barely be heard, as he was dragged beneath the dark waters! I swear to you Abd al-Latif, that this is true, and beg you, who we wives name ‘The Merciful Heart of Cairo’, not to unburden my secret!
He straightened up as he waved Beadra forward and indicated that she take care of the baby.
‘I feel I must swoon—for this woman speaks true of an unfathomable blasphemy which you must keep within your weak breast. Yes, but your mind is strong. Become the eyes of God in this matter. You have influence. There, better, I shall not swoon.’
He nodded protectively to the good wife and adopted his most fatherly tone, though a father he was yet to be. “It is good that you covered the baby. He will be well enough with some expectorant tea, as some chest congestion might be expected after being squished against the moist canal bank in morning. Do not worry. The protection of your privacy in this matter will be my utmost concern.”
The woman blinked both her eyes in thanks and gathered with Beadra about her child—who still seemed oddly serene—to assist in his care.
‘Step away would be devil hunter, step away and carry her burden with you.’
Abd al-Latif walked toward the gathering room where his colleagues even now awaited him—an important sort of fellow all of a sudden because of this grave calamity. He walked out of this dear woman’s life forever he hoped, so he might not remind her of that happening which she so wished to forget: a canal haunting which she seemed to credit with saving her baby from the rascal, even though she knew the very notion was blasphemy.
‘This thing, the battling of this curse, perhaps this is the route to a cowardly doctor’s claim upon honor?’
