On Crusade by Katherine Kurtz

Author:Katherine Kurtz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0446673390
Publisher: Aspect
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The next morning, I awoke at sunrise to the droning of my master’s prayers, rousing myself reluctantly from my warm bed. After a brief repast, we hied ourselves to the Papal Apartments, where we began questioning the papal servants, quickly determining those few who had served under the previous administration. Chief among these was Frère Ambrosin, a man of some fifty years who now had achieved the position of majordomo to the papal household. A fringe of gray hair surrounded his pointed bald pate, making it look like nothing so much as a large, naked boulder poking up through dried, faded grass, the rock cracked and weather-stained by the elements.

“I’m a busy man,” he said. “Whatever do you want?”

“Just a little of your time, Brother,” my master replied. “And some of your memories. His Holiness has given me leave to question you on these matters. During the time of Papa Clemens, God rest his memory, you were serving in the household here, were you not?”

“In truth, sir, I entered the Pope’s service in the year 1303, when he was still Archbishop of Bordeaux: Bertrand de Got, as he was known then. He was a kind master to me, and I stayed with him when he was elevated to the papacy two years later.” He scratched his bare head. “What’s this about, sir? Have I done something wrong?”

Master William smiled. “No, nothing, Brother Ambrosin, please reassure yourself on that account. I just want to know something about the late Pope’s health.”

“His health, sir?” The majordomo looked puzzled. “Well, it was never very good, even from the beginning of his reign. He had the first of his ‘spells,’ as he used to call them, about a year after his election, following an argument with King Philip over those devil-worshippers the Templars. He lay abed for a month and was ill for more than four. Thereafter, the ‘spells’ came upon him at irregular times, often after some unpleasantness or other. Men in high stations seem to have an unending stream of such difficulties. Over the years these attacks steadily got worse, and finally he died of the last of them.”

“Tell me more about these ‘spells,’ ” my master said.

“Oh, they were terrible, sir,” the monk replied. “He’d have these pains in the belly something fierce, and he’d be doubled up and tossing about all night, often getting no rest at all, and he couldn’t keep anything down, sometimes for days on end. Oh, we often prayed to God Almighty for his relief. I thought the first ‘spell’ would kill him for sure, it went on so long, but he finally recovered some of his health early in 1307, though never like before.

“The attacks began again two years later, and with each one he gradually weakened, until the final episodes caused him to shit blood and spit black bile sometimes. He suffered as much as any holy martyr, sir, I can tell you.” He crossed himself.

“Who treated him when he had these attacks?” asked Master William.

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