Father Denehard sent an urgent summons to the infirmarian of the nearby monastery. The weak-chinned, ingratiating monk lent over Caena, careful to avoid breathing in his tainted breath saying, “The fever rages, an imbalance in humours or he inhaled a bad smell …”
From the first, Begiloc disliked the brother, whose indecisiveness rankled, confirmed by his words, “…we must observe him if the burning passes but to return he must be bled – it is the Roman fever.”
Aghast, Begiloc and the priest exchanged glances. Without medical notions of his own the warrior had an ingrained suspicion the wiccan women of Dumnonia, with their herbs and magic, were more effective than monks and nuns for all their prayers and blood-letting.
The monk continued his inspection, “It"s not so much the lancing – the
