‘I’ll need to remove the arrow before anything else,’ Erchembald said. ‘Here, take this.’
He was speaking to me, I realised, and he was holding out a small glass bottle no larger than the width of my palm, which contained some clear liquid.
I took it from him, frowning. ‘What is it?’
‘Extract of nightshade and poppy dissolved in spirit,’ he replied as he went to the shelf on the wall and retrieved a bone needle, which he began to thread. ‘Mix one part of it with three parts wine. There’s a flagon and bowl on the table there.’ He glanced at Turold. ‘Fetch me the tongs and piece of wood from the chest under those blankets.’
I did as he asked, unstoppering the bottle and pouring in the clear liquid until the bowl was one-quarter full, or as near as I could manage, then adding the wine. Only a few last dregs were left in the flagon, but it was enough.
‘Now what?’ I asked.
‘Now stir it,’ Erchembald replied. ‘Then he must drink. With any luck it will help to alleviate the pain. And you’ – he gestured again to Turold and handed him another cloth – ‘come and stand here. When I say, you must press this against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.’
Taking one of the spatulas from the box at the priest’s feet, I stirred the mixture until it was the same colour throughout, then carried it across to the bed. I knelt down beside ?dda, cradling his head in one hand while I lifted the bowl to his lips. At first he resisted and would not drink, but I saw Robert standing just outside the door and I called him over to help hold him still while I grabbed the Englishman’s nose. He tried to draw away, but very soon he had to breathe, and when he did I was ready with the bowl. I tipped some of the mixture into his open mouth; he spluttered but I clamped his jaw shut with my free hand until he swallowed. He gasped and mumbled something that might have been an insult, but if it was I could not make it out, and then his head sank back on to the mattress.
‘Fetch me some more wine,’ said Erchembald, to no one in particular, as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe. ‘The stronger, the better. He’ll need it.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Robert said.
‘And send everyone else away,’ the priest called after him. ‘I need to be able to see what I’m doing.’
I glanced towards the door, and saw the faces of Serlo and Pons, with a number of the villagers pressing behind them, straining their necks in an effort to see what was going on. Together they were blocking the priest’s light.
Erchembald peered at the arrow. ‘There are no barbs that I can see. With any luck that should make this easier.’ He turned to me. ‘Hold him still. Otherwise this will only take longer. Give him that piece of wood to bite down on.’
He pointed to the block that Turold had brought him, which rested on the floor just behind me. On each side there were marks where previous patients had buried their teeth.
‘Here,’ I said to the Englishman as I placed it between his jaws.
Outside I could hear Robert shouting at the gathering crowd, driving them away from the house, and suddenly bright sunlight flooded into the room.
I pressed down on both of ?dda’s shoulders with all my weight, pinning him to the bed as I met his gaze. The look of steely determination that I had grown used to had all but vanished; instead there were tears in his good eye, tears rolling down his bruised cheek, though he was trying to hold them back, and I could feel his fear.
And then it began. First the priest worked two long-handled spoons into the wound, which he cupped around either side of the arrowhead before extracting it with great care. ?dda grunted and clenched his teeth firmly around the woodblock, but this was not even the hard part.
‘The cloth,’ Erchembald said, as a trickle of fresh blood ran down the Englishman’s side.
While Turold did as instructed, the priest set aside the arrowhead, then he inspected the wound.
‘No shards of wood or steel left inside.’ He lifted up a steel pin, fearsomely sharp, from the stool next to him, and I saw the whites of ?dda’s eyes. To Turold he said: ‘Take those tongs. When I say, you must hold the flesh either side of the wound while I make the holes. Grip tightly and don’t let go unless I tell you to.’ He turned to me. ‘Are you ready? He will struggle, but for this I need you to make sure he doesn’t move.’
‘I’m ready.’