Page 71 of Heart of Snow
He smiled. “You can’t afford to ‘spare a man,’” he quoted me, then pushed into the room. “Vesalius, I’ve got a live patient for you.”
Hearing the physician’s name, my stomach twirled at the prospect of meeting the great Andreas Vesalius. I followed Felipe, eagerly taking in sights and smells both familiar and foreign. The crushed herbs beside a mortar and pestle and the little pot bubbling over the fire reminded me how much I missed my days of healing sicknesses and brewing electuaries, but the rest of the room was far different from what I’d expected. Sunlight poured across tables covered with a jumble of dissectedanimals, fluid-filled jars, and scattered papers, illuminating the chaos of scientific progress.
And in the middle of it all stood the great Andreas Vesalius. I had expected him to be taller, but his long, black beard and unruly curls matched in every way the eccentric image I had painted of him. His dark eyes narrowed as Friedrich hobbled into the room, white-faced and leaning against Felipe’s attendants. The physician searched around himself, snapping his fingers a few times, then pointed to a table. “Put him here,” he said, pushing aside a mess of papers and bent quills and scooting a half-dissected porcupine out of the way. Friedrich sat atop the cleared surface, perching his leg on the edge of the table to be examined.
Vesalius ripped back the blood-soaked hose and grimaced. “What caused this?”
“A wild boar,” I answered.
Looking at me for the first time, Vesalius’s cheeks colored, but he turned again to Friedrich. “It’s deep. It will need stitching.”
Felipe smiled at me. “You were right, clever girl. How did you know?”
“It takes almost no medical skill to draw such a conclusion,” I answered distractedly, watching Vesalius threading catgut through a needle. “Have you any brandy for my page to drink?”
The physician began rooting through a cabinet of glass bottles when a gentle tap sounded at the door and a footman entered. “Your Grace, His Noble Highness the Emperor wishes to speak with you.”
“Very well,” Felipe answered, then took my hand, pulling me close to whisper in my ear. “I can think of nothing but having you in my arms. I count each painful second until I hold you again.” Lifting my ungloved hand to his mouth, he gave it a slow, soft kiss, pulling back to meet my gaze as he massaged his kiss into my skin with his thumbs. Although my eyes looked at him,my attention was at my periphery, watching Friedrich watch us. I must have nodded, for the prince wore a satisfied smile when he turned to go, taking his attendants and leaving only Friedrich, the physician, and me in the room.
“Drink this.” Vesalius gave Friedrich a cup, then took to his nervous snapping as he walked around the different tables gathering a few towels. Handing them to me, he instructed, “You’ll need to wipe the blood between stitches.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised he would expect me to help, but he was oblivious to it, already collecting his needle and thread and bending over Friedrich’s leg. He pinched together the skin at the top of the gash and forced the needle through the two sides of the split. Friedrich’s back stiffened, and he gripped the table.
“I forgot to ask, my lady.” Vesalius pushed the needle into the pinched skin again. “You don’t sicken at the sight of blood, do you?”
“Never.” Friedrich’s voice was strained as he answered for me. “She’s fearless.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at his reply, but Vesalius paused mid-stitch, looking between Friedrich and me with questioning eyes. I drew his attention back to his work by wiping the blood spilling down Friedrich’s leg, and Vesalius returned to stitching the needle through Friedrich’s skin.
Poor Friedrich’s knuckles were white and his lips pale by the time Vesalius finished. I tapped the damp cloth against his leg another time to wipe up the last drips of blood while Vesalius cleaned his hands in the washstand.
“We should get him lying down,” Vesalius said as he dried his hands on a towel.
Friedrich’s eyes looked heavy. I washed my hands, then stepped close to remove his jerkin, feeling his gaze roaming my face as I slipped the first button from its hold. His breathbrushing across my neck made my fingers stumble over the simple task.
Rough and warm, his hand covered mine, stopping me. “I’ll do it.” His sluggish speech matched the lazy way his eyelids lifted and dropped.
“Do not trouble yourself,” I whispered. “You must rest.” Tugging my fingers out from his grip, I managed to undo the rest of the buttons despite the weight of Friedrich’s attention still heavy on me. I slid the jerkin over his shoulders, bundled it into a pillow, and eased Friedrich down to rest on the table. The rise and fall of his chest soon slowed, and his breathing deepened with sleep.
“It’s the brandy,” Vesalius whispered. “And the pain. Those always rob the injured of their strength.”
I nodded. “I’ve seen it before. It’s strange how the body works.”
Vesalius turned to face me. “You surprise me, my lady. Your experience with healing goes beyond a noblewoman’s customary study of herbs and electuaries. You do well with the macabre and speak as if you’ve practiced the healing arts.”
“A little.” I continued watching Friedrich’s steady breathing. “My tutor gave me a thorough understanding of potions, but I’ve done my best to study beyond that, even reading some of the more technical books on doctoring. I’ve readyourbook. The details of your illustrations are stunning. Was it unsettling posing dead bodies?”
A nervous laugh reverberated in his throat. “I know it’s unusual spending so much time in the company of the dead, but studying the bodies of animals will never fully teach us how the human machine works. One must get in there. Cut things up. Look inside.”
“It seems you do well with the macabre too. You surround yourself with it.” I turned my gaze, taking in every dead thing in the room. Various breeds of fish, birds, and reptiles were splayedout and pinned. Some even hung suspended from the ceiling. The most curious display by far was a neatly organized row of at least seven dead rats.
“Do you have an infestation?” I pointed to the vermin.
“Oh! Oh, no. Those are my experiment. I’m working on a way to dull pain.”
“With dead rats?”
“Well, um, no.” Vesalius scanned the ceiling, snapping his fingers until he found what he sought. “You see this fish here?” He scrambled up a table and pulled down something that looked more like a ball with thorns than a fish. “This is a species from the New World.” He handed me the string from which the fish was suspended, then leaned against the table with the dead rats. “The people there eat these fish for the unusual tingling it causes in the mouth and lips. Sometimes their mouths go numb altogether. Of course, sometimes they die.” He furrowed his brows, lifting the tail of a rat and letting it drop. “But if I could make a paste or draft that would cause that kind of numbness over the whole body, why, your servant there wouldn’t have felt a thing while I stitched him together.”
