The Canterbury Tales: A Retelling by Peter Ackroyd Read Free Page B

you would see in the guildhall, sitting at the high table, greeting each other with ‘God’s speed’ and ‘God give you grace’. Any one of them could have been an alderman. Any one of them had the income, and the property, to attain civic office. Their wives would have agreed on that point, too, and would have blamed them if they failed to take advantage of the situation. These worthy women liked to be called ‘ma dame’. They enjoyed leading the processions to the parish church, on festal days, bearing themselves with all the dignity of royalty.
    These worthy citizens had hired a COOK for the journey. I tasted one of his meals, a pudding of chicken, marrow bones, milk, hard-boiled eggs, ginger and other spices that he kept secret. It was delicious. He knew all about London beer, too, and he could roast or broil or fry or simmer with the best of them. He could prepare a stew, and bake a pie, with the same alacrity. There was just one problem. He had a large ulcer on his lower leg, which wept and was unsightly. Still, his chicken mousse was perfect. You can’t have everything.
    There was a SHIPMAN with us, hailing from the west country. I imagine that he came from Devon, judging by his accent, but I cannot be sure. He rode upon a carthorse as best he could, not being used to land transport. And he wore a robe of coarse woollen cloth, not being used to land fashion. He had a dagger hanging from a cord around his neck, as if he were about to encounter pirates. The hot summers at sea had weathered him. But he was a good enough fellow. He had tapped many barrels of fine Bordeaux wine, when the merchant was not looking, and had no scruples about it. A ship’s cargo is not sacrosanct. The sea was the element in which he felt at home. He had acquired all the skills of observation and navigation; he had learned how to calculate the tides and the currents, and knew from long acquaintance the hidden perils of the deep. No one from Hull to Carthage knew more about natural harbours and anchorages; he could fix the position of the moon and the stars without the aid of an astrolabe. He knew all the havens, from Gotland to Cape Finistere, and every creek in Brittany and Spain. He told me of his voyages as far north as Iceland, and of his journeys to the Venetian colonies of Crete and of Corfu. He called his bed his ‘berth’ and his companions were his ‘mates’. His beard had been shaken by many tempests, but he was a sturdy and courageous man. ‘What is the broadest water,’ he once asked me, ‘and the least danger to walk over?’ ‘I have no notion.’ ‘The dew.’ His boat, by the way, was called the
Magdalene
.
    There was a DOCTOR OF PHYSIC also with us. No one on earth could have spoken more eloquently about medicine and surgery. He exemplified the old saying that a good physician is half an astronomer, and he could identify all the influences of the stars. He told me, for example, that Aries governs the head and all its contents; when the moon was in Aries, he felt able to operate upon the cheek or forehead. Taurus is the sign for neck and throat. The bollocks, or testicles, or cod, or yard, apparently lie in Scorpio. This was news to me. I thought that they lay in my mistress. But enough of that. I do not choose to display myself. Now this doctor knew the cause of every malady engendered in the bodily fluids. Some are hot, and some are cold; some are moist, and some are dry. But, alas, all things are mixed and mingled beneath the moon. And then he discoursed upon the humours. ‘You,’ he said to me, ‘are melancolius. And a portion phlegmaticus.’ I did not know whether to be alarmed or relieved. He was in any event an excellent physician. As soon as he knew the root and cause of any ailment, he could apply the appropriate remedy. He had his own chosen apothecaries to send him drugs and other medicines, from which both he and they made a great deal of money. The dung of doves was an excellent cure for sore