20 October 1123

　　Baron Walter groaned in bed as Bishop Godfrey completed a third bloodletting. Godfrey had been tending to the Baron since their hunt the previous day - organised in the Bishop`s honour - had gone awry. Walter had proven to be a boorish host, keeping Godfrey awake throughout the night. The Baron spent his time locked away in his quarters bellowing in pain rather than entertaining his high-profile guest. Typical of an Isledweller to lack true European sophistication.

　　The Baron`s accident was yet another misfortune on Godfrey`s dreary tour around his newly acquired parishes. He had arrived from the European continent only months earlier, escorting the King`s second wife to her new home. Godfrey`s appointment as the Bishop of Bath and Wells was a reward for years of faithful service as Her Majesty`s chaplain.

　　Being on the wrong side of sixty, he was eager to receive the promotion. And the improved standard of living that came with it. But his welcome tour had revealed that, even for a bishop, life on the road was still an endless repetition of the same boring service in overcrowded chapels for unengaged congregations.

　　The Baron`s injury didn`t even make for an impressive story that Godfrey could recount to future guests. Rather than something gallant, like being gored by a cornered boar or falling from his horse at full gallop, Walter had managed to be stung by a humble bumble bee. All children were familiar with the sharp pain and hours of throbbing that followed a bee sting but for some unknown reason the Baron`s entire finger had swollen and turned a worrying shade of blue. The hunting expedition was cancelled before they had spotted a single animal.

　　Godfrey was a progressive man and had used his limited spare time to experiment with treatments beyond those accepted amongst his fellow clergy. His experiments had mixed success for his usually compliant patients but he`d learned several tricks while helping those in his care. For Walter, Godfrey created a pure environment before cleaning the wound. The Bishop tried to remove all of the Baron`s jewellery but he wouldn`t hear of cutting the gold ring from his stung finger. Godfrey was certain it was the source of his host`s pain but Walter was adamant so the Bishop was forced to consider alternative options.

　　Next he tried bloodletting. Godfrey reasoned that extraction of blood would reduce the volume of the swollen digit but was displeased when the finger remained enlarged despite several extractions. It appeared to be turning a deeper shade of blue too. Godfrey was unsure what more he could do but, unless something changed soon, would need to amputate the finger to prevent the corruption from spreading beyond the ring.

　　Walter glared at the Bishop as he applied a cork stopper to the latest vial of blood, despite the generous efforts to help. There was a knock at the door and Godfrey growled in annoyance. He`d been abundantly clear that he didn`t wish to be disturbed.

　　The door opened and Walter`s old Castellan limped in, bowing to Godfrey before ushering a girl into the room. She had brilliant red curls and was unusually tall. Godfrey`s annoyance rose when he noticed that the woman wore the rags of a peasant, strange to see within a keep but not entirely unexpected from the English rabble. As if the interruption weren`t bad enough, Godfrey felt dirty just looking at her and he resented the woman for ruining the pure healing environment he`d worked so hard to create.

　　Godfrey was pleased when his assistant - a dour and businesslike priest - moved to quickly intercept the newcomers.

　　"What is the meaning of this? His Excellency explicitly asked for no interruptions while he is tending to your lord. Healing is a delicate process."

　　"My lord," the Castellan said to the Baron, ignoring the Assistant. "You have most fortuitous timing. We`ve been visited by a healer woman travelling from Exeter. She has an excellent knowledge of herb-lore and might alleviate your pain while we wait for the Bishop`s efforts to take effect."

　　The Castellan turned on his heel and limped from the room before anyone could respond. The four remaining occupants awkwardly tried to size up the room. The Baron propped himself up in bed and appraised the newcomer, also viewing her ragged appearance with open distaste. Godfrey`s assistant moved to shoo her away but in the same instant she spoke directly to the Bishop and the Baron.

　　"My lord. Your Excellency. I am indeed a healer. What is it that ails the Baron? I would be honoured to do what I can to assist."

　　Godfrey was shocked on two counts. First, that a lowly peasant had the gall to directly address nobility, without being asked to speak. More surprisingly, he registered that she spoke to them in French. The language of nobility. It was a strange dialect but unmistakably French.

　　Who was this woman?

　　Walter responded first. "My damned finger is about to fall off!" He brandished his bloody hand at the woman, splattering droplets across his quilt.

　　The peasant made to move towards the bed.

　　"Your services won`t be needed," Godfrey told the woman firmly in French, testing her understanding. "Walter`s humours are in balance and I have already administered appropriate treatment. You can do nothing more but pray for his speedy recovery."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

　　The peasant`s steely eyes revealed complete comprehension and a hint of disapproval.

　　"Your treatments haven`t worked Bishop," Walter told him acidly. "If anything, they`ve made it worse. Let the girl take a look."

　　Godfrey was stunned by the Baron`s insolence. He was only minor nobility, well beneath a bishop in rank, and surely knew when to defer to authority. The Bishop`s blood began to boil.

　　"She wouldn`t even know where to begin," Godfrey scoffed. "If she thinks she knows more than the Lord`s highest representative to these lands, then by all means."

　　"I`ll try anything at this stage," the Baron groaned. "Let her have a look."

　　With Walter`s permission, the woman placed her bags by the door and delicately walked around the Baron`s bed. As she passed, Godfrey noticed that beneath her ragged clothing she wore the most beautifully crafted boots he had ever seen. They looked better than any boots Godfrey had ever owned, an unusual design and precisely cut from the finest leather. The blatant display of wealth by one so far below his station stoked Godfrey`s rage even further.

　　"Greetings lord Baron, I`m Matilda. What happened?" She spoke to the Baron in an insultingly casual tone.

　　"I got stung by a wretched bee out in the woods," he grunted. "Now my finger is the size of a carrot."

　　Matilda inspected the finger before turning to Godfrey.

　　"What treatments have you administered to remedy the situation?" she asked in an accusatory tone.

　　"I have released blood from the finger to reduce its size. Three times." Godfrey replied, though he was unsure why he defended his actions to a mere peasant.

　　"Has anyone tried to cut the ring off?" the woman asked.

　　"No!" Walter commanded. "This is my family`s heirloom, a gift from the Conqueror himself."

　　The girl nodded and continued her examination of Walter`s hand. Propped on the edge of the Baron`s bed, she paused in thought before suddenly reaching up to her head and removing the ribbon from her hair. Her red curls fell down over her face, completely inappropriate for a woman in the company of clergy.

　　She pushed the ribbon under the Baron`s ring using a hairpin which caused Walter to bellow in pain once more.

　　"Hush," she reassured him, like a mother calming a babe. "That was the worst part. I`ll be able to remove the ring now, then the swelling should start to reduce."

　　She spoke in English, something about miniature suffering and extended reward. Godfrey didn`t understand but the Baron gave a forced laugh and allowed her to continue.

　　Matilda pulled the ribbon so there was a length on either side of the ring and began to wrap it tightly around Walter`s finger, causing him to wince with each loop. She wound the ribbon with deft hands and before long had wrapped the entire finger.

　　Matilda caught Godfrey`s eye before gently pulling the length of the ribbon closest to Walter`s knuckle. Like magic, the ring slid along the coiled ribbon with ease, leaving a only puffy red finger in its wake. With a final tug that made Walter cry out in pain, the ring suddenly fell into Matilda`s outstretched hand. The bloody ribbon hung from her other. She beamed at the Baron as she held up both prizes.

　　The Baron`s face flooded with relief and Godfrey saw colour already seeping back into the finger.

　　"How does it feel?" Matilda asked, handing Walter his heirloom.

　　"Better. So much better." He hollered in glee. "Where did you learn a nifty trick like that?"

　　"Just here and there," Matilda said with a smile. "My father was once asked to help a man in a similar situation, though his hand had been struck with a hammer and lost the finger before they could remove the ring."

　　"But I didn`t! I`d have sworn it were magic if I hadn`t seen you do it with my own eyes. A ribbon!" He shook his head in disbelief and accepted the bloody ribbon from the girl. "A reward! You name it, I will see that you are handsomely compensated. What do you want? Silks? A horse?"

　　"That is very kind my lord," she said absentmindedly as she removed some small white stones from her bag. "But for now, let`s focus on your recovery. Swallow these. It`ll take time for your finger to return to a normal size and the pain from the sting will remain for a few days, though those cuts look like they might be more painful."

　　"They are," Walter said, glaring at Godfrey again. He waved his uninjured hand. "Bishop, leave me to recover. You`ve done enough."

　　The rude dismissal was Godfrey`s final straw. Determined not to let his inferior see him crack, the Bishop managed to maintain his composure just long enough to collect his instruments. His diligent assistant received them on a tray and the pair strode from the room without a word. As they left, Godfrey heard the Baron tell Matilda to return later that afternoon to discuss her reward. It was galling to think that a peasant would be rewarded for a bishop`s hard work.

　　Godfrey marched up the hallway to the guest quarters with both his jaw and his fists tightly clenched. His assistant trotted to keep up, making Godfrey`s tools jingled on the tray.

　　Godfrey exploded into his room and slammed the door behind his assistant.

　　"Put those on the table and leave me. I`ve never been so humiliated!"

　　His assistant obediently placed the tray on the table and made to leave.

　　"Actually," Godfrey called, "on second thoughts. Prepare our things, we`re leaving. I`ll not be stuck in this hellhole of a town for a moment longer."

　　"But Your Excellence, we postponed our arrival at the next town for another two days. And we wouldn`t arrive before nightfall. Surely you would be more comfortable here."

　　"I don`t care Peter, just make it happen. Let`s get this trip back on schedule. Perhaps even return to the cathedral early. I am growing weary of these rural paupers and their selfrighteousness."

　　"I`ll send a rider ahead to warn our next host to expect us this evening," Peter replied diligently. "But it will take time to pack your things and prepare your carriage before we can depart. Will you be staying here in your room?"

　　Godfrey strode over to the narrow arrow slit in the wall. Pulling back the heavy drape he looked down into the castle courtyard just in time to see the Redhead depart the keep and walk back into town.

　　"That`s fine Peter, do what you must. I`ll go stretch my legs before the ride."

　　Peter closed the door softly behind him and Godfrey continued to peer outside, watching as the mass of curly red hair disappeared beyond the castle walls.

　　Godfrey walked back to the table and inspected his collection of medical instruments. Forced to relive his humiliation, he snapped and launched a vial of blood across the room. It shattered against the keep`s thick stone wall, the blood seeping down along the mortar.

　　Without a backwards look, Godfrey marched from the room.

　　With purpose.