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1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz: Chapter Two
Last updated: Friday, April 15, 2016 21:26 EDT
Dr. Phil’s Journey
Saturday, January 5, 1613, Augsburg
The smoke was making Paulus Rauner’s eyes water as he forced the sack stuffed with damp straw taken from the local stable down as far as he could into the chimney. Finally he was satisfied it was in place and turned his attention to getting down off the roof before it started to have an effect. The roof was slate, and it was wet, so he had to be very careful. But even being careful he still managed to slip, catching his leg against the roof of a protruding dormer window as he desperately fought to keep his balance. He managed not to fall, and a few minutes later he was safely on the ground.
“Did you do it?” Claus Schorer asked.
Paulus nodded. “It shouldn’t be long before they’re smoked out. That’ll teach them to insult my sister.”
“Then let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be around when they come out the doors.”
Paulus sent the house of Master Fleckhammer a satisfied smirk before loping off after his friend.
They covered several hundred yards before Paulus’ leg started bothering him. He ran a hand over where it was sore and it came up covered in something sticky. He sniffed his hand. It didn’t smell yucky, so he touched it with the tip of his tongue. It was salty. “Hang on, Claus. I think I cut myself.”
Claus joined him and they slipped into the moonlight to have a look at the injury. Paulus couldn’t see much, but Claus was able to crouch down and peer at it closely. “Ouch! That hurt,” Paulus protested as Claus poked the injury
“It’s bleeding a lot. Do you have a handkerchief?” Claus asked as he dug his out of a shirt sleeve.
Paulus passed him a linen handkerchief and watched and winced as Claus tied it to his injury. Their respite was disturbed by the sounds of activity coming from the direction they’d come. “What’s that?” he asked.
Claus cocked his head and listened for a moment before shooting to his feet. “I’ve no idea, and I have no intention of hanging around to find out. Can you run?”
Paulus wasn’t sure, but he was equally unwilling to hang around and risk getting caught. “I think so.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
They covered almost two blocks before Paulus had to stop.
“What’s the matter?” Claus asked.
“It hurts,” Paulus protested.
“It’ll hurt a lot more if we’re caught.”
Paulus felt the pad covering his injury. It was tacky. “I’m still bleeding.’
Claus adjusted the pad and tied it tighter to the leg. “Just keep going. We can’t afford to be caught on the streets at this time of night.”
Paulus answered by starting moving again. If the night watch were to discover them they would be in big trouble. Not just for being out without permission, but also because they would immediately become suspects to what he hoped was happening at Master Fleckhammer’s house.
Ten minutes later they slipped almost unnoticed into their dormitory — almost, because their roommate was in the room.
“Where have you two been?” Dietrich Besserer demanded in a loud whisper.
“Out,” Claus said as he struggled to light a candle.
“I can see that you’ve been out. I want to know where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. And what’s wrong with Paulus?”
“He cut himself.” Claus took his lit candle and moved closer to Paulus.
“You haven’t been fighting I hope?'” Dietrich demanded. “You know they take a dim view of fighting.”
“Of course I haven’t been fighting,” Paulus said. It came out with distinct pauses as even the slightest movement was shooting excruciating pain through his leg, causing him to suck in air each time.
“Let me have a look at what you’ve done,” Dietrich said as he rolled out of his bed and stepped into the circle of light around Paulus’ leg. “That doesn’t look good.”
“Tell me about it,” Paulus muttered between sharp intakes of breath.
Dietrich took a closer look. He was the youngest of six brothers in a family of carpenters and woodsmen, and he’d often seen the results of axes and saws making contact with human flesh. This cut looked bad. “That’s going to need to be sewn shut. Claus, go and get Frau Kilian.
Claus and Paulus glanced at each other before shaking their heads. “We can’t do that,” Claus said. “Frau Kilian would report it, and then we’d be in trouble.’
“What have you two been up to?” Dietrich asked. Then quickly he waved his hands at them. “Never mind, it’s not important. We need someone who can sew your cut and won’t tell tales.” He himself wasn’t a candidate. One reason he wasn’t following the rest of his family was because he was squeamish. Contrary to what his brothers might say he did not faint at the sight of blood, nor was he afraid of the sight of blood. He just found the sight of someone’s lifeblood pumping out of their body uncomfortable, and he preferred not to look when an injury was being treated. As a result, he’d never actually seen his mother sew anybody up. And then there was the fact his sewing skills were so bad he didn’t even own a needle and thread. However, there was one apprentice known throughout the assay office for his sewing skills, and not only that, he was also known for his knowledge of the apothecary’s arts. Dietrich took another look at Paulus’ cut. Yes, they were going to need both of these skills if this little accident was to be kept quiet. “Do you know Phillip Gribbleflotz?” he asked Claus.
“I know who he is.”
“That’s close enough” Dietrich said. “I want you to find him and bring him here.”
“Why?” Claus asked.
“Because his father was an apothecary and he knows how to sew. Now get a move on.”
“I know how to sew,” Paulus said.
“Do you want to sew up your wound?” Dietrich asked. Paulus shook his head. “Then we need Phillip.” Dietrich found his eyes watching a drop of blood form on the bottom of Paulus’ foot. The spell was broken when it grew too big and splattered onto the floor. His mind drifted to the fact someone was going to have to clean that up, and then he noticed Claus was still standing by the door. “I told you to go. Now get. The sooner Phillip gets here the sooner we can forget this ever happened.”
Claus stared pleadingly at Dietrich. “I don’t know where his room is.”
Dietrich raised his eyes to the heavens. He was sure he hadn’t been this bad when he started his apprenticeship. “He won’t be in his room. Try Herr Neuffer’s laboratory first. You do know where that is?” Claus gave a single nod. “If he’s not in there he’s probably in the library. Now go.” The final instruction was reinforced with a foot in the behind.
As a senior apprentice, who had also made a significant contribution to the assay office shooting team beating the Goldsmith’s guild in the Augsburg inter-guild shooting competition for the last four years, Phillip Gribbleflotz had special privileges not granted to lesser beings, such as being permitted to conduct his own experiments in the laboratory after work. There were some things he was not supposed to do, and being a conscientious youth, Phillip abided by these restrictions, most of the time.
This winter’s evening he was shivering in the cold as he studied the latest in his experiments. Ink and quill would have been unreliable in these conditions, so he was recording his observations with a pencil. Not that there had been much to observe so far.
“Herr Gribbleflotz, thank the lord that I have found you. Please, come quickly. Paulus has hurt himself badly and needs a cut in his leg stitched close.”
Phillip didn’t like having his experiments disturbed. That was one reason he conducted them late into the night. Which reminded him, he glanced at the candle he was using to record time. It had to be after ten o’clock. He turned round to face the intruder. It was one of the new apprentices, a boy all of twelve years of age. “What do you want?”
Claus managed to choke out his message in the face of Phillip’s hostility.
“Why are you bothering me with this? It’s Frau Kilian’s job to care for the junior apprentices.”
“Herr Besserer said to get you, Herr Gribbleflotz.”
“Why on earth would he do that?” Even as he said it Phillip realized there was probably a good reason why Dietrich hadn’t immediately taken the boy to Frau Kilian. “What have you been up to?” Phillip reconsidered the merits of that question the moment he’d uttered it and held up his hands. “No, don’t tell me. I’m sure that Dietrich has a very good reason. This Paulus is in Dietrich’s room?” Claus nodded.
Phillip surveyed his current experiment. There was nothing that needed to be cleaned and put away other than the reaction vessel with its precious sample. However, nothing had happened in the last hour and a half, and it was becoming more and more obvious that nothing was going to happen. With the immediate problem dealt with he started thinking about his new problem. He turned to Claus. “I have to get some things from my room. I want you to get a bucket of water, as hot as possible, and some soap. I’ll meet you in your room.”
“Why do you want soap and hot water, Herr Gribbleflotz?” Claus asked.
“So I can wash my hands of course,” Phillip said. “Now get moving.”
Phillip watched the youth sprint out of the laboratory and wondered if he had ever been that young.
He managed to get to Dietrich’s room without being noticed. Not that there would have been any questions asked about him being up and around at this hour, but he preferred not to take any risks. He slipped into the room and saw the reassuring sight of Dietrich and his new acquaintance watching over a second young apprentice. Sitting on the floor was the requested bucket of water. Phillip was happy to notice the steam coming off of it.
“Hi, Dietrich. Who’s the patient?”
“Thanks for coming, Phillip.” Dietrich gestured towards the boy lying on the bed. “Paulus here managed to cut open his leg rather badly. And I think it needs to be stitched up.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Phillip said as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ve never sewn human flesh before.
“My mother has insisted on sewing up cuts that weren’t half as bad as Paulus’.”
“What? You mean you know how to sew up cuts? If you know how to do that, why do you need me?” Phillip demanded.
“I said my mother did the sewing. I didn’t say I ever watched her doing it,” Dietrich said.
That was different. “Squeamish?” Philip asked.
Dietrich nodded. “You would be too if you’d ever seen what a saw can do.”
Phillip didn’t even want to think about the damage a woodsman’s saw could do to human flesh. In an effort to rid his mind of that thought he picked up the candle holder and dropped to his knees so he could examine the injury. Fortunately, this wound had not been made by a saw. “It seems like a clean cut,” he said as he ran his little finger the length of the wound. In fact it was too clean a cut. He turned and looked straight at Dietrich. “Was it a knife?”
Dietrich shook his head. “From what Paulus told me, it was probably a piece of copper guttering.”
Phillip raised his brows at that. Copper guttering was usually found on roofs. Which raised the question, what had the boy been doing on a roof at this time of night. He thought about asking, but with a gentle shake of his head reconsidered. It was probably better that he didn’t know. “Just as long as it wasn’t a fight,” he said, making it clear that he was not going to be a party to keeping quiet about a fight where knives had been used.
“It was copper spouting,” Dietrich affirmed.
Phillip studied Dietrich for a few seconds. It seemed he honestly believed the cut wasn’t from a knife. That was good enough for him. He felt in his satchel for his clothes repair kit and a small pot of ointment. He selected a curved needle that he used to sew lightweight leather and threaded it with some of his coarsest thread before sticking it point-first into the wood of the bucket so he could find it again easily. Then he opened the pot of ointment and took a big dab on his index finger and smeared it into the full length of the wound. There was an intake of breath followed by a yip of pain and the muscles of Paulus’ leg tensed; reminding Phillip that he’d forgotten something. He rolled up one of the handkerchiefs that had been used to bind the wound and told Paulus to bite on it.
The impossible happened and Paulus turned even paler as he tried to focus on the bloodied handkerchief. “Why?” he muttered as he tried to push it away from his mouth.”
“So your screams don’t wake everyone up and get us all into trouble.” Phillip punctuated the word trouble by shoving the handkerchief into Paulus’ mouth and got to work.
The first thing he did was use the other bloodied handkerchief to wipe the skin around the wound so his hand wouldn’t slip and grabbed the flesh on both sides of the injury with his left hand. With the edges of the wound held together he reached for his needle with his right hand, and froze. Just because he knew how to sew didn’t mean he knew how to sew flesh together. The only sewing of flesh he’d ever seen was when cook sewed the belly of a chicken or goose closed after filling them with stuffing.
The room around him was so quite you could hear a pin drop. Phillip looked up at the terrified face of Paulus. Well, that made two of them. He swallowed and stuck the needle into Paulus’ flesh. It was much harder to force it through the flesh than he’d expected, and his ointment smeared fingers slipped on the needle. He wiped his hand on a rag and tried again, this time managing to get the point of the curved needle to come out the other side of the wound. He left enough thread to tie off later and selected a spot a quarter inch along for his next stitch. With the thread held reasonably firmly by the flesh it had been forced th
“Are you still trying to prove those bits of dust from the cupels are some new wonder element?”
Phillip jerked in surprise, but he managed not to drop anything. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I didn’t sneak up. I walked right up to you as nosily as I could. You were just so intent of saving every last fleck of worthless dirt that you didn’t notice.”
Phillip smiled at his supervisor. There was a difference of opinion as to what the remnants were that were sometimes found at the end of a fire assay after they dissolved the small buttons of gold with aqua regia. “It isn’t just dirt, and one day I’ll make you eat your words.”
Wilhelm snorted good-naturedly. “In the meantime, we need to get started on today’s assays.”
“I’m ready,” Phillip said eagerly. The remnants he was trying to test weren’t present after every assay, and even when they were, they never amounted to more than a few flecks. After a hundred and twenty-seven assays his total sample of nobilis auri weighed no more than three grains by the apothecaries’ system of weights. Every assay he did was an opportunity to add to his sample.
“You just want more of your bits of dirt,” Wilhelm said.
“They aren’t dirt,” Phillip insisted. “The more I have the easier it will be to test it. What I really need is a chance to do a fire assay on a sample of a hundred grains of gold, or better yet, a thousand grains.” He looked hopefully at Wilhelm. “I don’t suppose . . .”
“You haven’t got a hope,” Wilhelm said. “It’s one thing to let you keep the remnants of an assay. After all, it’s just worthless dust. But if you want to experiment with gold, you’re going to have to use your own.”
Phillip sighed. A hundred grains of gold cost about six gulden, and he just didn’t have that kind of money. It wasn’t that the gold would be lost, because it wouldn’t. There were ways of precipitating the gold out of the solution. It was just that he couldn’t afford the gold in the first place.
Dinner
Phillip was late arriving to dinner, as usual. He grabbed his dinner and hurried to his seat beside two of his oldest friends at the assay office.
“What kept you this time?” Christoph Baer asked.
“Just collecting more nobilis auri from an assay,” Phillip explained as he sat down.
“You’re wasting your time, Phillip,” Frederik Bechler said. “Those flecks are just bits of dirt. If they were anything special someone would have found that out by now.”
Phillip begged to differ, and he said so. “If the flecks are just dirt, then surely something would dissolve them. I’ve tried my best Oil of Vitriol, aqua fortis, acidum salis, and fresh aqua regia, all without success.”
“What’s “nobilis auri“?” Dietrich asked.
Phillip and the others turned their attention to the fourth person at their table. “You haven’t started doing fire assays yet, have you?” Frederik asked.
Dietrich shook his head. “We’ve just started doing touchstone assaying.”
“Well, when you start doing fire assays, you’ll discover that after you dissolve the resulting little bead of gold with aqua regia you’re sometimes left with a few flecks of something in the beaker. Those flecks are Phillip’s nobilis auri.”
“Of course,” Christoph said, “anybody with any sense knows that they are just flecks of dirt, but Phillip thinks they’re something special.”
“Of course they’re something special,” Phillip protested. “Everyone knows that only precious metals remain after cupellation. That means nobilis auri must be a precious metal. And as even aqua regia can’t dissolve it, it must be more noble than gold.”
“Hence the name, nobilis auri,” Christoph said as an aside to Dietrich.
“It’s just a pretty name for dirt,” Frederick said.
“I’m right,” Phillip insisted. “And one day I’ll prove it.”
“Well that day isn’t today.” Christoph leaned closer to the others. “Is everything set up for the Twelfth Night party?”
“I’ve got the food lined up,” Dietrich said. He glanced Phillip’s way. “Have you been able to make enough you-know-what?”
“A dozen bottles,” Phillip confirmed.
“How’d you manage that?” Christoph asked. You haven’t been on the distilling furnace for months.”
“That happens when you’re about to be elevated to journeyman,” Frederik said.
Phillip struggled not to blush. Rumors had been circulating since July last year that they were going to elevate him to journeyman status early this year. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to achieve journeyman status as an assayist and metallurgist in just over six years, but it was rare. Most apprentices took closer to eight years. “I made it when I made the high purity saltpetre for the Schützenfest.”
“But that was back in July,” Christoph said. “Do you mean you’ve had a dozen bottles of you-know-what sitting around all this time?”
Phillip’s smile was smug. Keeping a dozen bottles of high proof alcohol hidden not just from the staff at the assay office, but also the apprentices for over six months had to rank as a major achievement.
Friday evening, January 11th, 1613
Ulrich Hechstetter, the head of the Augsburg assay office sipped from the glass of strong liquor and sighed. “Another good tipple.” He looked around the gathered staff. “I thought we found the still this time.”
“We found a still,” Wilhelm Neuffer confirmed. He sipped his drink and licked his lips. “But they must have had others.”
“But where?” Master Paul Paler asked. “We looked everywhere.”
Ulrich took another sip. “Well, we’ll just have to do better next year. Now, to the real reason for this meeting. Do I hear any objections to elevating Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz to the rank of journeyman?”
“He’s a very gifted technician,” Jakob Reihing said. “And he makes a good teacher.”
“You’ve been letting an apprentice teach fellow apprentices?” Hieronymus Kiffhaber demanded.
Ulrich studied the assay office’s newest journeyman over the top of his glass. He hadn’t been trained in-house, so he probably hadn’t come across Gribbleflotz yet. “As Jakob said, Hieronymus, Phillip Gribbleflotz is a very gifted technician. We would be failing in our duty to the other apprentices not to afford them the best possible teachers. If that means letting an apprentice teach them certain techniques, under proper supervision naturally, then we are quite prepared to do that.”
“Hieronymus,” Paul called out. “Phillip Gribbleflotz taught me how he makes such good acids. I’m quite happy to teach you, but surely you’d rather learn from my teacher?”
“But you’re a master. What can an apprentice teach you?” Hieronymus asked, his voice shooting up several octaves.
“Quite a lot,” Paul said. “I’m now able to make acids almost as good as Phillip’s, which is considerably better than the best I used to make. With practice, I expect I could match his level of competence.”
Hieronymus looked bewildered. “But how is that possible?” he asked.
“Speaking for myself,” Wilhelm said, “I was never taught to be half as finicky and meticulous as Phillip is naturally.”
“Unfortunately,” Jakob said. “Although we can teach people what small changes to look for during a distillation, we can’t teach them how to monitor a whole furnace worth of distillations the way Phillip can. That’s a natural talent.”
Hieronymus slowly nodded his head. “But how long will Herr Gribbleflotz stay here if he is elevated to the rank of journeyman?”
“I’m sure he’ll stay on as a journeyman for a while,” Ulrich said.
“This is Gribbleflotz we’re talking about,” Jakob warned. “You know, the boy who wants to follow in his great grandfather’s footsteps.”
“Ahhh!” Ulrich had forgotten about Phillip’s claim to be the great grandson of the great Paracelsus. He took another sip of his drink, savoring the bite of the strong alcohol as it hit his tongue. “We could always delay his elevation to the rank of journeyman,” he suggested. He didn’t expect the idea to get any traction amongst the others, and it didn’t.
“We can’t do that,” Paul insisted. “Everyone is in hourly expectation of the announcement of his elevation.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Ulrich said. “If Hieronymus here wants to learn the subtleties of distilling acids, then we have to hold onto him for a while.”
“Phillip hasn’t finished copying Ercker’s treatise on ores and assaying,” Wilhelm said. “I think it’ll take him another couple of months to finish it.”
That made Ulrich happy. “There you are, Paul. Hieronymus will have until early spring to learn from the master how we make our high quality acids.” He glanced around the room. “So, there having been no objections, I will advise Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz that he may consider himself to be a journeyman Assayist and Metallurgist. Are we all in agreement?”
“When do you plan to make the announcement?” Paul asked.
Ulrich brought up a mental image of his schedule. “Wednesday,” he said.
“That’ll hardly give the apprentices time to arrange the party,” Wilhelm said.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Ulrich said. “We will be providing the alcohol for this party.”
Late April 1613, Neuburg>
It had taken two days to walk from Augsburg to Neuburg, and Phillip was feeling the strain of the long walk with a heavy pack on his back. He had made the trip to Neuburg to visit his mother, whom he hadn’t seen for over six years, and he was in the middle of the main street trying to decide where to start looking for her when he spotted a woman who painted her face with white lead just like his mother did. He watched her for a while, until it dawned on him that the woman was his mother. He walked towards her.
“Mother, is that you?”
His mother stared at him with dawning horror. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”
“It’s me, Phillip, your son.”
Maria Elisabeth Bombast von Neuburg looked nervously to her left and to her right. “You shouldn’t be here, Theophrastus. You’ll ruin everything.”
“Ruin what?” Phillip demanded even as he ignored her use of his hated middle name.
“My life, just like you ruined it when you were born.” Maria Elisabeth was growing more agitated the longer the meeting with Phillip went on. “You have to leave.” She dipped into her bag and pulled out a drawstring purse. She shook out a handful of coins into her hand and thrust them at Phillip. “Here, this is what you want. Take it and go. Go away.”
Phillip caught the coins in his hands without thinking. He was so dumbfounded at what had happened that he just stood there while his mother hurried away. What had brought on that reaction? All he’d wanted to do was say hello and ask how she was doing. He watched his mother until she disappeared around a street corner. Only then did he think to look at the coins she’d trust into his hands. It was a mixture of copper and silver which, as he discovered when he quickly added it up, came to just over three gulden. That was the better part of a week’s wages, which seemed a lot to pay just to get rid of him.
Phillip felt very disillusioned with his mother. For some reason she didn’t want him in Neuburg. He wondered about that. What possible reason could she have for not wanting to acknowledge him? He thought about chasing after her, but she was already long gone. He decided to find a tavern and have something to eat and drink while he took the weight off his feet and considered his options.
He decided over a meal of sausage, cheese, bread, and raw onion that his options were limited. His mother had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. He could force the issue, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk alienating the only real family he had. It was probably better left alone, he decided. Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Like how to get to Padua where, like his great grandfather before him, he hoped to study medicine. The great university was in the Republic of Venice, which was on the other side of the Alps. He was going to have to cross them, but April was not a good time to attempt the journey. It was time to find employment until the season was more favorable.
It took Phillip eight days to get to Innsbruck, but less than an hour to secure employment as an assayer with the local branch of Fugger’s bank once he got there. The job was ideal. Innsbruck was the last major town before the Brenner Pass, and he was doing what he’d been trained to do. Over the next three weeks he not only earned more than enough money to cover his expenses for the nearly two hundred and thirty mile trip to Padua, he also added over forty flecks to his collection of nobilis auri. Phillip was feeling good when on a bright May morning he set off south.
May, 1613, the Brenner Pass
Phillip was cold, wet, and miserable. His brain had shut down all but the most essential operations, like dreaming of the hot food and warm bed waiting for him at the travelers’ inn on the other side of the Brenner Pass. He was operating on auto-pilot as he continued to put one foot in front of the other on the muddy road.
He was brought back to the real world only when he crested the saddle and felt the full force of the southerly blowing up the valley for the first time. It had been cold before, but as long as he’d kept moving he’d felt quite warm in his heavy woolen coat and oilskin outer layer. The strong southerly changed that immediately. It was as if it was going straight through him, chilling him almost instantly. He stared into the distance. Somewhere further down the road was the next traveler’s inn. He set off again, one foot in front of the other.
He didn’t see the accident. In fact he was so blind to anything other than where he was placing his feet that he all but bumped into the group of men gathered around something on the ground. That was when he became aware of men trying to prevent an ox drawn wagon slipping off the road. Any student of human behavior would immediately recognize the tight grouping of men as the sign that something interesting or gruesome was lying at the center of the group. Phillip, quite naturally, stopped to have a look.
One man was trying to comfort a youth who was writhing on the ground with a pretty selection of injuries. Starting at the top, there were multiple lacerations to the head and face. Naturally, these were bleeding spectacularly, but Phillip didn’t think they were too bad — probably nothing worse than a few minor cuts. Then there was the right arm. The youth’s oilskin was torn, so there were probably lacerations to the arm. Phillip couldn’t be sure about the hand, because it was covered in mud and blood, just like the youth’s right thigh. Judging by the way he was grimacing and holding the thigh with both hands, that injury was probably quite serious. What disturbed Phillip was the fact no one was attending to the youth’s injuries. “Isn’t someone going to do something about his injuries?” he demanded. He got a ring of blank stares in response.
It looked like no one was going to do anything, which meant Phillip had to act. “Let me through,” he demanded as he used his hiking stave to force a way inside the circle. There were a few protests about his pushing, but soon he was beside the youth. He dropped his back-pack to the ground and knelt down to examine him. He quickly determined that in spite of all the blood, the head wounds were as superficial as he’d suspected, and while the scratches in his arm were deep, none of them needed immediate attention. That left the thigh.
Phillip had to force the youth’s hands away from the injury they were trying to protect, and he could see why. It looked nasty. This was no nice and simple clean cut from a knife or sheet of copper such as Paulus Rauner had suffered. It was a messy tear caused by who knew what. Phillip just knew this was going to go bad no matter what he did. Still, it wasn’t going to get better if he didn’t do anything. He searched the surrounding faces for someone who might be able to enforce authority, finally coming to rest on the man supporting the injured youth. “I need a bucket of water.”
Alberto Rovarini stared blankly at Phillip. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Never mind who I am. If I’m to be any help here I need to wash this man’s injury before I can treat it.”
Alberto thrust his face close to Phillip’s. “Are you a barber-surgeon?” he demanded.
“No, but I know what to do,” Phillip said. It wasn’t really a lie. He knew he’d been very lucky with Paulus Rauner’s injury, so while he was in Innsbruck he’d found someone willing to show him how it was supposed to be done. He hadn’t worked on a human since Paulus, but he had practiced on numerous pork bellies.
Phillip’s apparent confidence seemed to satisfy Alberto, who started screaming out instructions in a language that seemed similar to Latin, but which Phillip couldn’t follow. “Make sure it’s clean water,” Phillip called out.
Alberto sent out another batch of instructions before turning back to Phillip. “How can I help?” he asked.
Phillip thought back to when he treated Paulus. He’d only been a twelve year old boy and until he fainted it’d still taken Claus and Dietrich to hold him. The youth on the other hand was probably about his own age, and a lot bigger. He paused in the act of removing his medical kit from his pack. “Just keep a firm hold on him. I don’t want him thrashing about.”
“Babbo,” the patient said, reaching out a beseeching hand.
“Everything will be all right, Carlo.” Alberto glanced at Phillip. “He will be okay?” he asked.
Phillip was saved having to answer by a bucket being laid down beside him. “Thank you,” he said before dipping a finger into the water. It was cold. He hadn’t expected hot water, but this water was only a short step away from ice. He scooped up a handful and splashed it over Carlo’s leg. He reacted to the icy cold water by trying to jerk his leg away. “Can someone hold Carlo’s leg for me,” he asked.
Alberto called out to a man who dropped down and took a firm grip on Carlo’s leg. With the leg held securely Phillip was able to splash water over the gash with one hand while he wiped away the mud and blood with the other, giving him his first real glimpse of the injury. It was worse than he’d feared.
He looked up at Alberto. “Babbo, Carlo’s injury needs to be stitched, but I can’t do it here. If I bandage it, can he be carried to the nearest shelter?”
There were giggles and smiles all round. Even Alberto allowed a smile to form momentarily. “Did I say something wrong?” Phillip asked.
Alberto shook his head. “My name is Alberto. Alberto Rovarini. Carlo is my son, and I am his babbo, his father. And yes, Carlo can ride on one of the wagons.”
“Right.” Phillip felt a proper fool, but he couldn’t let his mind linger on that. The wind was getting up and the rain wasn’t getting any lighter. He grabbed a roll of linen from his medical kit and wrapped it tightly around Carlo’s thigh.
Even in the protective circle of the Rovarinis the wind had been able to reach Phillip. His whole body was chilled and he needed the help of one of Rovarinis to get back to his feet. He was handed his hiking stave, but when he bent to retrieve his pack he was pushed away as another picked it up and carried to one of the wagons. Phillip must have looked dumbfounded, because Alberto came up beside him. “You have helped Carlo, so we help you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Phillip protested.
“You stopped and did your best while everyone else just looked on or walked past,” Alberto said. He bowed his head. “I am ashamed that I didn’t immediately attend to Carlo’s injuries. My only excuse is my relief that he was still alive.”
The moment the Rovarinis arrived at the traveler’s inn an unconscious Carlo was unloaded from the wagon and carried in. A table was cleared and he was laid down on it. He’d barely been laid out on the table before someone deposited Phillip’s pack at his feet.
Phillip started to take off his oilskins and winter coat. It was a struggle until helping hands divested him of his oilskins and coat and carried them away. It was clear that he was going to be provided with any assistance he required, so he put the situation to good use. “I need good light, and hot water.”
Within minutes he had a good candle and a jug of steaming hot water and a wash basin. He’d spent the time waiting for the hot water removing his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. When the water arrived he indicated that he’d like some of it poured into the basin and when that was done he lowered his hands into it. It was painful, but it was the quickest way to warm them.
With his hands functioning again Phillip unwound the bandage and used it to wipe the inside of the wound clean. Then, under the light of a candle, he made a close examination of the injury. It was bad. The first thing he had to do was tidy up the edges. He had a chunk of Obsidian in his medical kit and a large flake from that served as an excellent scalpel which he used to cut away the torn and ragged skin. He checked how well the two edges met and discovered that he’d cut away too much skin. He needed to cut away some of the tissue under the skin to ensure the edges of the skin met.
Once the wound was trimmed to his satisfaction Phillip smeared his special honey based ointment liberally into the cut. Now he was ready to close the wound. Unlike when he stitched up Paulus’ injury, this time Phillip had some idea what he was supposed to be doing and better yet, he now had a couple of more suitable needles, a palm guard to help force the needle through flesh, and some better thread.
Phillip pushed the needle through the skin and deep into the flesh, so that it was barely visible at the bottom of the wound when it emerged, and then back out through the skin. That formed the basis of the first stitch. He tied the ends together and repeated the procedure as he worked his way along the length of the wound. When he got to the end he wiped the wound clean before smearing it with some of his ointment. Then he reached for the bandage and started to roll it up so that it could easily be wound around Carlo’s thigh once more.
At this point he was interrupted by the innkeeper’s wife. She grabbed the dirty bandages from Phillip’s hands while berating him for thinking to do something so foolish as use them to bind Carlo’s injury. She pushed Phillip away so she could examine his handiwork. She touched a finger to the traces of ointment and tasted it, rewarding him with a grudging nod of approval before she pulled Carlo’s pants down and efficiently wrapped his injury with a clean bandage.
“You did well,” Alberto said, offering Phillip a mug of hot spiced wine. “Here, drink this.”
“Thank you,” Phillip said as he wrapped his hands around the steaming mug. He gestured with his head towards the innkeeper’s wife. “She looks like she thinks she could have done better.”
Alberto glanced in the woman’s direction. “She has a lot of experience. And you . . .” He paused. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Phillip. Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz.” He held out a hand, noticed that it was blood covered, and quickly withdrew it.
“Wash your hands and come and join us for supper.”
Supper was an enlightening meal. Over a hot, mostly vegetable, stew Phillip and the Rovarinis exchanged their stories, although most of Phillip’s conversation had to go through Alberto. He realized that Padua was going to be full of foreigners who didn’t speak German or Latin and that he was going to have to learn the local vernacular if he was going to live in the city any length of time. He admitted as much to Alberto.
“How can we be foreigners in our own country?” Alberto demanded good-naturedly.
Phillip apologized for the way it must have sound, and asked about the availability of Venetian lessons, and most importantly, how much did Alberto think they would cost.
“You are a student?” Alberto asked.
“Of medicine.”
“Doctors are worthless,” one of the Rovarinis said. “Give me a good apothecary or barber-surgeon any day. They are both safer and cheaper.”
“Let the lad alone, Pietro,” Alberto said. “If he wants to be a doctor, it’s his choice.” He looked over to Phillip. “University is expensive. How will you fund your studies?”
“I trained as an assayist and metallurgist at Fugger’s assay office in Augsburg. If necessary I can earn a living doing assays and making acids.”
“For an assayist and metallurgist, you seem to know a thing or two about treating injuries.”
Phillip nodded. “My stepfather was an apothecary and I used to help him compound remedies.”
“And the sewing together of the gash in Carlo’s leg, did he teach you to do that too?”
Phillip related the story of Paulus and his cut, and how he’d realized how lucky he’d been and found someone willing to teach him how to do it properly.
“It was lucky for Carlo that you are here, Phillip,” Alberto said.
Phillip blushed. “I haven’t done anything the innkeeper’s wife couldn’t have done.”
Alberto smiled. “True, but you are the one who did it, and for that you have my eternal gratitude. How are you getting to Padua?”
“I was planning on following the road to Verona, then heading for Padua.”
“We are headed for Mestre, with cargo for Venice, but we stop at Padua.” Alberto reached out and rested a hand on one of Phillip’s. “You are welcome to join us.”
That was seconded by Pietro, who added that their route was some fifty miles shorter than the route Phillip had been thinking of following. It was an offer Phillip would have been a fool to refuse. Not only was their route shorter, but he would no longer be a vulnerable lone traveler. Phillip paused to consider the possibility that Alberto and his men might rob him and leave him for dead, but it was only a momentary thought. They seemed truly thankful for what he’d done for Carlo. There was only one possible answer. “Thank you very much. I’d like to join you.”
Phillip had been keeping an eye on Carlo for a couple of days now, and he was starting to get worried. Carlo was limping more and more, and although he was insisting that there was nothing wrong with him, Phillip couldn’t miss the signs of a developing fever. He hurried ahead to warn Alberto that he needed to check the injury.
“There’s a good spot near the river just ahead where we can get off the road,” Alberto suggested.
Less than fifteen minutes later they turned off the road onto a meadow beside the River Talvera. While the Rovarinis checked the oxen and wagons Phillip got Carlo to pull down his pants so he could remove the bandage.
The wound was a mess. A wide area around the gash was inflamed, but worse than that was the swelling. The stitches were almost enveloped by the expanding skin. Phillip dug into his medical kit for a flake of Obsidian and used it to cut the stitches. The wound started to open and pus seeped out even as he cut the stitches, and it oozed out after he removed them. That was what Phillip’s reading had warned him could happen, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant to encounter. Still, he’d read his great grandfather’s dairies and knew what he had to do. He called out for some help to hold Carlo still before smiling apologetically at him and handing him a piece of wood. “I’m sorry, Carlo, but this is going to hurt. Put it between your teeth and bite down onto it.” Carlo swallowed and inserted the piece of wood.
Phillip waited until he had a couple of Rovarinis holding Carlo before he wrapped a finger in bandage and poked it into the wound. Carlo let out a muffled scream as he fought against the restraining men. Phillip saw the distressed looks on their faces and knew he had to do something to sedate Carlo.
“Do you have any schnapps?” He called out. That got a positive nod from Alberto who hurried over to a wagon, returning with a bottle of Grappa. He offered it to Phillip, who shook his head and pointed to Carlo.
“You want Carlo to drink it?” Alberto asked.
Phillip nodded. “I want him drunk enough not to notice anything I might do.”
Alberto raised a brow Phillip’s way, looked at the label on the bottle and sighed heavily before forcing Carlo’s mouth open. It took over half the bottle before Carlo became sufficiently insensitive to Phillip’s jabbing of his wound that he could continue.
With Carlo no longer struggling Phillip was able to progress much faster. Finally the wound appeared as clean as he could get it. He could see blood seeping through some of the exposed flesh. That was supposed to be a good sign. But there were areas where blood wasn’t seeping. That was a bad sign as it suggested the flesh there was dead.
According to his great grandfather’s dairies, there was only one thing to do with dead flesh in a wound, and that was to cut it out. Phillip knapped a large flake from his lump of Obsidian and used that as a scalpel to slice small pieces from the wound until he was sure he’d removed all the dead flesh. Then he smeared some of his honey based ointment into the wound and sewing it closed again. Only then did he turn away and throw up.
“Are you all right?” A worried Alberto asked.
Phillip wiped his mouth against his forearm and nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”
“Have you finished doing what you have to do?” Alberto asked.
“I still have to bandage it.”
Alberto thrust the bottle of Grappa into Phillip’s hands. “I can do that. Have some of this to steady your stomach.”
A week later, Padua
No one had thought to tell Phillip that Padua was Alberto’s base, so he was surprised when they pulled into a large property and a woman and four children ran up to Alberto.
“His wife,” Pietro informed Phillip. “She will look after you while we go on to Mestre.”
“Does Frau Rovarini speak German,” Phillip asked.
“Nope,” Pietro said. “You’ll just have to learn Venetian.”
Phillip was spared an immediate introduction to Frau Rovarini because she’d moved her welcome onto Carlo. In sharp contrast to his last encounter with his own mother, Carlo’s mother gave every impression of being pleased to see him. And that was after only a few weeks separation, not like the years Phillip and his mother had been apart. It was a sign, if Phillip really needed one, that his mother’s behavior wasn’t normal.
The surprises continued when he was introduced to Carlo’s mother. She made it clear that he was welcome in her house, and even gently pinched his cheek and said something.
“Paola says that you’re too thin and need a proper home cooked meal,” Alberto translated.
Phillip smiled at Paola and expended most of the limited vocabulary he’d picked up traveling with Alberto’s teams thanking her. Then he turned to Alberto and held out his hand. “Thank you for letting me travel with you. I don’t suppose you could direct me to suitable lodgings?”
“But you will be staying here!” Alberto said. The tone of his voice suggested outrage that Phillip should think otherwise. “You didn’t think we’d do anything less after what you did for Carlo?”
“Did what for Carlo,” Paola demanded.
Phillip didn’t actually understand what Paola had said, but he recognized the “for Carlo” bit, so he wasn’t surprised when after a brief exchange with Alberto Paola ran over to Carlo and ignoring his protests, pulled his pants down. There was a wail of anguish when she saw the stitched injury, followed almost immediately by a flood of instructions.
“What’s going on?” Phillip asked Alberto as Carlo was carried into the house.
“Please don’t take offense, but my wife has called for her cousin to check Carlo’s injury.”
“I’m not offended,” Phillip said. “In fact I’m glad someone better qualified than me is going to check what I’ve done. Is your wife’s cousin a doctor?”
“No,” a cheeky Pietro said. “He’s much better than a doctor. He looks after horses.”
June 1613, Padua
Even with Alberto Rovarini vouching for him Phillip had been finding it difficult to find work in Padua that fitted around his university lectures. Today however there was a renewed skip to his footsteps as he hurried home. He stopped in his tracks while he digested that thought. Since when had he started calling his lodgings with Paola’s cousin home?
He reached the house at the run, almost running down Giacomo’s wife. “My most humble apologies,” Phillip said as he stepped aside to let Francesca Sedazzari past.
“What’s the rush?” Francesca asked. “You look happy. Have you found a job?”
“Sort of,” Phillip said the pleasure at what had happened obvious in his voice. “Leonardo di ser Martino da Vinci isn’t happy with the quality of cupels he’s been getting. I told him I could make excellent cupels, and he’s agreed to let me share his laboratory if my cupels are as good as I claim.”
“Is that good?” Francesca asked. “I thought you wanted a job. What good is sharing his laboratory?”
“I can make acids. My acids were some of the best the Augsburg assay laboratory ever produced. I should find a ready market for them here in Padua.” Phillip wanted to throw his arms around Francesca and hug her, he was so happy.
“So all you need to do is make some cupels?”
Phillip nodded.
“What are cupels?”
“They are small vessels that you use in a fire assay. They’re usually made out of ash from bones, antlers, or wood. I’ll need a few other things, but do you know where I might be able to get some bones? Preferably the skulls?”
“There’s Giovanni. He has a knacker’s yard by the river.” Francesca smiled. “I’m sure Giacomo will be happy to introduce you to him.”
Later that day a very impatient Phillip accompanied Giacomo at what he considered a snail’s pace down to the river. Phillip looked around, not sure what he should be looking for. “Are we there yet?” he asked.
“Not far now,” Giacomo said.
Not far turned out to be another half mile — the good people of Padua wanted trades such as the knackers as far away as possible from where they lived. When they stepped into the knacker’s yard Phillip saw a horse strung up on a butcher’s scaffold and a man hard at work disemboweling the carcass.
“Hey, Giovanni. Can you spare a moment?” Giacomo called out as they approached.
Giovanni looked around at the interruption. “Hi, Giacomo. How can I help you?” he asked as he ran his knife a couple of times against a honing steel.
Giacomo tapped Phillip’s shoulder. “Phillip here wants some bones, preferably skulls.”
Giovanni turned to Phillip. “What do you want the bones for?”
“To make cupels.”
Giovanni nodded. “So you’ll want fully rendered ones then, follow me.” He led Phillip to a pile of clean white skull from a wide variety of animals. “How much do you want?”
Phillip told Giovanni how much he wanted to pay and between them they filled a basket with a number of sheep skulls. They returned to the yard to find Giacomo examining the carcass.
“I hope you weren’t intending to use the guts for anything,” Giacomo said.
“Why, what’s wrong,”‘ Giovanni demanded.
“Come and have a look at the mouth. Tell me what you see.” Giovanni had a look and stepped back cursing.
“What’s the problem?” Phillip asked.
“Have you heard of Spanish Fly?” Giacomo asked. Phillip shook his head. “It’s an insect that can be found in hay. It can be poisonous if eaten.”
“And this horse died after eating an insect?” Phillip asked.
“That or its eggs.” Giacomo turned to Giovanni. “Give me your butchering knife for a minute, would you.”
“What’re you planning on doing?” Giovanni asked as he handed Giacomo his knife.
“Teach Phillip why he never wants to try Spanish Fly,” Giacomo said as he carefully cut out a chunk from the horses kidney. With the chunk speared on the knife Giacomo walked towards Phillip.
“What are you going to do with that?” Phillip asked warily.
“Some people think Spanish Fly is an aphrodisiac,” Giacomo said conversationally as he wiped the bit of kidney along Phillip’s forearm. “They don’t realize that it’s really a dangerous poison.
“They will when they start pissing blood the next day,” Giovanni said.
Phillip looked at the smear of blood on his arm and went to wipe it with his right hand.
“No, don’t touch it!”‘ Giacomo said. He turned to Giovanni. “Do you have some soap and water?”
“Over there,” Giovanni said, pointing to a bucket and towel a short distance from the butchering scaffold.
Giacomo scraped the bit of kidney off the knife and stabbed the knife into a wood block before dragging Phillip over to the water and washed his arm with soap and water.
“What was that all about?” Philip asked.
Giacomo smiled at Phillip. “As I said, there are people who would use Spanish Fly as an aphrodisiac. It makes you hard and can keep you hard all night, but the next day, if it hasn’t killed you, you’ll find it painful to piss, and as Giovanni said, sometimes you piss blood.”
“How do you know all this?” Phillip asked.
Giacomo grinned. “I too was young and foolish once. Have you got what we came for?”
Phillip gestured to the basket full of skulls.
“Right, let’s get home.” Giacomo turned to Giovanni. “The red meat should be safe enough, but I don’t want to hear that you sold any of the guts for consumption,” Giacomo warned Giovanni.
“Yes, yes, I understand. I’m not a fool, Giacomo. Now you and your young friend can leave me alone to complete butchering the animal.”
Later that day Phillip was breaking up skulls so they could be reduced to ash on Giacomo’s forge when he noticed there were blisters on his arm. He ran out to find Giacomo to ask what was going on.
“Those blisters are caused by bits of Spanish Fly in the kidney of the dead horse.” Giacomo smiled grimly at Phillip. “Imagine what it would be like inside your body if you were to take some of the crushed beetle as an aphrodisiac?”
Phillip looked at the blisters on his arm and did what Giacomo told him to do, he imagined those same blisters forming inside his body. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “I don’t think I’ll try Spanish Fly.”
“Good. That’s a smart choice.”
“But how will I know if someone is offering me Spanish Fly? They might call it something else. What does it look like?”
Giacomo stared intently at Phillip before coming to a decision. “I’ve got some I can show you.”
“Why do you have it,” Phillip asked.
Giacomo sighed. “Sometimes a client demands that I use it to excite a stallion who they want to breed.”
“But you don’t like doing it?”
“No I don’t,” Giacomo said. “It’s a poison that can so easily kill the horse. But if I don’t do as they ask, the owner will just find someone else who will.”
Phillip understood Giacomo’s position. “You feel it is better that you administer the dose rather than let someone who probably doesn’t know what they are doing does it and ends up poisoning the animal.”
In order to make the best cupels all the impurities have to be removed from the ashes. They can be removed by floating off the lighter impurities such as charcoal dust and anything else that floats, while the heavier impurities such as fine sand and stones will settle in the bottom of the container. It was a relatively easy matter to pour off the light impurities, but the heavy ones needed someone extremely meticulous to remove them all.
Phillip was naturally extremely meticulous in his procedures, so it came as no surprise to him that Leonardo da Vinci proclaimed his satisfaction with his cupels. With somewhere to work Philip was able to start making acids for sale to the local alchemists — acids that were significantly purer than anything anyone else was selling, and therefore could command a premium price. Phillip was well set to continue his studies at Padua.
Friday January 10, 1614, the assay office, Augsburg
Ulrich Hechstetter sipped from the glass of strong liquor and pulled a face. “It’s not as good as last year,” he said.
The other senior staff at the assay office sipped their drinks made from the bottles given to them by the apprentices in a tradition started only five years ago. “It’s not bad,” Wilhelm Neuffer said, “but I can almost taste the base alcohol they made it from.”
“I wonder who made it,” Paul Paler said.
“It can’t be Phillip Gribbleflotz. Not this year,” Jakob Reihing said.
“You think it was Gribbleflotz last year?” Ulrich asked.
Jakob nodded. “And the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that.”
“That’s impossible,” Wilhelm Neuffer said. “I admit he has the skills to do it, but he has never been out of sight long enough to do it? When he wasn’t working he was either sleeping, in the library, or working on his experiments.”
Ulrich studied Jakob. He had the look of a particularly proud teacher who knew one of his students had managed to put one over the school. “How could he do it, Jakob? Wilhelm has said he was always around.”
“That’s when I think he did it.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Wilhelm said, shaking his head.
“I think I understand what Jakob’s getting at,” Paul said. He looked at Jakob. “You think he slipped some extra retorts onto the distilling furnace.”
Jakob nodded. “It’s the only way Gribbleflotz could have pulled it off.”
Wilhelm whistled. “I wouldn’t have thought Gribbleflotz had it in him, at least not four years ago.”
“Remember that as soon as it was obvious Gribbleflotz knew what he was doing on the distillation furnace we virtually left him alone to get on with the task of distilling things?” Jakob asked. “Well, I bet the other apprentices noticed that and suggested he might slip in an extra retort or two.”
In his mind’s eye Ulrich could easily visualize the scene. Phillip Gribbleflotz had quickly gained a well-deserved reputation for the care and attention he put into running the distillation furnace. With plenty of other work to do and other apprentices who really needed to be watched it was no surprise that Gribbleflotz had been left to get on with his tasks. “And he wants to be a doctor,” he complained. “What a waste of talent.”
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