A Squeaky Clean Renaissance

Chapter the Second: A Mind Diseased

To my lord, the Archdeacon Malachi, Supreme Arbiter-in-Chief of the Most Holy Jacoban Faith:

We understand one another precisely.

We accept and do not challenge the Proxy’s Authority on matters spiritual concerning the Jacoban Faith. Matters purely temporal, material, and military you may safely leave to Us.

This would go better with sage, onion, and parsley.

As to His Lordship’s declaration that the Watcher looks with favor on his claim to the Chair of Jacobus, We defer to his Lordship’s presumably better knowledge of the matter.

Cecil of Puritania His own hand A.C. 2* ____ *Anno Cecil.

It is unwise for a prince continually to leave his state in order to prosecute foreign wars, so it was necessary to send a knight whose feudal allegiance was unwavering. And so it was that the King called on Sir Redcrosse. “The Archdeacon Malachi has asked Us to assist with the election of a new Jacoban Proxy. Yacothia’s commitment to high Morality will be invaluable in spreading Puritanian Rectitude, and of course, Good Manners.” “But my lord, how can military might be of assistance in an election?” “Enter their capital with a small militia; stand by, looking persuasive; and do not leave until you see interestingly colored smoke.”

Redcrosse began his preparations, thinking of the ways in which he might serve the Watcher in his mission.

“I am not important,” said Una. “I come to bring the Watcher’s Peace. And Love.”

“Love?”

“Yes, Love.”

“Clearly, I must serve the Watcher, and therefore I must serve anyone who serves the Watcher. The Watcher must be present in such a well-decorated building.”

The Shepherdess Duessa was exhorting her small but zealous flock.

“We are electing a new Proxy. We require your utmost obedience. To fail would be disastrous. Serve the Watcher. You may begin with the collection. You may say ‘thank you, Shepherdess Duessa’ as you cheerfully make your donations.”

“Any lady who serves the Watcher is to be honored. They are all the same, are they not?”

The Shepherdess carefully assessed the knight before her.

“Madam—Shepherdess—whatever I may call you—”

“You, Sir Redcrosse, may call me Duessa.”

“Duessa. That does not seem adequately respectful, Shepherdess. His Majesty King Cecil has asked me to assist you in the election of a new Proxy.”

Ah. “And you have misgivings. I understand. It is a lonely mission, serving here. I am accustomed to being misunderstood. Whatever the King may say, you must not strive against your conscience. The Watcher does not desire the aid of the unwilling, and I am too proud to accept help otherwise.”

“Of course not, lady! You may command me in whatever you desire.”

“A small militia,” the King had said. This meant training a militia, and this meant recruiting a militia. Redcrosse worried about the implications, and doubly so as he watched his squire, Christopher, becoming very taken with one of the new lady recruits. “I did not know ladies could serve in the military,” breathed Christopher. “No one is going to tell me I can’t, Chris.” “What is your name?” “Friotheswede.”

“For Friotheswede! Is she looking this way? Does she find my manly chivalry impressive?”

Worried by the pressure of the mission, Redcrosse sought peace with the only person who seemed to provide it.

“The Watcher’s Peace is for everyone,” said Sister Una. “It does not matter who you are. You are loved.”

“She is so good,” thought Redcrosse, “and I do feel peace in her presence. Peace and Love.

And this must be because she serves the Watcher. Duessa—that is, the Shepherdess- serves the Watcher. I must not sit here, however peaceful and happy I feel. I must return to my mission.”

“This ought to be effective. A sword of fire, that burns whatever it cuts. We WILL have the Proxy I –that is, King Cecil—supports. Sir Redcrosse must help, whether he wishes to or not.”

“And he will wish to, by the time I am finished with him. Oh, yes.”

“May your mission be blessed, Sir Knight. I am doubly thankful for your serving the Church and serving me, a poor damsel, dependent on the kindness of others.”

“The sword will show you the way. Use it wisely.”

“I hear that the Archdeacon Malachi is now Proxy of the Jacoban Church.”

“The election was not peaceful, High Priestess Terra, but it was over quickly. We did our duty to King Cecil, and we trust that our service was pleasing to the Watcher.”

“And I do so hope our service was pleasing to the Watcher, as my poor squire’s lady Friotheswede is dead. How could I live with myself if that was not the case?” “I was doing my duty to the King.” “Every man’s duty is the King’s, but every man’s soul is his own. There must be peace, if I could only find it.”

“Peace and Love be upon you, Sir Redcrosse! Surely you feel it?” “Yes. Yes, I do.” “May I humbly suggest that the Peteran Church will help you find your way?” “Of course! That must be the source of my happiness. Yes.”

“May the Watcher bless you, Sir Redcrosse. I must be on my way. Puritania has a terrible Dire Chinchilla problem, and I am sure the matter can be settled peacefully.”

“Peace and love be upon you, good people! Peace be upon the Dire Chinchillas!”

“Surely we need not slay the Dire Chinchillas for their fiendish dispositions, ravenous appetites and rows of tiny serrated teeth? Surely we can domesticate the Dire Chinchilla? We can raise them for their wool!”

“Such a nonviolent solution will surely be pleasing to the Watcher.”

I am a Watchmaker Watcher and do not intend to intervene. Nevertheless, I quite approve of the sentiment.

“Raise the Dire Chinchillas.” “For their wool.” “Do Dire Chinchillas have wool?” “For lo, Sister Una is simple as a duck.” “In a nice way, though.”

Few believed it was possible, or wise, to domesticate the Dire Chinchilla, and so Sister Una sought expert advice.

“If you want to know about Dire Chinchillas, Elder Hunter Morde knows as much as anyone alive. But he will tell you they are vicious beasts. Worse than dragons, even.”

Indeed, Elder Hunter Morde was not encouraging.

“You cannot domesticate Dire Chinchillas. You cannot even tame them. They will eat your face right off your head.”

Sister Una insisted that yea, even the Dire Chinchilla must be given a chance. Elder Hunter Morde attempted again to dissuade her.

“Watcher bless you, I think you are a fool. You are a kind hearted, sweet fool, however. Here, drink this. It will hurt less when they chew your face off.”

But lo, Sister Una’s face was not devoured by the Dire Chinchillas, and she lived to witness this to her congregation.

“Peace and kindness are always best, brothers and sisters. Love one another. Love our furry friends.”

“I must write to Brother Bonaventure. He will be so happy that our mission here is doing so well! I have made one whole convert, and I have saved the lives of countless adorable if easily annoyed rodents.”

“I ought to become friendly with the local Jacoban church as well, since our intentions are the same.”

“Shepherdess? Shepherdess?—”

“She walked right past me. Oh, well. She cannot have heard.”

“Peace and Love. . .I am afraid I do not know your name.” “Ambrose. Subdeacon Ambrose. Peace and Love aren’t exactly our specialty around here. We think Worry and Self-Loathing do a better job.” “But we want the same thing—for people to Be Good?” “Oh, sure. We’re just really unhappy with them until they are.”

Sister Una was determined to find common ground, however. “Still , you are my brother of the cloth, Subdeacon Ambrose. There is no reason why we cannot be friends.” The Jacoban attendant looked almost eager at the thought.

“Why not? I like the idea. Only—don’t mention it to the Shepherdess just yet. Please.”

Fortis, the blacksmith, had wandered in to admire the Cathedral and to see if there were any ways in which her crafts could improve it. “What are you doing here, Sister Una?” “Admiring the gifts of the Watcher, Fortis—although you can admire them just as much in the Peteran monastery, and that seems more suited to your character. You ought to give us a try, as well.”

Sister Una went to King Cecil to ask for his protection for the Peteran Church.

“In whatever manner we can serve you best, your Majesty. Brother Bonaventure made me promise to ask. We Shall Be Good.”

The King was not especially encouraging.

“Our policy at this time is to encourage competition between the Churches. It benefits Our intent to spread Morality, Rectitude, and Good Manners—Squeaky Cleanliness, in fact—and to bring forth the Renaissance to as many lands as possible.” “Freedom to compete? As in a marketplace? Would this be—” “The marketplace of ideas? No, Sister Una. This is the marketplace of the market. One, or both, or the most successful may win.”

“We do try. I will try. I am friends with Subdeacon Ambrose. But Brother Bonaventure says that the Jacoban Church is a bit—frightening. They are obsessed with the rules. He says we will need your help to survive.” “Hmm. Obsessed with the rules? You don’t say so. We shall think further on the matter. We do have other concerns at the moment. We would like to bring in modern medicine.”

“Or the next best thing.”

The word that the Puritanian monarch approved of Knowledge and Culture had spread, and had attracted the learned from other lands.

The reasonably learned, anyway. Considering. “Decoction and distillation of lunar plants and herbs, collected under a full moon, a sovereign remedy for an excess of the choleric humors.” Robert Galenus had received his medical education in Simaris, and though relatively new to his art, was deemed to be very promising by his professors.

“Democritus, it does not matter what the previous leechcrafter did. I want you to cleanse all wounds with vinegar before you wrap them. And be careful not to touch them with your hands.”

“Cleansing with vinegar? But that’s a lunatic idea! We’ve never done that before.” “And how many of your patients died before?” “Pretty much all of them.” “Exactly.” “Can I still treat fevers by splitting a pigeon and sticking it on the patient’s head?” “Duh, of course. Isn’t that the way everybody does it?”

He sought the best possible ingredients for his potions. “Herbs from Simrabia. Can you get them?” “Perhaps. But they will cost you. What do you need?” “Don’t even think about overcharging me. I need mandragora, cinnamon, and pepper.” “I didn’t know cinnamon and pepper were medicinal herbs.” “They’re not. I use them for cooking. Onions will only take you so far.”

Medications are only as good as diagnosis, and at this, Robert was excellent.

“Hmmmm. Is being a Beastslayer a demanding job?” “Oh yus. It’s the beasts, see. Don’t like bein’ slayed. They gets cranky.”

“I think the sanguine humor is a bit excessive. You’ll need leeches.” “I don’t like leeches.” “Don’t be foolish, man. They can’t be worse than beasts. And they are considerably better than your other options. Trust me on this.”

“Master Robert! The leeches worked! I feel fightin’ fit, an’ the beasts knows it. So does the wife, hur hur.”

The Beastslayer’s good report of Robert spread, and soon every kind of person sought his assistance, trusting in his skill.

They even trusted him when a few remedies did not work as expected.

“Try this. It is new, but it ought to serve.”

“You are in luck. I have a very new potion, absolutely perfect for mild cases of the Black Death.”

“Does it work, Master Robert? No problems with it?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course it does.”

“I’d like to put in an order for more mandragora.” “More mandragora. Got it. Anything else? “Some powdered mummy. I can find belladonna here.”

“ARGH.” “Do not be a child. Do you know where we usually stick syringes of this size?”

“ARGH.” “Do you know. . . “I heard! I heard!”

Now turn we from the most wise Robert the Physician to Duessa the Shepherdess. While she had influenced the election of the Proxy Malachi, whom she had favored, she still wished to rule a kingdom of her own. “I need not do so directly. Far easier to rule from behind the throne, and I can use my natural gifts to do so.”

“Ambrose, I have an audience with the King. I expect you to complete the religious documents we spoke of before I return.” “Yes, Shepherdess. When may I expect you?” “If all goes well? Perhaps not for some time. Perhaps not until tomorrow. Finish the documents quickly. I will be extremely busy.”

“Your Majesty. Sire. I thought that in your great wisdom, you might consider exclusively supporting me—er—the Jacoban Church.”

“As We informed your sister of the cloth, Our policy at this time is to encourage competition between the Churches. We believe it will foster the more rapid development of Squeaky Clean Morality and Good Manners.”

“Forgive me for presuming, your Majesty, but surely you have already seen that your aims would be better served by the Jacoban Church? We encourage Morality, and we insist on a strict adherence to the rules. We are already Squeaky Clean, and if I may say so, we are experts at ensuring that everyone else is, too.”

“Have you considered the benefits of a theocracy?” “A theocracy? Really. You make it sound quite appealing.” “Oh, it is. You might even go so far as to say you would quite enjoy it. The first step would be to convert you.”

“ I am not quite positive that—”

“Stand back. I understand that many people find it pleasant, although I must warn you that I am very, very, very strict.”

“I admit that I prefer strictness myself.” “Pleasant?” “Not altogether repellent, no.” “And perhaps you would prefer me to stay and and assist in your religious development.” “No. . .no, on the whole not, I think. In fact, your audience is at an end. I am certain you have spiritual duties to which you must attend.”

“Remind me never to permit that again.”

“That did not go as I had hoped. Perhaps it never will. I shall consult the King’s Advisor—discreetly, of course.”

Without knowing it, the Royal Advisor confirmed Duessa’s fears. “His Majesty was very impressed by you. He appreciates the Jacoban Church’s and your emphasis on avoiding the ways of the flesh.” “He has no. . .inclinations that way himself? No lapses in morality? No secret vices? . . .because the Jacoban church is very strict about those. That is what I meant.” “Oh, no. The ruder castle servants murmur that his Majesty pisses ice. It’s true. Metaphorically.”

That particular form of influence was not going to work, thought Shepherdess Duessa, which was a pity. She was quite prepared to make sacrifices. Scarcely a sacrifice at all. There were other avenues to power, however, and an opportunity to build commitment to the Jacoban church and herself, not necessarily in that order.

“Let me be clear about this. The King is a Jacoban now. Do I really have to underline what you need to do here?”

It was a good idea to be helpful on occasion, as well. She offered her services to Robert the Physician. “Master Robert, I understand that you have a patient who is almost impervious to medical assistance.” “That is true, Shepherdess, and I cannot understand it. I cannot even diagnose it properly, and I have tried everything. Scrutinizing his urine, even tasting it—nothing works.” “Sometimes healing a disease may require a spiritual element. Allow me.”

“STOP BEING SICK, do you hear me? You wouldn’t even BE sick if you hadn’t angered the Watcher.” “Why? What did I do? I didn’t stand in front of the messenger post so no one else could get to it. I didn’t pick fights. I didn’t even block the well all day and spit in it—oh, wait. Maybe I did.” “YOU ARE TOO STUPID TO LIVE.”

“Stand back, Master Robert. I must blast the well clean.”

“And then I will be able to cure that unfortunate man. Hmm—mandragora, large syringe—I am certain I will think of something.”

“To my lord Malachi, Proxy of the most holy Jacoban Church and most Supreme Turnpike to the Watcher: While King Cecil the First is indeed a Jacoban now, I cannot determine his absolute loyalty. Intellectually he is in sympathy with our views, but the King’s corporal being remains difficult to access.”

--which is so, so frustrating, but I do not think I will include that, and it will not do to inform the Proxy of everything.”

“Good morning, Bubbles.” “Ta, your Shepherdessship. Where you off to so early before the sermon?” “The forest, Bubbles. I find meditation there relaxing.”

“Good morning, Shepherdess.” “Oh, good morning, Harald. I am in such distress, but I don’t suppose I will be able to find assistance.” “I thought the King was Jacoban now. Town crier told it all over yesterday. I’d thought he would help you.” “Princes cannot be relied on for everything, alas, and my need is very great.” “Well, I’d help you, Shepherdess. I’ll serve you in whatever way I can.” “Really.”

“I don’t think I want medical attention after all, Master Robert. I’m too sick to stand it.” “You must have the foul and noxious humors purged from your body, and this is the least unpleasant way. Trust me on this.”

“Sir Redcrosse. What brings you to my clinic?” “I do not know. I am ill, and yet I am quite well, and I do not understand it.” “Hmm. Yes, I think I have seen this illness before. It is very common. Occasionally it cures itself with time. But the system can become weakened, and prone to malefic influence, so I would advise caution.”

The Shepherdess Duessa, however, was very good at diagnosing this sort of illness. “You do not look quite well, Sir Redcrosse. May my prayers and service be of help?” “I do not think so. Master Robert says he cannot cure me. If he cannot cure me, what will?” “Perhaps the Watcher will enlighten me.” “In any event, I have come to see if you need my service and my sword.” ARGH. “Not today, no. But I am sure I will in the future.”

Inside, a soldier from Yacothia awaited Duessa’s orders. “The Supreme Turnpike wishes to know how much influence we have in Puritania.” Tell my Lord Proxy to keep his attractively slippered foot out of my business. “Tell my Lord Proxy that matters are proceeding well, but that I humbly ask a free hand.”

“And do NOT tell my Lord Proxy I said so, but Yacothian soldiers should not dress as though they come from Mordor. You draw attention to yourselves.”

“May I request an audience with his Majesty?” “Later, perhaps. I am quite sure he is dedicated to the same views as the Jacoban Church, or many of them. As I mentioned, he was quite impressed by you. But he will not be disturbed when working.” “In that case, I shall speak my business to you. The Yacothian Proxy has sent some rich gifts for him. If you will, please present them to his Majesty with the Proxy’s compliments.”

“Harald, my dear. I have trusted you with my honor, which is to say everything. I will need your help in the days ahead. May I rely on you absolutely?” “Of course! I would do anything for you.” “And your first allegiance is to me. Not to the King.” “Not to the King? But—but that is something else again.” “You disappoint me, Harald, after everything. I see I cannot rely on you after all.” “Yes, you can, Duessa! Anything at all. Anything you need.”

“Ah, Harald. So many, many things.”

Early the next morning, Sister Una entered the church to find Sir Redcrosse already there. “I do feel peace here, and yet—not so much as I did.” “Sir Redcrosse? Are you ill?” “No. Not much.” “In grief?” “Many times.”

“I understand. You mourn for your lost family. It is because of your kindly nature.”

“But I hope you will not grieve forever. You are greatly loved.” “Am I?” “By the Watcher.” “The Watcher. Yes. I am.”

And from this time forth, Sir Redcrosse attempted to put aside that grief he did not comprehend, and to attend to his knightly responsibilities.

Including feeding the Pit Monster.

“Ermintrude! What is possessing you this morning?”

He also supervised the chivalric training of his squire, Christopher.

“Be careful, Christopher! Guard yourself. Do not neglect your own defense.”

Redcrosse’s squire said defiantly, “Why? Friotheswede is dead. I don’t care what becomes of me.” “That is not true chivalry. You go on although your heart is dead inside you. You go on because you have made an oath and your oath is sacred. Do you understand me?” “—yes.”

Redcrosse turned next to the page who stood behind Christopher. “And you will not mock him, Lionel, or I will not take you as my squire when Christopher receives his spurs. You may rely on that.” “Aw.”

“Hmm. You do not look particularly well either, young Sister. A disease that enters through the eye and runs throughout to the heart. It becomes systemic, and can be fatal. Do you understand?” “Doh.” “You will. I am sure of it.”

In the castle, King Cecil reviewed all that had been accomplished. “Much has been done, and yet much remains to be done. Our Rectitude and Good Manners are becoming well established, and our Knowledge increases daily. We are well on the way to our own Renaissance, but this is of no use unless we spread it to other lands, and if I do not, I have left— I have relied on Redcrosse twice. The next mission I shall trust to no one else.”

“Matters are not proceeding quickly enough. I need to have an unopposed influence over the King. I shall attempt again to persuade him directly, perhaps with some assistance. And if not—there are other ways to have influence.”

To be continued.

Explicit Liber Secundus.

Wherein ye shall read of most marvelous things-

Of the tournament fought by King Cecil and the spread of Puritanian ideals to the benighted land of Advorton— Of the flowering of theatre, the rise of Tarleton Somerset, the Bard of Granta, and his artistic innovations— Of crusades and inquisitions— Of the suffering of the pangs of love— Of plots and poisonings--

--and many another such wonderful events, if ye will but please to read.

Quests completed:

Death of the Proxy Fur Eastern Promises I Don’t Feel So Good

Territories Annexed: Aarbyville Yacothia

Renaissance Fun Fact

Medicine practiced in the Middle Ages, well into the Renaissance, was based on the idea that there were four humors in the body: yellow bile, black bile, blood, and phlegm (aka snot.) Healthy people had all four in balance: if they became unbalanced, it was the job of the physician to balance them by bleeding, inducing vomiting, or enemas. Diagnosis could be done by astrology, or that old reliable, pee: looking at it, smelling it, or (unfortunately) tasting it. This is a handy pee chart for doctors.

Credits

Opening picture: “The Four Humours,” adapted from Quincta Essentia, Leonhart Thurneisser zun Thurn. Uroscopy wheel from Epiphanie Medicorum. Passages quoted from Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince, William Shakespeare, Henry V and from Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene Pigeons supplied by Cesare Borgia & Co. Printer’s mark, Sacrobosco