LITMIR.BIZ

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gave von Binden a worried look but the latter did not respond.

      The physician cut open the wound on the Prussian’s thigh to half a hand’s width, licked his thumb and forefinger and began to poke around inside it. The Prussian groaned and his limbs began to jerk. ‘Bear up, old pal,’ said Johann softly, holding his comrade’s head.

      Leonardus pulled a face. ‘Where are you, you goddamned–’

      More blood began to gush from the wound and von Binden went to grab a cloth.

      ‘Leave it, milord Count, that way the wound stays cleaner,’ said the physician matter-of-factly, continuing to poke his finger into the incision. The Prussian groaned more loudly and Johann wiped the sweat from his comrade’s brow.

      Bear up, old pal, bear up for my sake!

      ‘Ah–got you!’ shouted the physician, jerking his finger out. He held the lead bullet to the light and squinted at it. ‘You seem to be intact, you nasty, little–’

      ‘Mr Leonardus!’ interjected Johann, pointing to the bleeding wound.

      The physician gestured reassuringly, placed the bullet to one side and picked up one of the glowing irons from the fire. ‘He’s not going to like this,’ he said and he pressed the iron onto the wound.

      The Prussian tried to rear up but the straps held him fast. Instantly, the room was filled with the sickly smell of burnt flesh and memories of the field hospital after battle flashed through Johann’s mind. The physician laid aside the iron and picked up a wooden spatula, removed a glob of a brownish, gooey substance from a ceramic receptacle behind him and spread it onto a linen cloth. Then he pressed the cloth against the wound.

      ‘You’ll need to change the cloth four times a day and put fresh turpentine ointment on it,’ he ordered Johann sternly. ‘And always use a fresh rag, understood?’

      Johann nodded and felt the Prussian’s pulse. ‘His heart is racing. No, wait–it’s getting slower and slower!’

      Leonardus had not failed to notice it too, along with the sweat on his patient’s brow and his increasing pallor. ‘He’s lost too much blood.’

      At that moment Hans came in, carrying a sleepy-eyed lamb in his arms.

      ‘Not a moment too soon!’ cried the barber surgeon, seizing the lamb. He placed it beside the Prussian’s arm and strapped it swiftly to the table top. The animal began to bleat and writhe about under the straps.

      ‘What in God’s name are you up to?’ cried Johann, grabbing hold of Leonardus’ arm.

      ‘If you want your friend to have even a ghost of a chance of surviving then let me get on with what I have to do,’ replied the physician, glaring at Johann. He stank of booze and his eyes were bloodshot but there was determination in them.

      The man is helping. Probably.

      Johann let the physician go, stepped backwards and took hold of his friend’s head again.

      Leonardus gave a slight nod, snatched up his knife and with a few flicks of the wrist sheared a section of the lamb’s neck. Then he bound the head of the struggling animal tightly to the underarm of the Prussian with a rope, and skilfully cut away the flesh from around the lamb’s carotid artery without puncturing it. The bleating of the poor lamb rose now to a wail, which pierced the hearts of all those present.

      Except the heart of the physician, it seemed, who was behaving as calmly as if he were enjoying a symphony. Carefully, he pulled out a wooden casket, ornately decorated with inlaid patterns, and opened it.

      Johann leaned to one side and peeped inside. The casket was lined with red velvet and contained a pair of silver scissors as well as several cannulas made of brass and glass, and some another instruments, which Johann had never seen before.

      He felt decidedly uneasy. Should he intervene again and stop the man, who was probably a charlatan, from carrying out any more wondrous practices on his friend? Or should he let him carry on?

      Your feelings tell you what your head can’t yet understand.

      One of Abbot Bernardin’s well-intentioned maxims. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened inside himself. What would the Prussian do in his place?

      Anything to keep you alive.

      Johann opened his eyes. He had made up his mind.

      The physician had in the meantime taken the utensils out of the casket and laid them on the table in an order that seemed to make sense to him alone. Then he hesitated.

      Don’t do it, thought Johann, stay clear-headed.

      Reaching for the earthenware pitcher, Leonardus did what Johann had hoped he wouldn’t do and took another big gulp of wine. Having sated himself, he winked at Johann, set aside the pitcher and, picking up a curved pair of scissors, made a slight incision in the lamb’s carotid artery.

      All at once the lamb stopped wailing, closed its eyes but kept breathing. The physician picked up a glass cannula, to which was attached a thin tube made of intestine, inserted it into the artery and tied it fast.

      Johann and the others watched, riveted.

      The physician took hold of a scalpel and made an incision about the length of three fingers in the Prussian’s underarm, spread the wound, opened another artery with the curved scissors and inserted a glass cannula, which also had a bent tube attached to it. Then he opened the pinchcock of the cannula in the neck of the lamb and a thin stream of blood began to run out of the tube. Leonardus pulled the tube off the cannula in the Prussian’s arm and inserted the tube filled with lamb’s blood.

      Then he stopped for a moment to admire his masterpiece. ‘The transfusion is now underway!’ he cried triumphantly, looking round at the others. They scarcely gave him a glance for they were all staring instead at the Prussian who was looking more dead than alive.

      Leonardus shrugged his shoulders and quietly began to count.

      All at once the Prussian’s breathing became more frantic, his face turned bright red and sweat streamed down his forehead. Then he opened his eyes and looked about him in panic.

      ‘Johann? Where are we? Where–’ he cried, trying to rear up against the leather straps that held him fast.

      ‘Johann, something is rolling down my back–’ he said, his face contorted in agony.

      ‘For crying out loud, help him!’ shouted Johann, without understanding what his friend had meant. The physician took hold of the Prussian’s neck. ‘His pulse is hard and slow, that’s not unusual,’ he said, in an attempt at reassurance.

      ‘My chest,’ groaned the Prussian, ‘it’s getting tighter and tighter–it’s crushing me–’

      Johann looked down at his friend. The arteries of his arms and hands looked very swollen and his skin was flushed.

      ‘Help me–’ cried the Prussian. Then he passed out again.

      ‘I already have,’ said Leonardus, stopping the transfusion by clamping the pinchcock at the end of the cannula in the Prussian’s arm. Then he yanked out the cannula and placed a clean linen cloth on the wound.

      ‘And violà, as the French say so prettily. The deed is done,’ declared the physician. He pulled the cannula out of the lamb’s artery and untied the unconscious animal. Then he picked it up and pressed it into the arms of the Count, who was rather taken aback. ‘Guten Appetit, sir, you paid for it after all!’

      Von Binden went out without a word. Johann noticed the Prussian’s breathing was steadier and his pulse regular. He gave the physician a quizzical look. ‘Now what?’

      ‘Let him have several days’ rest. Sleep is the best medicine. He’ll probably get the ague later on today but that’ll pass after a few hours. And his skin might itch for a few days and turn red but he’ll manage to cope with that I think, won’t he?’

      Johann looked sharply at the physician. ‘But he’ll pull through?’

      ‘He already

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