Moving along to Ars Terrae my master brought out a manuscript. ‘A book of plants written by Abu Hanifa al Dinawari, a Moslem biologist whose works were based on Deioscorides, Christian, but adding many plants.’ My master’s face was afire with excitement and I wondered, looking at him, if my sin was any worse than his. He seemed to experience as much pleasure from discovering such repositories of the intellect as another man would draw from undressing his wife! A moment later I felt truly ashamed and humbly asked God’s forgiveness for my foolish thought, reminding myself that there was indeed a great difference.
‘If the infidel is so learned, master, why does he not believe in the highest wisdom?’ I retorted, because I was angry with myself.
‘He believes his own wisdom to be higher, that is all.’ He paused, replacing the book and taking out another. ‘Oh! Ten treatises on the eye by Hunain ibn Ishaq. And Liber continens, the Latin translation of Kitab al Hawi!’
‘Arabs may be infinitely wise in the healing arts,’ Eisik moved towards us, drawn, despite himself, by the medical books, ‘but very often, even you have to admit, Andre, they do not follow strict principles.’
‘I disagree, many times their methods have proved successful,’ my master retorted. ‘Such as the case of Jibril ibn Bakhitisha, who is said to have cured his Arab ruler of a persistent illness by prescribing that he should learn to play chess.’
‘Impossible!’ I said sceptically.
‘It is a mystery . . . but in a few days the man discovered that his cure was commensurate with his propensity to win, which was considerable. It is true that he felt such relief that he rewarded the physician 800,000 dirhams! But the man also had to teach many of the Arab’s servants how to play the game, making sure that they always knew discreet ways to lose.’
‘I see!’ I marvelled. ‘The power of mind over matter.’
‘No Jewish physician would ever have prescribed such a treatment,’ Eisik sniffed.
Now in an excited state, I browsed through other books. ‘Here is another by that same author,’ I said, taking an enormous volume from the shelf, ‘Why Ignorant Physicians, Laymen, and Women Have More Success than Learned Medical Men.’
‘Ahh yes,’ he said, taking it from my hands with a smile, ‘no one could say that the man did not have a genial side. Come, Eisik!’ he waved a hand to the old Jew. ‘So many treasures!’
But Eisik was lost in thought, inspecting the articles to be found on the table.
‘Look here!’ my master cried in jubilation, bringing a large manuscript down off the shelf. I wandered over, and peered inside at a page containing a frightening illumination of the human body dissected, revealing the inner organs being attacked by devils. I winced and my master, seeing the cause of my distress, laughed a little. ‘Medicine is not for the faint-hearted, my young squire. Now, what do we have here,’ he continued. ‘A treatise on drugs used to induce sleep . . . hashish . . . mandrake . . . aha! Poisonous herbs . . .’ he gasped, ‘in this treatise, mandrake is denoted for being a subtle poison. The victim, it says, agonises for three days before dying. Here we see the antidote which consists of all these together, honey, radish, butter, oxymel, rue, sweet wine, castorium, dill, borax, leaves of watermint, absinthe, assafetida . . . Then, if all this were not enough, the victim should have his head bound, and rose oil poured into one nostril. Furthermore, it goes on to say, should this fail to restore him, a tea of mint and leaf of almond is poured hot over his head while he sits in a bath.’
‘I would consider it preferable to suffer the poison!’ I said, and my master laughed.
‘But wait,’ he continued, ‘here we have a number of concoctions which use poisonous herbs, and a mention of a substance used by witches. By my sword! Now I remember!’
‘What, master?’
‘Devil’s ointment! That’s it! At the time I was in Paris, Christian, attending university, I heard the trial of a Cathar woman accused of communion with devils. It was a terrible, public affair!
The woman, after many days of questioning before the judges of the tribunal, and also much humiliation, and many nights of horrible torment, was persuaded to confess to flying into the arms of Satan with the aid of an ointment. I do not know if she really used this ointment, but when asked what was contained in it, she gave a perfectly scientific explanation for her symptoms. It was a compound of atropa belladonna, and wolfbane mixed with wheatflour, and (so she said) the fat of a stillborn child.’
I cringed, ‘Surely not?’