a bath?" Astounded the monks looked at Steele as if he were a madman.

"The Lords and Knights bath four times a year. We of lower stature bath twice a year which is more than sufficient." Shaking their heads, they turned to their grizzly task. This time, the knife would not suffice. Hefting a heavy axe, the surgeon lifted the deadly weapon above his head.

### Heads bowed in prayer the monks waited for the axe to descend severing the knight's leg below the knee.

"Hold him steady, stop the thrashing about!" Suddenly one of them thrust a wooden spoon into the knight's mouth. His eyes met Steele's. Panic mixed with anger as he offered himself to the mercy of the monk healers. Down came the axe swishing through the rancidin a state of semi-consciousness while Steele changed his dressings. He had managed to acquire a small house near the limits of the city walls. Friends stopped by to enquire on John's recovery. Soon the news spread of a healer among their ranks.

"So, you bastard, how long do you intend keeping me lying here in this bloody crib? We have Saracens to kill." Steele laughed with relief. Although John was in a weakened state, he would survive. Steele changed the dressing keeping a record of what he had done and the results. He buried himself local medicine learning all he could from the traditional Arab healers. From time to time, d'Arcy sent scribes to monitor John's progress.

Within a few short weeks, John was able to walk with the