Without commenting on where he thought Brezen may have obtained his money, in which he would have been fully justified, the apothecary reached down a large glass jar and removed the dried roots of the cucumber relative known as White Bryony. These had been collected last August and hung to dry. They were now brittle, half inch thick grayish-brown roots, similar to that of a carrot or parsnip, but with the characteristic forking that had reminded more superstitious persons of a man's body, hence the English name 'Mandrake'.
"You'll not find much leprosy around here," the apothecary said, referring to the use of these roots as an antidote to that disease.
"No," Brezen agreed, "but plenty of coughs, dropsy, rheumatism and lumbago. In small doses I find nothing better for the whooping-cough, and relieving the pain of gout."
"You have read your Galen, then?" the apothecary said with a slight sneer.
Cesky Brezen just smiled at the implied insult. Few of his family had ever learned to read, and he was not one of them, so he had never read anything written by the famous Greek physician, Claudius Galen, who, along with Hippocrates, was considered the father of modern medicine.
"Have you any fresh crowfoot?" Brezen asked, "This I will use to take away warts, and, if you have some roots, to make plasters for violent headaches."
"I have some, but our physicians use it mostly to cure cancer," said the apothecary.
"I bet they also pour a decoction on the ground to bring up worms," sneered Brezen, slowly getting annoyed by the condescension of the shopkeeper.
"It has been known," the apothecary said, reluctantly admitting that the Gypsy seemed to know what he was talking about. Although, in his defense, Thornton in his Herbal, had recommended this use of crowfoot just a few years before.
It took about half an hour for Brezen to buy all the herbs he needed, then the three companions made their way to a small glass foundry on the edge of town, where, for several more guilders, they were able to buy a supply of small unguent bottles and flasks. Quite loaded from their purchases they had one last stop to make, and on this occasion Brezen left one of his companions at the end of the dirty lane leading to a ruined house, and the second companion outside the door as he went inside. He was gone for about fifteen minutes, and emerged many guilders lighter in his purse, and had added one more substance to his collection. One that the apothecary certainly would not have sold him, even if it had been legal.
Then it was back to the very humble lodgings they had been able to find in Old Brno. These were, ironically, only a short walk from Mendel's monastery, but worlds apart. Behind closed curtains, Brezen spent most of the night mixing, infusing, deconcocting and combining selections of his herbs into lictus', pastes, syrups and pills, filling many of his small bottles and wrapping the solids in small squares of paper. To each the last ingredient he added was a pinch of very bitter powder made from dried Adder's root. Although he did not know it, this powder contained prussic acid.
"Why do you do that?" the older of his two companions asked, after tasting one of the bitter liquids.
Cesky grinned at him. "This is the most important ingredient in my concoctions," he said, "it probably does more good than all the other herbs combined." He could not help laughing, but then went on to explain, "When customers buy my potions they have certain expectations. Of course they expect to be cured, but more than that they want to feel that they are being cured. When a medicine is foul tasting they get that feeling. No one wants a cure that tastes good. I could easily add sugar to my mixtures, but no one would buy them. They expect to be cured by bitter brews, so bitter brews I give them, whether it helps or not."
His companion snorted in disbelief,"Si khohaimo may patshivalo sar o tshatshimo," which in Romani means "There are lies more believable than truth".
"It is true," Cesky assured him, "all medicine has to be bitter to work, at least in people's minds. I could just give them bad tasting water and they would go away happy - they would also probably recover just as quickly. The practice of medicine is firmly rooted in understanding what goes on in people's minds, not their bodies. Make a person believe they are being cured, and the ailment will pass, but fail to gain their confidence in your treatment, and no matter how powerful the therapy, they will sicken and die. Physicians need elaborate ritual to gain the confidence of their patients and the aura of infallibility. I use the bitter powder of Adder's root." He laughed again.
"Tomorrow we find a suitable pivince (wine bar) and you will spread the word that we are open for business. Lent is a good time to cure the sick and heal the lame." He went back to work on his potions.