Spotlight: The King's Anatomist by Ron Blumenfeld
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Publication Date: October 12, 2021
History Through Fiction LLC
Genre: Historical Fiction
A revolutionary anatomist, a memory-laden journey, and a shocking discovery.
n 1565 Brussels, the reclusive mathematician Jan van den Bossche receives shattering news that his lifelong friend, the renowned and controversial anatomist Andreas Vesalius, has died on the Greek island of Zante returning from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Jan decides to journey to his friend’s grave to offer his last goodbye.
Jan’s sentimental and arduous journey to Greece with his assistant Marcus is marked by shared memories, recalled letters, and inner dialogues with Andreas, all devices to shed light on Andreas’ development as a scientist, physician, and anatomist. But the journey also gradually uncovers a dark side of Andreas even as Jan yearns for the widow of Vesalius, Anne.
When Jan and Marcus finally arrive on Zante, the story takes a major twist as a disturbing mystery unfolds. Jan and Marcus are forced to take a drastic and risky measure that leads to a shocking discovery. On his return home, Jan learns that Andreas was an unknowing pawn in a standoff between King Philip of Spain, his employer, and Venice. When he arrives home in Brussels, he must finally reckon with his feelings for Anne.
A debut novel by Ron Blumenfeld, The King’s Anatomist is a fascinating medical history blended eloquently with meaningful relationships and a riveting mystery. Set within a pivotal time in European history, the story carries readers through some of the most important medical discoveries while engaging them in a deeply personal story of growing older and confronting relationships. A fictional masterpiece with real and relevant historical sources, The King’s Anatomist is as enlightening as it is enjoyable.
Excerpt
16 January 1565
The glimmering of first light seeping through the curtains of my bedchamber was enough to pry my eyelids open. I was loathe to give up the warmth of my quilt, but the pain between my shoulder blades would not ease until I did. I forced myself up and perched on the edge of my bed, waiting for my mind to clear. I had passed through another restless night, and my first thoughts of the day landed once more on an anguish that had been building for months.
Andreas, you are despicable. Where in hell’s name are you? Had you no inclination in the past year to jot something down to me, if not to your wife and daughter? Anne, Anna, and I are forced to live with daily worry about you. When you get back from your inane pilgrimage I will embrace you and then l will thrash you bloody.
I pulled a robe over my bedclothes and made my way downstairs, greeted by the familiar stiffness in my knees. The house was cold, but in the study Marcus had already seen to the stove and lighted candles. I would snuff them out when there is enough sunlight, the clouds over Brussels permitting.
I closed the door behind me to trap the heat and sat at my desk, strewn with diagrams and calculations from the day before, none of which had advanced my thinking. I pushed them aside and opened the drawer where I kept all the letters I had ever received from Andreas. I reached for the last few from the top of the pile, but then withdrew my hand and shoved the drawer closed. I knew them by heart anyway.
Just then Marcus brought breakfast and set it down on a small table by the window, away from my books and papers; they have suffered enough from errant drips of butter or morsels of fish. I looked forward to my cup of chocolate—a smoky, bittersweet brew made with milk and ground cacao seeds from that New World that I acquired at considerable expense, and which I now find hard to do without. I brought the cup to my nose and drew in its vapors as I peered through the window at my small garden in its desolate winter sleep. A few sparrows poked at the bare ground. My eyes landed on the young oak tree in the center of the space, a gift from Andreas when I bought this house.
How we would laugh about being astral twins! In truth, we were born in the early morning hours of December 31, 1514, just a few blocks apart—the sun, moon, stars, and planets all tugging equally from the heavens at our squirming bodies as we escaped our mothers’ wombs.
But astrologers might not want to hold us up as examples of the phenomenon. Out of a hundred men you would be among the shortest, I among the tallest; you are as stocky as a barrel, I thin as a fence post; your hair curly and dark, mine straight and the color of straw; your eyes dark brown, mine pale blue.
I took a sip of chocolate and watched a jay land in the tree and depart.
You charged ahead into the world, Andreas; I peeked at it from a safe corner. Your great textbook of anatomy brought you fame along with a good measure of infamy. You have served as physician to an emperor and a king. I toil with mathematics in obscurity. And yet we are as brothers to each other—or are we still? Your silence shakes my belief.
A pounding on the front door shook me from my daydream, and I heard Marcus rush from the kitchen to answer. I sighed and waited to see who would come calling at this hour.
The door opened to a booming voice.
“By the grace of the Holy See, I bear an urgent post from His Eminence Cardinal Antoine de Granvelle for Jan van den Bossche of Brussels.”
Antoine never used a papal courier to post letters to me; what could it be that required such fanfare? Over Marcus’ protests, the courier insisted upon delivering the letter to my hand. I went to the door to spare Marcus any further conflict with this fellow, annoyed that my chocolate would be cold when I got back to it. At the door, a gust of wind caused me to gather my robe tightly around me, but my bare legs felt the chill.
The courier and I examined each other eye to eye. His outline nearly filled the doorway, his uniform and red beard muted by dust. Despite the cold, his horse was lathered; it was the last of many relay mounts in a week of hard riding from Ornans in eastern France. For his part, the courier faced an unshaven man of advancing years with naked legs emerging from his nightclothes—not the image of a gentleman with whom a Prince of the Church would associate.
He repeated his message: “I bear an urgent letter from His Eminence Cardinal de Granvelle for Jan van den Bossche at this address.”
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About the Author
Ron Blumenfeld is a retired pediatrician and health care executive. Ron grew up in the Bronx, New York in the shadow of Yankee Stadium and studied at City College of New York before receiving his MD degree from the SUNY Downstate Health Sciences Center. After completing his pediatrics residency at the University of Arizona, he and his family settled in Connecticut, but Tucson remains their second home. Upon retirement, he became a columnist for his town’s newspaper, a pleasure he surrendered to concentrate on his debut novel, The King’s Anatomist (October 12, 2021). Ron’s love of books springs from his childhood years spent in an antiquarian book store in Manhattan, where his mother was the only employee. He enjoys a variety of outdoor sports and hiking. He and his wife Selina currently reside in Connecticut and are fortunate to have their son Daniel and granddaughter Gracelynn nearby.
