Epic Historial Collection (293 page)

Merthin did not leave the prior's palace. In the daytime he sat downstairs, close enough to hear her call, and his employees came to him for instructions about the various buildings they were putting up or tearing down. At night he lay on a mattress beside her and slept lightly, waking every time her breathing changed or she turned over in her bed. Lolla slept in the next room.

At the end of the first week, Ralph showed up.

“My wife has disappeared,” he said as he walked into the hall of the prior's palace.

Merthin looked up from a drawing he was making on a large slate. “Hello, brother,” he said. Ralph looked shifty, he thought. Clearly he had mixed feelings about Tilly's disappearance. He was not fond of her, but on the other hand no man likes his wife to run away.

Perhaps I have mixed feelings, too, Merthin thought guiltily. After all, I did help his wife to leave him.

Ralph sat on a bench. “Have you got any wine? I'm parched.”

Merthin went to the sideboard and poured from a jug. It crossed his mind to say he had no idea where Tilly could be, but his instinct revolted from the idea of lying to his own brother, especially about something so important. Besides, Tilly's presence at the priory could not be kept secret: too many nuns, novices, and employees had seen her here. It was always best to be honest, Merthin thought, except in dire emergency. Handing the cup to Ralph, he said: “Tilly is here, at the nunnery, with the baby.”

“I thought she might be.” Ralph lifted the cup in his left hand, showing the stumps of his three severed fingers. He took a long draft. “What's the matter with her?”

“She ran away from you, Ralph.”

“You should have let me know.”

“I feel bad about that. But I couldn't betray her. She's frightened of you.”

“Why take sides with her against me? I'm your brother!”

“Because I know you. If she's scared, there's probably a reason.”

“This is outrageous.” Ralph was trying to appear indignant, but the act was unconvincing.

Merthin wondered what he really felt.

“We can't throw her out,” Merthin said. “She's asked for sanctuary.”

“Gerry's my son and heir. You can't keep him from me.”

“Not indefinitely, no. If you start a legal action, I'm sure you'll win. But you wouldn't try to separate him from his mother, would you?”

“If he comes home, she will.”

That was probably true. Merthin was casting around for another way of persuading Ralph when Brother Thomas came in, bringing Alan Fernhill with him. With his one hand, Thomas was holding Alan's arm, as if to prevent him from running away. “I found him snooping,” he said.

“I was just looking around,” Alan protested. “I thought the monastery was empty.”

Merthin said: “As you see, it's not. We've got one monk, six novices, and a couple of dozen orphan boys.”

Thomas said: “Anyway, he wasn't in the monastery, he was in the nuns' cloisters.”

Merthin frowned. He could hear a psalm being sung in the distance. Alan had timed his incursion well: all the nuns and novices were in the cathedral for the service of Sext. Most of the priory buildings were deserted at this hour. Alan had probably been walking around unhindered for some time.

This did not seem like idle curiosity.

Thomas added: “Fortunately, a kitchen hand saw him and came to fetch me out of the church.”

Merthin wondered what Alan had been looking for. Tilly? Surely he would not have dared to snatch her from a nunnery in broad daylight. He turned to Ralph. “What are you two plotting?”

Ralph batted the question off to Alan. “What did you think you were doing?” he said wrathfully, though Merthin thought the anger was faked.

Alan shrugged. “Just looking around while I waited for you.”

It was not plausible. Idle men-at-arms waited for their masters in stables and taverns, not cloisters.

Ralph said: “Well…don't do it again.”

Merthin realized that Ralph was going to stick with this story. I was honest with him, but he's not being honest with me, he thought sadly. He returned to the more important subject. “Why don't you leave Tilly be for a while?” he said to Ralph. “She'll be perfectly all right here. And perhaps, after a while, she'll realize you mean her no harm, and come back to you.”

“It's too shaming,” Ralph said.

“Not really. A noblewoman sometimes spends a few weeks at a monastery, if she feels the need to retire from the world for a while.”

“Usually when she's been widowed, or her husband has gone off to war.”

“Not always, though.”

“When there's no obvious reason, people always say she wants to get away from her husband.”

“How bad is that? You might like some time away from your wife.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Ralph said.

Merthin was startled by this response. He had not expected Ralph to be so easily persuaded. It took him a moment to get over the surprise. Then he said: “That's it. Give her three months, then come back and talk to her.” Merthin had a feeling that Tilly would never relent, but at least this proposal would postpone the crisis.

“Three months,” said Ralph. “All right.” He stood up to go.

Merthin shook his hand. “How are Mother and Father? I haven't seen them for months.”

“Getting old. Father doesn't leave their house now.”

“I'll come and visit as soon as Caris is better. She's recovering from yellow jaundice.”

“Give her my best wishes.”

Merthin went to the door and watched Ralph and Alan ride away. He felt deeply disturbed. Ralph was up to something, and it was not simply getting Tilly back.

He returned to his drawing and sat staring at it without seeing it for a long time.

 

By the end of the second week it was clear that Caris was going to get better. Merthin was exhausted but happy. Feeling like a man reprieved, he put Lolla to bed early and went out for the first time.

It was a mild spring evening, and the sun and balmy air made him light-headed. His own tavern, the Bell, was closed for rebuilding, but the Holly Bush was doing brisk business, customers sitting on benches outside with their tankards. There were so many people out enjoying the weather that Merthin stopped and asked the drinkers if it was a holiday today, thinking he might have lost track of the date. “Every day's a holiday now,” one said. “What's the point in working, when we're all going to die of the plague? Have a cup of ale.”

“No, thanks.” Merthin walked on.

He noticed that many people wore very fancy clothes, elaborate headgear and embroidered tunics that they would not normally have been able to afford. He presumed they had inherited these garments, or perhaps just taken them from wealthy corpses. The effect was a bit nightmarish: velvet hats on filthy hair, gold threads and food stains, ragged hose and jewel-encrusted shoes.

He saw two men dressed all in women's clothing, floor-length gowns and wimples. They were walking along the main street arm in arm, like merchants' wives showing off their wealth—but they were unmistakably male, with big hands and feet and hair on their chins. Merthin began to feel disoriented, as if nothing could be relied on anymore.

As the dusk thickened, he crossed the bridge to Leper Island. He had built a street of shops and taverns there, between the two parts of the bridge. The work was finished, but the buildings were untenanted, with boards nailed across their doors and windows to keep vagrants out. No one lived there but rabbits. The premises would remain empty until the plague died out, and Kingsbridge returned to normal, Merthin supposed. If the plague never went away, they would never be occupied; but, in that eventuality, renting his property would be the least of his worries.

He returned to the old city just as the gate was closing. There seemed to be a huge party going on at the White Horse Tavern. The house was full of lights, and the crowd filled the road in front of the building. “What's going on?” Merthin asked a drinker.

“Young Davey's got the plague, and he has no heirs to bequeath the inn to, so he's giving all the ale away,” the man said, grinning with delight. “Drink as much as you can hold, it's free!”

He and many other people had clearly been working on the same principle, and dozens of them were reeling drunk. Merthin pushed his way into the crowd. Someone was banging a drum and others were dancing. He saw a circle of men and looked over their shoulders to see what they were hiding. A very drunk woman of about twenty years was bending over a table while a man entered her from behind. Several other men were clearly waiting their turn. Merthin turned away in distaste. At the side of the building, half-concealed by empty barrels, his eye lit on Ozzie Ostler, a wealthy horse dealer, kneeling in front of a younger man and sucking his penis. That was against the law, in fact the penalty was death, but clearly no one cared. Ozzie, a married man who was on the parish guild, caught Merthin's eye but did not stop, in fact he continued with more enthusiasm, as if excited by being watched. Merthin shook his head, amazed. Just outside the tavern door was a table laden with partly eaten food: joints of roasted meat, smoked fish, puddings, and cheese. A dog was standing on the table tearing at a ham. A man was throwing up into a bowl of stew. Beside the tavern door Davey Whitehorse sat in a big wooden chair with a huge cup of wine. He was sneezing and sweating, and the characteristic trickle of blood came from his nose, but he was looking around and cheering the revelers on. He seemed to want to kill himself with drink before the plague finished him off.

Merthin felt nauseated. He left the scene and hurried back to the priory.

To his surprise, he found Caris up and dressed. “I'm better,” she said. “I'm going to return to my usual work tomorrow.” Seeing his skeptical look, she added: “Sister Oonagh said I could.”

“If you're taking orders from someone else, you can't be back to normal,” he said; and she laughed. The sight brought tears to his eyes. She had not laughed for two weeks, and there had been moments when he had wondered whether he would ever hear the sound again.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

He told her about his walk around the town, and the disturbing sights he had seen. “None of it was very wicked,” he said. “I just wonder what they'll do next. When all their inhibitions have gone, will they start to kill one another?”

A kitchen hand brought a tureen of soup for their supper. Caris sipped warily. For a long time, all food had made her feel sick. However, she seemed to find the leek soup palatable, and drank a bowlful.

When the maid had cleared away, Caris said: “While I was ill, I thought a lot about dying.”

“You didn't ask for a priest.”

“Whether I've been good or bad, I don't think God will be fooled by a last-minute change of heart.”

“What, then?”

“I asked myself if there was anything I really regretted.”

“And was there?”

“Lots of things. I'm bad friends with my sister. I haven't any children. I lost that scarlet coat my father gave my mother on the day she died.”

“How did you lose it?”

“I wasn't allowed to bring it with me when I entered the nunnery. I don't know what happened to it.”

“What was your biggest regret?”

“There were two. I haven't built my hospital; and I've spent too little time in bed with you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, the second one is easily rectified.”

“I know.”

“What about the nuns?”

“Nobody cares anymore. You saw what it was like in the town. Here in the nunnery, we're too busy dealing with the dying to fuss about the old rules. Joan and Oonagh sleep together every night in one of the upstairs rooms of the hospital. It doesn't matter.”

Merthin frowned. “It's odd that they do that, and still go to church services in the middle of the night. How do they reconcile the two things?”

“Listen. St. Luke's Gospel says: ‘He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none.' How do you think the bishop of Shiring reconciles that with his chest full of robes? Everybody takes what they like from the teachings of the church, and ignores the parts that don't suit them.”

“And you?”

“I do the same, but I'm honest about it. So I'm going to live with you, as your wife, and if anyone questions me I shall say that these are strange times.” She got up, went to the door, and barred it. “You've been sleeping here for two weeks. Don't move out.”

“You don't have to lock me in,” he said with a laugh. “I'll stay voluntarily.” He put his arms around her.

She said: “We started something a few minutes before I fainted. Tilly interrupted us.”

“You were feverish.”

“In that way, I still am.”