World Without End (104 page)

'How old is she?' Merthin said to his mother while she was gone.

'Fourteen.'

It was not unknown for girls to become pregnant at fourteen, but all the same Merthin felt that decent people behaved otherwise. Such early pregnancies usually happened in royal families, for whom there was intense political pressure to produce heirs, and among the lowest and most ignorant of peasants, who knew no better. The middle classes maintained higher standards. 'She's a bit young, isn't she?' he said quietly.

Maud replied: 'We all asked Ralph to wait, but he would not.' Clearly she, too, disapproved.

Tilly returned with a servant carrying a jug of wine and a bowl of apples. She might have been pretty, Merthin thought, but she looked worn out. His father addressed her with forced jollity. 'Cheer up, Tilly! Your husband will be home soon - you don't want to greet him with a long face.'

'I'm fed up with being pregnant,' she said. 'I just wish the baby would come as soon as possible.'

'It won't be long now,' Maud said. 'Three or four weeks, I'd say.'

'It seems like forever.'

They heard horses outside. Maud said: 'That sounds like Ralph.'

Waiting for the brother he had not seen for nine years, Merthin had mixed feelings, as ever. His affection for Ralph was always contaminated by his knowledge of the evil Ralph had done. The rape of Annet had been only the beginning. During his days as an outlaw Ralph had murdered innocent men, women, and children. Merthin had heard, traveling through Normandy, of the atrocities perpetrated by King Edward's army and, while he did not know specifically what Ralph had done, it would have been foolish to hope that Ralph had held himself aloof from that orgy of rape, burning, looting, and slaughter. But Ralph was his brother.

Ralph, too, would have mixed feelings, Merthin was sure. He might not have forgiven Merthin for giving away the location of his outlaw hideout. And, although Merthin had made Brother Thomas promise not to kill Ralph, he had known that Ralph, once captured, was likely to be hanged. The last words Ralph had spoken to Merthin, in the jail in the basement of the guildhall at Kingsbridge, were: 'You betrayed me.'

Ralph came in with Alan, both muddy from the hunt. Merthin was shocked to see that he walked with a limp. Ralph took a moment to recognize Merthin. Then he smiled broadly. 'My big brother!' he said heartily. It was an old joke: Merthin was the elder, but had long been smaller.

They embraced. Merthin felt a surge of warmth, despite everything. At least we're both alive, he thought, despite war and plague. When they had parted, he had wondered whether they would ever meet again.

Ralph threw himself into the big chair. 'Bring some beer, we're thirsty!' he said to Tilly.

There were to be no recriminations, Merthin gathered.

He studied his brother. Ralph had changed since that day in 1339 when he had ridden off to war. He had lost some of the fingers of his left hand, presumably in battle. He had a dissipated look: his face was veined from drink and his skin seemed dry and flaky. 'Did you have good hunting?' Merthin asked.

'We brought home a roe deer as fat as a cow,' he replied with satisfaction. 'You shall have her liver for supper.'

Merthin asked him about fighting in the army of the king, and Ralph related some of the highlights of the war. Their father was enthusiastic. 'An English knight is worth ten of the French!' he said. 'The battle of Crécy proved that.'

Ralph's response was surprisingly measured. 'An English knight is not much different from a French knight, in my opinion,' he said. 'But the French haven't yet understood the harrow formation in which we line up, with archers either side of dismounted knights and men-at-arms. They are still charging us suicidally, and long may they continue. But they will figure it out one day, and then they will change their tactics. Meanwhile, we are almost unbeatable in defense. Unfortunately, the harrow formation is irrelevant to attack, so we have ended up winning very little.'

Merthin was struck by how his brother had grown up. Warfare had given him a depth and subtlety he had never previously possessed.

In turn, Merthin talked about Florence: the incredible size of the city, the wealth of the merchants, the churches and palaces. Ralph was particularly fascinated by the notion of slave girls.

Darkness fell and the servants brought lamps and candles, then supper. Ralph drank a lot of wine. Merthin noticed that he hardly spoke to Tilly. Perhaps it was not surprising. Ralph was a thirty-one-year-old soldier who had spent half his adult life in an army, and Tilly was a girl of fourteen who had been educated in a nunnery. What would they have to talk about?

Late in the evening, when Gerald and Maud had returned to their own house and Tilly had gone to bed, Merthin broached the subject Caris had asked him to raise. He felt more optimistic than previously. Ralph was showing signs of maturity. He had forgiven Merthin for what had happened in 1339, and his cool analysis of English and French tactics had been impressively free from tribal chauvinism.

Merthin said: 'On my way here, I spent a night in Wigleigh.'

'I see that fulling mill stays busy.'

'The scarlet cloth has become a good business for Kingsbridge.'

Ralph shrugged. 'Mark Webber pays the rent on time.' It was beneath the dignity of noblemen to discuss business.

'I stayed with Gwenda and Wulfric,' Merthin went on. 'You know that Gwenda has been Caris's friend since childhood.'

'I remember the day we all met Sir Thomas Langley in the forest.'

Merthin shot a quick glance at Alan Fernhill. They had all kept their childish vows and had not told anyone about that incident. Merthin wanted the secrecy to continue, for he sensed it was still important to Thomas, though he had no idea why. But Alan showed no reaction: he had drunk a lot of wine, and had no ear for hints.

Merthin moved on quickly. 'Caris asked me to speak to you about Wulfric. She thinks you've punished him enough for that fight. And I agree.'

'He broke my nose!'

'I was there, remember? You weren't an innocent party.' Merthin tried to make light of it. 'You did feel up his fiancée. What was her name?'

'Annet.'

'If her tits weren't worth a broken nose, you've only got yourself to blame.'

Alan laughed, but Ralph was not amused. 'Wulfric almost got me hanged, by stirring Lord William up after Annet pretended I'd raped her.'

'But you weren't hanged. And you cut Wulfric's cheek open with your sword when you escaped from the courthouse. It was a terrible wound - you could see his back teeth through it. He'll never lose the scar.'

'Good.'

'You've punished Wulfric for eleven years. His wife is thin and his children are ill. Haven't you done enough, Ralph?'

'No.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's not enough.'

'Why?' Merthin cried in frustration. 'I don't understand you.'

'I will continue to punish Wulfric and hold him back, and humiliate him and his women.'

Merthin was startled by Ralph's frankness. 'For heaven's sake, to what end?'

'I wouldn't normally answer that question. I've learned that it rarely does you any good to explain yourself. But you're my big brother, and from childhood I've always needed your approval.'

Ralph had not really changed, Merthin realized, except insofar as he seemed to know and understand himself in a way he never had when younger.

'The reason is simple,' Ralph went on. 'Wulfric is not afraid of me. He wasn't scared that day at the Fleece Fair, and he's still not scared of me, even after all I've done to him. That's why he must continue to suffer.'

Merthin was horrified. 'That's a life sentence.'

'The day I see fear in his eyes when he looks at me, he shall have anything he likes.'

'Is that so important to you?' Merthin said incredulously. 'That people fear you?'

'It's the most important thing in the world,' said Ralph.

57

Merthin's return affected the whole town. Caris observed the changes with amazement and admiration. It started with his victory over Elfric in the parish guild. People realized the town could have lost its bridge because of Elfric's incompetence, and that jolted them out of their apathy. But everyone knew that Elfric was a tool of Godwyn, so the priory was the ultimate focus of their resentment.

And people's attitude to the priory was changing. There was a mood of defiance. Caris felt optimistic. Mark Webber had a good chance of winning the election on the first day of November and becoming alderman. If that happened, Prior Godwyn would no longer have things all his own way, and perhaps the town could begin to grow: markets on Saturdays, new mills, independent courts that traders could have faith in.

But she spent most of her time thinking about her own position. Merthin's return was an earthquake that shook the foundations of her life. Her first reaction had been horror at the prospect of abandoning all that she had worked for over the last nine years; her position in the convent hierarchy; maternal Cecilia and affectionate Mair and ailing Old Julie; and most of all her hospital, so much more clean and efficient and welcoming than it had been before.

But as the days became shorter and colder, and Merthin repaired his bridge and began laying out the foundations of the street of new buildings he wanted to create on Leper Island, Caris's resolve to remain a nun weakened. Monastic restrictions that she had stopped noticing began to chafe again. The devotion of Mair, which had been a pleasant romantic diversion, now became irritating. She started to think about what kind of life she might lead as Merthin's wife.

She thought a lot about Lolla, and about the child she might have had with Merthin. Lolla was dark-eyed and black-haired, presumably like her Italian mother. Caris's daughter might have had the green eyes of the Wooler family. The idea of giving up everything to take care of another woman's daughter had appalled Caris in theory, but as soon as she met the little girl she softened.

She could not talk to anyone in the priory about this, of course. Mother Cecilia would tell her she must keep her vows; Mair would beg her to stay. So she agonized alone at night.

Her quarrel with Merthin over Wulfric made her despair. After he walked away from her, she had gone back to her pharmacy and cried. Why were things so difficult? All she wanted was to do the right thing.

While Merthin was at Tench, she confided in Madge Webber.

Two days after Merthin left, Madge came into the hospital soon after dawn, when Caris and Mair were doing their rounds. 'I'm worried about my Mark,' she said.

Mair said to Caris: 'I went to see him yesterday. He had been to Melcombe and come back with a fever and an upset stomach. I didn't tell you because it didn't seem serious.'

'Now he's coughing blood,' Madge said.

'I'll go,' Caris said. The Webbers were old friends: she preferred to attend Mark herself. She picked up a bag containing some basic medicines and went with Madge to her house in the main street.

The living area was upstairs, over the shop. Mark's three sons loitered anxiously in the dining hall. Madge took Caris into a bedroom that smelled bad. Caris was used to the odor of a sick room, a mixture of sweat, vomit, and human waste. Mark lay on a straw mattress, perspiring. His huge belly stuck up in the air as if he were pregnant. The daughter, Dora, stood by the bed.

Caris knelt beside Mark and said: 'How do you feel?'

'Rough,' Mark said in a croaky voice. 'Can I have something to drink?'

Dora handed Caris a cup of wine, and Caris held it to Mark's lips. She found it strange to see a big man helpless. Mark had always seemed invulnerable. It was unnerving, like finding an oak tree that has been there all your life suddenly felled by lightning.

She touched his forehead. He was burning up: no wonder he was thirsty. 'Let him have as much to drink as he wants,' she said. 'Weak beer is better than wine.'

She did not tell Madge that she was puzzled and worried by Mark's illness. The fever and the stomach upset were routine, but his coughing blood was a dangerous sign.

She took a vial of rose water from her bag, soaked a small piece of woolen cloth, and bathed his face and neck. The action soothed him immediately. The water would cool him a little, and the perfume masked the bad smells in the room. 'I'll give you some of this from my pharmacy,' she said to Madge. 'The physicians prescribe it for an inflamed brain. A fever is hot and humid, and roses are cool and dry, so the monks say. Whatever the reason, it will give him some ease.'

'Thank you.'

But Caris knew of no effective treatment for bloody sputum. The monk-physicians would diagnose an excess of blood, and recommend bleeding, but they prescribed that for almost everything, and Caris did not believe in it.

As she bathed Mark's throat, she noticed a symptom Madge had not mentioned. There was a rash of purple black spots on Mark's neck and chest.

This was an illness she had not come across before, and she was mystified, but she did not let Madge know that. 'Come back with me, and I'll give you the rose water.'

The sun was rising as they walked from the house to the hospital. 'You've been very good to my family,' Madge said. 'We were the poorest people in town, until you started the scarlet business.'

'It was your energy and industry that made it work.'

Madge nodded. She knew what she had done. 'All the same, it wouldn't have happened without you.'

On impulse, Caris decided to take Madge through the nuns' cloisters to her pharmacy so that they could talk privately. Laypeople were not normally allowed inside, but there were exceptions, and Caris was now senior enough to decide when the rules could be broken.

They were alone in the cramped little room. Caris filled a pottery bottle with rose water and asked Madge for sixpence. Then she said: 'I'm thinking of renouncing my vows.'

Madge nodded, unsurprised. 'Everybody's wondering what you're going to do.'

Caris was shocked that the townspeople had guessed her thoughts. 'How do they know?'

'It doesn't take a clairvoyant. You entered the nunnery only to escape a death sentence for witchcraft. After the work you've done here, you should be able to get a pardon. You and Merthin were in love, and always seemed so right for one another. Now he's come back. You must at least be thinking about marrying him.'