World Without End (148 page)

When Caris brought her gaze back down to ground level she saw her sister approaching. Alice was only a year older at forty-five, but Caris felt she was from another generation. Her husband, Elfric, had died in the plague, but she had not remarried, becoming frumpy, as if she thought that was how a widow should be. Caris had quarreled with Alice, many years ago, over Elfric's treatment of Merthin. The passage of time had blunted the edge of their mutual hostility, but there was still a resentful tilt to Alice's head when she said hello.

With her was Griselda, her stepdaughter, though only a year younger than Alice. Griselda's son, known as Merthin Bastard, stood beside her, towering over her, a big man with superficial charm - just like his father, the long-gone Thurstan, and about as different from Merthin Bridger as could be. Also with her was her sixteen-year-old daughter, Petranilla.

Griselda's husband, Harold Mason, had taken over the business after Elfric died. He was not much of a builder, according to Merthin, but he was doing all right, although he did not have the monopoly of priory repairs and extensions that had made Elfric rich. He stood next to Merthin now and said: 'People think you're going to build the spire with no formwork.'

Caris understood. Formwork, or centering, was the wooden frame that held the masonry in place until the mortar dried.

Merthin said: 'Not much room for formwork inside that narrow spire. And how would it be supported?' His tone was polite, but Caris could tell from its briskness that he did not like Harold.

'I could believe it if the spire was going to be round.'

Caris understood this, too. A round spire could be built by placing one circle of stones on top of another, each a little narrower than the last. No formwork was needed because the circle was self-supporting: the stones could not fall inward because they pressed on one another. The same was not true of any shape with corners.

'You've seen the drawings,' Merthin said. 'It's an octagon.'

The corner turrets on the top of the square tower faced diagonally outward, easing the eye as it progressed upward to the different shape of the narrower spire. Merthin had copied this feature from Chartres. But it made sense only if the tower was octagonal.

Harold said: 'But how can you build an octagonal tower without formwork?'

'Wait and see,' said Merthin, and he moved away.

As they walked down the main street Caris said: 'Why won't you tell people how you're going to do it?'

'So that they can't fire me,' he replied. 'When I was building the bridge, as soon as I'd done the hard part they got rid of me, and hired someone cheaper.'

'I remember.'

'They can't do that now, because no one else can build the spire.'

'You were a youngster then. Now you're alderman. No one would dare sack you.'

'Perhaps not. But it's nice to feel they can't.'

At the bottom of the main street, where the old bridge had stood, there was a disreputable tavern called the White Horse. Caris saw Merthin's sixteen-year-old daughter, Lolla, leaning on the wall outside, with a group of older friends. Lolla was an attractive girl, with olive skin and lustrous dark hair, a generous mouth and sultry brown eyes. The group was crowded around a dice game, and they were all drinking ale from large tankards. Caris was sorry, though not surprised, to see her stepdaughter carousing on the street at midday.

Merthin was angry. He went up to Lolla and took her arm. 'You'd better come home for your dinner,' he said in a tight voice.

She tossed her head, shaking her thick hair in a gesture that was undoubtedly meant for the eyes of someone other than her father. 'I don't want to go home, I'm happy here,' she said.

'I didn't ask what you wanted,' Merthin replied, and he jerked her away from the others.

A good-looking boy of about twenty detached himself from the crowd. He had curly hair and a mocking smile, and he was picking his teeth with a twig. Caris recognized Jake Riley, a lad of no particular profession who nevertheless always seemed to have money to spend. He sauntered over. 'What's going on?' he said. He spoke with the twig sticking out of his mouth like an insult.

'None of your damn business,' Merthin said.

Jake stood in his way. 'The girl doesn't want to leave.'

'You'd better get out of my way, son, unless you want to spend the rest of the day in the town stocks.'

Caris froze with anxiety. Merthin was in the right: he was entitled to discipline Lolla, who was still five years short of adulthood. But Jake was the kind of boy who might punch him anyway, and take the consequences. However, Caris did not intervene, knowing it might make Merthin angry with her instead of with Jake.

Jake said: 'I suppose you're her father.'

'You know perfectly well who I am, and you can call me Alderman, and speak respectfully to me, or suffer the consequences.'

Jake stared insolently at Merthin a moment longer then turned aside, casually saying: 'Yes, all right.'

Caris was relieved that the confrontation had not turned into fisticuffs. Merthin never got into fights, but Lolla was capable of driving him to distraction.

They walked on toward the bridge. Lolla shook herself free of her father's grasp and walked on ahead, arms folded under her breasts, head down, frowning and muttering to herself in a full-dress sulk.

This was not the first time Lolla had been seen in bad company. Merthin was horrified and enraged that his little girl should be so determined to seek out such people. 'Why does she do it?' he said to Caris as they followed Lolla across the bridge to Leper Island.

'God knows.' Caris had observed that this kind of behavior was more common in youngsters who had suffered the loss of a parent. After Silvia died, Lolla had been mothered by Bessie Bell, Lady Philippa, Merthin's housekeeper Em, and of course Caris herself. Perhaps she was confused about whom she should obey. But Caris did not voice this thought, as it might seem to suggest that Merthin had somehow failed as a parent. 'I had terrible fights with Aunt Petranilla when I was that age.'

'What about?'

'Similar things. She didn't like me spending time with Mattie Wise.'

'That's completely different. You didn't go to low taverns with rogues.'

'Petranilla thought Mattie was bad company.'

'It's not the same.'

'I suppose not.'

'You learned a lot from Mattie.'

Lolla was undoubtedly learning a lot from handsome Jake Riley, but Caris kept that inflammatory thought to herself - Merthin was furious enough already.

The island was entirely built up now, and an integral part of the city. It even had its own parish church. Where once they had wandered across waste ground, they now followed a footpath that ran straight between houses and turned sharp corners. The rabbits had long gone. The hospital occupied most of the western end. Although Caris went there every day, she still felt a glow of pride when she looked at the clean gray stonework, the large windows in regular rows, and the chimneys lined up like soldiers.

They passed through a gate into Merthin's grounds. The orchard was mature, and blossoms covered the apple trees like snow.

As always, they went in through the kitchen door. The house had a grand entrance on the river side which no one ever used. Even a brilliant architect can make a mistake, Caris thought with amusement; but, once again, she decided to give the thought no voice today.

Lolla stamped upstairs to her room.

From the front room a woman called: 'Hello, everyone!' The two boys rushed into the parlor with glad cries. It was their mother, Philippa. Merthin and Caris greeted her warmly.

Caris and Philippa had become sisters-in-law when Caris married Merthin, but their past rivalry had continued to make Caris feel awkward in Philippa's presence for some years. Eventually the boys had brought them together. When first Gerry then Roley enrolled at the priory school, it was natural for Merthin to look after his nephews, and then it became normal for Philippa to call at Merthin's house whenever she was in Kingsbridge.

At first, Caris had felt jealous of Philippa for having attracted Merthin sexually. Merthin had never tried to pretend that his love for Philippa had been merely superficial. He clearly still cared about her. But Philippa nowadays cut a sad figure. She was forty-nine and looked older, her hair gray and her face lined with disappointment. She lived now for her children. She was a frequent guest of her daughter, Odila, the countess of Monmouth; and when she was not there she often visited Kingsbridge Priory to be close to her sons. She managed to spend very little time at Earlscastle with her husband Ralph.

'I've got to take the boys to Shiring,' she said, explaining her presence here. 'Ralph wants them to attend the county court with him. He says it's a necessary part of their education.'

'He's right,' Caris said. Gerry would be the earl, if he lived long enough; and if he did not Roley would inherit the title. So they both needed to be familiar with courts.

Philippa added: 'I intended to be in the cathedral for the Easter service, but my charette broke a wheel and I made an overnight stop.'

'Well, now that you're here, let's have dinner,' Caris said.

They went into the dining hall. Caris opened the windows that looked onto the river. Cool, fresh air came in. She wondered what Merthin would do about Lolla. He said nothing, leaving her to stew upstairs, to Caris's relief: a brooding adolescent at the dinner table could bring down everyone's spirits.

They ate mutton boiled with leeks. Merthin poured red wine, and Philippa drank thirstily. She had become fond of wine. Perhaps it was her consolation.

While they were eating, Em came in looking anxious. 'There's somebody at the kitchen door to see the mistress,' she said.

Merthin said impatiently: 'Well, who is it?'

'He wouldn't mention his name, but he said the mistress would know him.'

'What kind of person?'

'A young man. By his clothes a peasant, not a town dweller.' Em had a snobbish dislike of villagers.

'Well, he sounds harmless. Let him come in.'

A moment later, in walked a tall figure with a hood pulled forward to cover most of his face. When he drew it back, Caris recognized Gwenda's elder son, Sam.

Caris had known him all his life. She had seen him born, had watched his slimy head emerge from the small body of his mother. She had observed him as he grew and changed and became a man. She saw Wulfric in him now, in the way he walked and stood and raised a hand slightly as he was about to speak. She had always suspected that Wulfric was not in fact his father - but, close as she was to Gwenda, she had never mentioned her doubt. Some questions were better left unasked. However, the suspicion had inevitably returned when she heard that Sam was wanted for the murder of Jonno Reeve. For Sam when born had had a look of Ralph.

Now he came up to Caris, lifted his hand in that gesture of Wulfric's, hesitated, then went down on one knee. 'Save me, please,' he said.

Caris was horrified. 'How can I save you?'

'Hide me. I've been on the run for days. I left Oldchurch in the dark and walked through the night and I've hardly rested since. Just now I tried to buy something to eat in a tavern and someone recognized me, and I had to run.'

He looked so desperate that she felt a surge of compassion. Nevertheless, she said: 'But you can't hide here, you're wanted for murder!'

'It was no murder, it was a fight. Jonno struck first. He hit me with a leg iron - look.' Sam touched his face in two places, ear and nose, to indicate two scabbed gashes.

The physician in Caris could not help noting that the injuries were about five days old, and the nose was healing well enough though the ear really needed a stitch. But her main thought was that Sam should not be here. 'You have to face justice,' she said.

'They'll take Jonno's side, they're sure to. I ran away from Wigleigh, for higher wages in Outhenby. Jonno was trying to take me back. They'll say he was entitled to chain a runaway.'

'You should have thought of that before you hit him.'

He said accusingly: 'You employed runaways at Outhenby, when you were prioress.'

She was stung. 'Runaways, yes - killers, no.'

'They will hang me.'

Caris was torn. How could she turn him away?

Merthin spoke. 'There are two reasons why you can't hide here, Sam. One is that it's a crime to conceal a fugitive, and I'm not willing to put myself on the wrong side of the law for your sake, fond though I am of your mother. But the second reason is that everyone knows your mother is an old friend of Caris's, and if the Kingsbridge constables are searching for you this is the first place they will look.

'Is it?' Sam said.

He was not very bright, Caris knew - his brother, Davey, had all the brains.

Merthin said: 'You could hardly think of a worse place than this to hide.' He softened. 'Drink a cup of wine, and take a loaf of bread with you, and get out of town,' he said more kindly. 'I'll have to find Mungo Constable and report that you were here, but I can walk slowly.' He poured wine into a wooden cup.

'Thank you.'

'Your only hope is to go far away where you aren't known and start a new life. You're a strong boy, you'll always find work. Go to London and join a ship. And don't get into fights.'

Philippa said suddenly: 'I remember your mother...Gwenda?'

Sam nodded.

Philippa turned to Caris. 'I met her at Casterham, when William was alive. She came to me about that girl in Wigleigh who had been raped by Ralph.'

'Annet.'

'Yes.' Philippa turned back to Sam. 'You must be the baby she had in her arms at the time. Your mother is a good woman. I'm sorry for her sake that you're in trouble.'

There was a moment of quiet. Sam drained the cup. Caris was thinking, as no doubt Philippa and Merthin were too, about the passage of time, and how it can change an innocent, beloved baby into a man who commits murder.

In the silence, they heard voices.

It sounded like several men at the kitchen door.

Sam looked around him like a trapped bear. One door led to the kitchen, the other outside to the front of the house. He dashed to the front door, flung it open, and ran out. Without pausing he headed down toward the river.