World Without End (19 page)

As always, Gwenda and Caris talked about boys. 'Merthin is in a strange mood,' Caris said. 'On Sunday he was his normal self, kissing me in church - then, on Monday, he could hardly look me in the eye.'

'He's feeling guilty about something,' Gwenda said immediately.

'It's probably connected with Elizabeth Clerk. She's always had her eye on him, though she's a cold bitch and much too old for him.'

'Have you and Merthin done it yet?'

'Done what?'

'You know...When I was little, I used to call it grunting, because that was the noise grown-ups made while they were doing it.'

'Oh, that? No, not yet.'

'Why not?'

'I don't know...'

'Don't you want to?'

'Yes, but...don't you worry about spending your life doing some man's bidding?'

Gwenda shrugged. 'I don't like the idea but, on the other hand, I don't worry about it.'

'What about you? Have you done it yet?'

'Not properly. I said yes to a boy from the next village, years ago, just to see what it was like. It's a nice warm glow, like drinking wine. That was the only time. But I'd let Wulfric do it any time he liked.'

'Wulfric? This is new!'

'I know. I mean, I've known him since we were small, when he used to pull my hair and run away. Then one day, soon after Christmas, I looked at him as he came into church, and I realized he'd become a man. Well, not just a man, but a really gorgeous man. He had snow in his hair and a sort of mustard-colored scarf around his neck, and he just looked glowing.'

'Do you love him?'

Gwenda sighed. She did not know how to say what she felt. It was not just love. She thought about him all the time, and she did not know how she could live without him. She daydreamed about kidnapping him and locking him up in a hut deep in the forest so that he could never escape from her.

'Well, the look on your face answers my question,' Caris said. 'Does he love you?'

Gwenda shook her head. 'He never even speaks to me. I wish he'd do something to show that he knows who I am, even if it was only pulling my hair. But he's in love with Annet, the daughter of Perkin. She's a selfish cow, but he adores her. Her father and his are the two wealthiest men in the village. Her father raises laying hens and sells them, and his father has fifty acres.'

'You make it sound hopeless.'

'I don't know. What's hopeless? Annet might die. Wulfric might suddenly realize he's always loved me. My father might be made earl and order him to marry me.'

Caris smiled. 'You're right. Love is never hopeless. I'd like to see this boy.'

Gwenda stood up. 'I was hoping you'd say that. Let's go and find him.'

They left the house, the dogs following at their heels. The rainstorms that had lashed the town earlier in the week had given way to occasional showers, but the main street was still a stream of mud. Because of the fair, the mud was mixed with animal droppings, rotten vegetables, and all the litter and filth of a thousand visitors.

As they splashed through the disgusting puddles, Caris asked about Gwenda's family.

'The cow died,' Gwenda said. 'Pa needs to buy another, but I don't know how he's going to do it. He only has a few squirrel furs to sell.'

'A cow costs twelve shillings this year,' Caris said with concern. 'That's a hundred and forty-four silver pennies.' Caris always did arithmetic in her head: she had learned Arabic numbers from Buonaventura Caroli, and she said that made it easy.

'For the last few winters that cow has kept us alive - especially the little ones.' The pain of extreme hunger was familiar to Gwenda. Even with the cow to give milk, four of Ma's babies had died. No wonder Philemon had longed to be a monk, she thought: it was worth almost any sacrifice to have hearty meals provided every day without fail.

Caris said: 'What will your father do?'

'Something underhand. It's difficult to steal a cow - you can't slip it into your satchel - but he'll have a crafty scheme.' Gwenda was sounding more confident than she felt. Pa was dishonest, but not clever. He would do anything he could, legal or not, to get another cow, but he might just fail.

They passed through the priory gates into the wide fairground. The traders were wet and miserable on the sixth day of bad weather. They had exposed their stock to the rain and got little in return.

Gwenda felt awkward. She and Caris almost never talked about the disparity in wealth between the two families. Every time Gwenda visited, Caris would quietly give her a present to take home: a cheese, a smoked fish, a bolt of cloth, a jar of honey. Gwenda would thank her - and she was always profoundly grateful - but no more would be said. When Pa tried to make her take advantage of Caris's trust by stealing from the house, Gwenda would argue that she would then be unable to visit again, whereas this way she came home with something two or three times a year. Even Pa could see the sense of that.

Gwenda looked for the stall where Perkin would be selling his hens. Annet would probably be there and, wherever Annet was, Wulfric would not be far away. Gwenda was right. There was Perkin, fat and sly, greasily polite to his customers, curt to everyone else. Annet was carrying a tray of eggs, smiling coquettishly, the tray pulling her dress tight against her breasts, her fair hair straying from her hat in wisps that played around her pink cheeks and her long neck. And there was Wulfric, looking like an archangel who had lost his way and wandered among humankind by mistake.

'There he is,' Gwenda murmured. 'The tall one with - '

'I can tell which one he is,' Caris said. 'He looks good enough to eat.'

'You see what I mean.'

'He's a bit young, isn't he?'

'Sixteen. I'm eighteen. Annet is eighteen too.'

'All right.'

'I know what you're thinking,' Gwenda said. 'He's too handsome for me.'

'No - '

'Handsome men never fall for ugly women, do they?'

'You're not ugly - '

'I've seen myself in a glass.' The memory was painful, and Gwenda grimaced. 'I cried when I realized what I looked like. I have a big nose and my eyes are too close together. I resemble my father.'

Caris protested: 'You have beautiful soft brown eyes, and wonderful thick hair.'

'But I'm not in Wulfric's class.'

Wulfric was standing side-on to Gwenda and Caris, giving them a good view of his carved profile. They both admired him for a moment - then he turned, and Gwenda gasped. The other side of his face was completely different: bruised and swollen, with one eye closed.

She ran up to him. 'What happened to you?' she cried.

He was startled. 'Oh, hello, Gwenda. I had a fight.' He half-turned away, obviously embarrassed.

'Who with?'

'Some squire of the earl's.'

'You're hurt!'

He looked impatient. 'Don't worry, I'm fine.'

He did not understand why she was concerned, of course. Perhaps he even thought she was reveling in his misfortune. Then Caris spoke. 'Which squire?' she said.

Wulfric looked at her with interest, realizing from her dress that she was a wealthy woman. 'His name is Ralph Fitzgerald.'

'Oh - Merthin's brother!' Caris said. 'Was he hurt?'

'I broke his nose.' Wulfric looked proud.

'Weren't you punished?'

'A night in the stocks.'

Gwenda gave a little cry of anguish. 'Poor you!'

'It wasn't so bad. My brother made sure no one pelted me.'

'Even so...' Gwenda was horrified. The idea of being imprisoned in any way seemed to her the worst kind of torture.

Annet finished with a customer and joined in the conversation. 'Oh, it's you, Gwenda,' she said coldly. Wulfric might be oblivious to Gwenda's feelings, but Annet was not, and she treated Gwenda with a mixture of hostility and scorn. 'Wulfric fought a squire who insulted me,' she said, unable to conceal her satisfaction. 'He was just like a knight in a ballad.'

Gwenda said sharply: 'I wouldn't want him to get his face hurt for my sake.'

'Fortunately, that's not very likely, is it?' Annet smiled triumphantly.

Caris said: 'One never knows what the future may hold.'

Annet looked at her, startled by the interruption, and showed surprise that Gwenda's companion was so expensively dressed.

Caris took Gwenda's arm. 'Such a pleasure to meet you Wigleigh folk,' she said graciously. 'Good-bye.'

They walked on. Gwenda giggled. 'You were terribly condescending to Annet.'

'She annoyed me. Her kind give women a bad name.'

'She was so pleased that Wulfric got beaten up for her sake! I'd like to poke out her eyes.'

Caris said thoughtfully: 'Apart from his good looks, what is he actually like?'

'Strong, proud, loyal - just the type to get into a fight on someone else's behalf. But he's the kind of man who will provide tirelessly for his family, year in and year out, until the day he drops dead.'

Caris said nothing.

Gwenda said: 'He doesn't appeal to you, does he?'

'You make him sound a bit dull.'

'If you'd grown up with my father, you wouldn't think a good provider was dull.'

'I know.' Caris squeezed Gwenda's arm. 'I think he's wonderful for you - and, to prove it, I'm going to help you get him.'

Gwenda was not expecting that. 'How?'

'Come with me.'

They left the fairground and walked to the north end of the town. Caris led Gwenda to a small house in a side street near St. Mark's parish church. 'A wise woman lives here,' she said. Leaving the dogs outside, they ducked through a low doorway.

The single, narrow downstairs room was divided by a curtain. In the front half were a chair and a bench. The fireplace had to be at the back, Gwenda thought, and she wondered why someone would want to hide whatever went on in the kitchen. The room was clean, and there was a strong smell, herby and slightly acid, hardly a perfume but not unpleasant. Caris called out: 'Mattie, it's me.'

After a moment, a woman of about forty pulled aside the curtain and came through. She had gray hair and pale indoor skin. She smiled when she saw Caris. Then she gave Gwenda a hard look and said: 'I see your friend is in love - but the boy hardly speaks to her.'

Gwenda gasped: 'How did you know?'

Mattie sat on the chair heavily: she was stout, and short of breath. 'People come here for three reasons: sickness, revenge, and love. You look healthy, and you're too young for revenge, so you must be in love. And the boy must be indifferent to you, otherwise you wouldn't need my help.'

Gwenda glanced at Caris, who looked pleased and said: 'I told you she was wise.' The two girls sat on the bench and looked expectantly at the woman.

Mattie went on: 'He lives close to you, probably in the same village; but his family are wealthier than yours.'

'All true.' Gwenda was amazed. No doubt Mattie was guessing, but she was so accurate it seemed as if she must have second sight.

'Is he handsome?'

'Very.'

'But he's in love with the prettiest girl in the village.'

'If you like that type.'

'And her family, too, is wealthier than yours.'

'Yes.'

Mattie nodded. 'A familiar story. I can help you. But you must understand something. I have nothing to do with the spirit world. Only God can work miracles.'

Gwenda was puzzled. Everyone knew that the spirits of the dead controlled all of life's hazards. If they were pleased with you, they would guide rabbits to your traps, give you healthy babies, and make the sun shine on your ripening corn. But if you did something to anger them, they could put worms in your apples, cause your cow to give birth to a deformed calf, and make your husband impotent. Even the physicians at the priory admitted that prayers to the saints were more efficacious than their medicines.

Mattie went on: 'Don't despair. I can sell you a love potion.'

'I'm sorry, I have no money.'

'I know. But your friend Caris is extraordinarily fond of you, and she wants you to be happy. She came here prepared to pay for the potion. However, you must administer it correctly. Can you get the boy alone for an hour?'

'I'll find a way.'

'Put the potion in his drink. Within a short time he will become amorous. That's when you must be alone with him - if there is another girl in sight he may fall for her instead. So keep him away from other women, and be very sweet to him. He will think you the most desirable woman in the world. Kiss him, tell him he's wonderful, and - if you want - make love to him. After a while, he will sleep. When he wakes up, he will remember that he spent the happiest hour of his life in your arms, and he'll want to do it again as soon as he can.'

'But won't I need another dose?'

'No. The second time, your love and desire and femininity will be enough. A woman can make any man blissfully happy if he gives her the chance.'

The very thought made Gwenda feel lustful. 'I can't wait.'

'Then let's make up the mixture.' Mattie heaved herself out of the chair. 'You can come behind the curtain,' she said. Gwenda and Caris followed her. 'It's only there for the ignorant.'

The kitchen had a clean stone floor and a big fireplace equipped with stands and hooks for cooking and boiling, far more than one woman would need for her own food. There was a heavy old table, stained and scorched but scrubbed clean; a shelf with a row of pottery jars; and a locked cupboard, presumably containing the more precious ingredients used in Mattie's potions. Hanging on the wall was a large slate with numbers and letters scratched on it, presumably recipes. 'Why do you need to hide all this behind a curtain?' Gwenda said.

'A man who makes ointments and medicines is called an apothecary, but a woman who does the same runs the risk of being called a witch. There's a woman in town called Crazy Nell who goes around shouting about the devil. Friar Murdo has accused her of heresy. Nell is mad, it's true, but there's no harm in her. All the same, Murdo is insisting on a trial. Men like to kill a woman, every now and again, and Murdo will give them an excuse, and collect their pennies afterwards as alms. That's why I always tell people that only God works miracles. I don't conjure spirits. I just use the herbs of the forest and my powers of observation.'