World Without End (39 page)

'Is the subprior there?' he said in a clear, strong voice.

Godwyn was quicker-thinking than Simeon, and he replied first. 'Subprior Carlus has suffered a fall and is himself lying here in this hospital, Lord,' he said. 'I am the sacrist, Godwyn, and with me is the treasurer, Simeon. We thank God for your miraculous recovery, for He guided the hands of the physician-monks who have been attending you.'

'It was the barber who mended my broken head,' said Roland. 'Thank him.'

Because the earl was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, Godwyn could not see his face well; but he had the impression that the earl's expression was curiously blank, and he wondered whether the injury had done some permanent damage. He said: 'Do you have everything you need to make you comfortable?'

'If I don't, you'll soon know. Now, listen. My niece, Margery, is to marry Monmouth's younger son, Roger. I presume you know this.'

'Yes.' Godwyn had a sudden flash of memory: Margery lying on her back in this very room, her white legs in the air, fornicating with her cousin Richard, the bishop of Kingsbridge.

'The wedding has been unduly delayed by my injuries.'

That was not true, Godwyn reflected. The collapse of the bridge had taken place only a month ago. The truth was probably that the earl needed to prove that the injury had not diminished him, and he was still a power worthy of an alliance with the earl of Monmouth.

Roland went on: 'The wedding will take place in Kingsbridge Cathedral three weeks from today.'

Strictly speaking the earl should have made a request, not issued a command, and an elected prior might have bristled at his high-handedness; but, of course, there was no prior. Anyway, Godwyn could think of no reason why Roland should not have his wish. 'Very well, my lord,' he said. 'I will make the necessary preparations.'

'I want the new prior installed in time for the service,' Roland went on.

Simeon grunted in surprise.

Godwyn quickly calculated that haste would suit his plans remarkably well. 'Very good,' he replied. 'There were two candidates, but today Subprior Carlus withdrew his name, leaving only Brother Thomas, the matricularius. We can hold the election as soon as you like.' He could hardly believe his luck.

Simeon knew he was looking defeat in the face. 'Wait a minute,' he said.

But Roland was not listening. 'I don't want Thomas,' he said.

Godwyn had not been expecting that.

Simeon grinned, pleased at this last-minute reprieve.

Shocked, Godwyn said: 'But, my lord - '

Roland did not permit him to interrupt. 'Summon my nephew, Saul Whitehead, from St.-John-in-the-Forest,' he said.

Godwyn's heart filled with foreboding. Saul was his contemporary. As novices, they had been friends. They had gone to Oxford together - but there they had grown apart, Saul becoming more devout and Godwyn more worldly. Saul was now the competent prior of the remote cell of St. John. He took very seriously the monastic virtue of humility, and he would never have put forward his own name. But he was bright, devout, and liked by everyone.

'Get him here as soon as possible,' said Roland. 'I shall nominate him as the next prior of Kingsbridge.'

21

Merthin sat on the roof of St. Mark's Church, at the north end of Kingsbridge. From here he could see the whole town. To the southeast, a bend in the river cradled the priory in the crook of its elbow. A quarter of the town was taken up by the priory buildings and the grounds around them - cemetery, marketplace, orchard, and vegetable garden - with the cathedral rising from its surroundings like an oak in a field of nettles. He could see priory employees picking vegetables in the garden, mucking out a stable, and unloading barrels from a cart.

The center of town was the wealthy neighborhood, especially the main street, climbing the slope from the river as the first monks must have climbed it hundreds of years ago. Several wealthy merchants, identifiable by the glowing colors of their fine wool coats, walked purposefully along the street: merchants were always busy. Another wide thoroughfare, the high street, ran west to east through the middle of the town, bisecting the main street at right angles near the northwest corner of the priory. On the same corner he could see the broad roof of the guildhall, the largest building in town outside the priory.

On the main street next to the Bell were the priory gates, with Caris's house opposite, taller than most of the other buildings. Outside the Bell, Merthin could see a crowd gathered around Friar Murdo. The friar, who did not seem to be attached to any particular fraternal order, had stayed in Kingsbridge after the bridge collapse. Shocked and bereaved people were particularly susceptible to his emotional roadside sermons, and he was raking in the silver halfpennies and farthings. Merthin thought he was a fraud, his holy anger faked and his tears a cover for cynicism and greed - but Merthin was in a minority.

At the bottom of the main street, the stumps of the bridge still stuck up out of the water, and next to them Merthin's ferry was crossing the water bearing a cart loaded with tree trunks. To the southwest was the industrial sector, where large houses on broad plots encompassed abattoirs, tanneries, breweries, bakeries, and workshops of all kinds - too smelly and dirty for the town's leading citizens, but nevertheless a district where plenty of money was made. The river widened there, dividing into two channels either side of Leper Island. Merthin could see Ian Boatman rowing his small craft to the island, his passenger a monk, probably carrying food to the one remaining leper. The south bank of the river was lined with wharves and warehouses, and rafts and barges were being unloaded at several of them. Beyond was the suburb of Newtown, where rows of poor houses ran between orchards, pastures, and gardens in which priory employees produced food for the monks and nuns.

The north end of town, where St. Mark's stood, was the poor quarter, and the church was surrounded by the huddled homes of laborers, widows, the unsuccessful, and the old. It was a poor church - luckily for Merthin.

Four weeks ago, a desperate Father Joffroi had hired Merthin to build a hoist and repair his roof. Caris had persuaded Edmund to lend Merthin the money to buy tools. Merthin had hired a fourteen-year-old boy, Jimmie, to labor for a halfpenny a day. And today the hoist was finished.

Somehow, word had got around that Merthin was about to try out a new machine. Everyone had been impressed by his ferry, and people were fascinated to see what he had come up with now. Down in the graveyard a small crowd had gathered, mostly idlers but including Father Joffroi, Edmund and Caris, and some of the town's builders, notably Elfric. If Merthin failed today, he would fail in front of his friends and enemies.

That was not the worst of it. This job had saved him from the need to leave town in search of work. But such a fate still hung over him. If the hoist went wrong, people would conclude that hiring Merthin brought bad luck. They would say that the spirits did not want him in town. He would be under greater pressure to leave. He would have to say good-bye to Kingsbridge - and to Caris.

Over the last four weeks, as he had shaped the wood and joined the pieces of his hoist, he had for the first time seriously thought about losing her; and it dismayed him. He had realized that she was all the joy in his world. If the weather was fine, he wanted to walk in the sunshine with her; if he saw something beautiful, he wanted to show it to her; if he heard something funny, his first thought was to tell her, and see her smile. His work gave him pleasure, especially when he came up with clever solutions to intractable problems; but it was a cold, cerebral satisfaction, and he knew that his life would be a long winter without Caris.

He stood up. It was time to put his skill to the test.

He had built a normal hoist with one innovative feature. Like all hoists, it had a rope that ran through a series of pulleys. On top of the church wall, at the edge of the roof, Merthin had built a timber structure like a gallows, with an arm that reached across the roof. The rope ran out to the end of the arm. At the other end of the rope, on the ground in the graveyard, was a treadwheel, which wound up the rope when operated by the boy Jimmie. All this was standard. The innovation was that the gallows incorporated a swivel, so that the arm could swing.

To save himself from the fate of Howell Tyler, Merthin had a belt under his arms that was tied to a sturdy stone pinnacle: if he fell, he would not fall far. So protected, he had removed the slates from a section of the roof then tied the rope of the hoist to a timber. Now he called down to Jimmie: 'Turn the wheel!'

Then he held his breath. He was sure it would work - it had to - but, all the same, this was a moment of high anxiety.

Jimmie, inside the great treadmill on the ground, began to walk. The wheel could move only one way. It had a brake pressing on its asymmetric teeth: one side of each tooth was gently angled, so that the brake moved gradually along the slope; but the other side was vertical, so that any reverse movement was immediately arrested.

As the wheel turned, the roof timber rose.

When the timber was clear of the roof structure, Merthin shouted: 'Whoa!'

Jimmie stopped, the brake engaged, and the timber hung in the air, swinging gently. So far, so good. The next part was where things might go wrong.

Merthin turned the hoist, so that its arm began to swing. He watched it, holding his breath. New strains were brought to bear on the structure as the weight of the load moved its position. The wood of the hoist creaked. The arm swung through half a circle, bringing the timber from its original location over the roof to a new point over the graveyard. There was a collective murmur of wonder from the crowd: they had never seen a hoist that could swivel.

'Let it down!' Merthin called.

Jimmie operated the brake, allowing the load to fall jerkily, a foot at a time, as the wheel turned and the rope unwound.

Everyone watched in silence. When the timber touched the ground there was a round of applause.

Jimmie detached the timber from the rope.

Merthin permitted himself a moment of triumph. It had worked.

He climbed down the ladder. The crowd cheered. Caris kissed him. Father Joffroi shook his hand. 'It's a marvel,' the priest said. 'I've never seen anything like it.'

'No one has,' Merthin said proudly. 'I invented it.'

Several more men congratulated him. Everyone was pleased to have been among the first to witness the phenomenon - all but Elfric, looking cross at the back of the crowd.

Merthin ignored him. He said to Father Joffroi: 'Our agreement was that you would pay me if it worked.'

'Gladly,' said Joffroi. 'I owe you eight shillings so far, and the sooner I have to pay you for removing the rest of the timbers and rebuilding the roof, the happier I'll be.' He opened the wallet at his waist and took out some coins tied up in a rag.

Elfric said loudly: 'Wait a moment!'

Everyone looked at him.

'You can't pay this boy, Father Joffroi,' he said. 'He's not a qualified carpenter.'

Surely this could not happen, Merthin thought. He had done the work - it was too late now to deny him the wages. But Elfric cared nothing for fairness.

'Nonsense!' said Joffroi. 'He's done what no other carpenter in town could do.'

'All the same, he's not in the guild.'

'I wanted to join,' Merthin put in. 'You would not admit me.'

'That's the prerogative of the guild.'

Joffroi said: 'I say that's unjust - and many people in town would agree. He's done six and a half years of his apprenticeship, with no wages but his food and a bed on the kitchen floor, and everyone knows he's been doing the work of a qualified carpenter for years. You should not have turned him out without his tools.'

There was a murmur of assent from the men gathered around. Elfric was generally thought to have gone a bit too far.

Elfric said: 'With due respect to your reverence, that is for the guild to decide, not you.'

'All right.' Joffroi folded his arms. 'You tell me not to pay Merthin - even though he is the only man in town who can repair my church without closing it. I defy you.' He handed the coins to Merthin. 'Now you can take the case to court.'

'The prior's court.' Elfric's face twisted in spite. 'When a man has a grievance against a priest, is he likely to get a fair hearing in a court run by monks?'

There was some sympathy in the crowd for this. They knew of too many instances where the prior's court had unjustly favored the clergy.

But Joffroi shot back: 'Can an apprentice get a fair hearing in a guild run by masters?'

The crowd laughed at that: they appreciated clever arguments.

Elfric looked crushed. Whatever the court, he could win a dispute between himself and Merthin, but he could not so easily prevail against a priest. Resentfully, he said: 'It's a bad day for the town when apprentices defy their masters and priests support the boys.' But he sensed he had lost, and he turned away.

Merthin felt the weight of the coins in his hand: eight shillings, ninety-six silver pennies, two-fifths of a pound. He knew he should count them, but he was too happy to bother. He had earned his first wages.

He turned to Edmund. 'This is your money,' he said.

'Pay me five shillings now, the rest later,' Edmund said generously. 'Keep some money for yourself - you deserve it.'

Merthin smiled. That would leave him three shillings to spend - more money than he had ever had in his life. He did not know what to do with it. Perhaps he would buy his mother a chicken.

It was midday, and the crowd began to disperse, heading home for dinner. Merthin went with Caris and Edmund. He felt his future was secure. He had proved himself as a carpenter, and few people would hesitate to employ him now that Father Joffroi had set the precedent. He could earn a living. He could have a house of his own.

He could get married.

Petranilla was waiting for them. As Merthin counted out five shillings for Edmund, she put on the table a fragrant dish of fish baked with herbs. In celebration of Merthin's triumph, Edmund poured sweet Rhenish wine into cups for all of them.