World Without End (8 page)

'I believe I do. He is Sir Thomas Langley, one of the earl of Monmouth's men.'

He was a handsome man in his twenties, broad-shouldered and long-legged. He was naked to the waist, showing a muscular torso crisscrossed with the scars of earlier fights. He looked pale and exhausted.

'He was attacked on the road,' Saul explained. 'He managed to fight off his assailants, but then he had to drag himself a mile or more to the town. He's lost a lot of blood.'

The knight's left forearm was split from elbow to wrist, a clean cut obviously made by a sharp sword.

The monastery's senior physician, Brother Joseph, stood beside the patient. Joseph was in his thirties, a small man with a big nose and bad teeth. He said: 'The wound should be kept open and treated with an ointment to bring on a pus. That way, evil humors will be expelled and the wound will heal from the inside out.'

Anthony nodded. 'So where is the disagreement?'

'Matthew Barber has another idea.'

Matthew was a barber-surgeon from the town. He had been standing back deferentially, but now he stepped forward, holding the leather case that contained his expensive, sharp knives. He was a small, thin man with bright blue eyes and a solemn expression.

Anthony did not acknowledge Matthew, but said to Joseph: 'What's he doing here?'

'The knight knows him and sent for him.'

Anthony spoke to Thomas. 'If you want to be butchered, why did you come to the priory hospital?'

The ghost of a smile flickered across the knight's white face, but he seemed too tired to reply.

Matthew spoke up with surprising confidence, apparently undeterred by Anthony's scorn. 'I've seen many wounds like this on the battlefield, Father Prior,' he said. 'The best treatment is the simplest: wash the wound with warm wine, then stitch it closed and bandage it.' He was not as deferential as he looked.

Mother Cecilia interrupted. 'I wonder if our two young monks have opinions on the question?' she asked.

Anthony looked impatient, but Godwyn realized what she was up to. This was a test. Perhaps Saul was the rival for her money.

The answer was easy, so Godwyn got in first. 'Brother Joseph has studied the ancient masters,' he said. 'He must know best. I don't suppose Matthew can even read.'

'I can, Brother Godwyn,' Matthew protested. 'And I have a book.'

Anthony laughed. The idea of a barber with a book was silly, like a horse with a hat. 'What book?'

'The
Canon
of Avicenna, the great Islamic physician. Translated from Arabic into Latin. I have read it all, slowly.'

'And is your remedy proposed by Avicenna?'

'No, but - '

'Well, then.'

Matthew persisted. 'But I learned more about healing by traveling with armies and treating the wounded than I ever did from the book.'

Mother Cecilia said: 'Saul, what's your view?'

Godwyn expected Saul to give the same answer, so that the contest would be indecisive. But, although he looked nervous and shy, Saul contradicted Godwyn. 'The barber may be right,' he said. Godwyn was delighted. Saul went on arguing for the wrong side. 'The treatment proposed by Brother Joseph might be more suitable for crushing or hammering injuries, such as we get on building sites, where the skin and flesh all around the cut is damaged, and to close the wound prematurely might seal evil humors inside the body. This is a clean cut, and the sooner it is closed the faster it will heal.'

'Nonsense,' said Prior Anthony. 'How could a town barber be right and an educated monk be wrong?'

Godwyn smothered a triumphant grin.

The door flew open, and a young man in the robes of a priest strode in. Godwyn recognized Richard of Shiring, the younger of the two sons of Earl Roland. His nod to the prior and prioress was so perfunctory as to be impolite. He went straight to the bedside and spoke to the knight. 'What the devil has happened?' he said.

Thomas lifted a weak hand and beckoned Richard closer. The young priest leaned over the patient. Thomas whispered in his ear.

Father Richard drew away as if shocked. 'Absolutely not!' he said.

Thomas beckoned again, and the process was repeated: another whisper, another outraged reaction. This time, Richard said: 'But why?'

Thomas did not reply.

Richard said: 'You are asking for something that is not in our power to give.'

Thomas nodded firmly, as if to say:
Yes, it is.

'You're giving us no choice.'

Thomas shook his head weakly from side to side.

Richard turned to Prior Anthony. 'Sir Thomas wishes to become a monk here at the priory.'

There was a moment of surprised silence. Cecilia was the first to react. 'But he's a man of violence!'

'Come on, it's not unknown,' Richard said impatiently. 'A fighting man sometimes decides to abandon his life of warfare and seek forgiveness for his sins.'

'In old age, perhaps,' Cecilia said. 'This man is not yet twenty-five. He's fleeing some danger.' She looked hard at Richard. 'Who threatens his life?'

'Curb your curiosity,' Richard said rudely. 'He wants to be a monk, not a nun, so you need not inquire further.' It was a shocking way to talk to a prioress, but the sons of earls could get away with such rudeness. He turned to Anthony. 'You must admit him.'

Anthony said: 'The priory is too poor to take on any more monks - unless there were to be a gift that would pay the costs...'

'It will be arranged.'

'It would have to be adequate to the need - '

'It will be arranged!'

'Very well.'

Cecilia was suspicious. She said to Anthony: 'Do you know more about this man than you're telling me?'

'I see no reason to turn him away.'

'What makes you think he's a genuine penitent?'

Everyone looked at Thomas. His eyes had closed.

Anthony said: 'He will have to prove his sincerity during his novitiate, like anyone else.'

She was clearly dissatisfied, but for once Anthony was not asking her for the money, so there was nothing she could do. 'We'd better get on with treating this wound,' she said.

Saul said: 'He refused Brother Joseph's treatment. That's why we had to fetch the Father Prior.'

Anthony leaned over the patient. In a loud voice, as if speaking to someone deaf, he said: 'You must have the treatment prescribed by Brother Joseph. He knows best.'

Thomas appeared unconscious.

Anthony turned to Joseph. 'He is no longer objecting.'

Matthew Barber said: 'He could lose his arm!'

'You'd better leave,' Anthony told him.

Looking angry, Matthew went out.

Anthony said to Richard: 'Perhaps you would come to the prior's house for a cup of cider.'

'Thank you.'

As they left, Anthony said to Godwyn: 'Stay here and help the Mother Prioress. Come to me before Vespers and tell me how the knight is recovering.'

Prior Anthony did not normally worry about the progress of individual patients. Clearly he had a special interest in this one.

Godwyn watched as Brother Joseph applied ointment to the arm of the now-unconscious knight. He thought he had probably ensured Cecilia's financial support by giving the correct answer to the question, but he was keen to get her explicit agreement. When Brother Joseph had done, and Cecilia was bathing Thomas's forehead with rose water, he said: 'I hope you will consider my request favorably.'

She gave him a sharp look. 'I might as well tell you now that I have decided to give the money to Saul.'

Godwyn was shocked. 'But I gave the right answer!'

'Did you?'

'Surely you didn't agree with the barber?'

She raised her eyebrows. 'I won't be interrogated by you, Brother Godwyn.'

'I'm sorry,' he said immediately. 'I just don't understand it.'

'I know.'

If she was going to be enigmatic, there was no point in talking to her. Godwyn turned away, shaking with frustration and disappointment. She was giving the money to Saul! Was it because he was related to the earl? Godwyn thought not: she was too independent-minded. It was Saul's showy piety that had tipped the balance, he decided. But Saul would never be leader of anything. What a waste. Godwyn wondered how he was going to break this news to his mother. She would be furious - but who would she blame? Anthony? Godwyn himself? A familiar feeling of dread came over him as he pictured his mother's wrath.

As he thought of her, he saw her enter the hospital by the door at the far end, a tall woman with a prominent bust. She caught his eye and stood by the door, waiting for him to come to her. He walked slowly, trying to figure out what to say.

'Your aunt Rose is dying,' Petranilla said as soon as he was close.

'May God bless her soul. Mother Cecilia told me.'

'You look shocked - but you know how ill she is.'

'It's not Aunt Rose. I've had other bad news.' He swallowed. 'I can't go to Oxford. Uncle Anthony won't pay for it, and Mother Cecilia turned me down, too.'

She did not explode immediately, to his great relief. However, her mouth tightened into a grim line. 'But why?' she said.

'He hasn't got the money, and she is sending Saul.'

'Saul Whitehead? He'll never amount to anything.'

'Well, at least he's going to be a physician.'

She looked him in the eye, and he shriveled. 'I think you handled this badly,' she said. 'You should have discussed it with me beforehand.'

He had feared she would take this line. 'How can you say I mishandled it?' he protested.

'You should have let me speak to Anthony first. I would have softened him.'

'He still might have said no.'

'And before you approached Cecilia, you should have found out whether anyone else had asked her. Then you could have undermined Saul before speaking to her.'

'How?'

'He must have a weakness. You could have found out what it is, and made sure it was brought to her attention. Then, when she was feeling disillusioned, you could have approached her yourself.'

He saw the sense of what she was saying. 'I never thought of that,' he said. He bowed his head.

With controlled anger she said: 'You have to plan these things, the way earls plan battles.'

'I see that now,' he said, not meeting her eye. 'I'll never make the same mistake again.'

'I hope not.'

He looked at her again. 'What am I going to do?'

'I'm not giving up.' A familiar expression of determination came over her face. 'I shall provide the money,' she said.

Godwyn felt a surge of hope, but he could not imagine how his mother would fulfill such a promise. 'Where will you get it?' he asked.

'I'll give up my house, and move in with my brother Edmund.'

'Will he have you?' Edmund was a generous man, but he sometimes clashed with his sister.

'I think he will. He's going to be a widower soon, and he'll need a housekeeper. Not that Rose was ever very effective in that role.'

Godwyn shook his head. 'You'll still need money.'

'For what? Edmund will give me bed and board, and pay for the few small necessities I may require. In return, I'll manage his servants and raise his daughters. And you shall have the money I inherited from your father.'

She spoke firmly, but Godwyn could see the bitterness of regret expressed in the twist of her mouth. He knew what a sacrifice this would be for her. She was proud of her independence. She was one of the town's prominent women, the daughter of a wealthy man and the sister of the leading wool merchant, and she prized that status. She loved to invite the powerful men and women of Kingsbridge to dine with her and drink the best wine. Now she was proposing to move into her brother's house and live as a poor relation, working as a kind of servant and dependent on him for everything. It would be a terrible comedown. 'It's too much to sacrifice,' Godwyn said. 'You can't do it.'

Her face hardened, and she gave a little shake of the shoulders, as if preparing to take the weight of a heavy burden. 'Oh, yes, I can,' she said.

5

Gwenda told her father everything.

She had sworn on the blood of Jesus that she would keep the secret, so now she was going to Hell, but she was more frightened of her father than of Hell.

He began by asking her where she got Skip, the new puppy, and she was forced to explain how Hop had died; and in the end the whole story came out.

To her surprise, she was not whipped. In fact Pa seemed pleased. He made her take him to the clearing in the forest where the killings had happened. It was not easy to find the place again, but she got there, and they found the bodies of the two men-at-arms dressed in green-and-yellow livery.

First Pa opened their purses. Both contained twenty or thirty pennies. He was even more pleased with their swords, which were worth more than a few pennies. He began to strip the dead men, which was difficult for him with one hand, so he made Gwenda help him. The lifeless bodies were awkwardly heavy, so strange to touch. Pa made her take off everything they wore, even their muddy hose and their soiled underdrawers.

He wrapped their weapons in the clothing, making what looked like a bundle of rags. Then he and Gwenda dragged the naked corpses back into the evergreen bush.

He was in high spirits as they walked back into Kingsbridge. He took her to Slaughterhouse Ditch, a street near the river, and they went into a large but dirty tavern called the White Horse. He bought Gwenda a cup of ale to drink while he disappeared into the back of the house with the innkeeper, whom he addressed as 'Davey boy.' It was the second time Gwenda had drunk ale in one day. Pa reappeared a few minutes later without the bundle.

They returned to the main street and found Ma, Philemon, and the baby at the Bell Inn, next to the priory gates. Pa winked broadly at Ma and gave her a big handful of money to hide in the baby's blankets.

It was mid-afternoon, and most visitors had left to return to their villages; but it was too late to set out for Wigleigh, so the family would spend the night at the inn. As Pa kept saying, they could afford it now; although Ma said nervously: 'Don't let people know you've got money!'