World Without End (99 page)

They sailed to Portsmouth and traveled with a party of traders. They left the group at Mudeford Crossing, the traders going on to Shiring while Merthin and Lolla forded the shallow river on horseback and took the Kingsbridge road. It was a pity, Merthin thought, that there was no visible sign of the way to Kingsbridge. He wondered how many traders continued on to Shiring simply because they did not realize that Kingsbridge was nearer.

It was a warm summer day, and the sun was shining when they came within sight of their destination. The first thing he saw was the top of the cathedral tower, visible over the trees. At least it had not fallen down, Merthin thought: Elfric's repairs had held for eleven years. It was a pity the tower could not be seen from Mudeford Crossing - what a difference that would make to the numbers visiting the town.

As they came closer, he began to suffer a strange mixture of excitement and fear that made him feel nauseous. For a few moments he was afraid he would have to dismount and throw up. He tried to make himself calm. What could happen? Even if Caris proved to have become indifferent to him, he would not die.

He saw several new buildings on the outskirts of the suburb of Newtown. The splendid new home he had built for Dick Brewer was no longer on the edge of Kingsbridge, for the town had grown past it.

He momentarily forgot his apprehension when he saw his bridge. It rose in an elegant curve from the riverbank and landed gracefully on the midstream island. On the far side of the island, the bridge sprang again to span the second channel. Its white stone gleamed in the sun. People and carts were crossing in both directions. The sight made his heart swell with pride. It was everything he had hoped it would be: beautiful, useful, and strong. I did that, he thought, and it's good.

But he suffered a shock when he got closer. The masonry of the nearer span was damaged around the central pier. He could see cracks in the stonework, repaired with iron braces in a clumsy fashion that bore the hallmark of Elfric. He was appalled. Brown dribbles of rust dripped from the nails that fixed the ugly braces in the stonework. The sight took him back eleven years, to Elfric's repairs to the old wooden bridge. Everyone can make mistakes, he thought, but people who don't learn from their mistakes just make the same ones again. 'Bloody fools,' he said aloud.

'Bloody fools,' Lolla repeated. She was learning English.

He rode on to the bridge. The roadbed had been finished properly, he was happy to see, and he was pleased with the design of the parapet, a sturdy barrier with a carved capstone that recalled the moldings in the cathedral.

Leper Island was still overrun with rabbits. Merthin continued to hold a lease on the island. In his absence, Mark Webber had been collecting rents from tenants, paying the nominal rent due to the priory every year, subtracting an agreed collection fee, and sending the balance annually to Merthin in Florence via the Caroli family. After all the deductions it was a small sum, but it grew a little every year.

Merthin's house on the island had an occupied look, the shutters open, the doorstep swept. He had arranged for Jimmie to live there. The boy must now be a man, he thought.

At the near end of the second span, an old man Merthin did not recognize sat in the sun collecting the tolls. Merthin paid him a penny. The man gave him a hard stare, as if trying to recall where he had seen him before, but he said nothing.

The town was both familiar and strange. Because it was almost the same, the changes struck Merthin as miraculous, as if they had happened overnight: a row of hovels knocked down and replaced by fine houses; a busy inn where once there had been a big gloomy house occupied by a wealthy widow; a well dried up and paved over; a gray house painted white.

He went to the Bell Inn on the main street, next to the priory gates. It was unchanged: a tavern in such a good location would probably last hundreds of years. He left his horses and baggage with a hostler and went inside, holding hands with Lolla.

The Bell was like taverns everywhere: a big front room furnished with rough tables and benches, and a back area where the barrels of beer and wine were racked and food was cooked. Because it was popular and profitable, the straw on the floor was changed frequently and the walls were freshly whitewashed, and in winter a huge fire blazed. Now, in the heat of summer, all the windows were open, and a mild breeze blew through the front room.

After a moment, Bessie Bell came out from the back. Nine years ago she had been a curvy girl; now she was a voluptuous woman. She looked at him without recognition, but he saw her appraise his clothes and judge him an affluent customer. 'Good day to you, traveler,' she said. 'What can we do to make you and your child comfortable?'

Merthin grinned. 'I'd like to take your private room, please, Bessie.'

She knew him as soon as he spoke. 'My soul!' she cried. 'It's Merthin Bridger!' He put out his hand to shake, but she threw her arms around him and hugged him. She had always had a soft spot for him. She released him and studied his face. 'Such a beard you've grown! I would have recognized you sooner otherwise. Is this your little girl?'

'Her name is Lolla.'

'Well, aren't you a pretty thing! Your mother must be beautiful.'

Merthin said: 'My wife died.'

'How sad. But Lolla is young enough to forget. My husband died, too.'

'I didn't know you were married.'

'I met him after you left. Richard Brown, from Gloucester. I lost him a year ago.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'My father's gone to Canterbury, on a pilgrimage, so I'm running this tavern all on my own at the moment.'

'I always liked your father.'

'He was fond of you, too. He always takes to men with a bit of spirit. He was never very keen on my Richard.'

'Ah.' Merthin felt the conversation had become too intimate, too fast. 'What news of my parents?'

'They're not here in Kingsbridge. They're staying at your brother's new home in Tench.'

Merthin had heard, through Buonaventura, that Ralph had become lord of Tench. 'My father must be very pleased.'

'Proud as a peacock.' She smiled, then looked concerned. 'You must be hungry and tired. I'll tell the boys to take your bags upstairs, then I'll bring you a tankard of ale and some pottage.' She turned to go into the back room.

'That's kind, but...'

Bessie paused at the door.

'If you would give Lolla some soup, I'd be grateful. There's something I have to do.'

Bessie nodded. 'Of course.' She bent down to Lolla. 'Do you want to come with Auntie Bessie? I expect you could eat a piece of bread. Do you like new bread?'

Merthin translated the question into Italian, and Lolla nodded happily.

Bessie looked at Merthin. 'Going to see Sister Caris, are you?'

Absurdly, he felt guilty. 'Yes,' he said. 'She's still here, then?'

'Oh, yes. She's guest master at the nunnery now. I'll be surprised if she isn't prioress one day.' She took Lolla's hand and led her into the back room. 'Good luck,' she called over her shoulder.

Merthin went out. Bessie could be a little suffocating, but her affection was sincere, and it warmed his heart to be welcomed back with such enthusiasm. He entered the priory grounds. He paused to look at the soaring west front of the cathedral, almost two hundred years old now and as awe-inspiring as ever.

He noticed a new stone building to the north of the church, beyond the graveyard. It was a medium-size palace, with an imposing entrance and an upper story. It had been built close to where the old timber prior's house used to be, so presumably it had replaced that modest building as the residence of Godwyn. He wondered where Godwyn had found the money.

He went closer. The palace was very grand, but Merthin did not like the design. None of the levels related in any way to the cathedral that loomed over it. The details were careless. The top of the ostentatious doorcase blocked part of an upper-story window. Worst of all, the palace was built on a different axis from that of the church, so that it stood at an awkward angle.

It was Elfric's work, no doubt of that.

A plump cat sat on the doorstep in the sun. It was black with a white tip to its tail. It glared malevolently at Merthin.

He turned away and walked slowly to the hospital. The cathedral green was quiet and deserted: there was no market today. The excitement and apprehension rose again in his stomach. He might see Caris at any moment. He reached the entrance and went in. The long room looked brighter and smelled fresher than he remembered: everything had a scrubbed look. There were a few people lying on mattresses on the floor, most of them elderly. At the altar a young novice was saying prayers aloud. He waited for her to finish. He was so anxious that he was sure he felt more ill than the patients on the beds. He had come a thousand miles for this moment. Was it a wasted journey?

At last the nun said 'Amen' for the last time and turned around. He did not know her. She approached him and said politely: 'May God bless you, stranger.'

Merthin took a deep breath. 'I've come to see Sister Caris,' he said.

The nuns' chapter meetings now took place in the refectory. In the past they had shared with the monks the elegant octagonal chapter house at the northeast corner of the cathedral. Sadly, mistrust between monks and nuns was now so great that the nuns did not want to risk the monks' eavesdropping on their deliberations. So they met in the long bare room where they took their meals.

The nunnery officials sat behind a table, Mother Cecilia in the middle. There was no subprioress: Natalie had died a few weeks ago, at the age of fifty-seven, and Cecilia had not yet replaced her. On Cecilia's right was the treasurer, Beth, and her matricularius, Elizabeth, formerly Elizabeth Clerk. On Cecilia's left were the cellarer, Margaret, in charge of all supplies, and her subordinate Caris, the guest master. Thirty nuns sat on rows of benches facing the senior officials.

After the prayer and the reading, Mother Cecilia made her announcements. 'We have received a letter from our lord bishop in response to our complaint about Prior Godwyn stealing our money,' she said. There was a murmur of anticipation from the nuns.

The reply had been a long time coming. King Edward had taken almost a year to replace Bishop Richard. Earl William had lobbied hard for Jerome, his father's able administrator, but in the end Edward had chosen Henri of Mons, a relative of his wife's from Hainault in northern France. Bishop Henri had come to England for the ceremony, then traveled to Rome to be confirmed by the pope, then returned and settled into his palace at Shiring, before replying to Cecilia's formal letter of complaint.

Cecilia went on: 'The bishop declines to take any action over the theft, saying that the events took place during the time of Bishop Richard, and the past is past.'

The nuns gasped. They had accepted the delay patiently, feeling confident they would get justice in the end. This was a shocking rejection.

Caris had seen the letter earlier. She was not as astonished as the rest of the nuns. It was not so remarkable that the new bishop did not wish to begin his period of office by quarreling with the prior of Kingsbridge. The letter told her that Henri would be a pragmatic ruler, not a man of principle. He was no different, in that respect, from the majority of men who were successful in church politics.

However, she was no less disappointed for being unsurprised. The decision meant that she had to abandon, for the foreseeable future, her dream of building a new hospital where sick people could be isolated from healthy guests. She told herself she should not grieve: the priory had existed for hundreds of years without such a luxury, so it could wait another decade or more. On the other hand, it angered her to see the rapid spread of diseases like the vomiting sickness that Maldwyn Cook had brought to the Fleece Fair the year before last. No one understood exactly how these things were transmitted - by looking at a sick person, by touching him, or just by being in the same room - but there could be no doubt that many illnesses did hop from one victim to the next, and proximity was a factor. However, she had to forget all that for now.

A rumble of resentful muttering came from the nuns on the benches. Mair's voice rose above the others, saying: 'The monks will be cock-a-hoop.'

She was right, Caris thought. Godwyn and Philemon had got away with daylight robbery. They had always argued that it was not theft for the monks to use the nuns' money, since it was all for the glory of God in the end; and they would now consider that the bishop had vindicated them. It was a bitter defeat, especially for Caris and Mair.

But Mother Cecilia was not going to waste time on regrets. 'This is not the fault of any of us, except perhaps me,' she said. 'We have simply been too trusting.'

You trusted Godwyn, but I did not, Caris thought, but she kept her mouth clamped shut. She waited to hear what Cecilia would say next. She knew that the prioress was going to make changes among the nunnery officials, but no one knew what had been decided.

'However, we must be more careful in the future. We will build a treasury of our own, to which the monks will not have access; indeed, I hope they will not even know where it is. Sister Beth will retire as treasurer, with our thanks for long and faithful service, and Sister Elizabeth will take her place. I have complete faith in Elizabeth.'

Caris tried to control her face so that her disgust would not be seen. Elizabeth had testified that Caris was a witch. It was nine years ago, and Cecilia had forgiven Elizabeth, but Caris never would. However, that was not the only reason for Caris's antipathy. Elizabeth was sour and twisted, and her resentments interfered with her judgment. Such people could never be trusted, in Caris's opinion: they were always liable to make decisions based on their prejudices.

Cecilia went on: 'Sister Margaret has asked permission to step down from her duties, and Sister Caris will take her place as cellarer.'

Caris was disappointed. She had hoped to be made subprioress, Cecilia's deputy. She tried to smile as if pleased, but she found it difficult. Cecilia was obviously not going to appoint a subprioress. She would have two rival subordinates, Caris and Elizabeth, and let them fight it out. Caris caught Elizabeth's eye, and saw barely suppressed hatred in her look.