World Without End (40 page)

But Edmund was not a man to linger over the past. 'We must get on with the new bridge,' he said impatiently. 'Five weeks have gone by and nothing has been done!'

Petranilla said: 'I hear the earl's health is rapidly returning to normal, so perhaps the monks will hold the election soon. I must ask Godwyn - but I haven't seen him since yesterday, when Blind Carlus fell over during the service.'

'I'd like to have a bridge design ready,' Edmund said. 'Then work could begin as soon as the new prior is elected.'

Merthin's ears pricked up. 'What have you got in mind?'

'We know it has to be a stone bridge. I want it wide enough for two carts to pass.'

Merthin nodded. 'And it should be ramped at both ends, so that people will step off the bridge onto dry ground, not a muddy beach.'

'Yes - excellent.'

Caris said: 'But how do you build stone walls in the middle of a river?'

Edmund said: 'I've no idea, but it must be possible. There are lots of stone bridges.'

Merthin said: 'I've heard men talk about this. You have to build a special structure called a cofferdam to keep the water out of the area where you're building. It's quite simple, but they say you have to be very careful to make sure it's watertight.'

Godwyn came in, looking anxious. He was not supposed to make social calls in the town - in theory, he could leave the priory only on a specific errand. Merthin wondered what had happened.

'Carlus withdrew his name from the election,' he said.

'Good news!' Edmund said. 'Have a cup of this wine.'

'Don't celebrate yet,' Godwyn said.

'Why not? That leaves Thomas as the only candidate - and Thomas wants to build the new bridge. Our problem is solved.'

'Thomas is no longer the only candidate. The earl is nominating Saul Whitehead.'

'Oh.' Edmund was thoughtful. 'Is that necessarily bad?'

'Yes. Saul is well liked and has shown himself a competent prior of St.-John-in-the-Forest. If he accepts the nomination, he's likely to get the votes of former supporters of Carlus - which means he could win. Then, as the earl's nominee, and his cousin, too, Saul is likely to do his sponsor's bidding - and the earl may oppose the building of the new bridge, on the grounds that it might take business away from Shiring market.'

Edmund looked worried. 'Is there anything we can do?'

'I hope so. Someone has to go to St. John to tell Saul the news and bring him to Kingsbridge. I've volunteered for that job, and I'm hoping there's some way I can persuade him to refuse.'

Petranilla spoke. 'That may not solve the problem,' she said. Merthin listened carefully to her: he did not like her, but she was clever. She went on: 'The earl might nominate another candidate. Any nominee of his could oppose the bridge.'

Godwyn nodded agreement. 'So, assuming I can keep Saul out of the contest, we must make sure the earl's second choice is someone who can't possibly get elected.'

'Who do you have in mind?' his mother asked.

'Friar Murdo.'

'Excellent.'

Caris said: 'But he's awful!'

'Exactly,' Godwyn said. 'Greedy, drunken, a sponger, a self-righteous rabble-rouser. The monks will never vote for him. That's why we want him to be the earl's candidate.'

Godwyn was like his mother, Merthin realized, in having a talent for this kind of plotting.

Petranilla said: 'How shall we proceed?'

'First, we need to persuade Murdo to put his name forward.'

'That won't be hard. Just tell him he's in with a chance. He'd love to be prior.'

'Agreed. But I can't do it. Murdo would immediately suspect my motives. Everyone knows I'm backing Thomas.'

'I'll speak to him,' said Petranilla. 'I'll tell him you and I are at odds, and I don't want Thomas. I'll say the earl is looking for someone to nominate, and Murdo could be the right man. He's popular in the town, especially among the poor and ignorant, who labor under the delusion that he's one of them. All he needs to do, to get the nomination, is make it clear that he's willing to be the earl's pawn.'

'Good.' Godwyn stood up. 'I'll try to be present when Murdo speaks to Earl Roland.' He kissed his mother's cheek and went out.

The fish was all gone. Merthin ate his bread trencher, rich with juices. Edmund offered him more wine, but he declined: he was afraid he might fall off the roof of St. Mark's this afternoon if he drank too much. Petranilla went into the kitchen and Edmund retired to the parlor to sleep. Merthin and Caris were left alone.

He moved to sit on the bench next to her, and kissed her.

She said: 'I'm so proud of you.'

He glowed. He was proud of himself. He kissed her again, this time with a long, moist kiss that gave him an erection. He touched her breast through the linen of her robe, squeezing her nipple gently with his fingertips.

She touched his erection and giggled. 'Do you want me to bring you off?' she whispered.

She did that sometimes late in the evening, when her father and Petranilla were asleep, and Merthin and she were alone on the ground floor of the house. But this was broad daylight, and someone could walk in at any moment. 'No!' he said.

'I could do it quickly.' She tightened her grasp.

'I'm too embarrassed.' He stood up and moved to the other side of the table.

'I'm sorry.'

'Well, maybe we won't have to do this much longer.'

'Do what?'

'Hide, and worry about people walking in.'

She looked hurt. 'Don't you like it?'

'Of course I do! But it would be nicer for us to be alone. I could take a house, now that I'm getting paid.'

'You've only been paid once.'

'That's true...but you seem very pessimistic all of a sudden. Have I said something wrong?'

'No, but...why do you want to change the way things are?'

He was baffled by this question. 'I just want more of the same, in private.'

She looked defiant. 'I'm happy now.'

'Well, so am I...but nothing goes on forever.'

'Why not?'

He felt as if he were explaining something to a child. 'Because we can't spend the rest of our lives living with our parents and stealing kisses when no one's looking. We have to get a home of our own, and live as man and wife, and sleep together every night, and have real sex instead of bringing each other off, and raise a family.'

'Why?' she said.

'I don't know why,' he said in exasperation. 'That's the way it is, and I'm not going to try to explain anymore, because I think you're determined not to understand; or, at least, to pretend you don't understand.'

'All right.'

'And besides, I have to go back to work.'

'Go on, then.'

This was incomprehensible. He had been frustrated, during the last half year, by not being able to marry Caris, and he had assumed she felt the same. Now it seemed she did not. Indeed, she resented his assumption. But did she really believe that they could continue this adolescent relationship indefinitely?

He looked at her, trying to read her face, and saw only a sulky obstinacy there. He turned away and went out through the door.

He hesitated on the street outside. Perhaps he should go back in and make her say what was on her mind. But, remembering the look on her face, he knew this was not the moment to try to make her do anything. So he walked on, heading for St. Mark's, thinking: How did such a wonderful day turn so bad?

22

Godwyn was preparing Kingsbridge Cathedral for the big wedding. The church had to look its best. In addition to the earl of Monmouth and the earl of Shiring, there would be several barons and hundreds of knights in attendance. Broken flagstones had to be replaced, chipped masonry repaired, crumbling moldings carved anew, walls whitewashed, pillars painted, and everything scrubbed clean.

'And I want the repairs to the south aisle of the chancel finished,' Godwyn said to Elfric as they walked through the church.

'I'm not sure that's possible - '

'It must be done. We can't have scaffolding in the chancel during a wedding of this importance.' He saw Philemon waving urgently at him from the south transept door. 'Excuse me.'

'I haven't got the men!' Elfric called after him.

'You shouldn't be so quick to sack them,' Godwyn said over his shoulder.

Philemon was looking excited. 'Friar Murdo is asking to see the earl,' he said.

'Good!' Petranilla had spoken to the friar last night, and this morning Godwyn had instructed Philemon to lurk near the hospital and watch out for Murdo. He had been expecting an early visit.

He hurried to the hospital, with Philemon in tow. He was relieved to see that Murdo was still waiting in the big room on the ground floor. The fat friar had smartened up his appearance: his face and hands were clean, the fringe of hair around his tonsure was combed, and he had sponged the worst of the stains off his robe. He did not look like a prior, but he almost looked like a monk.

Godwyn ignored him and went up the stairs. Standing guard outside the earl's room he saw Merthin's brother, Ralph, who was one of the earl's squires. Ralph was handsome, except for a broken nose, a recent injury. Squires were always breaking bones. 'Hello, Ralph,' Godwyn said amiably. 'What happened to your nose?'

'I had a fight with a peasant bastard.'

'You should have got it set properly. Did that friar come up here?'

'Yes. They asked him to wait.'

'Who's with the earl?'

'Lady Philippa and the clerk, Father Jerome.'

'Ask if they'll see me.'

'Lady Philippa says the earl must not see anyone.'

Godwyn gave Ralph a man-to-man grin. 'But she's only a woman.'

Ralph grinned back, then opened the door and put his head inside. 'Brother Godwyn, the sacrist?' he said.

There was a pause, and then Lady Philippa stepped out and closed the door behind her. 'I told you no visitors,' she said angrily. 'Earl Roland is not getting the rest he needs.'

Ralph said: 'I know, my lady, but Brother Godwyn wouldn't bother the earl unnecessarily.'

Something in Ralph's tone made Godwyn look at him. Although Ralph's words were mundane, the expression on his face was adoring. Godwyn noticed, then, how voluptuous Philippa was. She wore a dark red dress belted at the waist, and the fine wool clung to her breasts and hips. She looked like a statue representing Temptation, Godwyn thought, and he wished, yet again, that he could find a way to ban women from the priory. It was bad enough if a squire fell in love with a married woman, but for a monk to do the same would be a catastrophe.

'I regret the need to trouble the earl,' Godwyn said. 'But there's a friar waiting downstairs to see him.'

'I know - Murdo. Is his business so urgent?'

'On the contrary. But I need to forewarn the earl what to expect.'

'So you know what the friar is going to say?'

'I believe I do.'

'Well, I think it's best if the two of you see the earl together.'

Godwyn said: 'But - ' then pretended to stifle a protest.

Philippa looked at Ralph. 'Get the friar up here, please.'

Ralph summoned Murdo, and Philippa ushered him and Godwyn into the room. Earl Roland was on the bed, fully dressed as before, but this time he was sitting up, his bandaged head cushioned with feather pillows. 'What's this?' he said with his usual bad temper. 'A meeting of the chapter? What do you monks want?'

Looking at his visage directly for the first time since the bridge collapse, Godwyn was shocked to see that the entire right side of his face was paralyzed: the eyelid drooped, the cheek hardly moved, and the mouth was slack. What made it so startling was that the left side was animated. When Roland spoke, the left side of his forehead frowned, his left eye opened wide and seemed to blaze with authority, and he spoke vehemently out of the left side of his mouth. The doctor in Godwyn was fascinated. He knew that head injuries could have unpredictable effects, but he had never heard of this particular manifestation.

'Don't gawk at me,' the earl said impatiently. 'You look like a pair of cows staring over a hedge. State your business.'

Godwyn pulled himself together. He had to tread carefully over the next few minutes. He knew that Roland would reject Murdo's application to be nominated as prior. All the same, he wanted to plant in Roland's mind the idea of Murdo as a possible alternative to Saul Whitehead. Therefore Godwyn's job was to strengthen Murdo's application. He would do this, paradoxically, by objecting to Murdo, thereby showing Roland that Murdo would owe no allegiance to the monks - for Roland wanted a prior who served him alone. But, on the other hand, Godwyn must not protest too strongly, for he did not want the earl to realize what a truly hopeless candidate Murdo actually was. It was a tortuous path to walk.

Murdo spoke first, in his sonorous pulpit voice. 'My lord, I come to ask you to consider me for the position of prior of Kingsbridge. I believe - '

'Not so loud, for the love of the saints,' Roland protested.

Murdo lowered his voice. 'My lord, I believe that I - '

'Why do you want to be prior?' Roland said, interrupting him again. 'I thought a friar was a monk without a church - by definition.' This point of view was old-fashioned. Friars originally were travelers who held no property, but nowadays some of the fraternal orders were as wealthy as traditional monks. Roland knew this, and was just being provocative.

Murdo gave the standard answer. 'I believe that God accepts both forms of sacrifice.'

'So you're willing to turn your coat.'

'I have come to think that the talents he gave me could be put to better use in a priory, so yes, I would be happy to embrace the rule of St. Benedict.'

'But why should I consider you?'

'I am also an ordained priest.'

'No shortage of those.'

'And I have a following in Kingsbridge and the surrounding countryside such that, if I may be allowed to boast, I must be the most influential man of God in the area.'

Father Jerome spoke for the first time. He was a confident young man with an intelligent face, and Godwyn sensed that he was ambitious. 'It's true,' he said. 'The friar is extraordinarily popular.'