World Without End (88 page)

She knew by the sun that she was heading east, and she thought, judging by the deep cartwheel ruts in the baked mud, that she was on the main road. Tonight's destination was a village named, after the nunnery at its center, Hôpital-des-Soeurs. As the shadow in front of her grew longer, she looked about with increasing urgency for someone whom she could ask for directions.

Children fled from their approach in fear. Caris was not yet desperate enough to risk getting close to the hungry-looking men. She hoped to come across a woman. There were no young women anywhere, and Caris had a bleak suspicion about the fate they might have met at the hands of the marauding English. Occasionally she saw, in the far distance, a few lonely figures harvesting a field that had escaped burning; but she was reluctant to go too far from the road.

At last they found a wrinkled old woman sitting under an apple tree next to a substantial stone house. She was eating small apples wrenched from the tree long before they were ripe. She looked terrified. Caris dismounted, to seem less intimidating. The old woman tried to hide her poor meal in the folds of her dress, but she seemed not to have the strength to run away.

Caris addressed her politely. 'Good evening, mother. Will this road take us to Hôpital-des-Soeurs, may I ask?'

The woman seemed to pull herself together, and answered intelligently. Pointing in the direction in which they were heading, she said: 'Through the woods and over the hill.'

Caris saw that she had no teeth. It must have been almost impossible to eat unripe apples with your gums, she thought with pity. 'How far?' she asked.

'A long way.'

All distances were long at her age. 'Can we get there by nightfall?'

'On a horse, yes.'

'Thank you, mother.'

'I had a daughter,' said the old woman. 'And two grandsons. Fourteen years and sixteen. Fine boys.'

'I'm very sorry to hear that.'

'The English,' said the old woman. 'May they all burn in Hell.'

Evidently it did not occur to her that Caris and Mair might be English. That answered Caris's question: local people could not tell the nationality of strangers. 'What were the boys' names, mother?'

'Giles and Jean.'

'I will pray for the souls of Giles and Jean.'

'Have you any bread?'

Caris looked around, to make sure there was no one else lurking nearby, ready to pounce, but they were alone. She nodded to Mair, who took from her saddlebag the remains of the loaf and offered it to the old woman.

The woman snatched it from her and began to gnaw it with her gums.

Caris and Mair rode away.

Mair said: 'If we keep giving our food away, we're going to starve.'

'I know,' said Caris. 'But how can you refuse?'

'We can't fulfill our mission if we're dead.'

'But we are nuns, after all,' Caris said with asperity. 'We must help the needy, and leave it to God to decide when it's time for us to die.'

Mair was startled. 'I've never heard you talk like that before.'

'My father hated people who preached about morality. We're all good when it suits us, he used to say: that doesn't count. It's when you want so badly to do something wrong - when you're about to make a fortune from a dishonest deal, or kiss the lovely lips of your neighbor's wife, or tell a lie to get yourself out of terrible trouble - that's when you need the rules. Your integrity is like a sword, he would say: you shouldn't wave it until you're about to put it to the test. Not that he knew anything about swords.'

Mair was silent for a while. She might have been mulling over what Caris had said, or she might simply have given up the argument: Caris was not sure.

Talk of Edmund always made Caris realize how much she missed him. After her mother died he had become the cornerstone of her life. He had always been there, standing at her shoulder, as it were, ready when she needed sympathy and understanding, or shrewd advice, or just information: he had known so much about the world. Now, when she turned in that direction, there was just an empty space.

They passed through a patch of woodland then breasted a rise, as the old woman had forecast. Looking down on a shallow valley, they saw another burned village, the same as all the rest but for a cluster of stone buildings that looked like a small convent. 'This must be Hôpital-des-Soeurs,' said Caris. 'Thank God.'

She realized, as she approached, how used to nunnery life she had become. As they rode down the hill, she found herself looking forward to the ritual washing of hands, a meal taken in silence, bedtime at nightfall, even the sleepy peacefulness of Matins at three o'clock in the morning. After what she had seen today, the security of those gray stone walls was alluring, and she kicked the tired Blackie into a trot.

There was no one moving about the place, but that was not really surprising: it was a small house in a village, and you would not expect the kind of hustle and bustle seen at a major priory such as Kingsbridge. Still, at this time of day there should have been a column of smoke from a kitchen fire as the evening meal was prepared. However, as she came closer she saw further ominous signs, and a sense of dismay slowly engulfed her. The nearest building, which looked like a church, appeared to have no roof. The windows were empty sockets, lacking shutters or glass. Some of the stone walls were blackened, as if by smoke.

The place was silent: no bells, no cries of hostlers or kitchen hands. It was deserted, Caris realized despondently as she reined in. And it had been fired, like every other building in the village. Most of the stone walls were still standing, but the timber roofs had fallen in, doors and other woodwork had burned, and glass windows had shattered in the heat.

Mair said unbelievingly: 'They set fire to a nunnery?'

Caris was equally shocked. She had believed that invading armies invariably left ecclesiastical buildings intact. It was an iron rule, people said. A commander would not hesitate to put to death a soldier who violated a holy place. She had accepted that without question. 'So much for chivalry,' she said.

They dismounted and walked, stepping cautiously around charred beams and scorched rubble, to the domestic quarters. As they approached the kitchen door, Mair gave a shriek and said: 'Oh, God, what's that?'

Caris knew the answer. 'It's a dead nun.' The corpse on the ground was naked, but had the cropped hair of a nun. The body had somehow survived the fire. The woman was about a week dead. The birds had already eaten her eyes, and parts of her face had been nibbled by some scavenging animal.

Also, her breasts had been cut off with a knife.

Mair said in amazement: 'Did the
English
do this?'

'Well, it wasn't the French.'

'Our soldiers have foreigners fighting alongside them, don't they? Welshmen and Germans and so on. Perhaps it was them.'

'They're all under the orders of our king,' Caris said with grim disapprobation. 'He brought them here. What they do is his responsibility.'

They stared at the hideous sight. As they looked, a mouse came out of the corpse's mouth. Mair screamed and turned away.

Caris hugged her. 'Calm down,' she said firmly, but she stroked Mair's back to comfort her. 'Come on,' she said after a moment. 'Let's get away from here.'

They returned to their horses. Caris resisted an impulse to bury the dead nun: if they delayed, they would still be here at nightfall. But where were they to go? They had planned to spend the night here. 'We'll go back to the old woman with the apple tree,' she said. 'Her house is the only intact building we've seen since we left Caen.' She glanced anxiously at the setting sun. 'If we push the horses, we can be there before it's full dark.'

They urged their tired ponies forward, and headed back along the road. Directly ahead of them the sun sank all too quickly below the horizon. The last of the light was fading when they arrived back at the house by the apple tree.

The old woman was happy to see them, expecting them to share their food, which they did, eating in the dark. Her name was Jeanne. There was no fire, but the weather was mild, and the three women rolled up side by side in their blankets. Not fully trusting their hostess, Caris and Mair lay down clutching the saddlebags that contained their food.

Caris lay awake for a while. She was pleased to be on the move after such a long delay in Portsmouth, and they had made good progress in the last two days. If she could find Bishop Richard, she felt sure he would force Godwyn to repay the nuns' money. He was no paragon of integrity, but he was open-minded, and in his lackadaisical way he dispensed justice evenhandedly. Godwyn had not had things all his own way even in the witchcraft trial. She felt sure she could persuade Richard to give her a letter ordering Godwyn to sell priory assets in order to give back the stolen cash.

But she was worried about her safety and Mair's. Her assumption that soldiers would leave nuns alone had been quite wrong: what they had seen at Hôpital-des-Soeurs had made that clear. She and Mair needed a disguise.

When she woke up at first light, she said to Jeanne: 'Your grandsons - do you still have their clothes?'

The old woman opened a wooden chest. 'Take what you want,' she said. 'I have no one to give them to.' She picked up a bucket and went off to fetch water.

Caris began to sort through the garments in the chest. Jeanne had not asked for payment. Clothes had little monetary value after so many people had died, she guessed.

Mair said: 'What are you up to?'

'Nuns aren't safe,' Caris said. 'We're going to become pages in the service of a minor lord - Pierre,
sieur
of Longchamp in Brittany. Pierre is a common name and there must be lots of places called Longchamp. Our master has been captured by the English, and our mistress has sent us to find him and negotiate his ransom.'

'All right,' Mair said eagerly.

'Giles and Jean were fourteen and sixteen, so with luck their clothes will fit us.'

Caris picked out a tunic, leggings, and a cape with a hood, all in the dull brown of undyed wool. Mair found a similar outfit in green, with short sleeves and an undershirt. Women did not usually wear underdrawers, but men did, and fortunately Jeanne had lovingly washed the linen garments of her dead family. Caris and Mair could keep their own shoes: the practical footwear of nuns was no different from what men wore.

'Shall we put them on?' said Mair.

They pulled off their nuns' robes. Caris had never seen Mair undressed, and she could not resist a peek. Her companion's naked body took her breath away. Mair's skin seemed to glow like a pink pearl. Her breasts were generous, with pale girlish nipples, and she had a luxuriant bush of fair pubic hair. Caris was suddenly conscious that her own body was not as beautiful. She looked away, and quickly began to put on the clothes she had chosen.

She pulled the tunic over her head. It was just like a woman's dress except that it stopped at the knee instead of the ankles. She pulled up the linen underdrawers and the leggings, then put her shoes and belt back on.

Mair said: 'How do I look?'

Caris studied her. Mair had put a boy's cap over her short blond hair, and tilted it at an angle. She was grinning. 'You look so happy!' Caris said in surprise.

'I've always liked boys' clothes.' Mair swaggered up and down the small room. 'This is how they walk,' she said. 'Always taking more space than they need.' It was such an accurate imitation that Caris burst out laughing.

Caris was struck by a thought. 'Are we going to have to pee standing up?'

'I can do it, but not in undershorts - too inaccurate.'

Caris giggled. 'We can't leave off the drawers - a sudden flurry of wind could expose our...pretenses.'

Mair laughed. Then she began to stare at Caris in a way that was strange but not entirely unfamiliar, looking her up and down, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze.

'What are you doing?' said Caris.

'This is how men look at women, as if they own us. But be careful - if you do it to a man, he becomes aggressive.'

'This could be more difficult than I thought.'

'You're too beautiful,' Mair said. 'You need a dirty face.' She went to the fireplace and blackened her hand with soot. Then she smeared it on Caris's face. Her touch was like a caress. My face isn't beautiful, Caris thought; no one ever judged it so - except Merthin, of course...

'Too much,' Mair said after a minute, and wiped some off with her other hand. 'That's better.' She smeared Caris's hand and said: 'Now do me.'

Caris spread a faint smudge on Mair's jawline and throat, making it look as if she might have a light beard. It felt very intimate, to be looking so hard at her face, and touching her skin so softly. She dirtied Mair's forehead and cheeks. Mair looked like a pretty boy - but she did not look like a woman.

They studied one another. A smile played on the red bow of Mair's lips. Caris felt a sense of anticipation, as if something momentous was about to happen. Then a voice said: 'Where are the nuns?'

They both turned around guiltily. Jeanne stood in the doorway, holding a heavy bucket of fresh water, looking frightened. 'What have you done to the nuns?' she said.

Caris and Mair burst out laughing, and then Jeanne recognized them. 'How you have changed yourselves!' she exclaimed.

They drank some of the water, and Caris shared out the rest of the smoked fish for breakfast. It was a good sign, she thought as they ate, that Jeanne had not recognized them. If they were careful, perhaps they could get away with this.

They took their leave of Jeanne and rode off. As they breasted the rise before Hôpital-des-Soeurs, the sun came up directly ahead of them, casting a red light on the nunnery, making the ruins look as if they were still burning. Caris and Mair trotted quickly through the village, trying not to think about the mutilated corpse of the nun lying there in the debris, and rode on into the sunrise.

47

By Tuesday, August 22, the English army was on the run.

Ralph Fitzgerald was not sure how it had happened. They had stormed across Normandy from west to east, looting and burning, and no one had been able to withstand them. Ralph had been in his element. On the march, a soldier could take anything he saw - food, jewelry, women - and kill any man who stood in his way. It was how life ought to be lived.