Epic Historial Collection (300 page)

“All women should be subservient to men, in theory,” Merthin said with a grin. “Some defy convention, though.”

“I can't think who you mean.”

Merthin's mood changed abruptly. “What a world,” he said. “A man murders his wife, and the king elevates him to the highest rank of the nobility.”

“We know these things happen,” she said. “But it's shocking when it's your own family. Poor Tilly.”

Merthin rubbed his eyes as if to erase visions. “Why have you brought me here?”

“To talk about the final element in my plan: the new hospital.”

“Ah. I was wondering…”

“Could you build it here?”

Merthin looked around. “I don't see why not. It's a sloping site, but the entire priory is built on a slope, and we're not talking about putting up another cathedral. One story or two?”

“One. But I want the building divided into medium-size rooms, each containing just four or six beds, so that diseases don't spread so quickly from one patient to everyone else in the place. It must have its own pharmacy—a large, well-lit room—for the preparation of medicines, with a herb garden outside. And a spacious, airy latrine with piped water, very easy to keep clean. In fact the whole building must have lots of light and space. But, most importantly, it has to be at least a hundred yards from the rest of the priory. We have to separate the sick from the well. That's the key feature.”

“I'll do some drawings in the morning.”

She glanced around and, seeing that they were not observed, she kissed him. “This is going to be the culmination of my life's work, do you realize that?”

“You're thirty-two—isn't it a little early to be talking about the culmination of your life's work?”

“It hasn't happened yet.”

“It won't take long. I'll start on it while I'm digging the foundations for the new tower. Then, as soon as the hospital is built, I can switch my masons to work on the cathedral.”

They started to walk back. She could tell that his real enthusiasm was for the tower. “How tall will it be?”

“Four hundred and five feet.”

“How high is Salisbury?”

“Four hundred and four.”

“So it
will
be the highest building in England.”

“Until someone builds a higher one, yes.”

So he would achieve his ambition too, she thought. She put her arm through his as they walked to the prior's palace. She felt happy. That was strange, wasn't it? Thousands of Kingsbridge people had died of the plague, and Tilly had been murdered, but Caris felt hopeful. It was because she had a plan, of course. She always felt better when she had a plan. The new walls, the constabulary, the tower, the borough charter, and most of all the new hospital: how would she find time to organize it all?

Arm in arm with Merthin, she walked into the prior's house. Bishop Henri and Sir Gregory were there, deep in conversation with a third man who had his back to Caris. There was something unpleasantly familiar about the newcomer, even from behind, and Caris felt a tremor of unease. Then he turned around and she saw his face: sardonic, triumphant, sneering, and full of malice.

It was Philemon.

74

B
ishop Henri and the other guests left Kingsbridge the next morning.

Caris, who had been sleeping in the nuns' dormitory, returned to the prior's palace after breakfast and went upstairs to her room.

She found Philemon there.

It was the second time in two days that she had been startled by men in her bedroom. However, Philemon was alone and fully dressed, standing by the window looking at a book. Seeing him in profile, she realized that the trials of the last six months had left him thinner.

She said: “What are you doing here?”

He pretended to be surprised by the question. “This is the prior's house. Why should I not be here?”

“Because it's not your room!”

“I am the subprior of Kingsbridge. I have never been dismissed from that post. The prior is dead. Who else should live here?”

“Me, of course.”

“You're not even a monk.”

“Bishop Henri made me acting prior—and last night, despite your return, he did not dismiss me from this post. I am your superior, and you must obey me.”

“But you're a nun, and you must live with the nuns, not with the monks.”

“I've been living here for months.”

“Alone?”

Suddenly Caris saw that she was on shaky ground. Philemon knew that she and Merthin had been living more or less as man and wife. They had been discreet, not flaunting their relationship, but people guessed these things, and Philemon had a wild beast's instinct for weakness.

She considered. She could insist on Philemon's leaving the building immediately. If necessary, she could have him thrown out: Thomas and the novices would obey her, not Philemon. But what then? Philemon would do all he could to call attention to what Merthin and she were up to in the palace. He would create a controversy, and leading townspeople would take sides. Most would support Caris, almost whatever she did, such was her reputation; but there would be some who would censure her behavior. The conflict would weaken her authority and undermine everything else she wanted to do. It would be better to admit defeat.

“You may have the bedroom,” she said. “But not the hall. I use that for meetings with leading townspeople and visiting dignitaries. When you're not attending services in the church, you will be in the cloisters, not here. A subprior does not have a palace.” She left without giving him a chance to argue. She had saved face, but he had won.

She had been reminded last night of how wily Philemon was. Questioned by Bishop Henri, he seemed to have a plausible explanation for everything dishonorable that he had done. How did he justify deserting his post at the priory and running away to St.-John-in-the-Forest? The monastery had been in danger of extinction, and the only way to save it had been to flee, in accordance with the saying “Leave early, go far, and stay long.” It was still, by general consent, the only sure way to avoid the plague. Their sole mistake had been to remain too long in Kingsbridge. Why, then, had no one informed the bishop of this plan? Philemon was sorry, but he and the other monks were only obeying the orders of Prior Godwyn. Then why had he run away from St. John when the plague caught up with them there? He had been called by God to minister to the people of Monmouth, and Godwyn had given him permission to leave. How come Brother Thomas did not know about this permission, in fact denied firmly that it had ever been given? The other monks had not been told of Godwyn's decision for fear it would cause jealousy. Why, then, had Philemon left Monmouth? He had met Friar Murdo, who had told him that Kingsbridge Priory needed him, and he regarded this as a further message from God.

Caris concluded that Philemon had run from the plague until he had realized he must be one of those fortunate people who were not prone to catch it. Then he had learned from Murdo that Caris was sleeping with Merthin in the prior's palace, and he had immediately seen how he could exploit that situation to restore his own fortunes. God had nothing to do with it.

But Bishop Henri had believed Philemon's tale. Philemon was careful to appear humble to the point of obsequiousness. Henri did not know the man, and failed to see beneath the surface.

She left Philemon in the palace and walked to the cathedral. She climbed the long, narrow spiral staircase in the northwest tower and found Merthin in the mason's loft, drawing designs on the tracing floor in the light from the tall north-facing windows.

She looked with interest at what he had done. It was always difficult to read plans, she found. The thin lines scratched in the mortar had to be transformed, in the viewer's imagination, into thick walls of stone with windows and doors.

Merthin regarded her expectantly as she studied his work. He was obviously anticipating a big reaction.

At first she was baffled by the drawing. It looked nothing like a hospital. She said: “But you've drawn…a cloister!”

“Exactly,” he said. “Why should a hospital be a long narrow room like the nave of a church? You want the place to be light and airy. So, instead of cramming the rooms together, I've set them around a quadrangle.”

She visualized it: the square of grass, the building around, the doors leading to rooms of four or six beds, the nuns moving from room to room in the shelter of the covered arcade. “It's inspired!” she said. “I would never have thought of it, but it will be perfect.”

“You can grow herbs in the quadrangle, where the plants will have sunshine but be sheltered from the wind. There will be a fountain in the middle of the garden, for fresh water, and it can drain through the latrine wing to the south and into the river.”

She kissed him exuberantly. “You're so clever!” Then she recalled the news she had to tell him.

He must have seen her face fall, for he said: “What's the matter?”

“We have to move out of the palace,” she said. She told him about her conversation with Philemon, and why she had given in. “I foresee major conflicts with Philemon—I don't want this to be the one on which I make my stand.”

“That makes sense,” he said. His tone of voice was reasonable, but she knew by his face that he was angry. He stared at his drawing, though he was not really thinking about it.

“And there's something else,” she said. “We're telling everyone they have to live as normally as possible—order in the streets, a return to real family life, no more drunken orgies. We ought to set an example.”

He nodded. “A prioress living with her lover is about as abnormal as could be, I suppose,” he said. Once again his equable tone was contradicted by his furious expression.

“I'm very sorry,” she said.

“So am I.”

“But we don't want to risk everything we both want—your tower, my hospital, the future of the town.”

“No. But we're sacrificing our life together.”

“Not entirely. We'll have to sleep separately, which is painful, but we'll have plenty of opportunities to be together.”

“Where?”

She shrugged. “Here, for example.” An imp of mischief possessed her. She walked away from him across the room, slowly lifting the skirt of her robe, and went to the doorway at the top of the stairs. “I don't see anyone coming,” she said as she raised her dress to her waist.

“You can hear them, anyway,” he said. “The door at the foot of the stairs makes a noise.”

She bent over, pretending to look down the staircase. “Can you see anything unusual, from where you are?”

He chuckled. She could usually pull him out of an angry mood by being playful. “I can see something winking at me,” he laughed.

She walked back toward him, still holding her robe up around her waist, smiling triumphantly. “You see, we don't have to give up everything.”

He sat on a stool and pulled her toward him. She straddled his thighs and lowered herself onto his lap. “You'd better get a straw mattress up here,” she said, her voice thick with desire.

He nuzzled her breasts. “How would I explain the need for a bed in a mason's loft?” he murmured.

“Just say that masons need somewhere soft to put their tools.”

 

A week later Caris and Thomas Langley went to inspect the rebuilding of the city wall. It was a big job but simple and, once the line had been agreed, the actual stonework could be done by inexperienced young masons and apprentices. Caris was glad the project had begun so promptly. It was necessary that the town be able to defend itself in troubled times—but she had a more important motive. Getting the townspeople to guard against disruption from outside would lead naturally, she hoped, to a new awareness of the need for order and good behavior among themselves.

She found it deeply ironic that fate had cast her in this role. She had never been a rule keeper. She had always despised orthodoxy and flouted convention. She felt she had the right to make her own rules. Now here she was clamping down on merrymakers. It was a miracle that no one had yet called her a hypocrite.

The truth was that some people flourished in an atmosphere of anarchy, and others did not. Merthin was one of those who were better off without constraints. She recalled the carving he had made of the wise and foolish virgins. It was different from anything anyone had seen before—so Elfric had made that his excuse for destroying it. Regulation only served to handicap Merthin. But men such as Barney and Lou, the slaughterhouse workers, had to have laws to stop them maiming one another in drunken fights.

All the same her position was shaky. When you were trying to enforce law and order, it was difficult to explain that the rules did not actually apply to you personally.

She was mulling over this as she returned with Thomas to the priory. Outside the cathedral she found Sister Joan pacing up and down in a state of agitation. “I'm so angry with Philemon,” she said. “He claims you have stolen his money, and I must give it back!”