World Without End (42 page)

'Ah, now we come to it. What did you tell him?'

'That you would expect him to listen to one who was his cousin, his sponsor, and his earl.'

'And he was too pigheaded to accept that, I suppose. Right. That settles it. I shall nominate that fat friar. Now, get out of my sight.'

Godwyn had to hide his elation as he bowed out of the room. The penultimate stage of his plan had worked perfectly. Earl Roland had not the least suspicion of how he had been nudged into nominating the most hopeless candidate Godwyn could think of.

Now for the final step.

He left the hospital and entered the cloisters. It was the hour of study before the midday service of Sext, and most of the monks were standing or sitting around reading, being read to, or meditating. Godwyn spotted Theodoric, his young ally, and summoned him with a jerk of the head.

In a low voice, he said: 'Earl Roland has nominated Friar Murdo as prior.'

Theodoric said loudly: 'What?'

'Hush.'

'It's impossible!'

'Of course it is.'

'No one will vote for him.'

'That's why I'm pleased.'

Understanding dawned on Theodoric's face. 'Oh...I see. So it's good for us, really.'

Godwyn wondered why he always had to explain these things, even to intelligent men. No one saw below the surface, except him and his mother. 'Go around telling everyone - quietly. No need to show your outrage. They'll get angry enough without encouragement.'

'Should I say that this is good for Thomas?'

'Absolutely not.'

'Right,' said Theodoric. 'I understand.'

He evidently did not, but Godwyn felt he could be trusted to follow instructions.

Godwyn left him and went in search of Philemon. He found him sweeping out the refectory. 'Do you know where Murdo is?' he asked.

'Probably in the kitchen.'

'Find him and ask him to meet you in the prior's house when all the monks are in church for Sext. I don't want anyone to see you there with him.'

'All right. What do I tell him?'

'First of all, you say: 'Brother Murdo, no one must ever know that I told you this.' Is that clear?'

'No one must ever know that I told you this. All right.'

'Then show him the charter we found. You remember where it is - in the bedroom beside the prie-dieu, there's a chest with a ginger-colored leather wallet inside.'

'Is that all?'

'Point out that the land Thomas brought to the priory belonged originally to Queen Isabella, and that this fact has been kept secret for ten years.'

Philemon looked puzzled. 'But we don't know what Thomas is trying to hide.'

'No. But there's always a reason for a secret.'

'Don't you think Murdo will try to use this information against Thomas?'

'Of course.'

'What will Murdo do?'

'I don't know but, whatever it is, it's sure to be bad for Thomas.'

Philemon frowned. 'I thought we were supposed to be helping Thomas.'

Godwyn smiled. 'That's what everyone thinks.'

The bell rang for Sext.

Philemon went off in search of Murdo, and Godwyn joined the rest of the monks in church. In unison with the others he said: 'Oh, God, incline unto mine aid.' On this occasion he prayed with unusual earnestness. Despite the confidence he had shown Philemon, he knew he was gambling. He had staked everything on Thomas's secret, but he did not know what the face of the card would show when he turned it up.

However, it was clear he had succeeded in stirring up the monks. They were restless and talkative, and Carlus had to call for quiet twice during the psalms. They disliked friars in general, for taking an attitude of moral superiority on the question of earthly possessions while, at the same time, sponging off those they condemned. And they disliked Murdo in particular for being pompous, greedy, and drunk. They would have anyone rather than him.

As they left the church after the service, Simeon spoke to Godwyn. 'We cannot have the friar,' he said.

'I agree.'

'Carlus and I will not be putting forward another name. If the monks appear divided, the earl will be able to present his candidate as a necessary compromise. We must sink our differences and rally round Thomas. If we show the world a united front, it will be difficult for the earl to oppose us.'

Godwyn stopped and faced Simeon. 'Thank you, Brother,' he said, forcing himself to look humble and hide the exultation he felt.

'We're doing it for the good of the priory.'

'I know. But I appreciate your generosity of spirit.'

Simeon nodded and walked away.

Godwyn smelled victory.

The monks went into the refectory for dinner. Murdo joined them. He missed services, but not meals. All monasteries had a general rule that any monk or friar was welcomed at the table - though few people exploited the practice as thoroughly as Murdo. Godwyn studied his face. The friar looked excited, as if he had news he was bursting to share. However, he contained himself while dinner was served, and remained silent throughout the meal, listening to a novice read.

The passage chosen was the story of Susanna and the Elders. Godwyn disapproved: the story was too sexy to be read aloud in a celibate community. But today even the attempts of two lascivious old men to blackmail a woman into having sex with them failed to capture the monks' attention. They kept whispering among themselves, looking sidelong at Murdo.

When the food was finished, and the prophet Daniel had saved Susanna from execution by interrogating the elders separately and showing that they told inconsistent stories, the monks got ready to leave. At that moment, Murdo spoke to Thomas.

'When you came here, Brother Thomas, you had a sword wound, I believe.'

He spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, and the other monks stopped to listen.

Thomas looked at him stonily. 'Yes.'

'The wound that eventually caused you to lose your left arm. I wonder, did you receive that wound in the service of Queen Isabella?'

Thomas turned pale. 'I've been a monk of Kingsbridge for ten years. My previous life is forgotten.'

Murdo carried on unperturbed. 'I ask because of the parcel of land that you brought with you when you joined the priory. A very productive little village in Norfolk. Five hundred acres. Near Lynn - where the queen lives.'

Godwyn interrupted, pretending to be indignant. 'What does an outsider know of our property?'

'Oh, I've read the charter,' Murdo said. 'These things aren't secret.'

Godwyn looked at Carlus and Simeon, sitting side by side. Both men looked startled. As subprior and treasurer, they knew already. They must be wondering how Murdo had got sight of the deed. Simeon opened his mouth to speak.

Murdo said: 'Or, at least, they're not supposed to be secret.'

Simeon closed his mouth again. If he demanded to know how Murdo had found out, he would himself face questions about why he had kept the secret.

Murdo went on: 'And the farm at Lynn was donated to the priory by...' He paused for dramatic effect. 'Queen Isabella,' he finished.

Godwyn looked around. There was consternation among the monks, all but Carlus and Simeon, who both looked stone-faced.

Friar Murdo leaned across the table. Green herbs from the dinnertime stew adhered to his teeth. 'I ask you again,' he said aggressively. 'Did you receive your wound in the service of Queen Isabella?'

Thomas said: 'Everyone knows what I did before I was a monk. I was a knight, I fought battles, I killed men. I have confessed and received absolution.'

'A monk may put his past behind him - but the prior of Kingsbridge carries a heavier burden. He may be asked whom he killed, and why, and - most importantly - what reward he received.'

Thomas stared back at Murdo without speaking. Godwyn tried to read Thomas's face. It was rigidly set in an expression of some strong emotion - but what? There was no sign of guilt, or even embarrassment: whatever the secret was, Thomas did not feel he had done something shameful. The look was not rage, either. Murdo's sneering tone might have provoked many men to violence, but Thomas did not look as if he were about to lash out. No, what Thomas seemed to be feeling was something different, colder than embarrassment, quieter than rage. It was, Godwyn realized at last, fear. Thomas was afraid. Of Murdo? Hardly. No, he feared something that might happen because of Murdo, some consequence of Murdo's having discovered the secret.

Murdo continued like a dog with a bone. 'If you don't answer the question here in this room, it will be asked elsewhere.'

Godwyn's calculations called for Thomas to give up at this point. But it was not a certainty. Thomas was tough. For ten years he had shown himself to be quiet, patient, and resilient. When approached by Godwyn to stand as prior, he must have decided that the past could be buried. He must now realize he had been wrong. But how would he react to that realization? Would he see his mistake and back away? Or would he grit his teeth and see it through? Godwyn bit his lip and waited.

Thomas spoke at last. 'I think you may be right about the question being asked elsewhere,' he said. 'Or, at least, I think you will do everything in your power, no matter how unbrotherly or dangerous, to make your forecast come true.'

'I don't know if you're implying - '

'You need say no more!' Thomas said, rising abruptly to his feet. Murdo recoiled. Thomas's height and soldierly physique, combined with a sharp rise in his voice, achieved the rare result of silencing the friar.

'I have never answered questions about my past,' Thomas said. His voice was quiet again, and every monk in the room was still and silent, straining to hear. 'I never will.' He pointed at Murdo. 'But this...slug...makes me realize that if I became your prior, such questions would never cease. A monk may keep his past to himself, but a prior is different, I now see. A prior may have enemies, and any mystery is a weakness. And then, of course, by the leader's vulnerability the institution itself is threatened. My brain should have led me where Friar Murdo's malice led him - to the conclusion that a man who does not want to answer questions about his past cannot be a prior. Therefore - '

Young Theodoric said: 'No!'

'Therefore I now withdraw my candidacy in the coming election.'

Godwyn breathed a long sigh of satisfaction. He had achieved his object.

Thomas sat down; Murdo looked smug; and everyone else tried to speak at the same time.

Carlus banged the table, and slowly they quieted down. He said: 'Friar Murdo, as you don't have a vote in this election, I must ask you to leave us now.'

Murdo slowly walked out, looking triumphant.

When he had gone, Carlus said: 'This is a catastrophe - Murdo the only candidate!'

Theodoric said: 'Thomas cannot be allowed to withdraw.'

'But he has!'

Simeon said: 'There must be another candidate.'

'Yes,' said Carlus. 'And I propose Simeon.'

'No!' said Theodoric.

'Let me speak,' said Simeon. 'We must choose the one among us who is most certain to unite the brethren against Murdo. That is not myself. I know I don't have enough backing among the youngsters. I think we all know who would gather most support from all sections.'

He turned and looked at Godwyn.

'Yes!' Theodoric said. 'Godwyn!'

The younger monks cheered, and the older ones looked resigned. Godwyn shook his head, as if reluctant even to respond to them. They began to bang the tables and chant his name: 'God-wyn! God-wyn!'

At last he stood up. His heart was full of elation, but he kept his face straight. He held up his hands for quiet. Then, when the room was silent, he said in a low, modest voice: 'I shall obey the will of my brethren.'

The room erupted in cheering.

23

Godwyn delayed the election. Earl Roland was going to be angry at the result, and Godwyn wanted to give him as little time as possible to fight the decision before the wedding.

The truth was that Godwyn was frightened. He was going up against one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. There were only thirteen earls. Together with about forty lesser barons, twenty-one bishops, and a handful of others, they governed England. When the king summoned Parliament, they were the Lords, the aristocratic group, by contrast with the Commons, who were knights, gentry, and merchants. The earl of Shiring was one of the more powerful and prominent men of his class. And yet Brother Godwyn, age thirty-one, son of the widow Petranilla, who had risen no higher than sacrist of Kingsbridge Priory, was in conflict with the earl - and, what was even more dangerous, he was winning.

So he dithered - but, six days before the wedding, Roland put his foot down and said: 'Tomorrow!'

Guests were already arriving for the nuptials. The earl of Monmouth had moved into the hospital, using the private room next to Roland's. Lord William and Lady Philippa had had to remove to the Bell Inn. Bishop Richard was sharing the prior's house with Carlus. Lesser barons and knights filled the taverns, along with their wives and children, squires and servants and horses. The town enjoyed a surge of spending, much needed after the disappointing profits from the rain-drenched Fleece Fair.

On the morning of the election Godwyn and Simeon went to the treasury, a small windowless room behind a heavy oak door off the library. The precious ornaments used for special services were there, locked in an ironbound chest. Simeon as treasurer held the keys.

The election was a foregone conclusion, or so thought everyone except Earl Roland. No one suspected Godwyn's hidden hand. He had suffered one tense moment, when Thomas had wondered aloud how Friar Murdo got to know about the Isabella charter. 'He can't have discovered it accidentally - he's never been seen reading in the library, and anyway that deed isn't kept with the others,' Thomas had said to Godwyn. 'Someone must have told him about it. But who? Only Carlus and Simeon knew of it. Why would they have let the secret out? They didn't want to help Murdo.' Godwyn had said nothing, and Thomas had remained baffled.

Godwyn and Simeon dragged the treasure chest into the light of the library. The cathedral jewels were wrapped in blue cloth and cushioned in protective sheets of leather. As they sorted through the box, Simeon unwrapped some of the items, admiring them and checking that they were undamaged. There was a plaque a few inches wide made of ivory, delicately carved, showing the crucifixion of St. Adolphus, at which the saint had asked God to grant good health and long life to all those who venerated his memory. There were numerous candlesticks and crucifixes, all of gold or silver, most decorated with precious stones. In the strong light from the tall library windows the gems glittered and the gold glowed. These things had been given to the priory, over the centuries, by devout worshippers. Their combined value was awesome: there was more wealth here than most people ever saw in one place.