World Without End

After three days the whites of her eyes turned the colour of mustard, and Sister Oonagh said she had the yellow jaundice. Oonagh prepared an infusion of herbs sweetened with honey, which Caris drank hot three times a day. The fever receded, but Caris remained weak. She inquired anxiously about Tilly every day, and Oonagh answered her questions, but refused to discuss any other aspect of life in the nu

Merthin did not leave the prior’s palace. In the daytime he sat downstairs, close enough to hear her call, and his employees came to him for instructions about the various buildings they were putting up or tearing down. At night he lay on a mattress beside her and slept lightly, waking every time her breathing changed or she turned over in her bed. Lolla slept in the next room.

At the end of the first week, Ralph showed up.

“My wife has disappeared,” he said as he walked into the hall of the prior’s palace.

Merthin looked up from a drawing he was making on a large slate. “Hello, brother,” he said. Ralph looked shifty, he thought. Clearly he had mixed feelings about Tilly’s disappearance. He was not fond of her, but on the other hand no man likes his wife to run away.

Perhaps I have mixed feelings, too, Merthin thought guiltily. After all, I did help his wife to leave him.

Ralph sat on a bench. “Have you got any wine? I’m parched.”

Merthin went to the sideboard and poured from a jug. It crossed his mind to say he had no idea where Tilly could be, but his instinct revolted from the idea of lying to his own brother, especially about something so important. Besides, Tilly’s presence at the priory could not be kept secret: too many nuns, novices and employees had seen her here. It was always best to be honest, Merthin thought, except in dire emergency. Handing the cup to Ralph he said: “Tilly is here, at the nu

“I thought she might be.” Ralph lifted the cup in his left hand, showing the stumps of his three severed fingers. He took a long draught. “What’s the matter with her?”

“She ran away from you, Ralph.”

“You should have let me know.”

“I feel bad about that. But I couldn’t betray her. She’s frightened of you.”

“Why take sides with her against me? I’m your brother!”

“Because I know you. If she’s scared, there’s probably a reason.”

“This is outrageous.” Ralph was trying to appear indignant, but the act was unconvincing.

Merthin wondered what he really felt.

“We can’t throw her out,” Merthin said. “She’s asked for sanctuary.”

“Gerry’s my son and heir. You can’t keep him from me.”

“Not indefinitely, no. If you start a legal action, I’m sure you’ll win. But you wouldn’t try to separate him from his mother, would you?”

“If he comes home, she will.”

That was probably true. Merthin was casting around for another way of persuading Ralph when Brother Thomas came in, bringing Alan Fernhill with him. With his one hand, Thomas was holding Alan’s arm, as if to prevent him from ru

“I was just looking around,” Alan protested. “I thought the monastery was empty.”

Merthin said: “As you see, it’s not. We’ve got one monk, six novices and a couple of dozen orphan boys.”

Thomas said: “Anyway, he wasn’t in the monastery, he was in the nuns’ cloisters.”

Merthin frowned. He could hear a psalm being sung in the distance. Alan had timed his incursion well: all the nuns and novices were in the cathedral for the service of Sext. Most of the priory buildings were deserted at this hour. Alan had probably been walking around unhindered for some time.

This did not seem like idle curiosity.

Thomas added: “Fortunately, a kitchen hand saw him and came to fetch me out of the church.”

Merthin wondered what Alan had been looking for. Tilly? Surely he would not have dared to snatch her from a nu

Ralph batted the question off to Alan. “What did you think you were doing?” he said wrathfully, though Merthin thought the anger was faked.

Alan shrugged. “Just looking around while I waited for you.”

It was not plausible. Idle men-at-arms waited for their masters in stables and taverns, not cloisters.

Ralph said: “Well… don’t do it again.”

Merthin realized that Ralph was going to stick with this story. I was honest with him, but he’s not being honest with me, he thought sadly. He returned to the more important subject. “Why don’t you leave Tilly be for a while?” he said to Ralph. “She’ll be perfectly all right here. And perhaps, after a while, she’ll realize you mean her no harm, and come back to you.”

“It’s too shaming,” Ralph said.

“Not really. A noblewoman sometimes spends a few weeks at a monastery, if she feels the need to retire from the world for a while.”

“Usually when she’s been widowed, or her husband has gone off to war.”

“Not always, though.”

“When there’s no obvious reason, people always say she wants to get away from her husband.”

“How bad is that? You might like some time away from your wife.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ralph said.

Merthin was startled by this response. He had not expected Ralph to be so easily persuaded. It took him a moment to get over the surprise. Then he said: “That’s it. Give her three months, then come back and talk to her.” Merthin had a feeling that Tilly would never relent, but at least this proposal would postpone the crisis.

“Three months,” said Ralph. “All right.” He stood up to go.

Merthin shook his hand. “How are Mother and Father? I haven’t seen them for months.”

“Getting old. Father doesn’t leave their house now.”

“I’ll come and visit as soon as Caris is better. She’s recovering from yellow jaundice.”

“Give her my best wishes.”

Merthin went to the door and watched Ralph and Alan ride away. He felt deeply disturbed. Ralph was up to something, and it was not simply getting Tilly back.

He returned to his drawing and sat staring at it without seeing it for a long time.

By the end of the second week it was clear that Caris was going to get better. Merthin was exhausted but happy. Feeling like a man reprieved, he put Lolla to bed early and went out for the first time.

It was a mild spring evening, and the sun and balmy air made him light-headed. His own tavern, the Bell, was closed for rebuilding, but the Holly Bush was doing brisk business, customers sitting on benches outside with their tankards. There were so many people out enjoying the weather that Merthin stopped and asked the drinkers if it was a holiday today, thinking he might have lost track of the date. “Every day’s a holiday now,” one said. “What’s the point in working, when we’re all going to die of the plague? Have a cup of ale.”

“No, thanks.” Merthin walked on.

He noticed that many people wore very fancy clothes, elaborate headgear and embroidered tunics that they would not normally have been able to afford. He presumed they had inherited these garments, or perhaps just taken them from wealthy corpses. The effect was a bit nightmarish: velvet hats on filthy hair, gold threads and food stains, ragged hose and jewel-encrusted shoes.

He saw two men dressed all in women’s clothing, floor-length gowns and wimples. They were walking along the main street arm in arm, like merchants’ wives showing off their wealth – but they were unmistakably male, with big hands and feet and hair on their chins. Merthin began to feel disoriented, as if nothing could be relied on any more.

As the dusk thickened, he crossed the bridge to Leper Island. He had built a street of shops and taverns there, between the two parts of the bridge. The work was finished, but the buildings were untenanted, with boards nailed across their doors and windows to keep vagrants out. No one lived there but rabbits. The premises would remain empty until the plague died out and Kingsbridge returned to normal, Merthin supposed. If the plague never went away, they would never be occupied; but, in that eventuality, renting his property would be the least of his worries.