World Without End

He returned to the old city just as the gate was closing. There seemed to be a huge party going on at the White Horse i

“Young Davey’s got the plague, and he has no heirs to bequeath the i

He and many other people had clearly been working on the same principle, and dozens of them were reeling drunk. Merthin pushed his way into the crowd. Someone was banging a drum and others were dancing. He saw a circle of men and looked over their shoulders to see what they were hiding. A very drunk woman of about twenty years was bending over a table while a man entered her from behind. Several other men were clearly waiting their turn. Merthin turned away in distaste. At the side of the building, half concealed by empty barrels, his eye lit on Ozzie Ostler, a wealthy horse dealer, kneeling in front of a younger man and sucking his penis. That was against the law, in fact the penalty was death, but clearly no one cared. Ozzie, a married man who was on the parish guild, caught Merthin’s eye but did not stop, in fact he continued with more enthusiasm, as if excited by being watched. Merthin shook his head, amazed. Just outside the tavern door was a table laden with partly eaten food: joints of roasted meat, smoked fish, puddings and cheese. A dog was standing on the table tearing at a ham. A man was throwing up into a bowl of stew. Beside the tavern door Davey Whitehorse sat in a big wooden chair with a huge cup of wine. He was sneezing and sweating, and the characteristic trickle of blood came from his nose, but he was looking around and cheering the revellers on. He seemed to want to kill himself with drink before the plague finished him off.

Merthin felt nauseated. He left the scene and hurried back to the priory.

To his surprise, he found Caris up and dressed. “I’m better,” she said. “I’m going to return to my usual work tomorrow.” Seeing his sceptical look, she added: “Sister Oonagh said I could.”

“If you’re taking orders from someone else, you can’t be back to normal,” he said; and she laughed. The sight brought tears to his eyes. She had not laughed for two weeks, and there had been moments when he had wondered whether he would ever hear the sound again.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

He told her about his walk around the town, and the disturbing sights he had seen. “None of it was very wicked,” he said. “I just wonder what they’ll do next. When all their inhibitions have gone, will they start to kill one another?”

A kitchen hand brought a tureen of soup for their supper. Caris sipped warily. For a long time, all food had made her feel sick. However, she seemed to find the leek soup palatable, and drank a bowlful.

When the maid had cleared away, Caris said: “While I was ill, I thought a lot about dying.”

“You didn’t ask for a priest.”

“Whether I’ve been good or bad, I don’t think God will be fooled by a last-minute change of heart.”

“What, then?”

“I asked myself if there was anything I really regretted.”

“And was there?”

“Lots of things. I’m bad friends with my sister. I haven’t any children. I lost that scarlet coat my father gave my mother on the day she died.”

“How did you lose it?”

“I wasn’t allowed to bring it with me when I entered the nu

“What was your biggest regret?”

“There were two. I haven’t built my hospital; and I’ve spent too little time in bed with you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, the second one is easily rectified.”

“I know.”

“What about the nuns?”

“Nobody cares any more. You saw what it was like in the town. Here in the nu

Merthin frowned. “It’s odd that they do that, and still go to church services in the middle of the night. How do they reconcile the two things?”

“Listen. St Luke’s Gospel says: ‘He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none.’ How do you think the bishop of Shiring reconciles that with his chest full of robes? Everybody takes what they like from the teachings of the church, and ignores the parts that don’t suit them.”

“And you?”

“I do the same, but I’m honest about it. So I’m going to live with you, as your wife, and if anyone questions me I shall say that these are strange times.” She got up, went to the door and barred it. “You’ve been sleeping here for two weeks. Don’t move out.”

“You don’t have to lock me in,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll stay voluntarily.” He put his arms around her.

She said: “We started something a few minutes before I fainted. Tilly interrupted us.”

“You were feverish.”

“In that way, I still am.”

“Perhaps we should pick up where we left off.”

“We could go to bed first.”

“All right.”

Holding hands, they went up the stairs.

71

Ralph and his men hid in the forest north of Kingsbridge, waiting. It was May, and the evenings were long. When night fell Ralph encouraged the others to take a nap while he sat up, watching.

With him were Alan Fernhill and four hired men, soldiers demobilized from the king’s army, fighters who had failed to find their niche in peacetime. Alan had hired them at the Red Lion in Gloucester. They did not know who Ralph was and had never seen him in daylight. They would do as they were told, take their money, and ask no questions.

Ralph stayed awake, noting the passing of time automatically, as he had when with the king in France. He had found that, if he tried too hard to figure out how many hours had gone by, he became doubtful; but, if he simply guessed, what came into his head was always right. Monks used a burning candle, marked with rings for the hours, or an hourglass with sand or water trickling through a narrow fu

He sat very still, with his back to a tree, staring into the low fire they had built. He could hear the rustle of small animals in the undergrowth and the occasional hoot of a predatory owl. He never felt so calm as in the waiting hours before action. There was quiet, and darkness, and time to think. The knowledge of danger to come, which made most men jumpy, actually soothed him.

The main risk tonight did not in fact come from the hazards of fighting. There would be some hand-to-hand combat, but the enemy would consist of fat townsmen or soft-ski

But if he succeeded, he would be the earl of Shiring.

When he judged it was two hours past midnight, he roused the others.

They left their tethered horses and walked out of the woodland and along the road to the city. Alan was carrying the equipment, as he always had when they fought in France. He had a short ladder, a coil of rope, and a grappling iron they had used when attacking city walls in Normandy. In his belt were a mason’s chisel and a hammer. They might not need these tools, but they had learned that it was best to be prepared.

Alan also had several large sacks, rolled up tightly and tied with string in a bundle.

When they came within sight of the city, Ralph gave out hoods with holes for the eyes and mouth, and they all put them on. Ralph also wore a mitten on his left hand, to conceal the tell-tale stumps of his three missing fingers. He was completely unrecognizable – unless, of course, he should be captured.