World Without End

“The bishop thinks it’s time for us to ask the king for a charter.”

Gregory nodded. “I believe the king might look favourably on such a plea – especially if it were presented to him in the right way.”

Hoping that her distaste was not showing on her face, she said: “Perhaps you would be kind enough to advise us.”

“May we discuss this in more detail later?”

Gregory would require a bribe, of course, though he would undoubtedly call it a lawyer’s fee. “By all means,” she said, repressing a shudder.

The servants began clearing away the food. Caris looked down at her trencher. She had not eaten anything.

“Our families are related,” Ralph was saying to Lady Philippa. “Not closely, of course,” he added hastily. “But my father is descended from that earl of Shiring who was the son of Lady Aliena and Jack Builder.” He looked across the table at his brother Merthin, the alderman. “I think I inherited the blood of the earls, and my brother that of the builders.”

He looked at Philippa’s face to see how she took that. She did not seem impressed.

“I was brought up in the household of your late father-in-law, Earl Roland,” he went on.

“I remember you as a squire.”

“I served under the earl in the king’s army in France. At the battle of Crécy, I saved the life of the prince of Wales.”

“My goodness, how splendid,” she said politely.

He was trying to get her to see him as an equal, so that it would seem more natural when he told her that she was to be his wife. But he did not appear to be getting through to her. She just looked bored and a bit puzzled by the direction of his conversation.

The dessert was served: sugared strawberries, honey wafers, dates and raisins, and spiced wine. Ralph drained a cup of wine and poured more, hoping that the drink would help him relax with Philippa. He was not sure why he found it difficult to talk to her. Because this was his wife’s funeral? Because Philippa was a countess? Or because he had been hopelessly in love with her for years, and could not believe that now, at last, she really was to be his wife?

“When you leave here, will you go back to Earlscastle?” he asked her.

“Yes. We depart tomorrow.”

“Will you stay there long?”

“Where else would I go?” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“I will come and visit you there, if I may.”

Her response was frosty. “To what end?”

“I want to discuss with you a subject that it would not be appropriate to raise here and now.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I’ll come and see you in the next few days.”

She looked agitated. In a raised voice she said: “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“As I said, it wouldn’t be appropriate to speak of it today.”

“Because this is your wife’s funeral?”

He nodded.

She went pale. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You can’t mean to suggest…”

“I told you, I don’t want to discuss it now.”

“But I must know!” she cried. “Are you pla

He hesitated, shrugged, and then nodded.

“But on what grounds?” she said. “Surely you need the king’s permission!”

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows briefly.

She stood up suddenly. “No!” she said. Everyone around the table looked at her. She stared at Gregory. “Is this true?” she said. “Is the king going to marry me to him?” She jerked a thumb contemptuously at Ralph.

Ralph felt stabbed. He had not expected her to display such revulsion. Was he so repellent?

Gregory looked reproachfully at Ralph. “This was not the moment to raise the matter.”

Philippa cried: “So it’s true! God save me!”

Ralph caught Odila’s eye. She was staring at him in horror. What had he ever done to earn her dislike?

Philippa said: “I can’t bear it.”

“Why?” Ralph said. “What is so wrong? What right have you to look down on me and my family?” He looked around at the company: his brother, his ally Gregory, the bishop, the prioress, minor noblemen and leading citizens. They were all silent, shocked and intrigued by Philippa’s outburst.

Philippa ignored his question. Addressing Gregory, she said: “I will not do it! I will not, do you hear me?” She was white with rage, but tears ran down her cheeks. Ralph thought how beautiful she was, even while she was rejecting and humiliating him so painfully.

Gregory said coolly: “It is not your decision, Lady Philippa, and it certainly is not mine. The king will do as he pleases,”

“You may force me into a wedding dress, and you may march me up the aisle,” Philippa raged. She pointed at Bishop Henri. “But when the bishop asks me if I take Ralph Fitzgerald to be my husband I will not say yes! I will not! Never, never, never!”

She stormed out of the room, and Odila followed.

When the banquet was over, the townspeople returned to their homes, and the important guests went to their rooms to sleep off the feast. Caris supervised the clearing up. She felt sorry for Philippa, profoundly sorry, knowing – as Philippa did not – that Ralph had killed his first wife. But she was concerned about the fate of an entire town, not just one person. Her mind was on her scheme for Kingsbridge. Things had gone better than she imagined. The townspeople had cheered her, and the bishop had agreed to everything she proposed. Perhaps civilization would return to Kingsbridge, despite the plague.

Outside the back door, where there was a pile of meat bones and crusts of bread, she saw Godwyn’s cat, Archbishop, delicately picking at the carcase of a duck. She shooed it away. It scampered a few yards then slowed to a stiff walk, its white-tipped tail arrogantly upstanding.

Deep in thought, she went up the stairs of the palace, thinking of how she would begin implementing the changes agreed to by Henri. Without pausing, she opened the door of the bedroom she shared with Merthin and stepped inside.

For a moment she was disoriented. Two men stood in the middle of the room, and she thought: I must be in the wrong house, and then: I must be in the wrong room, before she remembered that her room, being the best bedroom, had naturally been given to the bishop.

The two men were Henri and his assistant, Canon Claude. It took Caris a moment to realize that they were both naked, with their arms around one another, kissing.

She stared at them in shock. “Oh!” she said.

They had not heard the door. Until she spoke, they did not realize they were observed. When they heard her gasp of surprise they both turned towards her. A look of horrified guilt came over Henri’s face, and his mouth fell open.

“I’m sorry!” Caris said.

The men sprang apart, as if hoping they might be able to deny what was going on; then they remembered they were naked. Henri was plump, with a round belly and fat arms and legs, and grey hair on his chest. Claude was younger and slimmer, with very little body hair except for a blaze of chestnut at his groin. Caris had never before looked at two erect penises at the same time.

“I beg your pardon!” she said, mortified with embarrassment. “My mistake. I forgot.” She realized that she was babbling and they were dumbstruck. It did not matter: nothing that anyone could say would make the situation any better.

Coming to her senses, she backed out of the room and slammed the door.

Merthin walked away from the banquet with Madge Webber. He was fond of this small, chunky woman, with her chin jutting out in front and her bottom jutting out behind. He admired the way she had carried on after her husband and children had died of the plague. She had continued the enterprise, weaving cloth and dyeing it red according to Caris’s recipe. She said to him: “Good for Caris. She’s right, as usual. We can’t go on like this.”