World Without End

She said: “I’d like to have the constable escort Murdo and his followers out of town before the midday service.”

“Philemon will be furious.”

“He shouldn’t have opened the church to them without consulting anyone.” Caris knew there would be trouble, but she could not allow fear of Philemon’s reaction to prevent her doing the right thing for the town. “We’ve got the pope on our side. If we handle this discreetly and move fast, we can solve the problem before Philemon’s had breakfast.”

“All right,” said Merthin. “I’ll try to get the guildsmen together at the Holly Bush.”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

The parish guild was badly depleted, like every other organization in town, but a handful of leading merchants had survived the plague, including Madge Webber, Jake Chepstow and Edward Slaughterhouse. The new constable, John’s son Mungo, attended, and his deputies waited outside for their instructions.

The discussion did not last long. None of the leading citizens had taken part in the orgy, and they ail disapproved of such public displays. The pope’s ruling clinched the matter. Formally, Caris as prior promulgated a by-law forbidding whipping in the streets and public nudity, with violators to be expelled from the town by the constable on the instructions of any three guildsmen. The guild then passed a resolution supporting the new law.

Then Mungo went upstairs and roused Friar Murdo from his bed.

Murdo did not go quietly. Coming down the stairs he raved, he wept, he prayed and he cursed. Two of Mungo’s deputies took him by the arms and half carried him out of the tavern. In the street he became louder. Mungo led the way, and the guildsmen followed. Some of Murdo’s adherents came to protest and were themselves put under escort. A few townspeople tagged along as the group headed down the main street towards Merthin’s bridge. None of the citizens objected to what was being done, and Philemon did not appear. Even some who had flogged themselves yesterday said nothing today, looking a bit shamefaced about it all.

The crowd fell away as the group crossed the bridge. With a reduced audience, Murdo became quieter. His righteous indignation was replaced by smouldering malevolence. Released at the far end of the double bridge, he stumped away through the suburbs without looking back. A handful of disciples trailed after him uncertainly.

Caris had a feeling she would not see him again.

She thanked Mungo and his men, then returned to the nu

In the hospital, Oonagh was releasing the overnight accident cases to make room for new plague victims. Caris worked in the hospital until midday, then left gratefully and led the procession into the church for the main Sunday service. She found she was looking forward to an hour or two of psalms and prayers and a boring sermon: it would seem restful.

Philemon had a thunderous look when he led Thomas and the novice monks in. He had obviously heard about the expulsion of Murdo. No doubt he had seen the flagellants as a source of income for himself independent of Caris. That hope had been dashed, and he was livid.

For a moment, Caris wondered what he would do in his anger. Then she thought: Let him do what he likes. If it were not this, it would be something else. Whatever she did, sooner or later Philemon would be angry with her. There was no point in worrying about it.

She nodded off during the prayers and woke up when he began to preach. The pulpit seemed to heighten his charmlessness, and his sermons were poorly received, in general. However, today he grabbed the attention of his audience at the start by a

He took as his text a verse from St Paul’s first letter to the early Christians at Corinth. He read it in Latin, then translated it in ringing tones: “Now I have written to you not to keep company with anyone who is a fornicator!”

He elaborated tediously on the meaning of keeping company. “Don’t eat with them, don’t drink with them, don’t live with them, don’t talk to them.” But Caris was wondering anxiously where he was going with this. Surely he would not dare to attack her directly from the pulpit? She glanced across the choir to Thomas, on the other side with the novice monks, and caught a worried look from him.

She looked again at Philemon’s face, dark with resentment, and realized he was capable of anything.

“Who does this refer to?” he asked rhetorically. “Not to outsiders, the saint specifically writes. It is for God to judge them. But, he says, you are judges within the fellowship.” He pointed at the congregation. “You!” He looked down again at the book and read: “Put away from among yourselves that wicked person!”

The congregation was quiet. They sensed that this was not the usual generalized exhortation to better behaviour. Philemon had a message.

“We must look around ourselves,” he said. “In our town – in our church – in our priory! Are there any fornicators? If so, they must be put out!”

There was no doubt now in Caris’s mind that he was referring to her. And the more astute townspeople would have come to the same conclusion. But what could she do? She could hardly get up and contradict him. She could not even walk out of the church, for that would underline his point and make it obvious, to the stupidest member of the congregation, that she was the target of his tirade.

So she listened, mortified. Philemon was speaking well for the first time ever. He did not hesitate or stumble, he enunciated clearly and projected his voice, and he managed to vary his usual dull monotone. For him, hatred was inspirational.

No one was going to put her out of the priory, of course. Even if she had been an incompetent prioress the bishop would have kept her on, simply because the scarcity of clergy was chronic. Churches and monasteries all over the country were closing because there was no one to hold services or sing psalms. Bishops were desperate to appoint more priests, monks and nuns, not sack them. Anyway, the townspeople would have revolted against any bishop who tried to get rid of Caris.

All the same, Philemon’s sermon was damaging. It would now be more difficult for the town’s leaders to turn a blind eye to Caris’s liaison with Merthin. This kind of thing undermined people’s respect. They would forgive a man for a sexual peccadillo more readily than a woman. And, as she was painfully aware, her position invited the accusation of hypocrisy.

She sat grinding her teeth through the peroration, which was the same message shouted louder, and the remainder of the service. As soon as the nuns and monks had processed out of the church, she went to her pharmacy and sat down to compose a letter to Bishop Henri, asking him to move Philemon to another monastery.

Instead, Henri promoted him.

It was two weeks after the expulsion of Friar Murdo. They were in the north transept of the cathedral. The summer day was hot, but the interior of the church was always cool. The bishop sat on a carved wooden chair, and the others on benches: Philemon, Caris, Archdeacon Lloyd and Canon Claude.

“I’m appointing you prior of Kingsbridge,” Henri said to Philemon.

Philemon smirked with delight and shot a triumphant look at Caris.

She was appalled. Two weeks ago she had given Henri a long list of sound reasons why Philemon could not be permitted to continue in a responsible position here – starting with his theft of a gold candlestick. But it seemed her letter had had the opposite effect.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Henri glared at her and raised his hand, and she decided to remain silent and find out what else he had to say. He continued to address Philemon. “I’m doing this despite, not because of, your behaviour since you returned here. You’ve been a malicious troublemaker, and if the church were not desperate for people I wouldn’t promote you in a hundred years.”