World Without End

Godwyn was shocked. “That will ruin his business.” But he was not sure why she had made a special visit to tell him.

“Edmund thinks he can win them back if we improve the Fleece Fair, and in particular if we tear down the old bridge and build a new, wider one.”

“Let me guess: Uncle Anthony refused.”

“But Edmund has not given up.”

“You want me to talk to Anthony?”

She shook her head. “You can’t persuade him. But, if the subject comes up in chapter, you should support the proposal.”

“And go against Uncle Anthony?”

“Whenever a sensible proposal is opposed by the old guard, you must be identified as leader of the reformers.”

Godwyn smiled admiringly. “Mama, how do you know so much about politics?”

“I’ll tell you.” She looked away, her eyes focusing on the great rose window at the east end, her mind in the past. “When my father started to trade with the Italians, he was treated as an upstart by the leading citizens of Kingsbridge. They turned up their noses at him and his family, and did everything they could to prevent him implementing his new ideas. My mother was dead by then, and I was an adolescent, so I became his confidante, and he told me everything.” Her face, normally fixed in an expression of frozen calm, twisted now into a mask of bitterness and resentment: her eyes narrowed, her lip curled, and her cheek flushed with remembered shame. “He decided he would never be free of them until he took control of the parish guild. So that’s what he set out to do, and I helped him.” She drew a deep breath, as if once again gathering her strength for a long war. “We divided the ruling group, set one faction against the other, made alliances then shifted them, ruthlessly undermined our opponents, and used our supporters until it suited us to discard them. It took us ten years and, at the end of it, he was alderman of the guild and the richest man in town.”

She had told him the story of his grandfather before, but never in quite such bluntly honest terms. “So you were his aide, as Caris is to Edmund?”

She gave a short, harsh laugh. “Yes. Except that, by the time Edmund took over, we were the leading citizens. My father and I climbed the mountain, and Edmund just had to walk down the other side.”

They were interrupted by Philemon. He came into the church from the cloisters, a tall, scrawny-necked man of twenty-two, walking like a bird with short, pigeon-toed steps. He carried a broom: he was employed by the priory as a cleaner. He seemed excited. “I’ve been looking for you, Brother Godwyn.”

Petranilla ignored his obvious hurry. “Hello, Philemon, haven’t they made you a monk yet?”

“I can’t raise the necessary donation, Mistress Petranilla. I come from a humble family.”

“But it’s not unknown for the priory to waive the donation in the case of an applicant who shows devotion. And you’ve been a servant of the priory, paid and unpaid, for years.”

“Brother Godwyn has proposed me, but some of the older monks argued against me.”

Godwyn put in: “Blind Carlus hates Philemon – I don’t know why.”

Petranilla said: “I’ll speak to my brother Anthony. He should overrule Carlus. You’re a good friend to my son – I’d like to see you get on.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

“Well, you’re obviously bursting to tell Godwyn something that can’t be said in front of me, so I’ll take my leave.” She kissed Godwyn. “Remember what I said.”

“I will, Mama.”

Godwyn felt relieved, as if a storm cloud had passed overhead and gone on to drench some other town.

As soon as Petranilla was out of earshot, Philemon said: “It’s Bishop Richard!”

Godwyn raised his eyebrows. Philemon had a way of learning people’s secrets. “What have you found out?”

“He’s in the hospital, right now, in one of the private rooms upstairs – with his cousin Margery!”

Margery was a pretty girl of sixteen. Her parents – a younger brother of Earl Roland, and a sister of the countess of Marr – were both dead, and she was Roland’s ward. He had arranged for her to marry a son of the earl of Monmouth, in a political alliance that would greatly strengthen Roland’s position as the leading nobleman of south-west England. “What are they doing?” Godwyn said, though he could guess.

Philemon lowered his voice. “Kissing!”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll show you.”

Philemon led the way out of the church via the south transept, through the monks’ cloisters, and up a flight of steps to the dormitory. It was a plain room with two rows of simple wooden bedsteads, each having a straw mattress. It shared a party wall with the hospital. Philemon went to a large cupboard that contained blankets. With an effort, he pulled it forward. In the wall behind it there was a loose stone. Momentarily Godwyn wondered how Philemon had come across this peephole, and guessed he might have hidden something in the gap. Philemon lifted the stone out, careful to make no noise, and whispered: “Look, quick!”

Godwyn hesitated. In a low voice he said: “How many other guests have you observed from here?”

“All of them,” Philemon replied, as if that should have been obvious.

Godwyn thought he knew what he was going to see, and he did not relish it. Peeping at a misbehaving bishop might be all right for Philemon, but it seemed shamefully underhand. However, his curiosity urged him on. In the end he asked himself what his mother would advise, and knew immediately that she would tell him to look.

The hole in the wall was a little below eye level. He stooped and peeked through.

He was looking into one of the two private guest rooms upstairs at the hospital. In one corner stood a prie-dieu facing a wall painting of the crucifixion. There were two comfortable chairs and a couple of stools. When there was a crowd of important guests, the men took one room and the women the other; and this was clearly the women’s room, for on a small table were several distinctly feminine articles: combs, ribbons, and mysterious small jars and vials.

On the floor were two straw mattresses. Richard and Margery lay on one of them. They were doing more than kissing.

Bishop Richard was an attractive man with wavy mid-brown hair and regular features. Margery was not much more than half his age, a slender girl with white skin and dark eyebrows. They lay side by side. Richard was kissing her face and speaking into her ear. A smile of pleasure played upon his fleshy lips. Margery’s dress was pushed up around her waist. She had beautiful long white legs. His hand was between her thighs, moving with a practised, regular motion: although Godwyn had no experience of women, somehow he knew what Richard was doing. Margery looked at Richard adoringly, her mouth half open, panting with excitement, her face flushed with passion. Perhaps it was mere prejudice, but Godwyn sensed intuitively that Richard saw Margery as a plaything of the moment, whereas Margery believed Richard was the love of her life.

Godwyn stared at them for a horrified moment. Richard moved his hand, and suddenly Godwyn was looking at the triangle of coarse hair between Margery’s thighs, dark against her white skin, like her eyebrows. Quickly, he looked away.

“Let me see,” said Philemon.

Godwyn moved away from the wall. This was shocking, but what should he do about it – if anything?

Philemon looked through the hole and gave a gasp of excitement. “I can see her cunt!” he whispered. “He’s rubbing it!”

“Come away from there,” Godwyn said. “We’ve seen enough – too much.”

Philemon hesitated, fascinated; then, reluctantly, he moved away and replaced the loose stone. “We must expose the bishop’s fornication at once!” he said.

“Shut your mouth and let me think,” Godwyn said. If he did as Philemon suggested he would make enemies of Richard and his powerful family – and to no purpose. But surely there was a way something like this could be turned to advantage? Godwyn tried to think about it as his mother would. If there was nothing to be gained by revealing Richard’s sin, was it possible to make a virtue of concealing it? Perhaps Richard would be grateful to Godwyn for keeping it secret.