World Without End

Merthin noticed a cat at Philemon’s feet. It was fat, like him, with a mean face. It looked just like Godwyn’s cat, Archbishop, though that creature must be long dead. Perhaps it was a descendant. Merthin said: “The guild has the power to close the city gates.”

“But we have the right to come and go as we please. We’re not subject to the authority of the guild – that would be ridiculous.”

“All the same, the guild controls the city, and we have decided that no one can enter while the plague is rife.”

“You ca

“But I can for the city, and the priory happens to be in the city.”

“Are you telling me that if I leave Kingsbridge today, you will refuse me admission tomorrow?”

Merthin was not sure. It would be highly embarrassing, at a minimum, to have the prior of Kingsbridge standing outside the gate demanding admission. He had been hoping to persuade Philemon to accept the restriction. He did not want to put the resolve of the guild to the test quite so dramatically. However, he tried to make his answer sound confident. “Absolutely.”

“I shall complain to the bishop.”

“Tell him he can’t enter Kingsbridge.”

The perso

Caris sat down with Joan, Oonagh and Sime in the old pharmacy, now used as the prioress’s private office, and explained her plan. “People outside the walls of the old city who fall victim to the plague will be admitted to my hospital on the island,” she said. “While the plague lasts, the nuns and I will stay within the building night and day. Nobody will leave, except those lucky few who recover.”

Joan asked: “What about here in the old city?”

“If the plague gets into the city despite our precautions, there may be too many victims for the accommodation you have. The guild has ruled that plague victims and their families will be confined to their homes. The rule applies to anyone who lives in a house struck by plague: parents, children, grandparents, servants, apprentices. Anyone caught leaving such a house will be hanged.”

“It’s very harsh,” Joan said. “But if it prevents the awful slaughter of the last plague, it’s worth while.”

“I knew you’d see that.”

Sime was saying nothing. The news of the plague seemed to have deflated his arrogance.

Oonagh said: “How will the victims eat, if they’re imprisoned in their homes?”

“Neighbours can leave food on the doorstep. No one may go in – except monk-physicians and nuns. They will visit the sick, but they must have no contact with the healthy. They will go from the priory to the home, and from the home back to the priory, without entering any other building or even speaking to anyone on the street. They should wear masks at all times, and wash their hands in vinegar each time they touch a patient.”

Sime was looking terrified. “Will that protect us?” he said.

“To some degree,” Caris said. “Not completely.”

“But then it will be highly dangerous for us to attend the sick!”

Oonagh answered him. “We have no fear,” she said. “We look forward to death. For us, it is the longed-for reunion with Christ.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sime.

The next day, all the monks left Kingsbridge.

88

Gwenda felt murderously angry when she saw what Ralph had done to Davey’s madder plants. Wanton destruction of crops was a sin. There should be a special place in hell for noblemen who despoiled what peasants had sweated to grow.

But Davey was not dismayed. “I don’t think it matters,” he said. “The value is in the roots, and he hasn’t touched them.”

“That would have been too much like work,” Gwenda said sourly, but she cheered up.

In fact the shrubs recovered remarkably quickly. Ralph probably did not know that madder propagated underground. Throughout May and June, as reports began to reach Wigleigh of an outbreak of the plague, the roots sent up new shoots and, at the begi

They left half the plantation untouched, in the hope that it would regenerate itself next year.

They pulled a handcart piled with madder roots back through the woods to Wigleigh, then unloaded the roots into the barn and spread them in the hayloft to dry.

Davey did not know when he would be able to sell his crop. Kingsbridge was a closed city. The people still bought supplies, of course, but only through brokers. Davey was doing something new, and he would need to explain the situation to his buyer. It would be awkward to do that through an intermediary. But perhaps he would have to try. He had to dry the roots first, then grind them to a powder, and that would take time anyway.

Davey had said no more about Amabel, but Gwenda felt sure he was still seeing the girl. He pretended to be cheerfully resigned to his fate. If he had really given her up, he would have moped resentfully.

All Gwenda could do was hope he would get over her before he was old enough to marry without permission. She still could hardly bear even to think of her family being joined to A

And now, Gwenda thought, my son has fallen into the same trap. It made her want to spit. Amabel looked just like A

However, Davey was at least physically safe and well. Gwenda was more worried about Sam, living now with Earl Ralph at the castle, learning to be a fighting man. In church she prayed he would not be injured hunting, or learning to use a sword, or fighting in a tournament. She had seen him every day for twenty-two years, then suddenly he had been taken from her. It’s hard to be a woman, she thought. You love your baby with all your heart and soul, and then one day he just leaves.

For several weeks she looked for an excuse to travel to Earlscastle and check on Sam. Then she heard that the plague had struck there, and that decided her. She would go before the harvest got under way. Wulfric would not go with her: he had too much to do on the land. Anyway, she had no fear of travelling alone. “Too poor to be robbed, too old to be raped,” she joked. The truth was that she was too tough for either. And she carried a long knife.

She walked across the drawbridge at Earlscastle on a hot July day. On the battlements of the gatehouse a rook stood like a sentry, the sun glinting off his glossy black feathers. He cawed a warning at her. It sounded like: “Go, go!” She had escaped the plague once, of course; but that might have been luck: she was risking her life by coming here.