World Without End

“So it will have to be a stone bridge?”

“Yes.”

Edmund looked up and saw Elfric standing by, listening. “Merthin says a stone bridge will take three years.”

Elfric nodded. “Three building seasons.”

Most building was done in the warmer months, Caris knew. Merthin had explained to her that stone walls could not be constructed when there was a risk that the mortar might freeze before it had begun to set.

Elfric went on: “One season for the foundations, one for the arches, and one for the roadbed. After each stage, the mortar must be left for three or four months to set hard before the next stage can be laid on top of it.”

“Three years with no bridge,” Edmund said gloomily.

“Four years, unless you get started right away.”

“You’d better prepare an estimate of the cost for the priory.”

“I’ve already started, but it’s a long job. It will take me another two or three days.”

“Quick as you can.”

Edmund and Caris left the riverside and walked up the main street, Edmund with his energetically lopsided stride. He would never lean on anyone’s arm, despite his withered leg. To keep his balance, he swung his arms as if he were sprinting. The townspeople knew to give him plenty of room, especially when he was in a hurry. “Three years!” he said as they walked. “It will do terrible damage to the Fleece Fair. I don’t know how long it will take us to get back to normal. Three years!”

When they got home they found Caris’s sister Alice there. Her hair was tied up in her hat in an elaborate new style copied from Lady Philippa. She was sitting at the table with Aunt Petranilla. Caris knew immediately, from the looks on their faces, that they had been talking about her.

Petranilla went to the kitchen and came back with ale, bread and fresh butter. She filled a cup for Edmund.

Petranilla had cried on Sunday, but since then she had shown little sign of bereavement for her dead brother, Anthony. Surprisingly Edmund, who had never liked Anthony, seemed to grieve more: tears would come to his eyes at unexpected moments during the day, though they would disappear just as quickly.

Now he was full of news of the bridge. Alice was inclined to question Merthin’s judgement, but Edmund dismissed that notion impatiently. “The boy’s a genius,” he said. “He knows more than many master builders, yet he isn’t out of his apprenticeship.”

Caris said bitterly: “All the more shame that he’s going to spend his life with Griselda.”

Alice leaped to the defence of her stepdaughter. “There’s nothing wrong with Griselda.”

“Yes, there is,” Caris said. “She doesn’t love him. She seduced him because her boyfriend left town, that’s all.”

“Is that the story Merthin’s telling you?” Alice laughed sarcastically. “If a man doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t do it – take my word.”

Edmund grunted. “Men can be tempted,” he said.

“Oh, so you’re siding with Caris, are you, Papa?” Alice said. “I shouldn’t be surprised, you usually do.”

“It’s not a question of taking sides,” Edmund replied. “A man may not want to do a thing beforehand, and he may regret it afterwards, yet for a brief moment his wishes may change – especially when a woman uses her wiles.”

“Wiles? Why do you assume that she threw herself at him?”

“I didn’t say that. But I understand it began when she cried, and he comforted her.”

Caris herself had told him this.

Alice made a disgusted sound. “You’ve always had a soft spot for that insubordinate apprentice.”

Caris ate some bread with butter, but she had no appetite. She said: “I suppose they’ll have half a dozen fat children, and Merthin will inherit Elfric’s business, and become just another town tradesman, building houses for merchants and fawning on clergymen for contracts, just like his father-in-law.”

Petranilla said: “And very lucky so to do! He’ll be one of the leading men of the town.”

“He’s worthy of a better destiny.”

“Is he, really?” Petranilla said in mock amazement. “And him the son of a knight who fell from grace and hasn’t a shilling to buy shoes for his wife! What exactly do you believe him to be destined for?”

Caris was stung by this mockery. It was true that Merthin’s parents were poor corrodiaries, dependent on the priory for their food and drink. For him to inherit a successful building business would indeed mean a jump up the social ladder. Yet she still felt he deserved better. She could not say exactly what future she had in mind for him. She just knew that he was different from everyone else in town, and she could not bear the thought of his becoming like the rest.

On Friday, Caris took Gwenda to see Mattie Wise.

Gwenda was still in town because Wulfric was there, attending to the burial of his family. Elaine, Edmund’s housemaid, had dried Gwenda’s dress in front of the fire, and Caris had bandaged her feet and given her an old pair of shoes.

Caris felt that Gwenda was not telling the full truth about her adventure in the forest. She said that Sim had taken her to the outlaws, and she had escaped; he had chased after her, and he had died in the bridge collapse. John Constable was satisfied with that story: outlaws were outside the law, as their name indicated, so there was no question of Sim bequeathing his property. Gwenda was free. But something else had happened in the forest, Caris felt sure; something Gwenda did not want to talk about. Caris did not press her friend. Some things were best buried.

Funerals were the business of the town this week. The extraordinary ma

Gwenda was helping Wulfric with the arrangements, performing the traditional woman’s tasks, washing the bodies and making the shrouds, doing what she could to comfort him. He was in a kind of daze. He managed the details of the burial well enough, but spent hours gazing into space, with a slightly puzzled frown, as if trying to make sense of a massive conundrum.

By Friday the funerals were over, but the acting prior, Carlus, had a

They found Mattie Wise in her kitchen, brewing medicines. The little house smelled of herbs, oil and wine. “I used just about everything I had on Saturday and Sunday,” she said. “I need to restock.”

“You must have made some money, anyway,” Gwenda said.

“Yes – if I can collect it.”

Caris was shocked. “Do people welsh on you?”

“Some do. I always try to collect the fee in advance, while they’re still in pain. But if they haven’t got the money there and then, it’s hard to refuse them treatment. Most pay up afterwards, but not all.”

Caris felt indignant on behalf of her friend. “What do they say?”

“All sons of things. They can’t afford it, the potion did them no good, they were given it against their will, anything. But don’t worry. There are enough honest people for me to continue. What’s on your mind?”

“Gwenda lost her love potion in the accident.”

“That’s easily remedied. Why don’t you prepare it for her?”

While Caris was making up the mixture she asked Mattie: “How many pregnancies end in a miscarriage?”