World Without End

“It’s not,” said Philemon. “The treasurer must know about it. And everyone in Ly

“But no one knows that the whole arrangement was made for the benefit of Thomas – unless they have seen this charter.”

“So that’s the secret – that Queen Isabella made this gift for Thomas’s sake.”

“Exactly.” Godwyn packed up the documents, carefully interleaving the sheets of parchment with linen cloths, and replaced the wallet in the chest.

Philemon asked: “But why is it a secret? There’s nothing dishonest or shameful about such an arrangement – it happens all the time.”

“I don’t know why it’s a secret, and perhaps we don’t need to know. The fact that people want to keep it hidden may be sufficient for our purpose. Let’s get out of this house.”

Godwyn felt satisfied. Thomas had a secret and Godwyn knew about it. That gave Godwyn power. Now he felt confident enough to risk putting Thomas forward as a candidate for prior. He also felt apprehensive: Thomas was no fool.

They returned to the cathedral. The office of Terce ended a few moments later, and Godwyn began to prepare the church for the big funeral service. On his instructions, six monks lifted Anthony’s coffin and placed it on a stand in front of the altar, then surrounded it with candles. Townspeople began to gather in the nave. Godwyn nodded to his cousin Caris, who had covered her everyday headgear in black silk. Then he spotted Thomas, carrying in a large, ornate chair, with the help of a novice. This was the bishop’s throne, or cathedra, that gave the church its special cathedral status.

Godwyn touched Thomas’s arm. “Let Philemon do that.”

Thomas bristled, thinking that Godwyn was offering help because of his missing arm. “I can manage.”

“I know you can. I want a word.”

Thomas was older – he was thirty-four, Godwyn thirty-one – but Godwyn was his superior in the monastic hierarchy. All the same, Godwyn was always a little afraid of Thomas. The matricularius usually showed the appropriate deference to the sacrist, but all the same Godwyn felt he was getting just as much respect as Thomas thought he merited, and no more. Though Thomas conformed in every way to the discipline of St Benedict’s Rule, nevertheless he seemed to have brought into the priory with him a quality of independence and self-sufficiency that he never lost.

It would not be easy to deceive Thomas – but that was exactly what Godwyn pla

Thomas allowed Philemon to take his side of the throne, and Godwyn drew him into the aisle. “They’re talking about you as possibly the next prior,” Godwyn said.

“They’re saying the same about you,” Thomas rejoined.

“I shall refuse to stand.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “You surprise me, brother.”

“Two reasons,” Godwyn said. “One, I think you would do a better job.”

Thomas looked more surprised. He probably had not suspected Godwyn of such modesty. He was right: Godwyn was lying.

“Two,” Godwyn continued, “you’re more likely to win.” Now Godwyn was telling the truth. “The youngsters like me, but you’re popular across the range of all ages.”

Thomas’s handsome face looked quizzical. He was waiting for the catch.

“I want to help you,” Godwyn said. “I believe the only important thing is to have a prior who will reform the monastery and improve its finances.”

“I think I could do that. But what do you want in return for your support?”

Godwyn knew better than to ask for nothing. Thomas would not believe that. He invented a plausible lie. “I’d like to be your sub-prior.”

Thomas nodded, but did not immediately consent. “How would you help me?”

“First, by gaining you the support of the townspeople.”

“Just because Edmund Wooler is your uncle?”

“It’s not that simple. The townspeople are worried about the bridge. Carlus won’t say when he’ll begin building, if ever. They’re desperate to stop him becoming prior. If I tell Edmund that you’ll start work on the bridge as soon as you’re elected, you’ll have the whole town behind you.”

“That won’t win me the votes of many monks.”

“Don’t be so sure. Remember, the monks’ choice has to be ratified by the bishop. Most bishops are prudent enough to consult local opinion – and Richard is as keen as anyone to avoid trouble. If the townspeople come out for you, it will make a difference.”

Godwyn could see that Thomas did not trust him. The matricularius studied him, and Godwyn felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he fought to remain expressionless under that keen gaze. But Thomas was listening to his arguments. “There’s no doubt we need a new bridge,” he said. “Carlus is foolish to prevaricate.”

“So you would be promising something you intend to do anyway.”

“You’re very persuasive.”

Godwyn held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I don’t mean to be. You must do what you feel is God’s will.”

Thomas looked sceptical. He did not believe that Godwyn was so dispassionate. But he said: “All right.” Then he added: “I’ll pray about it.”

Godwyn sensed he would get no stronger commitment out of Thomas today, and it might be counterproductive to push any harder. “So will I,” he said, and he turned away.

Thomas would do exactly what he had promised, and pray about it. He had little in the way of personal desires. If he thought it was God’s will he would stand as prior and, if not, not. Godwyn could do no more with him, for the moment.

There was now a blaze of candles around Anthony’s coffin. The nave was filling with townspeople and peasants from the surrounding villages. Godwyn raked the crowd for the face of Caris, which he had spotted a few minutes earlier. He located her in the south transept, looking at Merthin’s scaffolding in the aisle. He had affectionate memories of Caris as a child, when he had been her all-knowing grown-up cousin.

She had been looking glum since the bridge collapse, he had noticed, but today she seemed cheerful. He was glad: he had a soft spot for her. He touched her elbow. “You look happy.”

“I am.” She smiled. “A romantic knot just came untangled. But you wouldn’t understand.”

“Of course not.” You have no idea, he thought, how many romantic tangles there are among monks. But he said nothing: lay people were best left in ignorance of sins that took place in the priory. He said: “Your father should speak to Bishop Richard about rebuilding the bridge.”

“Really?” she said sceptically. As a child she had hero-worshipped him, but nowadays she was less in awe. “What’s the point? It’s not his bridge.”

“The monks’ choice for prior has to be approved by the bishop. Richard could let it be known that he won’t approve anyone who refuses to rebuild the bridge. Some monks might be defiant, but others will say there’s no point in voting for someone who isn’t going to be ratified.”

“I see. You really think my father could help?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll suggest it.”

“Thank you.”

The bell rang. Godwyn slipped out of the church and again joined the procession forming up in the cloisters. It was midday.

He had done a good morning’s work.