by Ken Follett
"And five hundred lucky ones," Merthin said.
"We could have been on the bridge, or near it. You and I might be lying on the floor of the chancel, now, cold and still. But we've been given a gift--the rest of our lives. And we mustn't waste that gift because of one mistake."
"It's not a mistake," he said sharply. "It's a baby--a person, with a soul."
"You're a person with a soul, too--an exceptional one. Look at what you've been doing just now. Three people are in charge down there at the river. One is the town's most prosperous builder. Another is the matricularius at the priory. And the third is...a mere apprentice, not yet twenty-one. Yet the townsmen obey you as readily as they obey Elfric and Thomas."
"That doesn't mean I can shirk my responsibilities."
They turned into the priory close. The green in front of the cathedral was rutted and trampled from the fair, and there were boggy patches and wide puddles. In the three great west windows of the church Caris could see the reflection of a watery sun and ripped clouds, a picture divided, like a three-sided altarpiece. A bell began to ring for Evensong.
Caris said: "Think how often you've talked of going to see the buildings of Paris and Florence. Will you give all that up?"
"I suppose so. A man can't abandon his wife and child."
"So you're already thinking of her as your wife."
He rounded on her. "I'll never think of her as my wife," he said bitterly. "You know who I love."
For once she could not think of a clever answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. Instead, she felt a constriction in her throat. She blinked away tears, and looked down to hide her emotions.
He grasped her arms and pulled her close to him. "You know, don't you?"
She forced herself to meet his eye. "Do I?" Her vision blurred.
He kissed her mouth. It was a new kind of kiss, different from anything she had experienced before. His lips moved gently but insistently against hers, as if he was determined to remember the moment; and she realized, with dread, that he was thinking this would be their last kiss.
She clung to him, wanting it to go on forever, but all too soon he drew away.
"I love you," he said. "But I'm going to marry Griselda."
Life and death went on. Children were born and old people died. On Sunday Emma Butchers attacked her adulterous husband, Edward, with his largest cleaver in a fit of jealous rage. On Monday one of Bess Hampton's chickens went missing, and was found boiling in a pot over Glynnie Thompson's kitchen fire, whereupon Glynnie was stripped and flogged by John Constable. On Tuesday Howell Tyler was working on the roof of St. Mark's church when a rotten beam gave way beneath him and he fell, crashing through the ceiling, to the floor below, and died immediately.
By Wednesday the wreckage of the bridge had been cleared, all but the stumps of two of the main piers, and the timber was stacked on the bank. The waterway was open, and barges and rafts were able to leave Kingsbridge for Melcombe with wool and other goods from the Fleece Fair consigned to Flanders and Italy.
When Caris and Edmund went to the riverside to check on progress, Merthin was using the salvaged timbers to build a raft to ferry people across the river. "It's better than a boat," he explained. "Livestock can walk on and off, and carts can be driven on, too."
Edmund nodded gloomily. "It will have to do, for the weekly market. Fortunately, we should have a new bridge by the time of the next Fleece Fair."
"I don't think so," Merthin said.
"But you told me it would take a year to build a new bridge!"
"A wooden bridge, yes. But if we build another wooden one it, too, will fall down."
"Why?"
"Let me show you." Merthin took them to a pile of timber. He pointed to a group of mighty posts. "These formed the piers--they're probably the famous twenty-four best oak trees in the land, given to the priory by the king. Notice the ends."
Caris could see that the huge posts had originally been sharpened into points, though their outlines had been softened by years under water.
Merthin said: "A timber bridge has no foundations. The posts are simply driven into the riverbed. That's not good enough."
"But this bridge has stood for hundreds of years!" Edmund said indignantly. He always sounded quarrelsome when he argued.
Merthin was used to him, and paid no attention to his tone of voice. "And now it has fallen down," he said patiently. "Something has changed. Wooden piers were once firm enough, but no longer."
"What can have changed? The river is the river."
"Well, for one thing you built a barn and a jetty on the bank, and protected the property with a wall. Several other merchants did the same. The old mud beach where I used to play on the south shore has mostly gone. So the river can no longer spread itself into the fields. As a result, the water flows faster than it used to--especially after the kind of heavy rain we've had this year."
"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 judgment, 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 defense 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 afterward, 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 manner of the deaths made little difference to the rituals of interment. The bodies had to be washed, the shrouds sewn for the poor, the coffins nailed for the rich, the graves dug, and the priests paid. Not all the monks were qualified as priests, but several were, and they worked in shifts, all day, every day, conducting obsequies in the cemetery on the north side of the cathedral. There were half a dozen small parish churches in Kingsbridge, and their priests were also busy.
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 announced a special service on Sunday for the souls of all those killed, so Wulfric was staying until Monday. Gwenda reported to Caris that he seemed grateful for the company of someone from his own village, but showed animation only when talking about Annet. Caris offered to buy her another love potion.
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 sorts 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?"
Gwenda knew why she was asking. Caris had told her all about Merthin's dilemma. The two girls had spent most of their time together discussing either Wulfric's indifference or Merthin's high principles. Caris had even been tempted to buy a love potion herself, and use it on Merthin; though something held her back.
Mattie gave her a sharp look, but answered noncommittally. "No one knows. Many times, a woman misses one month but comes on again the next. Did she get pregnant and lose the baby, or was there some other reason? It's impossible to tell."
"Oh."
"Neither of you is pregnant, though, if that's what you're worried about."
Gwenda said quickly: "How do you know?"
"By looking at you. A woman changes almost immediately. Not just her belly and her breasts, but her complexion, her way of moving, her mood. I see these things better than most people--that's why they call me wise. So who is pregnant?"
"Griselda, Elfric's daughter."
"Oh, yes, I've seen her. She's three months gone."
Caris was astonished. "How long?"
"Three months, or very nearly. Take a look at her. She was never a thin girl, but she's even more voluptuous now. So why are you so shocked? I suppose it's Merthin's baby, is it?"
Mattie always guessed these things.
Gwenda said to Caris: "I thought you told me it happened recently."
"Merthin didn't say exactly when, but he gave me the impression it was not long ago, and it only happened once. Now it seems he's been doing it to her for months!"
Mattie frowned. "Why would he lie?"
"To make himself look not so bad?" Gwenda suggested.
"How could it be worse?"
"Men are peculiar, the way they think."
"I'm going to ask him," Caris said. "Right now." She put down the jar and the measuring spoon.
Gwenda said: "What about my love potion?"
"I'll finish making it," Mattie said. "Caris is in too much of a hurry."
"Thank you," Caris said, and she went out.
She marched down to the riverside, but for once Merthin was not there. She failed to find him at Elfric's house either. She decided he must be in the mason's loft.
In the west front of the cathedral, neatly fitted into one of the towers, was a workroom for the master mason. Caris reached it by climbing a narrow spiral staircase in a buttress of the tower. It was a wide room, well lit by tall lancet windows. All along one wall were stacked the beautifully shaped wooden templates used by the original cathedral stone carvers, carefully preserved and used now for repairs.
Underfoot was the tracing floor. The floorboards were covered with a layer of plaster, and the original master mason, Jack Builder, had scratched his plans in the mortar with iron drawing instruments. The marks thus made were white at first, but they faded over time, and new drawings could be scratched on top of the old. When there were so many designs that it became hard to tell the new from the old, a fresh layer of plaster was laid on top, and the process began again.
Parchment, the thin leather on which monks copied out the books of the Bible, was much too expensive to be used for drawings. In Caris's lifetime a new writing material had appeared, paper, but it came from the Arabs, so monks rejected it as a heathen Muslim invention. Anyway, it had to be imported from Italy and was no cheaper than parchment. And the tracing floor had another advantage: a carpenter could lay a piece of wood on the floor, on top of the drawin
g, and carve his template exactly to the lines drawn by the master mason.
Merthin was kneeling on the floor, carving a piece of oak in accordance with a drawing, but he was not making a template. He was carving a cogwheel with sixteen teeth. On the floor close by was another, smaller wheel, and Merthin stopped carving for a moment to put the two together and see how well they fitted. Caris had seen such cogs, or gears, in water mills, connecting the mill paddle to the grindstone.
He must have heard her footsteps on the stone staircase, but he was too absorbed in his work to glance up. She regarded him for a second, anger competing with love in her heart. He had the look of total concentration that she knew so well: his slight body bent over his work, his strong hands and dextrous fingers making fine adjustments, his face immobile, his gaze unwavering. He had the perfect grace of a young deer bending its head to drink from a stream. This was what a man looked like, she thought, when he was doing what he was born to do. He was in a state like happiness, but more profound. He was fulfilling his destiny.
She burst out: "Why did you lie to me?"
His chisel slipped. He cried out in pain and looked at his finger. "Christ," he said, and put his finger in his mouth.
"I'm sorry," Caris said. "Are you hurt?"
"Nothing much. When did I lie to you?"
"You gave me the impression that Griselda seduced you one time. The truth is that the two of you have been at it for months."
"No, we haven't." He sucked his bleeding finger.
"She's three months pregnant."
"She can't be, it happened two weeks ago."
"She is, you can tell by her figure."
"Can you?"
"Mattie Wise told me. Why did you lie?"
He looked her in the eye. "But I didn't lie," he said. "It happened on the Sunday of Fleece Fair week. That was the first and only time."
"Then how could she be sure she's pregnant, after only two weeks?"
"I don't know. How soon can women tell, anyway?"
"Don't you know?"
"I've never asked. Anyway, three months ago Griselda was still with..."
"Oh, God!" Caris said. A spark of hope flared in her breast. "She was still with her old boyfriend--Thurstan." The spark blazed into a flame. "It must be his baby, Thurstan's--not yours. You're not the father!"