by Ken Follett
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 skeptical. 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: laypeople 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 skeptically. 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.
16
Wulfric and Gwenda left Kingsbridge early on Monday morning to walk the long road back to their village of Wigleigh.
Caris and Merthin watched them cross the river on Merthin's new ferry. Merthin was pleased by how well it was working. The wooden gears would wear out quite quickly, he knew. Iron gears would be better, but...
Caris had other thoughts. "Gwenda is so much in love," she sighed.
"She has no chance with Wulfric," Merthin said.
"You never know. She's a determined girl. Look how she escaped from Sim Chapman."
"But Wulfric's engaged to that Annet--who is much prettier."
"Good looks aren't everything in a romance."
"For which I thank God every day."
She laughed. "I love your funny face."
"But Wulfric fought my brother over Annet. He must love her."
"Gwenda's got a love potion."
Merthin gave her a disapproving look. "So you think it's all right for a girl to maneuver a man into marrying her when he loves someone else?"
She was struck silent for a moment. The soft skin of her throat turned pink. "I never thought of it that way," she said. "Is it really the same thing?"
"It's similar."
"But she's not coercing him--she just wants to make him love her."
"She should try to do that without a potion."
"Now I feel ashamed of helping her."
"Too late." Wulfric and Gwenda were getting off the ferry on the far side. They turned to wave, then headed along the road through the suburbs with Skip, the dog, at their heels.
Merthin and Caris walked back up the main street. Caris said: "You haven't spoken to Griselda yet."
"I'm going to do it now. I don't know whether I'm looking forward to it or dreading it."
"You've got nothing to fear. She's the one who lied."
"That's true." He touched his face. The bruise had almost healed. "I just hope her father doesn't get violent again."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
He would have been glad of her support, but he shook his head. "I made this mess, and I have to straighten it out."
They stopped outside Elfric's house. Caris said: "Good luck."
"Thanks." Merthin kissed her lips briefly, resisted the temptation to kiss her again, and walked in.
Elfric was sitting at the table eating bread and cheese. A cup of ale stood in front of him. Beyond him, Merthin could see Alice and the maid in the kitchen. There was no sign of Griselda.
Elfric said: "Where have you been?"
Merthin decided that if he had nothing to fear he had better act fearlessly. He ignored Elfric's question. "Where's Griselda?"
"Still in bed."
Merthin shouted up the stairs: "Griselda! I want to talk to you."
Elfric said: "No time for that. We've got work to do."
Again Merthin ignored him. "Griselda! You'd better get up now."
"Hey!" Elfric said. "Who do you think you are, to give orders?"
"You want me to marry her, don't you?"
"So what?"
"So she'd better get used to doing what her husband tells her." He raised his voice again. "Get down here now, or you'll just have to hear what I've got to say from someone else."
She appeared at the top of the stairs. "I'm coming!" she said irritably. "What's all the fuss about?"
Merthin waited for her to come down, then said: "I've found out who the father of the baby is."
Fear flashed in her eyes. "Don't be stupid, it's you."
"No, it's Thurstan."
"I never lay with Thurstan!" She looked at her father. "Honestly I didn't."
Elfric said: "She doesn't lie."
Alice came out of the kitchen. "That's right," she said.
Merthin said: "I lay with Griselda on the Sunday of Fleece Fair week--fifteen days ago. Griselda is three months pregnant."
"I'm not!"
Merthin looked hard at Alice. "You knew, didn't you?" Alice looked away. Merthin went on: "And yet you lied--even to Caris, your own sister."
Elfric said: "You don't know how long pregnant she is."
"Look at her," Merthin replied. "You can see the bulge in her belly. Not much, but it's there."
"What do you know of such things? You're just a boy."
"Yes--you were all relying on my ignorance, weren't you? And it almost worked."
Elfric wagged his finger. "You lay with Griselda, and now you'll marry Griselda."
"Oh, no I won't. She doesn't love me. She lay with me to get a father for her baby, after Thurstan ran away. I know I did wrong, but I'm not going to punish myself for the rest of my life by marrying her."
Elfric stood up. "You are, you know."
"No."
"You've got to."
"No."
Elfric's face turned red, and he shouted: "You will marry her!"
Merthin said: "How long do you want me to keep on saying no?"
Elfric realized he was serious. "In that case, you're dismissed," he said. "Get out of my house and never come back."
Merthin had been expecting this, and it came as a relief. It meant the argument was over. "All right." He tried to step past Elfric.
Elfric blocked his way. "Where do y
ou think you're going?"
"To the kitchen, to get my things."
"Your tools, you mean."
"Yes."
"They're not yours. I paid for them."
"An apprentice is always given his tools at the end of his..." Merthin tailed off.
"You haven't finished your apprenticeship, so you don't get your tools."
Merthin had not expected this. "I've done six and a half years!"
"You're supposed to do seven."
Without tools Merthin could not earn his living. "That's unfair. I'll appeal to the carpenters' guild."
"I look forward to it," Elfric said smugly. "It will be interesting to hear you argue that an apprentice who is sacked for lying with his master's daughter should be rewarded with a free set of tools. The carpenters in the guild have all got apprentices, and most of them have daughters. They'll throw you out on your arse."
Merthin realized he was right.
Alice said: "There you are, you're in real trouble now, aren't you?"
"Yes," Merthin said. "But whatever happens, it won't be as bad as life with Griselda and her family."
Later that morning, Merthin went to St. Mark's Church for the funeral of Howell Tyler. He attended because he hoped someone there would give him a job.
Looking up at the timber ceiling--the church did not have a stone vault--Merthin could see a man-shaped hole in the painted wood, grim testament to the manner of Howell's death. Everything up there was rotten, the builders at the funeral said knowingly; but they said it after the accident, their sagacity coming too late to save Howell. It was now clear that the roof was too weak to be repaired, but must be demolished completely and rebuilt from scratch. That meant closing the church.
St. Mark's was a poor church. It had a pitiful endowment, a single farm ten miles away that was kept by the priest's brother and just about managed to feed the family. The priest, Father Joffroi, had to get his income from the eight or nine hundred citizens of his parish in the poorer north end of town. Those who were not actually destitute generally pretended to be, so their tithes brought in only a modest sum. He made his living by christening, marrying, and burying them, charging a lot less than the monks at the cathedral. His parishioners married early, had many children, and died young, so there was plenty of work for him, and in the end he did well enough. But if he closed the church, his income would dry up--and he would not be able to pay the builders.
Consequently the work on the roof had stopped.
All the town's builders came to the funeral, including Elfric. Merthin tried to look unashamed as he stood in the church, but it was difficult: most of them knew he had been dismissed. He had been unjustly treated but, unfortunately, he was not completely innocent.
Howell had had a young wife who was friendly with Caris, and now Caris walked in with the widow and the bereaved family. Merthin moved next to Caris and told her what had happened with Elfric.
Father Joffroi conducted the service dressed in an old robe. Merthin thought about the roof. It seemed to him there must be a way to dismantle it without closing the church. The standard approach, when repairs had been postponed too long and the timbers were too badly rotted to bear the weight of workmen, was to build scaffolding around the church and knock the timbers down into the nave. The building was then open to the elements until the new roof was finished and tiled. But it should be possible to build a swiveling hoist, supported by the thick side wall of the church, which would lift the roof timbers up one by one, instead of pushing them down, and swing them across the wall and down into the graveyard. That way, the wooden ceiling could be left intact, and replaced only after the roof had been rebuilt.
At the graveside, he looked at the men one by one, wondering which of them was most likely to employ him. He decided to approach Bill Watkin, the town's second largest builder and no admirer of Elfric's. Bill had a bald dome with a fringe of black hair, a natural version of the monkish tonsure. He did most of the house building in Kingsbridge. Like Elfric, he employed a stonemason and a carpenter, a handful of laborers and one or two apprentices.
Howell had not been prosperous, and his body was lowered into the grave in a shroud, without a coffin.
When Father Joffroi had departed, Merthin approached Bill Watkin. "Good day, Master Watkin," he said formally.
Bill's response was not warm. "Well, young Merthin?"
"I've parted company with Elfric."
"I know that," said Bill. "And I know why."
"You've heard Elfric's side of the story."
"I've heard all I need to hear."
Elfric had been talking to people before and during the service, Merthin realized. He was sure Elfric had left out of his account the fact that Griselda had tried to make Merthin the substitute father for Thurstan's baby. But he felt he would do himself no good by making excuses. Better to admit his fault. "I realize I did wrong, and I'm sorry, but I'm still a good carpenter."
Bill nodded agreement. "The new ferry testifies to that."
Merthin was encouraged. "Will you hire me?"
"As what?"
"As a carpenter. You said I was a good one."
"But where are your tools?"
"Elfric wouldn't give them to me."
"And he was right--because you haven't finished your apprenticeship."
"Then take me on as an apprentice for six months."
"And give you a new set of tools for nothing at the end of it? I can't afford that kind of generosity." Tools were expensive because iron and steel were costly.
"I'll work as a laborer, and save up to buy my own tools." It would take a long time, but he was desperate.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I've got a daughter, too."
This was outrageous. "I'm not a menace to maidens, you know."
"You're an example to apprentices. If you get away with this, what's to stop the others trying their luck?"
"That is so unjust!"
Bill shrugged. "You might think so. But ask any other master carpenter in town. I think you'll find they feel as I do."
"But what am I to do?"
"I don't know. You should have thought of that before you shagged her."
"You don't care about losing a good carpenter?"
Bill shrugged again. "All the more work for the rest of us."
Merthin turned away. That was the trouble with guilds, he thought bitterly: it was in their interest to exclude people, for good or bad reasons. A shortage of carpenters would just drive up their wages. They had no incentive to be fair.
Howell's widow left, accompanied by her mother. Caris, liberated from her duty of commiseration, came over to Merthin. "Why do you look unhappy?" she said. "You hardly knew Howell."
"I may have to leave Kingsbridge," he said.
She went pale. "Why on earth would you do that?"
He told her what Bill Watkin had said. "So, you see, no one in Kingsbridge will hire me, and I can't work on my own account for I've no tools. I could live with my parents, but I can't take the food from their mouths. So I'll have to seek work someplace where no one knows about Griselda. In time, perhaps I can save up enough money to buy a hammer and chisel and then move to another town and try to gain admittance to the carpenters' guild."
As he explained this to Caris, he began to appreciate the full misery of the situation. He saw her familiar features as if for the first time, and he was enchanted again by her sparkling green eyes, her small, neat nose, and the determined set of her jaw. Her mouth, he realized, did not quite fit the rest of her face: it was too wide, and the lips were too full. It unbalanced the regularity of her physiognomy the way her sensual nature subverted her tidy mind. It was a mouth made for sex, and the thought that he might have to go away and never kiss it again filled him with despair.
Caris was furious. "This is iniquitous! They have no right."
"That's what I think. But there seems to be nothing I can do about it. I just have to accept it."
"Wait a minute. Let's think about this. You can live with your parents, and have your dinner at my house."
"I don't want to become a dependent, like my father."
"Nor should you. You can buy Howell Tyler's tools--his widow was just telling me she's asking a pound for them."
"I haven't any money."
"Ask my father for a loan. He's always liked you, I'm sure he'll do it."
"But it's against the rules for anyone to employ a carpenter who isn't in the guild."
"Rules can be broken. There must be someone in town desperate enough to defy the guild."
Merthin realized he had allowed the old men to quench his spirit, and he was grateful to Caris for refusing to accept defeat. She was right, of course: he should stay in Kingsbridge and fight this unjust ruling. And he knew someone who was in desperate need of his talents. "Father Joffroi," he said.
"Is he desperate? Why?"
Merthin explained about the roof.
"Let's go and see him," Caris said.
The priest lived in a small house next to the church. They found him preparing a dinner of salt fish in a stew with spring greens. Joffroi was in his thirties, built like a soldier, tall with broad shoulders. His manner was brusque, but he had a reputation for sticking up for the poor.
Merthin said: "I can repair your roof without closing your church."
Joffroi looked wary. "You're an answer to prayer if you can."
"I'll build a hoist that will lift the roof timbers and deposit them in the graveyard."
"Elfric sacked you." The priest shot an embarrassed look in Caris's direction.
She said: "I know what happened, Father."
Merthin said: "He dismissed me because I would not marry his daughter. But the child she is bearing is not mine."
Joffroi nodded. "Some say you were treated unjustly. I can believe it. I have no great love for the guilds--their decisions are rarely unselfish. All the same, you haven't completed your apprenticeship."
"Can any member of the carpenters' guild repair your roof without closing your church?"
"I heard you haven't even got any tools."
"Leave that problem to me to solve."
Joffroi looked thoughtful. "How much do you want to be paid?"
Merthin stuck his neck out. "Four pence a day, plus the cost of materials."
"That's a journeyman carpenter's wage."
"If I don't have the skill of a qualified carpenter, you shouldn't hire me."
"You're cocky."
"I'm just saying what I can do."