Epic Historial Collection (279 page)

“Yes, Sister.” Jesca picked up the third chicken and went off.

Joe's wife, Ellie, said: “You may remember, Mother Caris, that you helped my husband's baby sister, Minnie, when she burned her arm in the forge.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Caris said. It had been a nasty burn, she remembered. “She must be ten now.”

“That's right.”

“Is she well?”

“Right as rain, thanks to you, and God's grace.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“Would you care to step into my house for a cup of ale, Mother Prioress?”

“I'd love to, but I'm in a hurry.” She turned to the men. “God bless you, and no more fighting.”

Joe said: “Thank you.”

Caris walked away.

Toby called after her: “Thank you, Mother.”

She waved without looking back.

She noticed several more houses that appeared to have been broken into, presumably to be looted after the occupants died. Someone ought to do something about it, she thought. But with Elfric as alderman, and a disappearing prior, there was no one to take the initiative.

She reached St. Peter's and found Elfric with a team of paviors and their apprentices in the nave. Stone slabs were stacked all around, and the men were preparing the ground, pouring sand and smoothing it with sticks. Elfric was checking that the surface was level, using a complicated piece of apparatus with a wooden frame and a dangling cord with a lead point at its end. The apparatus looked like a miniature gallows, and it reminded Caris that Elfric had tried to get her hanged for witchcraft ten years ago. She was surprised to find that she felt no hatred for him. He was too mean-spirited and small-minded for that. When she looked at him, she felt nothing but contempt.

She waited for him to finish, then said abruptly: “Did you know that Godwyn and all the monks have run away?”

She intended to surprise him, and she knew by his look of astonishment that he had no foreknowledge. “Why would they…? When…? Oh, last night?”

“You didn't see them.”

“I heard something.”

“I saw them,” said a pavior. He leaned on his spade to talk. “I was coming out of the Holly Bush. It was dark, but they had torches. The prior was riding, and the rest walking, but they had a sight of baggage: wine casks and wheels of cheese and I don't know what.”

Caris already knew that Godwyn had emptied the monks' food stores. He had not tried to take any of the nuns' supplies, which were kept separately. “What time was that?”

“Not late—nine or ten o'clock.”

“Did you speak to them?”

“Just to say good night.”

“Any clue as to where they might have been headed?”

The pavior shook his head. “They went over the bridge, but I didn't see which road they took at Gallows Cross.”

Caris turned to Elfric. “Think back over the past few days. Did Godwyn say anything to you that, with hindsight, might relate to this? Mention any place names—Monmouth, York, Antwerp, Bremen?”

“No. I had no clue.” Elfric looked grumpy about not having been forewarned, which made Caris think he was telling the truth.

If Elfric was surprised, it was unlikely that anyone else had known what Godwyn planned. Godwyn was fleeing from the plague, and clearly he did not want anyone to follow him, bringing the disease with them.
Leave early, go far, and stay long,
Merthin had said. Godwyn could be anywhere.

“If you hear from him, or any of the monks, please tell me,” Caris said.

Elfric said nothing.

Caris raised her voice to make sure the workmen heard. “Godwyn has stolen all the precious ornaments,” she said. There was a rumble of indignation. The men felt proprietorial about the cathedral ornaments—indeed, the wealthier craftsmen had probably helped pay for some of them. “The bishop wants them back. Anyone who helps Godwyn, even just by concealing his whereabouts, is guilty of sacrilege.”

Elfric looked bewildered. He had based his life on ingratiating himself with Godwyn. Now his patron had gone. He said: “There may be some perfectly innocent explanation…”

“If there is, why did Godwyn tell no one? Or even leave behind a letter?”

Elfric could not think of anything to say.

Caris realized she was going to have to speak to all the leading merchants, and the sooner the better. “I'd like you to call a meeting,” she said to Elfric. Then she thought of a more persuasive way of putting it. “The bishop wants the parish guild to meet today, after dinner. Please inform the members.”

“Very well,” said Elfric.

They would all be there, Caris knew, agog with curiosity.

She left St. Peter's and headed back toward the priory. As she passed the White Horse Tavern, she saw something that made her pause. A young girl was talking to an older man, and there was something about the interaction that raised Caris's hackles. She always felt the vulnerability of girls very sharply—perhaps because she remembered herself as an adolescent, perhaps because of the daughter she had never had. She drew back into a doorway and studied them.

The man was poorly dressed except for a costly fur hat. Caris did not know him, but she guessed he was a laborer and had inherited the hat. So many people had died that there was a glut of finery, and you saw odd sights like this all the time. The girl was about fourteen years old, and pretty, with an adolescent figure. She was trying to be coquettish, Caris saw with disapproval; though she was not very convincing. The man took money from his purse, and they seemed to be arguing. Then the man fondled the girl's small breast.

Caris had seen enough. She marched up to the pair. The man took one look at her nun's habit and walked quickly away. The girl looked both guilty and resentful. Caris said: “What are you doing—trying to sell your body?”

“No, Mother.”

“Tell the truth! Why did you let him feel your breast?”

“I don't know what to do! I haven't got anything to eat, and now you've chased him away.” She burst into tears.

Caris could believe the girl was hungry. She looked thin and pale. “Come with me,” Caris said. “I'll give you something to eat.”

She took the girl's arm and steered her toward the priory. “What's your name?” she asked.

“Ismay.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

They reached the priory and Caris took Ismay to the kitchen, where the nuns' dinner was being prepared under the supervision of a novice called Oonagh. The kitchener, Josephine, had fallen to the plague. “Give this child some bread and butter,” Caris said to Oonagh.

She sat and watched the girl eat. Ismay obviously had not had food for days. She ate half of a four-pound loaf before slowing down.

Caris poured her a cup of cider. “Why were you starving?” she asked.

“All my family died of the plague.”

“What was your father?”

“A tailor, and I can sew very neatly, but no one is buying clothes—they can get anything they want from the homes of dead people.”

“So that's why you were trying to prostitute yourself.”

She looked down. “I'm sorry, Mother Prioress. I was so hungry.”

“Was that the first time that you tried?”

She shook her head and would not look at Caris.

Tears of rage welled up in Caris's eyes. What kind of man would have sexual congress with a starving thirteen-year-old? What kind of God would drive a girl to such desperation? “Would you like to live here, with the nuns, and work in the kitchen?” she said. “You would have plenty to eat.”

Ismay looked up with eagerness. “Oh, yes, Mother, I'd like that.”

“Then you shall. You can begin by helping to prepare the nuns' dinner. Oonagh, here's a new kitchen hand.”

“Thank you, Mother Caris, I need all the help I can get.”

Caris left the kitchen and went thoughtfully into the cathedral for the service of Sext. The plague was not just a physical sickness, she was beginning to realize. Ismay had escaped the disease, but her soul had been in peril.

Bishop Henri took the service, leaving Caris free to think. At the parish guild meeting she needed to talk about more than just the flight of the monks, she decided. It was time to get the town organized to deal with the effects of the plague. But how?

She mulled over the problems through dinner. For all sorts of reasons, this was a good time to make big decisions. With the bishop here to back up her authority, she might be able to push through measures that could otherwise meet with opposition.

This was also a good moment to get what she wanted from the bishop. That was a fertile thought…

After dinner she went to see the bishop in the prior's house, where he was staying. He was at table with Archdeacon Lloyd. They had been fed by the nuns' kitchen and were drinking wine while a priory servant cleared the table. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner, my lord bishop,” she said formally.

He was a little less peevish than usual. “It was fine, thank you, Mother Caris—a very tasty pike. Any news of the runaway prior?”

“He seems to have been careful to leave no clue as to his destination.”

“Disappointing.”

“As I walked through the town, making inquiries, I saw several incidents that disturbed me: a thirteen-year-old girl prostituting herself; two normally law-abiding citizens fighting over a dead man's property; a man dead drunk at midday.”

“These are the effects of the plague. It's the same everywhere.”

“I believe we must act to counter those effects.”

He raised his eyebrows. It seemed he had not thought of taking such action. “How?”

“The prior is overlord of Kingsbridge. He is the one to take the initiative.”

“But he has vanished.”

“As bishop, you are technically our abbot. I believe you must stay here in Kingsbridge permanently, and take charge of the town.”

This was in fact the last thing she wanted. Fortunately, there was little chance of the bishop agreeing: he had far too much to do elsewhere. She was just trying to back him into a corner.

He hesitated, and for a moment she worried that she might have misjudged him, and he might accept her suggestion. Then he said: “Out of the question. Every town in the diocese has the same problems. Shiring is worse. I have to try to hold together the fabric of Christianity here while my priests are dying. I have no time to worry about drunks and prostitutes.”

“Well, somebody must act as prior of Kingsbridge. The town needs a moral leader.”

Archdeacon Lloyd put in: “My lord bishop, there is also the question of who is to receive monies owed to the priory, maintain the cathedral and other buildings, manage the lands and the serfs…”

Henri said: “Well, you will have to do all that, Mother Caris.”

She pretended to consider the suggestion as if she had not already thought of it. “I could handle all the less important tasks—managing the monks' money and their lands—but I could not do what you can do, my lord bishop. I could not perform the holy sacraments.”

“We've already discussed that,” he said impatiently. “I'm creating new priests as fast as I can. But you can do everything else.”

“It almost seems as if you're asking me to be acting prior of Kingsbridge.”

“That's exactly what I want.”

Caris was careful not to show her elation. It seemed too good to be true. She was prior for all purposes except those she did not care about. Were there any hidden snags she had not thought of?

Archdeacon Lloyd said: “You'd better let me write her a letter to that effect, in case she needs to enforce her authority.”

Caris said: “If you want the town to abide by your wishes, you may need to impress upon them that this is your personal decision. A meeting of the parish guild is about to begin. If you're willing, Bishop, I'd like you to attend it and make an announcement.”

“All right, let us go.”

They left Godwyn's palace and walked up the main street to the guildhall. The members were all waiting to hear what had happened to the monks. Caris began by telling them what she knew. Several people had seen or heard the exodus yesterday after dark, although no one had realized or even suspected that every single one of the monks was leaving.

She asked them to be alert for talk among travelers about a large group of monks on the road with a lot of baggage.

“But we have to accept the likelihood that the monks will not return soon. And in connection with that, the lord bishop has an announcement.” She wanted the words to come from him, not her.

Henri cleared his throat and said: “I have confirmed the election of Caris as prioress, and I have appointed her acting prior. You will all please treat her as my representative and your overlord in all matters, excepting only those reserved to ordained priests.”