Authors: Ken Follett
Philemon said: 'The fact that the hinge has been tampered with proves nothing.'
'So I was right!' said Caris. 'But how do you know about the hinge? Sister Beth has not opened the vault since the audit, and the box was fine then. You must have removed it from the vault yourself, if you know that it has been interfered with.'
Philemon looked bewildered, and had no answer.
Cecilia turned to Lloyd. 'Archdeacon, you are the bishop's representative. I think it's your duty to order the prior to return this money to the nuns.'
Lloyd looked worried. He said to Godwyn: 'Have you got any of the money left?'
Caris said furiously: 'When you've caught a thief, you don't ask him whether he can afford to relinquish his ill-gotten gains!'
Godwyn said: 'More than half has already been spent on the palace.'
'Building must stop immediately,' Caris said. 'The men must be dismissed today, the building torn down and the materials sold. You have to return every penny. What you can't pay in cash, after the palace has been demolished, you must make up in land or other assets.'
'I refuse,' Godwyn said.
Cecilia addressed Lloyd again. 'Archdeacon, please do your duty. You cannot allow one of the bishop's subordinates to steal from another, no matter that they both do God's work.'
Lloyd said: 'I can't adjudicate a dispute such as this myself. It's too serious.'
Caris was speechless with fury and dismay at Lloyd's weakness.
Cecilia protested: 'But you must!'
He looked trapped, but he shook his head stubbornly. 'Accusations of theft, destruction of a will, a charge of forgery...This must go to the bishop himself!'
Cecilia said: 'But Bishop Richard is on his way to France - and no one knows when he will be back. Meanwhile, Godwyn is spending the stolen money!'
'I can't help that, I'm afraid,' Lloyd said. 'You must appeal to Richard.'
'Very well, then,' said Caris. Something in her tone made them all look at her. 'In that case there's only one thing to do. We'll go and find our bishop.'
46
In July of 1346, King Edward III assembled the largest invasion fleet England had ever seen, almost a thousand ships, at Portsmouth. Contrary winds delayed the armada, but they finally set sail on July 11, their destination a secret.
Caris and Mair arrived in Portsmouth two days later, just missing Bishop Richard, who had sailed with the king.
They decided to follow the army to France.
It had not been easy to get approval even for the trip to Portsmouth. Mother Cecilia had invited the nuns in chapter to discuss the proposal, and some had felt that Caris would be in moral and physical danger. But nuns did leave their convents, not just on pilgrimages, but on business errands to London, Canterbury, and Rome. And the Kingsbridge sisters wanted their stolen money back.
However, Caris was not sure that she would have got permission to cross the Channel. Fortunately she was not able to ask.
She and Mair could not have followed the army immediately, even if they had known the king's destination, because every seaworthy vessel on the south coast of England had been commandeered for the invasion. So they fretted with impatience at a nunnery just outside Portsmouth and waited for news.
Caris learned later that King Edward and his army disembarked on a broad beach at St.-Vaast-la-Hogue, on the north coast of France near Barfleur. However, the fleet did not return immediately. Instead, the ships followed the coast eastward for two weeks, tracking the invading army as far as Caen. There they loaded their holds with booty: jewelry, expensive cloth, and gold and silver plate looted by Edward's army from the prosperous burgesses of Normandy. Then they returned.
One of the first back was the
Grace,
which was a cog - a broad-built cargo ship with rounded prow and stern. Her captain, a leather-faced salt called Rollo, was full of praise for the king. He had been paid at scarcity rates for his ship and his men, and he had gained a good share of the plunder himself. 'Biggest army I've ever seen,' Rollo said with relish. He thought there were at least fifteen thousand men, about half of them archers, and probably five thousand horses. 'You'll have your work cut out to catch up with them,' he said. 'I'll take you to Caen, the last place I know them to have been, and you can pick up their trail there. Whatever direction they've taken, they'll be about a week ahead of you.'
Caris and Mair negotiated a price with Rollo then went aboard the
Grace
with two sturdy ponies, Blackie and Stamp. They could not travel any faster than the army's horses, but the army had to stop and fight every so often, Caris reasoned, and that should enable her to catch up.
When they reached the French side and sailed into the estuary of the Orne, early on a sunny August morning, Caris sniffed the breeze and noticed the unpleasant smell of old ashes. Studying the landscape on either side of the river, she saw that the farmland was black. It looked as if the crops had been burned in the fields. 'Standard practice,' Rollo said. 'What the army can't take must be destroyed, otherwise it could benefit the enemy.' As they neared the port of Caen, they passed the hulks of several burned-out ships, presumably fired for the same reason.
'No one knows the king's plan,' Rollo told them. 'He may go south and advance on Paris, or swing northeast to Calais and hope to meet up there with his Flemish allies. But you'll be able to follow his trail. Just keep the blackened fields on either side of you.'
Before they disembarked, Rollo gave them a ham. 'Thank you, but we've got some smoked fish and hard cheese in our saddlebags,' Caris said to him. 'And we have money - we can buy anything else we need.'
'Money may not be much use to you,' the captain replied. 'There may be nothing to buy. An army is like a plague of locusts, it strips the country bare. Take the ham.'
'You're very kind. Good-bye.'
'Pray for me, if you would, Sister. I've committed some heavy sins in my time.'
Caen was a city of several thousand houses. Like Kingsbridge, its two halves, Old Town and New Town, were divided by a river, the Odon, which was spanned by St. Peter's Bridge. On the riverbank near the bridge, a few fishermen were selling their catch. Caris asked the price of an eel. She found the answer difficult to understand: the fisherman spoke a dialect of French she had never heard. When at last she was able to make out what he was saying, the price took her breath away. Food was so scarce, she realized, that it was more precious than jewels. She was grateful for Rollo's generosity.
They had decided that if they were questioned they would say they were Irish nuns traveling to Rome. Now, however, as she and Mair rode away from the river, Caris wondered nervously whether local people would know from her accent that she was English.
There were not many local people to be seen. Broken-down doors and smashed shutters revealed empty houses. There was a ghostly hush - no vendors crying their wares, no children quarreling, no church bells. The only work being done was burial. The battle had taken place more than a week ago, but small groups of grim-faced men were still bringing corpses out of buildings and loading them onto carts. It looked as if the English army had simply massacred men, women and children. They passed a church where a huge pit had been dug in the churchyard, and saw the bodies being tipped into a mass grave, without coffins or even shrouds, while a priest intoned a continuous burial service. The stench was unspeakable.
A well-dressed man bowed to them and asked if they needed assistance. His proprietorial manner suggested that he was a leading citizen concerned to make sure no harm came to religious visitors. Caris declined his offer of help, noting that his Norman French was no different from that of a nobleman in England. Perhaps, she thought, the lower orders all had their different local dialects, while the ruling class spoke with an international accent.
The two nuns took the road east out of town, glad to leave the haunted streets behind. The countryside was deserted, too. The bitter taste of ash was always on Caris's tongue. Many of the fields and orchards on either side of the road had been fired. Every few miles they rode through a heap of charred ruins that had been a village. The peasants had either fled before the army or died in the conflagration, for there was little life: just the birds, the occasional pig or chicken overlooked by the army's foragers, and sometimes a dog, nosing through the debris in a bewildered way, trying to pick up the scent of its master in a pile of cold embers.
Their immediate destination was a nunnery half a day's ride from Caen. Whenever possible, they would spend the night at a religious house - nunnery, monastery, or hospital - as they had on the way from Kingsbridge to Portsmouth. They knew the names and locations of fifty-one such institutions between Caen and Paris. If they could find them, as they hurried in the scorched footprints of King Edward, their accommodation and food would be free and they would be safe from thieves - and, Mother Cecilia would add, from fleshly temptations such as strong drink and male company.
Cecilia's instincts were sharp, but she had not sensed that a different kind of temptation was in the air between Caris and Mair. Because of that, Caris had at first refused Mair's request to come with her. She was focused on moving fast, and she did not want to complicate her mission by entering into a passionate entanglement - or by refusing so to do. On the other hand, she needed someone courageous and resourceful as her companion. Now she was glad of her choice: of all the nuns, Mair was the only one with the guts to go chasing the English army through France.
She had planned to have a frank talk before they left, saying that there should be no physical affection between them while they were away. Apart from anything else, they could get into terrible trouble if they were seen. But somehow she had never got around to the frank talk. So here they were in France with the issue still hanging unmentioned, like an invisible third traveler riding between them on a silent horse.
They stopped at midday by a stream on the edge of a wood, where there was an unburned meadow for the ponies to graze. Caris cut slices from Rollo's ham, and Mair took from their baggage a loaf of stale bread from Portsmouth. They drank the water from the stream, though it had the taste of cinders.
Caris suppressed her eagerness to get going, and forced herself to let the horses rest for the hottest hour of the day. Then, as they were getting ready to leave, she was startled to see someone watching her. She froze, with the ham in one hand and her knife in the other.
Mair said: 'What is it?' Then she followed Caris's gaze, and understood.
Two men stood a few yards away, in the shade of the trees, staring at them. They looked quite young, but it was hard to be sure, for their faces were sooty and their clothing was filthy.
After a moment, Caris spoke to them in Norman French. 'God bless you, my children.'
They made no reply. Caris guessed they were unsure what to do. But what possibilities were they considering? Robbery? Rape? They had a predatory look.
She was scared, but she made herself think calmly. Whatever else they might want, they must be starving, she calculated. She said to Mair: 'Quickly, give me two trenchers of that bread.'
Mair cut two thick slices off the big loaf. Caris cut corresponding slabs from the ham. She put the ham on the bread, then said to Mair: 'Give them one each.'
Mair looked terrified, but she walked across the grass with an unhesitating step and offered the food to the men.
They both snatched it and began to wolf it down. Caris thanked her stars that she had guessed right.
She quickly put the ham in her saddlebag and the knife in her belt, then climbed onto Blackie. Mair followed suit, stowing the bread and mounting Stamp. Caris felt safer on horseback.
The taller of the two men came toward them, moving quickly. Caris was tempted to kick her pony and take off, but she did not quite have time; and then the man's hand was holding her bridle. He spoke through a mouthful of food. 'Thank you,' he said with the heavy local accent.
Caris said: 'Thank God, not me. He sent me to help you. He is watching over you. He sees everything.'
'You have more meat in your bag.'
'God will tell me who to give it to.'
There was a pause, while the man thought that over, then he said: 'Give me your blessing.'
Caris was reluctant to extend her right arm in the traditional gesture of blessing - it would take her hand too far away from the knife at her belt. It was only a short-bladed food knife of the kind carried by every man and woman, but it was enough to slash the back of the hand that held her bridle and cause the man to let go.
Then she was inspired. 'Very well,' she said. 'Kneel down.'
The man hesitated.
'You must kneel to receive my blessing,' she said in a slightly raised voice.
Slowly, the man knelt, still holding his food in his hand.
Caris turned her gaze on his companion. After a moment, the second man did the same.
Caris blessed them both, then kicked Blackie and quickly trotted away. After a moment she looked back. Mair was close behind her. The two starving men stood staring at them.
Caris mulled over the incident anxiously as they rode through the afternoon. The sun shone cheerfully, as on a fine day in Hell. In some places, smoke was rising fitfully from a patch of woodland or a smoldering barn. But the countryside was not totally deserted, she realized gradually. She saw a pregnant woman harvesting beans in a field that had escaped the English torches; the scared faces of two children looking out from the blackened stones of a manor house; and several small groups of men, usually flitting through the fringes of woodland, moving with the alert purposefulness of scavengers. The men worried her. They looked hungry, and hungry men were dangerous. She wondered whether she should stop fretting about speed and worry instead about safety.
Finding their way to the religious houses where they planned to stop was also going to be more difficult than Caris had thought. She had not anticipated that the English army would leave such devastation in its wake. She had assumed there would be peasants around to direct her. It could be hard enough in normal times to get such information from people who had never traveled farther than the nearest market town. Now her interlocutors would also be elusive, terrified, or predatory.