Ken Follett - World Without End

“We lost the case,” Caris said.

Merthin was shocked. “How is that possible? You had Prior Philip’s will-”

“It made no difference.” She was bitterly disappointed, Merthin could see. She explained: “Godwyn’s smart lawyer argued that Kingsbridge people are serfs of the prior, and serfs have no right to appeal to the royal court. The judge dismissed the case.”

Merthin felt angry. “But that’s stupid. It means the prior can do anything he likes, regardless of laws and charters-”

“I know.”

Merthin realized she was impatient because he was saying things she had said to herself many times. He suppressed his indignation and tried to be practical. “What are you going to do?”

“Apply for a borough charter. That would free the town from the control of the prior. Our lawyer thinks we have a strong case. Mind you, he thought we would win against the fulling mill. However, the king is desperate for money for this war against France. He needs prosperous towns to pay his taxes.”

“How long would it take to get a charter?”

“That’s the bad news – at least a year, perhaps more.”

“And in that time, you can’t manufacture scarlet cloth.”

“Not with the old fulling mill.”

“So we’ll have to stop work on the bridge.”

“I can’t see any way out of it.”

“Damn.” It seemed so unreasonable. Here they had at their fingertips the means to restore the town’s prosperity, and one man’s stubbornness was preventing them. “How we all misjudged Godwyn,” Merthin said.

“Don’t remind me.”

“We’ve got to escape from his control.”

“I know.”

“But sooner than a year from now.”

“I wish there was a way.”

Merthin racked his brains. At the same time, he was studying Caris. She was a wearing a new dress from London, particoloured in the current fashion, which gave her a playful look, even though she was solemn and anxious. The colours, deep green and mid-blue, seemed to make her eyes sparkle and her skin glow. This happened every so often. He would be deep in conversation with her over some problem to do with the bridge – they rarely talked of anything else – then suddenly he would realise how lovely she was.

Even while he was thinking about that, the problem-solving part of his mind came up with a proposal. “We should build our own fulling mill.”

Caris shook her head. “It would be illegal. Godwyn would order John Constable to pull it down.”

“What if it were outside the town?”

“In the forest, you mean? That’s illegal too. You’d have the king’s verderers on your back.” Verderers enforced the laws of the forest.

“Not in the forest, then. Somewhere else.”

“Wherever you went, you’d need the permission of some lord.”

“My brother’s a lord.”

A look of distaste crossed Caris’s face at the mention of Ralph, then her expression changed as she thought through what Merthin was saying. “Build a fulling mill at Wigleigh?”

“Why not?”

“Is there a fast-flowing stream to turn the mill wheel?”

“I believe so – but if not it can be driven by an ox like the ferry.”

“Would Ralph let you?”

“Of course. He’s my brother. If I ask him, he’ll say yes.”

“Godwyn will go mad with rage.”

“Ralph doesn’t care about Godwyn.”

Caris was pleased and excited, Merthin could see; but what were her feelings towards him? She was glad they had a solution to their problem, and eager to outwit Godwyn, but beyond that he could not read her mind.

“Let’s think this through before we rejoice,” she said. “Godwyn will make a rule saying cloth can’t be taken out of Kingsbridge to be fulled. Lots of towns have laws like that.”

“Very hard for him to enforce such a rule without the cooperation of a guild. And, if he does, you can get around it. Most of the cloth is being woven in the villages anyway, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t bring it into the city. Send it from the weavers to Wigleigh. Dye it there, full it in the new mill, then take it to London. Godwyn will have no jurisdiction.”

“How long would it take to build a mill?”

Merthin considered. “The timber building can be put up in a couple of days. The machinery will be wooden, too, but it will take longer, as it has to be precisely measured. Getting the men and materials there will take the most time. I could have it finished a week after Christmas.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

Elizabeth rolled the dice and moved her last counter into the home position on the board. “I win!” she said. “That’s three out of three. Pay up.”

Merthin handed her a silver penny. Only two people ever beat him at tabula: Elizabeth and Caris. He did not mind losing. He was grateful for a worthy opponent.

He sat back and sipped his pear wine. It was a cold Saturday afternoon in January, and already dark. Elizabeth’s mother was asleep in a chair near the fire, snoring gently with her mouth open. She worked at the Bell, but she was always at home when Merthin visited her daughter. He preferred it that way. It meant he never had to decide whether to kiss Elizabeth or not. It was a question he did not want to confront. He would have liked to kiss her, of course. He remembered the touch of her cool lips and the firmness of her flat breasts. But it would mean admitting that his love affair with Caris was over for ever, and he was not yet ready for that.

“How is the new mill at Wigleigh?” Elizabeth asked.

“Finished, and rolling,” Merthin said proudly. “Caris has been fulling cloth there for a week.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Herself?”

“No, that was a figure of speech. As a matter of fact, Mark Webber is running the mill, though he is training some of the village men to take over.”

“It will be good for Mark if he becomes Caris’s second-in-command. He’s been poor all his life – this is a big opportunity.”

“Caris’s new enterprise will be good for us all. It will mean I can finish the bridge.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Elizabeth said in a level voice. “But what does Godwyn have to say?”

“Nothing. I’m not sure he knows about it yet.”

“He will, though.”

“I don’t believe there’s anything he can do.”

“He’s a prideful man. If you’ve outwitted him, he’ll never forgive you.”

“I can live with that.”

“And what about the bridge?”

“Despite all the problems, the work is only a couple of weeks behind schedule. I’ve had to spend money to catch up, but we will be able to use the bridge – with a temporary wooden roadbed – for the next Fleece Fair.”

“You and Caris between you have saved the town.”

“Not yet – but we will.”

There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth’s mother woke up with a start. “Now who could that be?” she said. “It’s dark out.”

It was one of Edmund’s apprentice boys. “Master Merthin is wanted at the parish guild meeting,” he said.

“What for?” Merthin asked him.

“Master Edmund said to tell you, you’re wanted at the parish guild meeting,” the boy said. He had obviously learned the message off by heart and knew nothing more.

“Something about the bridge, I expect,” Merthin said to Elizabeth. “They’re worried about the cost.” He picked up his cloak. “Thank you for the wine – and the game.”

“I’ll play you any time you like,” she said.

He walked beside the apprentice to the guild hall on the high street. The guild was holding a business meeting, not a banquet. The twenty or so most important people in Kingsbridge were sitting at a long trestle table, some drinking ale or wine, talking in low voices. Merthin sensed tension and anger, and he became apprehensive.