Ken Follett - World Without End

Mark and his family had moved to a big house on the main street, with a large stone-built ground-floor storeroom for bales of cloth. There was no loom in their kitchen now: all the weaving was done by others whom they organized. Mark and Madge were sitting on a bench, looking solemn. When Merthin walked in, Mark jumped up. “Have you seen her?” he cried.

“They won’t let me.”

“That’s outrageous!” Mark said. “They don’t have the right to stop her seeing the man she’s supposed to marry!”

“The nuns say she doesn’t want to see me.”

“I don’t believe them.”

“Nor do I. I went in and looked for her, but I couldn’t find her. There are a lot of locked doors.”

“She must be there somewhere.”

“I know. Will you come back with me, and bring a hammer, and help me break down every door until we find her?”

Mark looked uncomfortable. Strong as he was, he hated violence.

Merthin said: “I have to find her – she might be dead!”

Before he could reply, Madge said: “I’ve got a better idea.”

The two men looked at her.

“I’ll go to the nunnery,” Madge said. “The nuns won’t be so nervous of a woman. Perhaps they will persuade Caris to see me.”

Mark nodded. “At least then we’ll know that she’s alive.”

Merthin said: “But… I need more than that. What is she thinking? Is she going to wait until the fuss dies down, then escape? Should I try to break her out of there? Or should I just wait – and, if so, how long? A month? A year? Seven years?”

“I’ll ask her, if they’ll let me in.” Madge stood up. “You wait here.”

“No, I’m coming with you,” Merthin said. “I’ll wait outside.”

“In that case, Mark, why don’t you come, too, to keep Merthin company?”

To keep Merthin out of trouble, she meant, but he made no objection. He had asked for their help. And he was grateful to have two people he trusted on his side.

They hurried back to the priory close. Mark and Merthin waited outside the hospital while Madge went in. Merthin saw that Caris’s old dog, Scrap, was sitting at the door, waiting for her to reappear.

After Madge had been gone for half an hour, Merthin said: “I think they must have let her in, otherwise she’d be back by now.”

“We’ll see,” said Mark.

They watched the last of the traders pack up and depart, leaving the cathedral green a sea of churned mud. Merthin paced up and down while Mark sat like a statue of Samson. One hour followed another. Despite his impatience, Merthin was glad of the delay, for almost certainly Madge was talking to Caris.

The sun was sinking over the west side of town when at last Madge emerged. Her expression was solemn and her face was wet with tears. “Caris is alive,” she said. “And there’s nothing wrong with her, physically or mentally. She’s in her right mind.”

“What did she say?” Merthin asked urgently.

“I’ll tell you every word. Come, let’s sit in the garden.”

They went to the vegetable patch and sat on the stone bench, looking at the sunset. Madge’s equanimity gave Merthin a bad feeling. He would have preferred her to be spitting with rage. Her manner told him the news was bad. He felt hopeless. He said: “Is it true that she doesn’t want to see me?”

Madge sighed. “Yes.”

“But why?”

“I asked her that. She said it would break her heart.”

Merthin began to cry.

Madge went on in a low, clear voice. “Mother Cecilia left us alone, so that we could speak frankly, without being overheard. Caris believes that Godwyn and Philemon are determined to get rid of her, because of the application for a borough charter. She’s safe in the nunnery, but if she ever leaves they will find her and kill her.”

“She could escape and I could take her to London!” Merthin said. “Godwyn would never find us there!”

Madge nodded. “I said that to her. We discussed it for a long time. She feels the two of you would be fugitives for the rest of your lives. She’s not willing to condemn you to that. It’s your destiny to be the greatest builder of your generation. You will be famous. But, if she is with you, you will always have to lie about your identity and hide from the light of day.”

“I don’t care about that!”

“She told me you would say that. But she believes you do care about it, and what is more she thinks you should. Anyway, she cares about it. She will not take away your destiny, even if you ask her to.”

“She could say this to me herself!”

“She’s afraid you would talk her round.”

Merthin knew Madge was telling the truth. Cecilia had been telling the truth, too. Caris did not want to see him. He felt choked with grief. He swallowed, wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve and struggled to speak. “But what will she do?” he said.

“Make the best of it. Try to be a good nun.”

“She hates the church!”

“I know she has never been very respectful of the clergy. In this town, it’s not surprising. But she believes she can find some kind of consolation in a life dedicated to healing her fellow women and men.”

Merthin thought about that. Mark and Madge watched him in silence. He could imagine Caris working in the hospital, taking care of sick people. But how would she feel about spending half the night singing and praying? “She might kill herself,” he said after a long pause.

“I don’t think so,” Madge said with conviction. “She’s terribly sad, but I don’t see her taking that way out.”

“She might kill someone else.”

“That’s more likely.”

“Then again,” Merthin said slowly and reluctantly, “she might find a kind of happiness.”

Madge said nothing. Merthin looked hard at her. She nodded.

That was the terrible truth, he realized. Caris might be happy. She was losing her home, her freedom and her husband-to-be; but she might still be happy, in the end.

There was nothing more to say.

Merthin stood up. “Thank you for being my friends,” he said. He began to walk away.

Mark said: “Where are you going?”

Merthin stopped and turned back. There was a thought spinning in his head, and he waited for it to become clear. When it did, he was astonished. But he saw immediately that the idea was right. It was not merely right, it was perfect.

He wiped the tears from his face and looked at Mark and Madge in the red light of the dying sun.

“I’m going to Florence,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Sister Caris left the nuns’ cloisters and walked briskly into the hospital. There were three patients lying in beds. Old Julie was now too infirm to attend services or climb the stairs to the nuns’ dormitory. Bella Brewer, the wife of Dick Brewer’s son Danny, was recovering from a complicated birth. And Rickie Silvers, aged thirteen, had a broken arm which Matthew Barber had set. Two other people sat on a bench to one side, talking: a novice nun called Nellie, and a priory servant, Bob.

Caris’s experienced gaze swept the room. Beside each bed was a dirty dinner plate. The dinner hour was long over. “Bob!” she said. He leaped to his feet. “Take away these plates. This is a monastery, and cleanliness is a virtue. Jump to it!”

“Sorry, sister,” he said.

“Nellie, have you taken Old Julie to the latrine?”

“Not yet, sister.”

“She always needs to go after dinner. My mother was the same. Take her quick, before she has an accident.”

Nellie began to get the old nun up.

Caris was trying to develop the quality of patience, but after seven years as a nun she still had not succeeded, and she became frustrated by having to repeat instructions again and again. Bob knew he should clear away as soon as dinner was over – Caris had told him often. Nellie knew Julie’s needs. Yet they sat on a bench gossiping until Caris surprised tnem with a lightning inspection.