Ken Follett - World Without End

She could not talk to anyone in the priory about this, of course. Mother Cecilia would tell her she must keep her vows; Mair would beg her to stay. So she agonized alone at night.

Her quarrel with Merthin over Wulfric made her despair. After he walked away from her, she had gone back to her pharmacy and cried. Why were things so difficult? All she wanted was to do the right thing.

While Merthin was at Tench, she confided in Madge Webber.

Two days after Merthin left, Madge came into the hospital soon after dawn, when Caris and Mair were doing their rounds. “I’m worried about my Mark,” she said.

Mair said to Caris: “I went to see him yesterday. He had been to Melcombe and come back with a fever and an upset stomach. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t seem serious.”

“Now he’s coughing blood,” Madge said.

“I’ll go,” Caris said. The Webbers were old friends: she preferred to attend Mark herself. She picked up a bag containing some basic medicines and went with Madge to her house in the main street.

The living area was upstairs, over the shop. Mark’s three sons loitered anxiously in the dining hall. Madge took Caris into a bedroom that smelled bad. Caris was used to the odour of a sick room, a mixture of sweat, vomit and human waste. Mark lay on a straw mattress, perspiring. His huge belly stuck up in the air as if he were pregnant. The daughter, Dora, stood by the bed.

Caris knelt beside Mark and said: “How do you feel?”

“Rough,” Mark said in a croaky voice. “Can I have something to drink?”

Dora handed Caris a cup of wine, and Caris held it to Mark’s lips. She found it strange to see a big man helpless. Mark had always seemed invulnerable. It was unnerving, like finding an oak tree that has been there all your life suddenly felled by lightning.

She touched his forehead. He was burning up: no wonder he was thirsty. “Let him have as much to drink as he wants,” she said. “Weak beer is better than wine.”

She did not tell Madge that she was puzzled and worried by Mark’s illness. The fever and the stomach upset were routine, but his coughing blood was a dangerous sign.

She took a vial of rose water from her bag, soaked a small piece of woollen cloth and bathed his face and neck. The action soothed him immediately. The water would cool him a little, and the perfume masked the bad smells in the room. “I’ll give you some of this from my pharmacy,” she said to Madge. “The physicians prescribe it for an inflamed brain. A fever is hot and humid, and roses are cool and dry, so the monks say. Whatever the reason, it will give him some ease.”

“Thank you.”

But Caris knew of no effective treatment for bloody sputum. The monk-physicians would diagnose an excess of blood and recommend bleeding, but they prescribed that for almost everything, and Caris did not believe in it.

As she bathed Mark’s throat, she noticed a symptom Madge had not mentioned. There was a rash of purple-black spots on Mark’s neck and chest.

This was an illness she had not come across before, and she was mystified, but she did not let Madge know that. “Come back with me and I’ll give you the rose water.”

The sun was rising as they walked from the house to the hospital. “You’ve been very good to my family,” Madge said. “We were the poorest people in town, until you started the scarlet business.”

“It was your energy and industry that made it work.”

Madge nodded. She knew what she had done. “All the same, it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

On impulse, Caris decided to take Madge through the nuns’ cloisters to her pharmacy so that they could talk privately. Lay people were not normally allowed inside, but there were exceptions, and Caris was now senior enough to decide when the rules could be broken.

They were alone in the cramped little room. Caris filled a pottery bottle with rose water and asked Madge for six pence. Then she said: “I’m thinking of renouncing my vows.”

Madge nodded, unsurprised. “Everybody’s wondering what you’re going to do.”

Caris was shocked that the townspeople had guessed her thoughts. “How do they know?”

“It doesn’t take a clairvoyant. You entered the nunnery only to escape a death sentence for witchcraft. After the work you’ve done here, you should be able to get a pardon. You and Merthin were in love, and always seemed so right for one another. Now he’s come back. You must at least be thinking about marrying him.”

“I just don’t know what my life would be like as someone’s wife.”

Madge shrugged. “A bit like mine, perhaps. Mark and I run the cloth business together. I have to organize the household as well – all husbands expect that – but it’s not so difficult, especially if you have the money for servants. And the children will always be your responsibility rather than his. But I manage, and so would you.”

“You don’t make it sound very exciting.”

She smiled. “I assume you already know about the good parts: feeling loved and adored; knowing there’s one person in the world who will always be on your side; getting into bed every night with someone strong and tender who wants to fuck you… that’s happiness, for me.”

Madge’s simple words painted a vivid picture, and Caris was suddenly filled with a longing that was almost unbearable. She felt she could hardly wait to quit the cold, hard, loveless life of the priory, in which the greatest sin was to touch another human being. If Merthin had walked into the room at that moment she would have torn off his clothes and taken him there on the floor.

She saw that Madge was watching her with a little smile, reading her thoughts, and she blushed.

“It’s all right,” Madge said. “I understand.” She put six silver pennies down on the bench and picked up the bottle. “I’d better go home and look after my man.”

Caris recovered her composure. “Try to keep him comfortable, and come and fetch me immediately there’s any change.”

“Thank you, sister,” said Madge. “I don’t know what we’ll do without you.”

Merthin was thoughtful on the journey back to Kingsbridge. Even Lolla’s bright, meaningless chatter did not bring him out of his mood. Ralph had learned a lot, but he had not changed deep down. He was still a cruel man. He neglected his child-wife, barely tolerated his parents and was vengeful to the point of mania. He enjoyed being a lord, but felt little obligation to care for the peasants in his power. He saw everything around him, people included, as being there for his gratification.

However, Merthin felt optimistic about Kingsbridge. All the signs were that Mark would become alderman on All Hallows’ Day, and that could be the start of a boom.

Merthin got back on the last day of October, All Hallows’ Eve. It was a Friday this year, so there was not the influx of crowds that came when the night of evil spirits fell on a Saturday, as it had in the year that Merthin was eleven, and he met the ten-year-old Caris. All the same the people were nervous, and everyone planned to be in bed by nightfall.

On the main street he saw Mark Webber’s eldest son, John. “My father is in the hospital,” the boy said. “He has a fever.”

“This is a bad time for him to fall sick,” Merthin said.

“It’s an ill-starred day.”

“I didn’t mean because of the date. He has to be present at the parish guild meeting tomorrow. An alderman can’t be elected in his absence.”

“I don’t think he’ll be going to any meetings tomorrow.”

That was worrying. Merthin took his horses to the Bell and left Lolla in the care of Betty.

Entering the priory grounds, he ran into Godwyn with his mother. He guessed they had dined together and now Godwyn was walking her to the gate. They were deep in an anxious conversation, and Merthin guessed they were worried about the prospect of their placeman Elfric losing the post of alderman. They stopped abruptly when they saw him. Petranilla said unctuously: “I’m sorry to hear that Mark is unwell.”