Ken Follett - World Without End

“Good.”

Elfric turned to Merthin. “You stay here and count the stones in an aisle vault. Bring me the answer at home.”

“Yes.”

Elfric and Godwyn left, but Thomas lingered. “I got you into trouble,” he said.

“You were trying to boost me.”

The monk shrugged, and made a what-can-you-do gesture with his right arm. His left arm had been amputated at the elbow ten years ago, after infection set in to the wound he received in the fight Merthin had witnessed.

Merthin hardly ever thought about that strange scene in the forest – he had become used to Thomas in a monk’s robe – but he recalled it now: the men-at-arms, the children hiding in the bush, the bow and arrow, the buried letter. Thomas was always kind to him, and he guessed it was because of what happened that day. “I’ve never told anyone about that letter,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Thomas replied. “If you had, you’d be dead.”

Most large towns were run by a guild merchant, an organization of the leading citizens. Under the guild merchant were numerous craft guilds, each dedicated to a particular trade: masons, carpenters, leather tanners, weavers, tailors. Then there were the parish guilds, small groups centred on local churches, formed to raise money for priestly robes and sacred ornaments, and for the support of widows and orphans.

Cathedral towns were different. Kingsbridge, like St Albans and Bury St Edmunds, was ruled by the monastery, which owned almost all the land in and around the town. The priors had always refused permission for a guild merchant. However, the most important craftsmen and traders belonged to the parish guild of St Adolphus. No doubt this had started out, in the distant past, as a pious group that raised money for the cathedral, but it was now the most important organization in town. It made rules for the conduct of business, and elected an alderman and six wardens to enforce them. In the guild hall were kept the measures that standardized the weight of a woolsack, the width of a bolt of cloth, and the volume of a bushel for all Kingsbridge trade. Nevertheless, the merchants could not hold courts and dispense justice the way they did in borough towns – the Kingsbridge prior retained those powers for himself.

On the afternoon of Whit Sunday, the parish guild gave a banquet at the guild hall for the most important visiting buyers. Edmund Wooler was the alderman, and Caris went with him to be hostess, so Merthin had to amuse himself without her.

Fortunately, Elfric and Alice were also at the banquet, so he could sit in the kitchen, listening to the rain and thinking. The weather was not cold, but there was a small fire for cooking, and its red glow was cheerful.

He could hear Elfric’s daughter, Griselda, moving about upstairs. It was a fine house, although smaller than Edmund’s. There was just a hall and a kitchen downstairs. The staircase led to an open landing, where Griselda slept, and a closed bedroom for the master and his wife. Merthin slept in the kitchen.

There had been a time, three or four years ago, when Merthin had been tormented at night by fantasies of climbing the stairs and slipping under the blankets next to Griselda’s warm, plump body. But she considered herself superior to him, treating him like a servant, and she had never given him the least encouragement.

Sitting on a bench, Merthin looked into the fire and visualized the wooden scaffolding he would build for the masons who would reconstruct the collapsed vaulting in the cathedral. Wood was expensive, and long tree trunks were rare – the owners of woodland usually yielded to the temptation of selling the timber before it was fully mature. So builders tried to minimize the amount of scaffolding. Rather than build it up from floor level, they saved timber by suspending it from the existing walls.

While he was thinking, Griselda came into the kitchen and took a cup of ale from the barrel. “Would you like some?” she said. Merthin accepted, amazed by her courtesy. She surprised him again by sitting on a stool opposite him to drink.

Griselda’s paramour, Thurstan, had disappeared three weeks ago. No doubt she now felt lonely, which would be why she wanted Merthin’s company. The drink warmed his stomach and relaxed him. Searching for something to say, he asked: “What happened to Thurstan?”

She tossed her head like a frisky mare. “I told him I didn’t want to marry him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too young for me.”

That did not sound right to Merthin. Thurstan was seventeen, Griselda twenty, but Griselda was not notably mature. More likely, he thought, Thurstan was too low-class. He had arrived in Kingsbridge from nowhere a couple of years ago, and had worked as an unskilled labourer for several of the town’s craftsmen. He had probably got bored, with Griselda or with Kingsbridge, and simply moved on.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I should marry someone my own age, someone with a sense of responsibility – perhaps a man who could take over my father’s enterprise one day.”

It occurred to Merthin that she might mean him. Surely not, he thought; she’s always looked down on me. Then she got up from her stool and came and sat on the bench beside him.

“My father is spiteful to you,” she said. “I’ve always thought that.”

Merthin was astonished. “Well, it’s taken you long enough to say so – I’ve been living here six and a half years.”

“It’s hard for me to go against my family.”

“Why is he so vile to me, anyway?”

“Because you think you know better than him, and you can’t hide it.”

“Maybe I do know better.”

“See what I mean?”

He laughed. It was the first time she had ever made him laugh.

She shifted closer on the bench, so that her thigh in the woollen dress was pressed against his. He was in his worn linen shirt, which came to mid-thigh, with the undershorts that all men wore, but he could feel the warmth of her body through their clothes. What had brought this on? He looked incredulously at her. She had glossy dark hair and brown eyes. Her face was attractive in a fleshy way. She had a nice mouth for kissing.

She said: “I like being indoors in a rainstorm. It feels cosy.”

He felt himself becoming aroused, and looked away from her. What would Caris think, he asked himself, if she walked in here now? He tried to quell his desire, but that only made it worse.

He looked back at Griselda. Her lips were moist and slightly parted. She leaned towards him. He kissed her. Immediately, she thrust her tongue into his mouth. It was a sudden, shocking intimacy that he found thrilling, and he responded in the same way. This was not like kissing Caris-

That thought arrested him. He tore himself away from Griselda and stood up.

She said: “What’s the matter?”

He did not want to tell her the truth, so he said: “You never seemed to like me.”

She looked annoyed. “I’ve told you, I had to side with my father.”

“You’ve changed very suddenly.”

She stood up and moved towards him. He stepped away until his back was to the wall. She took his hand and pressed it to her bosom. Her breasts were round and heavy, and he could not resist the temptation to feel them. She said: “Have you ever done it – the real thing – with a girl?”

He found he could not speak, but he nodded.

“Have you thought about doing it with me?”

“Yes,” he managed.

“You can do it to me now, if you like, while they’re out. We can go upstairs and lie on my bed.”

“No.”

She pressed her body to his. “Kissing you has made me go all hot and slippery inside.”

He pushed her away. The shove was rougher than he intended, and she fell backwards, landing on her well-cushioned bottom. “Leave me alone,” he said.