Ken Follett - World Without End

“Philemon ran away. Godwyn is alive and well – he hasn’t caught it.”

“I have a message for Godwyn from the bishop.”

“I can imagine.”

“You’d better take me to him.”

“He’s in the church. He set up a bed in a side chapel. He’s convinced that’s why he hasn’t fallen ill. Come with me.”

They crossed the cloisters and entered the little church. It smelled more like a dormitory. The wall painting of the Day of Judgement at the east end seemed grimly appropriate now. The nave was strewn with straw and littered with blankets, as if a crowd of people had been sleeping here; but the only person present was Godwyn. He was lying face down on the dirt floor in front of the altar, his arms stretched out sideways. For a moment she thought he was dead, then she realized this was simply the attitude of extreme penitence.

Thomas said: “You have visitors, Father Prior.”

Godwyn remained in position. Caris would have assumed he was putting on a show, but something about his stillness made her think he was sincerely seeking forgiveness.

Then he got slowly to his feet and turned round.

He was pale and thin, Caris saw, and he looked tired and anxious.

“You,” he said.

“You’ve been discovered, Godwyn,” she said. She was not going to call him ‘father’. He was a miscreant and she had caught him. She felt deep satisfaction.

He said: “I suppose Tam Hiding betrayed me.”

His mind was as sharp as ever, Caris noted. “You tried to escape justice, but you failed.”

“I have nothing to fear from justice,” he said defiantly. “I came here in the hope of saving the lives of my monks. My error was to leave it too late.”

“An innocent man doesn’t sneak away under cover of night.”

“I had to keep my destination secret. It would have defeated my purpose to allow anyone to follow us here.”

“You didn’t have to steal the cathedral ornaments.”

“I didn’t steal them. I took them for safekeeping. I shall return them to their rightful place when it’s safe to do so.”

“So why did you tell no one that you were taking them?”

“But I did. I wrote to Bishop Henri. Did he not receive my letter?”

Caris felt a growing sense of dismay. Surely Godwyn could not wriggle out of this? “Certainly not,” she said. “No letter was received, and I don’t believe one was sent.”

“Perhaps the messenger died of the plague before he could deliver it.”

“And what was the name of this vanishing messenger?”

“I never knew it. Philemon hired the man.”

“And Philemon is not here – how convenient,” she said sarcastically. “Well, you can say what you like, but Bishop Henri accuses you of stealing the treasure, and he has sent me here to demand its return. I have a letter ordering you to hand everything to me, immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take it to him myself.”

“That is not what your bishop commands you to do.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s best.”

“Your refusal is proof of theft.”

“I’m sure I can persuade Bishop Henri to see things differently.”

The trouble was, Caris thought despairingly, that Godwyn might well do just that. He could be very plausible, and Henri, like most bishops, would generally avoid confrontation if he could. She felt as if the victory trophy was slipping through her hands.

Godwyn felt he had turned the tables on her, and he permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction. That infuriated her, but she had no more to say. All she could do now was return and tell Bishop Henri what had happened.

She could hardly believe it. Would Godwyn really return to Kingsbridge and resume his position as prior? How could he possibly hold his head up in Kingsbridge Cathedral? After all he had done to damage the priory, the town and the church? Even if the bishop accepted him, surely the townspeople would riot? The prospect was dire, yet stranger things had happened. Was there no justice?

She stared at him. The look of triumph on his face must be matched, she supposed, by the defeat on her own.

Then she saw something that turned the tables yet again.

On Godwyn’s upper lip, just below his left nostril, there was a trickle of blood.

Next morning, Godwyn did not get out of bed.

Caris put on her linen mask and nursed him. She bathed his face in rose water and gave him diluted wine whenever he asked for a drink. Every time she touched him, she washed her hands in vinegar.

Other than Godwyn and Thomas, there were only two monks left, both Kingsbridge novices. They, too, were dying of the plague; so she brought them down from the dormitory to lie in the church, and she took care of them as well, flitting around the dim-lit nave like a shade as she went from one dying man to the next.

She asked Godwyn where the cathedral treasures were, but he refused to say.

Merthin and Thomas searched the priory. The first place they looked was under the altar. Something had been buried there, quite recently, they could tell by the looseness of the earth. However, when they made a hole – Thomas digging surprisingly well with one hand – they found nothing. Whatever had been buried there had since been removed.

They checked every echoing room in the deserted monastery, and even looked in the cold bakery oven and the dry brewery tanks, but they found no jewels, relics or charters.

After the first night, Thomas quietly vacated the dormitory – without being asked – and left Merthin and Caris to sleep there alone. He made no comment, not even a nudge or a wink. Grateful for his discreet connivance, they huddled under a pile of blankets and made love. Afterwards, Caris lay awake. An owl lived somewhere in the roof, and she heard its nocturnal hooting, and occasionally the scream of a small animal caught in its talons. She wondered if she would become pregnant. She did not want to give up her vocation – but she could not resist the temptation of lying in Merthin’s arms. So she just refused to think about the future.

On the third day, as Caris, Merthin and Thomas ate dinner in the refectory, Thomas said: “When Godwyn asks for a drink, refuse to give it to him until he’s told you where he hid the treasure.”

Caris considered that. It would be perfectly just. But it would also amount to torture. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I know he deserves it, but all the same I can’t do it. If a sick man asks for a drink I must give it to him. That’s more important than all the jewelled ornaments in Christendom.”

“You don’t owe him compassion – he never showed any to you.”

“I’ve turned the church into a hospital, but I won’t let it become a torture chamber.”

Thomas looked as if he might be inclined to argue further, but Merthin dissuaded him with a shake of the head. “Think, Thomas,” he said. “When did you last see this stuff?”

“The night we arrived,” Thomas said. “It was in leather bags and boxes on a couple of horses. It was unloaded at the same time as everything else, and I think it was carried into the church.”

“Then what happened to it?”

“I never saw it again. But after Evensong, when we all went to supper, I noticed that Godwyn and Philemon stayed behind in the church with two other monks, Juley and John.”

Caris said: “Let me guess: Juley and John were both young and strong.”

“Yes.”

Merthin said: “So that’s probably when they buried the treasure under the altar. But when did they dig it up?”

“It had to be when nobody was in the church, and they could be sure of that only at mealtimes.”

“Were they absent from any other meals?”

“Several, probably. Godwyn and Philemon always acted as if the rules didn’t really apply to them. Their missing meals and services wasn’t unusual enough for me to remember every instance.”