Ken Follett - World Without End

Late in the afternoon, as Caris was passing the library, she met Canon Claude coming out, carrying a small book. He caught her eye and stopped. They both immediately thought of the scene Caris had stumbled upon an hour ago. At first Claude looked embarrassed, but then a grin lifted the corners of his mouth. His put his hand to his face to cover it, obviously feeling it was wrong to be amused. Caris remembered how startled the two naked men had been and she, too, felt inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside her. On impulse, she said what was in her mind: “The two of you did look funny!” Claude giggled despite himself, and Caris could not help chuckling too, and they made each other worse, until they fell into one another’s arms, tears streaming down their cheeks, helpless with laughter.

That evening, Caris took Merthin to the south-west corner of the priory grounds, where the vegetable garden grew alongside the river. The air was mild, and the moist earth gave up a fragrance of new growth. Caris could see spring onions and radishes. “So, your brother is to be the earl of Shiring,” she said.

“Not if Lady Philippa has anything to do with it.”

“A countess has to do what she is told by the king, doesn’t she?”

“All women should be subservient to men, in theory,” Merthin said with a grin. “Some defy convention, though.”

“I can’t think who you mean.”

Merthin’s mood changed abruptly. “What a world,” he said. “A man murders his wife, and the king elevates him to the highest rank of the nobility.”

“We know these things happen,” she said. “But it’s shocking when it’s your own family. Poor Tilly.”

Merthin rubbed his eyes as if to erase visions. “Why have you brought me here?”

“To talk about the final element in my plan: the new hospital.”

“Ah. I was wondering…”

“Could you build it here?”

Merthin looked around. “I don’t see why not. It’s a sloping site, but the entire priory is built on a slope, and we’re not talking about putting up another cathedral. One storey or two?”

“One. But I want the building divided into medium-sized rooms, each containing just four or six beds, so that diseases don’t spread so quickly from one patient to everyone else in the place. It must have its own pharmacy – a large, well-lit room – for the preparation of medicines, with a herb garden outside. And a spacious, airy latrine with piped water, very easy to keep clean. In fact the whole building must have lots of light and space. But, most importantly, it has to be at least a hundred yards from the rest of the priory. We have to separate the sick from the well. That’s the key feature.”

“I’ll do some drawings in the morning.”

She glanced around and, seeing that they were not observed, she kissed him. “This is going to be the culmination of my life’s work, do you realize that?”

“You’re thirty-two – isn’t it a little early to be talking about the culmination of your life’s work?”

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

“It won’t take long. I’ll start on it while I’m digging the foundations for the new tower. Then, as soon as the hospital is built, I can switch my masons to work on the cathedral.”

They started to walk back. She could tell that his real enthusiasm was for the tower. “How tall will it be?”

“Four hundred and five feet.”

“How high is Salisbury?”

“Four hundred and four.”

“So it will be the highest building in England.”

“Until someone builds a higher one, yes.”

So he would achieve his ambition too, she thought. She put her arm through his as they walked to the prior’s palace. She felt happy. That was strange, wasn’t it? Thousands of Kingsbridge people had died of the plague, and Tilly had been murdered, but Caris felt hopeful. It was because she had a plan, of course. She always felt better when she had a plan. The new walls, the constabulary, the tower, the borough charter, and most of all the new hospital: how would she find time to organize it all?

Arm in arm with Merthin, she walked into the prior’s house. Bishop Henri and Sir Gregory were there, deep in conversation with a third man who had his back to Caris. There was something unpleasantly familiar about the newcomer, even from behind, and Caris felt a tremor of unease. Then he turned around and she saw his face: sardonic, triumphant, sneering, and full of malice.

It was Philemon.

Bishop Henri and the other guests left Kingsbridge the next morning. Caris, who had been sleeping in the nuns’ dormitory, returned to the prior’s palace after breakfast and went upstairs to her room.

She found Philemon there.

It was the second time in two days that she had been startled by men in her bedroom. However, Philemon was alone and fully dressed, standing by the window looking at a book. Seeing him in profile, she realized that the trials of the last six months had left him thinner.

She said: “What are you doing here?”

He pretended to be surprised by the question. “This is the prior’s house. Why should I not be here?”

“Because it’s not your room!”

“I am the sub-prior of Kingsbridge. I have never been dismissed from that post. The prior is dead. Who else should live here?”

“Me, of course.”

“You’re not even a monk.”

“Bishop Henri made me acting prior – and last night, despite your return, he did not dismiss me from this post. I am your superior, and you must obey me.”

“But you’re a nun, and you must live with the nuns, not with the monks.”

“I’ve been living here for months.”

“Alone?”

Suddenly Caris saw that she was on shaky ground. Philemon knew that she and Merthin had been living more or less as man and wife. They had been discreet, not flaunting their relationship, but people guessed these things, and Philemon had a wild beast’s instinct for weakness.

She considered. She could insist on Philemon’s leaving the building immediately. If necessary, she could have him thrown out: Thomas and the novices would obey her, not Philemon. But what then? Philemon would do all he could to call attention to what Merthin and she were up to in the palace. He would create a controversy, and leading townspeople would take sides. Most would support Caris, almost whatever she did, such was her reputation; but there would be some who would censure her behaviour. The conflict would weaken her authority and undermine everything else she wanted to do. It would be better to admit defeat.

“You may have the bedroom,” she said. “But not the hall. I use that for meetings with leading townspeople and visiting dignitaries. When you’re not attending services in the church, you will be in the cloisters, not here. A sub-prior does not have a palace.” She left without giving him a chance to argue. She had saved face, but he had won.

She had been reminded last night of how wily Philemon was. Questioned by Bishop Henri, he seemed to have a plausible explanation for everything dishonourable that he had done. How did he justify deserting his post at the priory and running away to St-John-in-the-Forest? The monastery had been in danger of extinction, and the only way to save it had been to flee, in accordance with the saying: “Leave early, go far and stay long.” It was still, by general consent, the only sure way to avoid the plague. Their sole mistake had been to remain too long in Kingsbridge. Why, then, had no one informed the bishop of this plan? Philemon was sorry, but he and the other monks were only obeying the orders of Prior Godwyn. Then why had he run away from St John when the plague caught up with them there? He had been called by God to minister to the people of Monmouth, and Godwyn had given him permission to leave. How come Brother Thomas did not know about this permission, in fact denied firmly that it had ever been given? The other monks had not been told of Godwyn’s decision for fear it would cause jealousy. Why, then, had Philemon left Monmouth? He had met Friar Murdo, who had told him that Kingsbridge Priory needed him, and he regarded this as a further message from God.