Ken Follett - World Without End

Caris was shocked. She had tried to save his pride with her compromise, and she had not thought he would walk away from sick people in a fit of petulance.

She quickly put him out of her mind as she began to look again at the injured.

For the next couple of hours she was busy bathing wounds, sewing up gashes and administering soothing herbs and comforting drinks. Matthew Barber worked alongside her, setting broken bones and fixing dislocated joints. Matthew was in his fifties, now, but his son Luke assisted him with equal skill.

The afternoon was cooling into evening when they finished. They sat on the cloister wall to rest. Sister Joan brought them tankards of cool cider. Caris still had a headache. She had been able to ignore it while she was busy but now it bothered her. She would go to bed early, she decided.

While they were drinking their cider, young Joshie appeared. “The lord bishop asks you to attend on him in the prior’s palace at your convenience, Mother Prioress.”

She grunted irritably. No doubt Sime had complained. This was the last thing she needed. “Tell him I’ll come immediately,” she said. In a lower voice she added: “Might as well get it over with.” She drained her tankard and left.

Wearily she walked across the green. The stallholders were packing up for the night, covering their goods and locking their boxes. She passed through the graveyard and entered the palace.

Bishop Henri sat at the head of the table. Canon Claude and Archdeacon Lloyd were with him. Philemon and Sime were also there. Godwyn’s cat, Archbishop, was sitting on Henri’s lap, looking smug. The bishop said: “Please sit down.”

She sat beside Claude. He said kindly: “You look tired, Mother Caris.”

“I’ve spent the afternoon patching up stupid boys who got into a big fight. Also, I got a bang on the head myself.”

“We heard about the fight.”

Henri added: “And about the argument in the new hospital.”

“I assume that’s why I’m here.”

“Yes.”

“The whole idea of the new place is to separate patients with infectious illnesses-”

“I know what the argument is about,” Henri interrupted. He addressed the group. “Caris ordered that those injured in the fight be taken to the old hospital. Sime countermanded her orders. They had an unseemly row in front of everyone.”

Sime said: “I apologize for that, my lord bishop.”

Henri ignored that. “Before we go any farther, I want to get something clear.” He looked from Sime to Caris and back again. “I am your bishop and, ex officio, the abbot of Kingsbridge Priory. I have the right and power to command you all, and it is your duty to obey me. Do you accept that, Brother Sime?”

Sime bowed his head. “I do.”

Henri turned to Caris. “Do you, Mother Prioress?”

There was no argument, of course. Henri was completely in the right. “Yes,” she said. She felt confident that Henri was not stupid enough to force injured hooligans to catch the plague.

Henri said: “Allow me to state the arguments. The new hospital was built with the nuns’ money, to the specifications of Mother Caris. She intended it to provide a place for plague victims and others whose illnesses may, according to her, be spread from the sick to the well. She believes it is essential to compartmentalize the two types of patient. She feels she is entitled, in all the circumstances, to insist that her plan be carried out. Is that fair, mother?”

“Yes.”

“Brother Sime was not here when Caris conceived her plan, so he could not be consulted. However, he has spent three years studying medicine at the university, and has been awarded a degree. He points out that Caris has no training and, apart from what she has picked up by practical experience, little understanding of the nature of disease. He is a qualified physician and, more than that, he is the only one in the priory, or indeed in Kingsbridge.”

“Exactly,” said Sime.

“How can you say I have no training?” Caris burst out. “After all the years I’ve cared for patients-”

“Be quiet, please,” Henri said, hardly raising his voice; and something in his quiet tone caused Caris to shut up. “I was about to mention your history of service. Your work here has been invaluable. You are known far and wide for your dedication during the plague that is still with us. Your experience and practical knowledge are priceless.”

“Thank you, bishop.”

“On the other hand, Sime is a priest, a university graduate… and a man. The learning he brings with him is essential to the proper running of a priory hospital. We do not want to lose him.”

Caris said: “Some of the masters at the university agree with my methods – ask Brother Austin.”

Philemon said: “Brother Austin has been sent to St-John-in-the-Forest.”

“And now we know why,” Caris said.

The bishop said: “I have to make this decision, not Austin nor the masters at the university.”

Caris realized that she had not prepared for this showdown. She was exhausted, she had a headache, and she could hardly think straight. She was in the middle of a power struggle, and she had no strategy. If she had been fully alert she would not have come when the bishop called. She would have gone to bed and got over her bad head and woken up refreshed in the morning, and she would not have met with Henri until she had worked out her battle plan.

Was it yet too late for that?

She said: “Bishop, I don’t feel adequate to this discussion tonight. Perhaps we could postpone it until tomorrow, when I’m feeling better.”

“No need,” said Henri. “I’ve heard Sime’s complaint, and I know your views. Besides, I will be leaving at sunrise.”

He had made up his mind, Caris realized. Nothing she said would make any difference. But what had he decided? Which way would he jump? She really had no idea. And she was too tired to do anything but sit and listen to her fate.

“Humankind is weak,” Henri said. “We see, as the apostle Paul puts it, as through a glass, darkly. We err, we go astray, we reason poorly. We need help. That is why God gave us His church, and the pope, and the priesthood – to guide us, because our own resources are fallible and inadequate. If we follow our own way of thinking, we will fail. We must consult the authorities.”

It looked as if he was going to back Sime, Caris concluded. How could he be so stupid?

But he was. “Brother Sime has studied the ancient texts of medical literature, under the supervision of the masters at the university. His course of study is endorsed by the church. We must accept its authority, and therefore his. His judgement cannot be subordinated to that of an uneducated person, no matter how brave and admirable she may be. His decisions must prevail.”

Caris felt so weary and ill that she was almost glad the interview was over. Sime had won; she had lost; and all she wanted to do was sleep. She stood up.

Henri said: “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother Caris…”

His voice tailed off as she walked away.

She heard Philemon say: “Insolent behaviour.”

Henri said quietly: “Let her go.”

She reached the door and went out without turning back.

The full meaning of what had happened became clear to her as she walked slowly through the graveyard. Sime was in charge of the hospital. She would have to follow his orders. There would be no separation of different categories of patient. There would be no face masks or hand washing in vinegar. Weak people would be made weaker by bleeding; starved people would be made thinner by purging; wounds would be covered with poultices made of animal dung to encourage the body to produce pus. No one would care about cleanliness or fresh air.