Ken Follett - World Without End

“He’s in the hospital, right now, in one of the private rooms upstairs – with his cousin Margery!”

Margery was a pretty girl of sixteen. Her parents – a younger brother of Earl Roland, and a sister of the countess of Marr – were both dead, and she was Roland’s ward. He had arranged for her to marry a son of the earl of Monmouth, in a political alliance that would greatly strengthen Roland’s position as the leading nobleman of south-west England. “What are they doing?” Godwyn said, though he could guess.

Philemon lowered his voice. “Kissing!”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll show you.”

Philemon led the way out of the church via the south transept, through the monks’ cloisters, and up a flight of steps to the dormitory. It was a plain room with two rows of simple wooden bedsteads, each having a straw mattress. It shared a party wall with the hospital. Philemon went to a large cupboard that contained blankets. With an effort, he pulled it forward. In the wall behind it there was a loose stone. Momentarily Godwyn wondered how Philemon had come across this peephole, and guessed he might have hidden something in the gap. Philemon lifted the stone out, careful to make no noise, and whispered: “Look, quick!”

Godwyn hesitated. In a low voice he said: “How many other guests have you observed from here?”

“All of them,” Philemon replied, as if that should have been obvious.

Godwyn thought he knew what he was going to see, and he did not relish it. Peeping at a misbehaving bishop might be all right for Philemon, but it seemed shamefully underhand. However, his curiosity urged him on. In the end he asked himself what his mother would advise, and knew immediately that she would tell him to look.

The hole in the wall was a little below eye level. He stooped and peeked through.

He was looking into one of the two private guest rooms upstairs at the hospital. In one corner stood a prie-dieu facing a wall painting of the crucifixion. There were two comfortable chairs and a couple of stools. When there was a crowd of important guests, the men took one room and the women the other; and this was clearly the women’s room, for on a small table were several distinctly feminine articles: combs, ribbons, and mysterious small jars and vials.

On the floor were two straw mattresses. Richard and Margery lay on one of them. They were doing more than kissing.

Bishop Richard was an attractive man with wavy mid-brown hair and regular features. Margery was not much more than half his age, a slender girl with white skin and dark eyebrows. They lay side by side. Richard was kissing her face and speaking into her ear. A smile of pleasure played upon his fleshy lips. Margery’s dress was pushed up around her waist. She had beautiful long white legs. His hand was between her thighs, moving with a practised, regular motion: although Godwyn had no experience of women, somehow he knew what Richard was doing. Margery looked at Richard adoringly, her mouth half open, panting with excitement, her face flushed with passion. Perhaps it was mere prejudice, but Godwyn sensed intuitively that Richard saw Margery as a plaything of the moment, whereas Margery believed Richard was the love of her life.

Godwyn stared at them for a horrified moment. Richard moved his hand, and suddenly Godwyn was looking at the triangle of coarse hair between Margery’s thighs, dark against her white skin, like her eyebrows. Quickly, he looked away.

“Let me see,” said Philemon.

Godwyn moved away from the wall. This was shocking, but what should he do about it – if anything?

Philemon looked through the hole and gave a gasp of excitement. “I can see her cunt!” he whispered. “He’s rubbing it!”

“Come away from there,” Godwyn said. “We’ve seen enough – too much.”

Philemon hesitated, fascinated; then, reluctantly, he moved away and replaced the loose stone. “We must expose the bishop’s fornication at once!” he said.

“Shut your mouth and let me think,” Godwyn said. If he did as Philemon suggested he would make enemies of Richard and his powerful family – and to no purpose. But surely there was a way something like this could be turned to advantage? Godwyn tried to think about it as his mother would. If there was nothing to be gained by revealing Richard’s sin, was it possible to make a virtue of concealing it? Perhaps Richard would be grateful to Godwyn for keeping it secret.

That was more promising. But for it to work, Richard had to know that Godwyn was protecting him.

“Come with me,” Godwyn said to Philemon.

Philemon moved the cupboard back into place. Godwyn wondered whether the sound of the wood scraping on the floor was audible in the next room. He doubted it – and, anyway, Richard and Margery were surely too absorbed in what they were doing to notice noises from beyond the wall.

Godwyn led the way down the stairs and through the cloisters. There were two staircases to the private rooms: one led up from the hospital’s ground floor, and the other was outside the building, permitting important guests to come and go without passing through the common people’s quarters. Godwyn hurried up the outside stairs.

He paused outside the room where Richard and Margery were and spoke to Philemon quietly. “Follow me in,” he said. “Do nothing. Say nothing. Leave when I leave.”

Philemon put down his broom.

“No,” Godwyn said. “Carry it.”

“All right.”

Godwyn threw open the door and strode in. “I want this chamber immaculately clean,” he said loudly. “Sweep every corner – oh! I beg your pardon! I thought the room was empty!”

In the time it had taken Godwyn and Philemon to rush from the dormitory to the hospital, the lovers had progressed. Richard now lay on top of Margery, his long clerical robe lifted in front. Her shapely white legs stuck straight up in the air either side of the bishop’s hips. There was no mistaking what they were doing.

Richard ceased his thrusting motion and looked at Godwyn, his expression a mixture of angry frustration and frightened guilt. Margery gave a cry of shock and she, too, stared at Godwyn with fear in her eyes.

Godwyn drew the moment out. “Bishop Richard!” he said, feigning bewilderment. He wanted Richard to be in no doubt that he had been recognized. “But how… and Margery?” He pretended to understand suddenly. “Forgive me!” He spun on his heel. He shouted at Philemon: “Get out! Now!” Philemon scuttled back through the door, still clutching his broom.

Godwyn followed, but he turned at the door, to make sure Richard got a good look at him. The two lovers remained frozen in position, locked in sexual congress, but their faces had changed. Margery’s hand had flown to her mouth in the eternal gesture of surprised guilt. Richard’s expression had become frantically calculating. He wanted to speak but he could not think what to say. Godwyn decided to put them out of their misery. He had done everything he needed to do.

He stepped out – then, before he could close the door, a shock made him stop. A woman was coming up the stairs. He suffered a moment of Panic. It was Philippa, the wife of the earl’s other son.

He realized instantly that Richard’s guilty secret would lose its value if someone else knew it. He had to warn Richard. “Lady Philippa!” he said in a loud voice. “Welcome to Kingsbridge Priory!”

Urgent scuffling noises came from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Richard leap to his feet.

Luckily, Philippa did not march straight past, but stopped and spoke to Godwyn. “Perhaps you can help me.” From where she stood, she could not quite see into the room, he thought. “I’ve lost a bracelet. It’s not precious, just carved wood, but I’m fond of it.”