Ken Follett - World Without End

As he hoped, Edmund and Caris were out doing business, and he found his mother alone but for the servants. “This is a treat for a mother,” she said. “To see you twice in one day! And it gives me a chance to feed you up.” She poured him a big tankard of strong ale and told the cook to bring a plate of cold beef. “What happened in chapter?” she said.

He told her the story. “I was in too much of a hurry,” he said at the end.

She nodded. “My father used to say: Never call a meeting until the outcome is a foregone conclusion.”

Godwyn smiled. “I must remember that.”

“All the same, I don’t think you’ve done any harm.”

That was a relief. She was not going to be angry. “But I lost the argument,” he said.

“You also established your position as leader of the reformist younger group.”

“Even though I made a fool of myself?”

“Better than being a nonentity.”

He was not sure she was right about that but, as usual when he doubted the wisdom of his mother’s advice, he did not challenge her, but resolved to think about it later. “Something very odd happened,” he said, and he told her about Richard and Margery, leaving out the gross physical details.

She was surprised. “Richard must be mad!” she said. “The wedding will be called off if the earl of Monmouth finds out that Margery isn’t a virgin. Earl Roland will be furious. Richard could be unfrocked.”

“But a lot of bishops have mistresses, don’t they?”

“That’s different. A priest may have a ‘housekeeper’ who is his wife in all but name. A bishop may have several. But to take the virginity of a noblewoman shortly before her wedding – even the son of an earl might find it difficult to survive as a clergyman after that.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Nothing. You’ve handled it perfectly so far.” He glowed with pride. She added: “One day this information will be a powerful weapon. Just remember it.”

“There’s one more thing. I wondered how Philemon had come across the loose stone, and it occurred to me that he might have used it initially as a hiding place. I was right – and I found a bracelet that Lady Philippa had lost.”

“Interesting,” she said. “I have a strong feeling that Philemon will be useful to you. He’ll do anything, you see. He has no scruples, no morals. My father had an associate who was always willing to do his dirty work – start rumours, spread poisonous gossip, foment strife. Such men can be invaluable.”

“So you don’t think I should report the theft.”

“Certainly not. Make him give the bracelet back, if you think it’s important – he can just say he found it while sweeping. But don’t expose him. You’ll reap the benefit, I guarantee.”

“So I should protect him?”

“As you would a mad dog that mauls intruders. He’s dangerous, but he’s worth it.”

On Thursday, Merthin completed the door he was carving.

He had finished work in the south aisle, for the present. The scaffolding was in place. There was no need for him to make formwork for the masons, as Godwyn and Thomas were determined to save money by trying Merthin’s method of building without it. So he returned to his carving and realized there was little left to do. He spent an hour improving a wise virgin’s hair, and another on a foolish virgin’s silly smile, but he was not sure he was making them any better. He found it difficult to make decisions, because his mind kept wandering to Caris and Griselda.

He had hardly been able to bring himself to speak to Caris all week. He felt so ashamed of himself. Every time he saw Caris, he thought of how he had embraced Griselda, and kissed her, and done with her the most loving act of human life – a girl he did not like, let alone love. Although he had formerly spent many happy hours imagining the moment when he would do that with Caris, now the prospect was filled with dread. There was nothing wrong with Griselda – well, there was, but that was not what disturbed him. He would have felt the same if it had been any woman other than Caris. He had taken away the meaning of the act by doing it with Griselda. And now he could not face the woman he loved.

While he was staring at his work, trying to stop thinking about Caris and decide whether the door was finished or not, Elizabeth Clerk walked into the north porch. She was a pale, thin beauty of twenty-five with a cloud of fair curls. Her father had been the bishop of Kingsbridge before Richard. He had lived, like Richard, in the bishop’s palace at Shiring, but on his frequent visits to Kingsbridge he had fallen for a serving wench at the Bell – Elizabeth’s mother. Because of her illegitimacy, Elizabeth was sensitive about her social position, alert to the least slight and quick to take offence. But Merthin liked her because she was clever, and because when he was eighteen she had kissed him and let him feel her breasts, which were high on her chest and flat, as if moulded from shallow cups, with nipples that hardened at the gentlest touch. Their romance had ended over something that seemed trivial to him and unforgivable to her – a joke he had made about randy priests – but he still liked her.

She touched his shoulder and looked at the door. Her hand went to her mouth, and she drew in her breath. “They seem alive!” she said.

He was thrilled. Her praise was not lightly given. All the same, he felt an impulse to be modest. “It’s only that I’ve made each one individual. On the old door, the virgins were identical.”

“It’s more than that. They look as if they might step forward and talk to us.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s so different from everything else in the cathedral. What will the monks say?”

“Brother Thomas likes it.”

“What about the sacrist?”

“Godwyn? I don’t know what he’ll think. But if there’s a fuss I’ll appeal to Prior Anthony – who won’t want to commission another door and pay twice.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “the Bible doesn’t say that they were all alike, of course – just that five had the sense to get ready well in advance, and the other five left arrangements until the last minute and ended up missing the party. But what about Elfric?”

“It’s not for him.”

“He’s your master.”

“He only cares about getting the money.”

She was not convinced. “The problem is that you’re a better craftsman than he. That’s been obvious for a couple of years, and everyone knows it. Elfric would never admit it, but that’s why he hates you. He may make you regret this.”

“You always see the black side.”

“Do I?” She was offended. “Well, we’ll see if I’m right. I hope I’m wrong.” She turned to go.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes.”

“I’m really pleased you think it’s good.”

She did not reply, but she seemed a bit mollified. She waved goodbye and left.

Merthin decided the door was finished. He wrapped it in coarse sacking. He would have to show it to Elfric, and now was as good a time as any: the rain had stopped, for a while at least.

He got one of the labourers to help him carry the door. The builders had a technique for carrying heavy, awkward objects. They laid two stout poles on the ground, parallel, then placed boards crosswise on the poles in the centre to provide a firm base. They manhandled the object on to the boards. Then they stood between the poles, one man at each end, and lifted. The arrangement was called a stretcher, and it was also used for carrying sick people to the hospital.

Even so, the door was very heavy. However, Merthin was used to difficult lifting. Elfric had never allowed him to make an excuse of his slight stature, and the result was that he had become surprisingly strong.