Ken Follett - World Without End

“Perhaps. But we may be about to lose everything. Have you said any more to the bishop?”

“No. I’ve reminded him that we know about Margery. He was scared, but not scared enough to defy his father, it seems.”

“He should be. If this comes out, he won’t be forgiven. He could end up a lowly knight on the level of Sir Gerald, wasting his days as a pensioner. Doesn’t he realize that?”

“Perhaps he thinks I don’t have the courage to reveal what I know.”

“Then you’ll have to go to the earl with the information.”

“Heavens! He’ll explode!”

“Steel your nerve.”

She always said this kind of thing. It was why he looked forward with such apprehension to meetings with her. She always wanted him to be a little more daring, and take greater risks, than was his inclination. But he could never refuse her.

She went on: “If it came out that Margery’s not a virgin, the marriage would be called off. Roland doesn’t want that. He’ll accept the lesser evil of you as prior.”

“But he’ll be my enemy for the rest of his life.”

“He’ll be that whatever happens.”

Small consolation, Godwyn thought; but he did not argue, for he could see that his mother was right.

There was a tap at the door, and Lady Philippa walked in.

Godwyn and Petranilla stood up.

“I need to talk to you,” Philippa said to Godwyn.

He said: “May I present my mother, Petranilla?”

Petranilla curtsied, then said: “I’d better leave. You’re obviously here to broker a deal, my lady.”

Philippa gave her an amused look. “If you know that much, you know everything of importance. Perhaps you should stay.”

As the two women stood facing one another, Godwyn noticed that they were similar: same height, same statuesque build and the same imperious air. Philippa was younger, of course, by something like twenty years; and she had a relaxed authority, and a touch of humour, that contrasted with Petranilla’s tight-wound determination – perhaps because Philippa had a husband and Petranilla had lost hers. But Philippa was a strong-willed woman who exercised power through a man – Lord William – and, Godwyn now realized, Petranilla also wielded influence through a man – himself.

“Let’s sit down,” Philippa said.

Petranilla said: “Has the earl approved whatever you’re about to propose?”

“No.” Philippa made a helpless gesture with her hands. “Roland is too proud to agree in advance to something that might then be rejected by the other side. If I can get Godwyn’s agreement to what I’m about to suggest, then I’ve got a chance of persuading Roland to compromise.”

“I thought as much.”

Godwyn said: “Would you like something to eat, my lady?”

Philippa dismissed the offer with an impatient wave. “As things stand, everyone is going to lose,” she began. “The wedding will take place, but without the proper pomp and ceremony; so that Roland’s alliance with the earl of Monmouth will be blighted from the start. The bishop will refuse to ratify you as prior, Godwyn, so the archbishop will be called in to resolve the dispute; and he will dismiss both you and Murdo, and nominate someone new, probably a member of his staff whom he wants to be rid of. No one will get what they want. Am I right?”

She directed the question at Petranilla, who made a noncommittal sound.

“So why not anticipate the archbishop’s compromise?” Philippa went on. “Bring forward the third candidate now. Only -” she pointed a finger at Godwyn – “the candidate is chosen by you – and he promises to make you sub-prior.”

Godwyn considered. This would relieve him of the need to confront the earl eyeball-to-eyeball and threaten him with the revelation of his son’s behaviour. But the compromise would doom him to be sub-prior for an indefinite period – and then, when the new prior died, he would have to fight the battle all over again. He was inclined to refuse, despite his apprehension.

He glanced at his mother. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She did not like it either.

“I’m sorry,” Godwyn said to Philippa. “The monks have held an election, and the result must stand.”

Philippa stood up. “In that case, I must give you the message that is my official reason for coming here. Tomorrow morning the earl will rise from his sick bed. He wishes to inspect the cathedral and make sure all is ready in plenty of time for the wedding. You are to meet him in the church at eight o’clock. All the monks and nuns must be robed ready, and the church dressed with the usual ornaments.”

Godwyn bowed his head in acknowledgement, and she went out.

At the appointed hour Godwyn stood in a bare, silent church.

He was alone: there were no monks or nuns with him. No furniture was to be seen, except for the fixed choir stalls. There were no candles, no crucifixes, no chalices, no flowers. The watery sun that had shone fitfully through rain clouds much of this summer now cast a weak, cold light into the nave. Godwyn held his hands tightly together behind his back to keep them from shaking.

On time, the earl walked in.

With him were Lord William, Lady Philippa, Bishop Richard, Richard’s assistant Archdeacon Lloyd, and the earl’s clerk Father Jerome. Godwyn would have liked to surround himself with an entourage, but none of the monks knew quite how risky his scheme was, and if they had known they might not have had the nerve to back him up; so he had decided to face the earl alone.

The bandages had been removed from Roland’s head. He walked slowly but steadily. He must surely feel shaky after so many weeks in bed, Godwyn thought, but he seemed determined not to show it. He looked normal apart from the paralysis of half his face. His message to the world today would be that he was fully recovered and back in charge. And Godwyn was threatening to spoil that design.

The others looked with incredulity at the empty church, but the earl showed no surprise. “You’re an arrogant monk,” he said to Godwyn, speaking as always out of the left side of his mouth.

Godwyn was risking everything, and had nothing further to lose by being defiant, so he said: “You’re an obstinate earl.”

Roland put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I ought to run you through for that.”

“Go ahead.” Godwyn held his arms out sideways, ready to be crucified. “Murder the prior of Kingsbridge, here in the cathedral, just as King Henry’s knights murdered Archbishop Thomas Becket in Canterbury. Send me to heaven and yourself to eternal damnation.”

Philippa gasped with shock at Godwyn’s disrespect. William moved as if to silence Godwyn. Roland restrained him with a gesture, and said to Godwyn: “Your bishop orders you to ready the church for the wedding. Don’t monks take a vow of obedience?”

“The lady Margery cannot be married here.”

“Why not – because you want to be prior?”

“Because she is not a virgin.”

Philippa’s hand flew to her mouth. Richard groaned. William drew his sword. Roland said: “This is treason!”

Godwyn said: “Put away your sword, Lord William – you can’t restore her maidenhead with that.”

Roland said: “What do you know of such things, monk?”

“Two men of this priory witnessed the act, which took place in a private room of the hospital, the very room where you, my lord, are staying.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“The earl of Monmouth will.”

“You would not dare to tell him.”

“I must explain to him why his son cannot marry Margery in Kingsbridge Cathedral – at least until she has confessed her sin and received absolution.”

“You have no proof of this slander.”