World Without End

The priory of St.-John-in-the-Forest looked tranquil in the afternoon light - a sure sign that something was wrong, Caris thought. The little cell was traditionally self-sufficient in food, and was surrounded by fields, moist with rain, that needed plowing and harrowing. But no one was at work.

When they got closer, they saw that the little cemetery next to the church had a row of fresh graves. 'It seems the plague may have reached this far,' Merthin said.

Caris nodded. 'So Godwyn's cowardly escape plan failed.' She could not help feeling a glow of vengeful satisfaction.

Merthin said: 'I wonder if he himself has fallen victim.'

Caris found herself hoping he had, but was too ashamed to say so.

She and Merthin rode around the silent monastery to what was obviously the stable yard. The door was open, and the horses had been let out, and were grazing a patch of meadow around a pond. But no one appeared to help the visitors unsaddle.

They walked through the empty stables into the interior. It was eerily quiet, and Caris wondered if all the monks were dead. They looked into a kitchen, which Caris observed was not as clean as it should be, and a bakery with a cold oven. Their footsteps echoed around the cool gray arcades of the cloisters. Then, approaching the entrance to the church, they met Brother Thomas.

'You found us!' he said. 'Thank God.'

Caris embraced him. She knew that women's bodies did not present a temptation to Thomas. 'I'm glad you're alive,' she said.

'I fell ill and got better,' he explained.

'Not many survive.'

'I know.'

'Tell us what happened.'

'Godwyn and Philemon planned it well,' Thomas said. 'There was almost no warning. Godwyn addressed the chapter, and told the story of Abraham and Isaac to show that God sometimes asks us to do things that appear wrong. Then he told us we were leaving that night. Most of the monks were glad to get away from the plague, and those that had misgivings were instructed to remember their vow of obedience.'

Caris nodded. 'I can imagine. It's not hard to obey orders when they are so strongly in your own self-interest.'

'I'm not proud of myself.'

Caris touched the stump of his left arm. 'I meant no reproof, Thomas.'

Merthin said: 'All the same, I'm surprised no one leaked the destination.'

'That's because Godwyn didn't tell us where we were going. Most of us didn't know even after we arrived - we had to ask the local monks what place this was.'

'But the plague caught up with you.'

'You've seen the graveyard. All the St. John monks are there except Prior Saul, who is buried in the church. Almost all the Kingsbridge men are dead. A few ran away after the sickness broke out here - God knows what happened to them.'

Caris recalled that Thomas had always been close to one particular monk, a sweet-natured man a few years younger than he. Hesitantly she said: 'And Brother Matthias?'

'Dead,' Thomas said brusquely; then tears came to his eyes, and he looked away, embarrassed.

Caris put a hand on his shoulder. 'I'm very sorry.'

'So many people have suffered bereavement,' he said.

Caris decided it would be kinder not to dwell on Matthias. 'What about Godwyn and Philemon?'

'Philemon ran away. Godwyn is alive and well - he hasn't caught it.'

'I have a message for Godwyn from the bishop.'

'I can imagine.'

'You'd better take me to him.'

'He's in the church. He set up a bed in a side chapel. He's convinced that's why he hasn't fallen ill. Come with me.'

They crossed the cloisters and entered the little church. It smelled more like a dormitory. The wall painting of the Day of Judgment at the east end seemed grimly appropriate now. The nave was strewn with straw and littered with blankets, as if a crowd of people had been sleeping here; but the only person present was Godwyn. He was lying facedown on the dirt floor in front of the altar, his arms stretched out sideways. For a moment she thought he was dead, then she realized this was simply the attitude of extreme penitence.

Thomas said: 'You have visitors, Father Prior.'

Godwyn remained in position. Caris would have assumed he was putting on a show, but something about his stillness made her think he was sincerely seeking forgiveness.

Then he got slowly to his feet and turned around.

He was pale and thin, Caris saw, and he looked tired and anxious.

'You,' he said.

'You've been discovered, Godwyn,' she said. She was not going to call him Father. He was a miscreant and she had caught him. She felt deep satisfaction.

He said: 'I suppose Tam Hiding betrayed me.'

His mind was as sharp as ever, Caris noted. 'You tried to escape justice, but you failed.'

'I have nothing to fear from justice,' he said defiantly. 'I came here in the hope of saving the lives of my monks. My error was to leave it too late.'

'An innocent man doesn't sneak away under cover of night.'

'I had to keep my destination secret. It would have defeated my purpose to allow anyone to follow us here.'

'You didn't have to steal the cathedral ornaments.'

'I didn't steal them. I took them for safekeeping. I shall return them to their rightful place when it's safe to do so.'

'So why did you tell no one that you were taking them?'

'But I did. I wrote to Bishop Henri. Did he not receive my letter?'

Caris felt a growing sense of dismay. Surely Godwyn could not wriggle out of this? 'Certainly not,' she said. 'No letter was received, and I don't believe one was sent.'

'Perhaps the messenger died of the plague before he could deliver it.'

'And what was the name of this vanishing messenger?'

'I never knew it. Philemon hired the man.'

'And Philemon is not here - how convenient,' she said sarcastically. 'Well, you can say what you like, but Bishop Henri accuses you of stealing the treasure, and he has sent me here to demand its return. I have a letter ordering you to hand everything to me, immediately.'

'That's won't be necessary. I'll take it to him myself.'

'That is not what your bishop commands you to do.'

'I'll be the judge of what's best.'

'Your refusal is proof of theft.'

'I'm sure I can persuade Bishop Henri to see things differently.'

The trouble was, Caris thought despairingly, that Godwyn might well do just that. He could be very plausible, and Henri, like most bishops, would generally avoid confrontation if he could. She felt as if the victory trophy were slipping through her hands.

Godwyn felt he had turned the tables on her, and he permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction. That infuriated her, but she had no more to say. All she could do now was return and tell Bishop Henri what had happened.

She could hardly believe it. Would Godwyn really return to Kingsbridge and resume his position as prior? How could he possibly hold his head up in Kingsbridge Cathedral? After all he had done to damage the priory, the town, and the church? Even if the bishop accepted him, surely the townspeople would riot? The prospect was dire, yet stranger things had happened. Was there no justice?

She stared at him. The look of triumph on his face must be matched, she supposed, by the defeat on her own.

Then she saw something that turned the tables yet again.

On Godwyn's upper lip, just below his left nostril, there was a trickle of blood.

Next morning, Godwyn did not get out of bed.

Caris put on her linen mask and nursed him. She bathed his face in rose water and gave him diluted wine whenever he asked for a drink. Every time she touched him, she washed her hands in vinegar.

Other than Godwyn and Thomas, there were only two monks left, both Kingsbridge novices. They, too, were dying of the plague; so she brought them down from the dormitory to lie in the church, and she took care of them as well, flitting around the dim-lit nave like a shade as she went from one dying man to the next.

She asked Godwyn where the cathedral treasures were, but he refused to say.

Merthin and Thomas searched the priory. The first place they looked was under the altar. Something had been buried there, quite recently, they could tell by the looseness of the earth. However, when they made a hole - Thomas digging surprisingly well with one hand - they found nothing. Whatever had been buried there had since been removed.

They checked every echoing room in the deserted monastery, and even looked in the cold bakery oven and the dry brewery tanks, but they found no jewels, relics, or charters.

After the first night, Thomas quietly vacated the dormitory - without being asked - and left Merthin and Caris to sleep there alone. He made no comment, not even a nudge or a wink. Grateful for his discreet connivance, they huddled under a pile of blankets and made love. Afterward, Caris lay awake. An owl lived somewhere in the roof, and she heard its nocturnal hooting, and occasionally the scream of a small animal caught in its talons. She wondered if she would become pregnant. She did not want to give up her vocation - but she could not resist the temptation of lying in Merthin's arms. So she just refused to think about the future.

On the third day, as Caris, Merthin, and Thomas ate dinner in the refectory, Thomas said: 'When Godwyn asks for a drink, refuse to give it to him until he's told you where he hid the treasure.'

Caris considered that. It would be perfectly just. But it would also amount to torture. 'I can't do that,' she said. 'I know he deserves it, but all the same I can't do it. If a sick man asks for a drink I must give it to him. That's more important than all the jeweled ornaments in Christendom.'

'You don't owe him compassion - he never showed any to you.'

'I've turned the church into a hospital, but I won't let it become a torture chamber.'

Thomas looked as if he might be inclined to argue further, but Merthin dissuaded him with a shake of the head. 'Think, Thomas,' he said. 'When did you last see this stuff?'

'The night we arrived,' Thomas said. 'It was in leather bags and boxes on a couple of horses. It was unloaded at the same time as everything else, and I think it was carried into the church.'

'Then what happened to it?'

'I never saw it again. But after Evensong, when we all went to supper, I noticed that Godwyn and Philemon stayed behind in the church with two other monks, Juley and John.'

Caris said: 'Let me guess: Juley and John were both young and strong.'

'Yes.'

Merthin said: 'So that's probably when they buried the treasure under the altar. But when did they dig it up?'

'It had to be when nobody was in the church, and they could be sure of that only at mealtimes.'

'Were they absent from any other meals?'

'Several, probably. Godwyn and Philemon always acted as if the rules didn't really apply to them. Their missing meals and services wasn't unusual enough for me to remember every instance.'

Caris said: 'Do you recall Juley and John being absent a second time? Godwyn and Philemon would have needed help again.'

'Not necessarily,' Merthin said. 'It's much easier to reexcavate ground that has already been loosened. Godwyn is forty-three and Philemon is only thirty-four. They could have done it without help, if they really wanted to.'

That night, Godwyn began to rave. Some of the time he seemed to be quoting from the Bible, sometimes preaching, and sometimes making excuses. Caris listened for a while, hoping for clues. 'Great Babylon is fallen, and all the nations have drunk of the wrath of her fornication; and out of the throne proceeded fire, and thunder; and all the merchants of the earth shall weep. Repent, oh, repent, all ye who have committed fornication with the mother of harlots! It was all done for a higher purpose, all done for the glory of God, because the end justifies the means. Give me something to drink, for the love of God.' The apocalyptic tone of his delirium was probably suggested by the wall painting, with its graphic depiction of the tortures of Hell.

Caris held a cup to his mouth. 'Where are the cathedral ornaments, Godwyn?'

'I saw seven golden candlesticks, all covered with pearls, and precious stones, and wrapped in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and lying in an ark made of cedarwood, and sandalwood, and silver. I saw a woman riding upon a scarlet beast, having seven heads and ten horns, and full of the names of blasphemy.' The nave rang with the echoes of his ranting.

On the following day the two novices died. That afternoon, Thomas and Merthin buried them in the graveyard to the north of the priory. It was a cold, damp day, but they sweated with the effort of digging. Thomas performed the funeral service. Caris stood at the grave with Merthin. When everything was falling apart, the rituals helped to maintain a semblance of normality. Around them were the new graves of all the other monks except Godwyn and Saul. Saul's body lay under the little chancel of the church, an honor reserved for the most highly regarded priors.

Afterward Caris came back into the church and stared at Saul's grave in the chancel. That part of the church was paved with flagstones. Obviously the flags had been lifted so that the grave could be dug. When they had been put back, one of the stones had been polished and carved with an inscription.

It was hard to concentrate, with Godwyn in the corner raving about beasts with seven heads.

Merthin noticed her thoughtful look and followed her gaze. He immediately guessed what she was thinking. In a horrified voice he said: 'Surely Godwyn can't have hidden the treasure in Saul Whitehead's coffin?'

'It's hard to imagine monks desecrating a tomb,' she said. 'On the other hand, the ornaments wouldn't have had to leave the church.'

Thomas said: 'Saul died a week before you arrived. Philemon disappeared two days later.'

'So Philemon could have helped Godwyn dig up the grave.'

'Yes.'

The three of them looked at one another, trying to ignore the mad mumblings of Godwyn.

'There's only one way to find out,' Merthin said.

Merthin and Thomas got their wooden shovels. They lifted the memorial slab and the paving stones around it, and started digging.

Thomas had developed a one-handed technique. He pushed the shovel into the earth with his good arm, tilted it, then ran his hand all the way down the shaft to the blade and lifted it. His right arm had become very muscular as a result of this kind of adaptation.

Nevertheless, it took a long time. Many graves were shallow nowadays, but for Prior Saul they had dug down the full six feet. Night was falling outside, and Caris fetched candles. The devils in the wall painting seemed to move in the flickering light.

Both Thomas and Merthin were standing in the hole, with only their heads visible above floor level, when Merthin said: 'Wait. Something's here.'

Caris saw some muddy white material that looked like the oiled linen sometimes used for shrouds. 'You've found the body,' she said.

Thomas said: 'But where's the coffin?'

'Was he buried in a box?' Coffins were only for the elite: poor people were interred in a shroud.

Thomas said: 'Saul was buried in a coffin - I saw it. There's plenty of wood here in the middle of the forest. All the monks were put in coffins, right up until Brother Silas fell ill - he was the carpenter.'

'Wait,' said Merthin. He pushed his shovel through the earth at the feet of the shroud and lifted a shovelful. Then he tapped with the blade, and Caris heard the dull thud of wood on wood. 'Here's the coffin, underneath,' he said.

Thomas said: 'How did the body get out?'

Caris felt a shiver of fear.

Over in the corner, Godwyn raised his voice. 'And he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the sight of the holy angels, and the smoke of his torment will rise up forever and ever.'

Thomas said to Caris: 'Can't you shut him up?'

'I've got no drugs with me.'

Merthin said: 'There's nothing supernatural here. My guess is that Godwyn and Philemon took the body out - and filled the coffin with their stolen treasures.'

Thomas pulled himself together. 'We'd better look in the coffin, then.'

First they had to move the shrouded corpse. Merthin and Thomas bent down, grabbed it by the shoulders and knees, and lifted it. When they had raised it to the level of their shoulders, the only way they could get it farther was to toss it out onto the floor. It landed with a thump. They both looked fearful. Even Caris, who did not believe much of what she was told about the spirit world, felt frightened by what they were doing, and found herself glancing nervously over her shoulder into the shadowed corners of the church.

Merthin cleared the earth from the top of the coffin while Thomas went to fetch an iron bar. Then they lifted the lid of the casket.

Caris held two candles over the grave so that they could see better.

Inside the coffin was another shrouded body.

Thomas said: 'This is very strange!' His voice was distinctly shaky.

'Let's just think sensibly about this,' Merthin said. He was sounding calm and collected, but Caris - who knew him extraordinarily well - could tell that his composure was taking a big effort. 'Who is in the coffin?' he said. 'Let's look.'

He bent down, grabbed the shroud in two hands, and ripped it open along the stitched seam at the head. The corpse was a week dead, and there was a bad smell, but it had not deteriorated much in the cold ground under the unheated church. Even in the unsteady light from Caris's candles, there was no doubt about the identity of the dead man: the head was fringed with distinctively ash blond hair.

Thomas said: 'That's Saul Whitehead.'

'In his rightful coffin,' said Merthin.

Caris said: 'So who is the other corpse?'

Merthin closed the shroud around Saul's blond head and replaced the coffin lid.

Caris knelt by the other corpse. She had dealt with many dead bodies, but she had never brought one up from its grave, and her hands were shaky. Nevertheless she opened the shroud and exposed the face. To her horror, the eyes were open and seemed to be staring. She forced herself to close the cold eyelids.

It was a big young monk she did not recognize. Thomas stood on tiptoe to look out of the grave and said: 'That's Brother Jonquil. He died the day after Prior Saul.'

Caris said: 'And he was buried...?'

'In the cemetery...we all thought.'

'In a coffin?'

'Yes.'

'Except that he's here.'

'His coffin weighed enough,' Thomas said. 'I helped carry it...'

Merthin said: 'I see what happened. Jonquil lay here in the church, in his coffin, prior to burial. While the other monks were at dinner, Godwyn and Philemon opened the coffin and took the body out. They dug up Saul's tomb and tumbled Jonquil in on top of Saul's coffin. They closed the grave. Then they put the cathedral treasures in Jonquil's coffin and closed it again.'

Thomas said: 'So we have to dig up Jonquil's grave.'

Caris glanced up at the windows of the church. They were dark. Night had fallen while they were opening the tomb of Saul. 'We could leave it until morning,' she said.

Both men were silent for a long moment, then Thomas said: 'Let's get it over with.'

Caris went to the kitchen, picked two branches from the firewood pile, lit them at the fire, then returned to the church.

As the three of them went outside, they heard Godwyn cry: 'And the winepress of the wrath of God was trodden outside the city, and the grapes gave forth blood, and the land was flooded to the height of the horses' bridles.'

Caris shuddered. It was a vile image from the Revelation of St. John the Divine, and it disgusted her. She tried to put it out of her mind.

They walked quickly to the cemetery in the red light of the torches. Caris was relieved to be away from that wall painting and out of earshot of Godwyn's mad ravings. They found Jonquil's headstone and began to excavate.

The two men had already dug two graves for the novices and re-dug Saul's. This was their fourth since dinnertime. Merthin looked tired and Thomas was sweating heavily. But they worked on doggedly. Slowly the hole got deeper and the pile of earth beside it rose higher. At last a shovel struck wood.

Caris passed Merthin the crowbar, then she knelt on the edge of the pit, holding both torches. Merthin prized open the coffin lid and threw it out of the grave.

There was no corpse in the box.

Instead it was packed tightly with bags and boxes. Merthin opened a leather bag and pulled out a jeweled crucifix. 'Hallelujah,' he said wearily.

Thomas opened a box to reveal a row of parchment rolls, packed tightly together like fish in a crate: the charters.

Caris felt a weight of worry roll off her shoulders. She had got the nunnery charters back.

Thomas put his hand into another bag. When he looked at what he had got hold of, it was a skull. He gave a fearful cry and dropped it.

'Saint Adolphus,' Merthin said in a matter-of-fact voice. 'Pilgrims travel hundreds of miles to touch the box that holds his bones.' He picked up the skull. 'Lucky us,' he said, and put it back into the bag.

'If I may make a suggestion?' said Caris. 'We have to carry this stuff all the way back to Kingsbridge in a cart. Why don't we leave it in the coffin? It's packed already, and the casket may serve to deter thieves.'

'Good idea,' Merthin said. 'We'll just lift the coffin out of the grave.'

Thomas returned to the priory and brought ropes, and they lifted the coffin out of the hole. They refixed the lid, then tied the ropes around the box in order to drag it across the ground and into the church.

As they were about to start, they heard a scream.

Caris let out a cry of fear.

They all looked toward the church. A figure was running toward them, eyes staring, blood coming from its mouth. Caris suffered a moment of utter terror when she suddenly believed every foolish superstition she had ever heard about spirits. Then she realized she was looking at Godwyn. Somehow he had found the strength to rise from his deathbed. He had staggered out of the church and seen their torches, and now in his madness he was running toward them.

They watched him, transfixed.

He stopped and looked at the coffin, then at the empty grave, and in the restless torchlight Caris thought she saw a glimmer of understanding on his grimacing face. Then he seemed to lose his strength, and he collapsed. He fell on the mound of earth beside Jonquil's empty grave, then he rolled down the mound and into the pit.

They all stepped forward and looked into the grave.

Godwyn lay there on his back, looking up at them with open, sightless eyes.