The first snow fell in January. It formed a thick blanket on the roof of the cathedral, smoothed out the delicate carving of the spires, and masked the faces of the angels and saints sculpted over the west door. The new masonry of the tower foundations had been covered with straw to insulate the new mortar against winter frost, and now the snow overlaid the straw.
There were few fireplaces in a priory. The kitchen had fires, of course, which was why work in kitchens was always popular with novices. But there was no fire in the cathedral, where the monks and nuns spent seven or eight hours every day. When churches burned down, it was usually because some desperate monk had brought a charcoal brazier into the building, and a spark had flown from the fire to the timber ceiling. When not in church or laboring, the monks and nuns were supposed to walk and read in the cloisters, which were out of doors. The only concession to their comfort was the warming room, a small chamber off the cloisters where a fire was lit in the most severe weather. They were allowed to come into the warming room from the cloisters for short periods.
As usual, Caris ignored rules and traditions, and permitted nuns to wear woolen hose in the winter. She did not believe that God needed his servants to get chilblains.
Bishop Henri was so worried about the hospital - or rather, about the threat to his tower - that he drove from Shiring to Kingsbridge through the snow. He came in a charette, a heavy wooden cart with a waxed canvas cover and cushioned seats. Canon Claude and Archdeacon Lloyd came with him. They paused at the prior's palace only long enough to dry their clothes and drink a warming cup of wine before summoning a crisis meeting with Philemon, Sime, Caris, Oonagh, Merthin, and Madge.
Caris knew it would be a waste of time, but she went anyway: it was easier than refusing, which would have required her to sit in the nunnery and deal with endless messages begging, commanding, and threatening her.
She looked at the snowflakes falling past the glazed windows as the bishop drearily summarized a quarrel in which she really had no interest. 'This crisis has been brought about by the disloyal and disobedient attitude of Mother Caris,' Henri said.
That stung her into a response. 'I worked in the hospital here for ten years,' she said. 'My work, and the work of Mother Cecilia before me, are what made it so popular with the townspeople.' She pointed a rude finger at the bishop. 'You changed it. Don't try to blame others. You sat in that chair and announced that Brother Sime would henceforth be in charge. Now you should take responsibility for the consequences of your foolish decision.'
'You must obey me!' he said, his voice rising to a screech in frustration. 'You are a nun - you have taken a vow.' The grating sound disturbed the cat, Archbishop, and it stood up and walked out of the room.
'I realize that,' Caris said. 'It puts me in an intolerable position.' She spoke without forethought, but as the words came out she realized they were not really ill-considered. In fact they were the fruit of months of brooding. 'I can no longer serve God in this way,' she went on, her voice calm but her heart pounding. 'That is why I have decided to renounce my vows and leave the nunnery.'
Henri actually stood up. 'You will not!' he shouted. 'I will not release you from your holy vows.'
'I expect God will, though,' she said, scarcely disguising her contempt.
That made him angrier. 'This notion that individuals can deal with God is wicked heresy. There has been too much of such loose talk since the plague.'
'Do you think that might have happened because, when people approached the church for help during the plague, they so often found that its priest and monks...,' here she looked at Philemon, '...had fled like cowards?'
Henri held up a hand to stifle Philemon's indignant response. 'We may be fallible but, all the same, it is only through the church and its priests that men and women may approach God.'
'You would think that, of course,' Caris said. 'But that doesn't make it right.'
'You're a devil!'
Canon Claude intervened. 'All things considered, my lord bishop, a public quarrel between yourself and Caris would not be helpful.' He gave her a friendly smile. He had been well disposed toward her ever since the day she had caught him and the bishop kissing and had said nothing about it. 'Her present noncooperation must be set against many years of dedicated, sometimes heroic service. And the people love her.'
Henri said: 'But what if we do release her from her vows? How would that solve the problem?'
At this point, Merthin spoke for the first time. 'I have a suggestion,' he said.
Everyone looked at him.
He said: 'Let the town build a new hospital. I will donate a large site on Leper Island. Let it be staffed by a convent of nuns quite separate from the priory, a new group. They will be under the spiritual authority of the bishop of Shiring, of course, but have no connection with the prior of Kingsbridge or any of the physicians at the monastery. Let the new hospital have a lay patron, who would be a leading citizen of the town, chosen by the guild, and would appoint the prioress.'
They were all quiet for a long moment, letting this radical proposal sink in. Caris was thunderstruck. A new hospital...on Leper Island...paid for by the townspeople...staffed by a new order of nuns...having no connection with the priory...
She looked around the group. Philemon and Sime clearly hated the idea. Henri, Claude, and Lloyd just looked bemused.
At last the bishop said: 'The patron will be very powerful - representing the townspeople, paying the bills, and appointing the prioress. Whoever plays that role will control the hospital.'
'Yes,' said Merthin.
'If I authorize a new hospital, will the townspeople be willing to resume paying for the tower?'
Madge Webber spoke for the first time. 'If the right patron is appointed, yes.'
'And who should it be?' said Henri.
Caris realized that everyone was looking at her.
A few hours later, Caris and Merthin wrapped themselves in heavy cloaks, put on boots, and walked through the snow to the island, where he showed her the site he had in mind. It was on the west side, not far from his house, overlooking the river.
She was still dizzy from the sudden change in her life. She was to be released from her vows as a nun. She would become a normal citizen again, after almost twelve years. She found she could contemplate leaving the priory without anguish. The people she had loved were all dead: Mother Cecilia, Old Julie, Mair, Tilly. She liked Sister Joan and Sister Oonagh well enough, but it was not the same.
And she would still be in charge of a hospital. Having the right to appoint and dismiss the prioress of the new institution, she would be able to run the place according to the new thinking that had grown out of the plague. The bishop had agreed to everything.
'I think we should use the cloister layout again,' Merthin said. 'It seemed to work really well for the short time you were in charge.'
She stared at the sheet of unmarked snow and marveled at his ability to imagine walls and rooms where she could see only whiteness. 'The entrance arch was used almost like a hall,' she said. 'It was the place where people waited, and where the nuns first examined the patients before deciding what to do with them.'
'You would like it larger?'
'I think it should be a real reception hall.'
'All right.'
She was bemused. 'This is hard to believe. Everything has turned out just as I would have wanted it.'
He nodded. 'That's how I worked it out.'
'Really?'
'I asked myself what you would wish for, then I figured out how to achieve it.'
She stared at him. He had said it lightly, as if merely explaining the reasoning process that had led him to his conclusions. He seemed to have no idea how momentous it was to her that he should be thinking about her wishes and how to achieve them.
She said: 'Has Philippa had the baby yet?'
'Yes, a week ago.'
'What did she have?'
'A boy.'
'Congratulations. Have you seen him?'
'No. As far as the world is concerned, I'm only his uncle. But Ralph sent me a letter.'
'Have they named him?'
'Roland, after the old earl.'
Caris changed the subject. 'The river water isn't very pure this far downstream. A hospital really needs clean water.'
'I'll lay a pipe to bring you water from farther upstream.'
The snowfall eased and then stopped, and they had a clear view of the island.
She smiled at him. 'You have the answer to everything.'
He shook his head. 'These are the easy questions: clean water, airy rooms, a reception hall.'
'And what are the difficult ones?'
He turned to face her. There were snowflakes in his red beard. He said: 'Questions like: Does she still love me?'
They stared at one another for a long moment.
Caris was happy.