The collapse of the bridge paralyzed Gwenda with fear. Then, an instant later, the sudden immersion in cold water shocked her back to normal.
When her head came above the surface, she found herself surrounded by brawling, yelling people. Some had found a piece of wood to keep them afloat, but every other man tried to keep himself above water by leaning on someone else. Those leaned upon felt themselves being pushed under, and lashed out with their fists to get free. Many of the blows missed. Those that connected were returned. It was like being outside a Kingsbridge tavern at midnight. It would have been comical, except that people were dying.
Gwenda gasped air and went under. She could not swim.
She came up again. To her horror, Sim Chapman was immediately in front of her, blowing water out of his mouth like a fountain. He began to go under, obviously as unable to swim as she was. In desperation, he grabbed her shoulder and tried to use her for support. She immediately sank. Finding her inadequate to keep him on the surface, he let her go.
Under the water, holding her breath, fighting off panic, she thought: I can't drown now, after all I've been through.
Next time she surfaced, she felt herself shoved aside by a heavy body, and she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the ox that had knocked her over a moment before the bridge fell apart. It was apparently unharmed and swimming strongly. She reached out, kicking her feet, and managed to get hold of one of its horns. She pulled its head sideways for a moment, then the powerful neck pulled back and its head came upright again.
Gwenda managed to hang on.
Her dog, Skip, appeared beside her, swimming effortlessly, and yelped for joy to see her face.
The ox was heading for the suburban shore. Gwenda clung to its horn, even though her arm felt as if it was about to drop off.
Someone grabbed her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Sim again. Trying to use her to keep himself afloat, he pulled her under. Without letting go of the ox, she pushed Sim off with her free hand. He dropped back, his head close to her feet. Taking careful aim, she kicked him as hard as she could in the face. He gave a cry of pain that was quickly silenced as his head went under.
The ox found its footing and lumbered out of the water, splashing and snorting. Gwenda let go as soon as she could stand on the bottom.
Skip gave a frightened bark, and Gwenda looked around warily. Sim was not on the bank. She scanned the river, looking for the flash of a yellow tunic among the bodies and the floating timbers.
She saw him, keeping himself afloat by holding on to a plank, kicking with his legs and coming straight toward her.
She could not run. She had no strength left, and her dress was waterlogged. On this side of the river, there was no place to hide. And, now that the bridge was down, there was no way to cross to the Kingsbridge side.
But she was not going to let him take her.
She saw that he was struggling, and that gave her hope. The plank would have kept him afloat if he had remained still, but he was kicking for the shore, and his thrashing destabilized him. He would push down on the plank to lift himself up, then kick to swim for shore, and his head would go under again. He might not make it to the bank.
She realized she could make certain of that.
She looked around quickly. The water was full of bits of wood, from huge load-bearing timbers to splinters. Her eye lit on a stout timber about a yard long. She stepped into the water and grabbed it. Then she waded out into the river to meet her owner.
She had the satisfaction of seeing the light of fear in his eyes.
He paused in his paddling. Ahead of him was the woman he had tried to enslave - angry, determined, and wielding a formidable club. Behind him, death by drowning.
He came forward.
Gwenda stood up to her waist in water and waited for her moment.
She saw Sim pause again, and guessed from his movements that he was trying to find the bottom with his feet.
Now or never.
Gwenda raised the wood over her head and stepped forward. Sim saw what she was about to do, and scrabbled desperately to get out of the way; but he was off balance, neither swimming nor wading, and he could not dodge. Gwenda brought the timber down on top of his head with all her might.
Sim's eyes rolled up and he slumped unconscious.
She reached forward and grabbed him by the yellow tunic. She was not going to let him float away - he might survive. She pulled him to her, then took his head in both hands and pushed it under the water.
It was more difficult than she had imagined to keep a body under, even though he was out cold. His greasy hair was slippery. She had to grasp his head under her arm then lift her feet off the bottom, so that her weight carried them both down.
She began to feel she might have overcome him. How long did it take to drown a man? She had no idea. Sim's lungs must be filling with water already. How would she know when she could let go?
Suddenly he twisted. She tightened her grip on his head. For a moment she struggled to hold him. She was not sure whether he had come round, or was undergoing an unconscious convulsion. His spasms were strong, but seemed random. Her feet found the bottom again and she braced herself and held on.
She looked around. No one was watching: they were all too busy saving themselves.
After a few moments, Sim's movements became weaker. Soon he was still. Gradually she relaxed her grip. Sim sank slowly to the bottom.
He did not come up again.
Panting for breath, Gwenda waded to the shore. She sat down heavily on the muddy ground. She felt for the leather purse on her belt: it was still there. The outlaws had not got around to stealing it from her, and she had kept it through all her trials. It contained the precious love potion made by Mattie Wise. She opened the purse to check - and found nothing but shards of pottery. The little vial had been smashed.
She started to cry.
The first person Caris saw doing anything sensible was Merthin's brother, Ralph. He was wearing nothing but a soaking wet pair of underdrawers. He was uninjured, apart from his red and swollen nose, which he had had before. Ralph pulled the earl of Shiring out of the water and laid him on the shore next to a body in the earl's livery. The earl had a grisly head injury that might be fatal. Ralph appeared exhausted by his efforts and unsure what to do next. Caris considered what she should tell him.
She looked around. On this side, the riverbank consisted of small, muddy beaches separated by rocky outcrops. There was not much room to lay out the dead and injured here: they would have to be taken elsewhere.
A few yards away, a flight of stone steps led up from the river to a gate in the priory wall. Caris made a decision. Pointing, she said to Ralph: 'Take the earl that way into the priory. Lay him down carefully in the cathedral, then run to the hospital. Tell the first nun you see to fetch Mother Cecilia immediately.'
Ralph seemed glad to have someone decisive to obey, and did as he was told right away.
Merthin started to wade into the water, but Caris stopped him. 'Look at that crowd of idiots,' she said, pointing to the city end of the ruined bridge. Dozens of people were standing gawping at the scene of carnage in front of them. 'Get all the strong men down here,' she went on. 'They can start pulling people out of the water and carrying them to the cathedral.'
He hesitated. 'They can't get down here from there.'
Caris saw his point. They would have to clamber over the wreckage, and that would probably lead to more injuries. But the houses on this side of the main street had gardens that backed up against the priory walls; and the house on the corner, belonging to Ben Wheeler, had a small door in the wall so that he could come to the river directly from his garden.
Merthin was thinking the same. He said: 'I'll bring them through Ben's house and across his yard.'
'Good.'
He clambered over the rocks, pushed open the door, and disappeared.
Caris looked across the water. A tall figure was wading onto the bank nearby, and she recognized Philemon. Gasping, he said: 'Have you seen Gwenda?'
'Yes - just before the bridge collapsed,' Caris replied. 'She was running from Sim Chapman.'
'I know - but where is she now?'
'I don't see her. The best thing you can do is start pulling people out of the water.'
'I want to find my sister.'
'If she's alive, she'll be among those who need to get out of the river.'
'All right.' Philemon splashed back into the water.
Caris was desperate to find out where her own family was - but there was too much to do here. She promised herself she would look for her father as soon as possible.
Ben Wheeler emerged from his gate. A squat man with big shoulders and a thick neck, he was a carter, and got through life more by the use of his muscles than his brain. He scrambled down to the beach, then looked around, not knowing what to do.
On the ground at Caris's feet was one of Earl Roland's men, wearing the red-and-black livery, apparently dead. She said: 'Ben, carry this man into the cathedral.'
Ben's wife, Lib, appeared, carrying a toddler. She was a little brighter than her husband, and she asked: 'Shouldn't we deal with the living first?'
'We have to get them out of the water before we can tell whether they're dead or alive - and we can't leave bodies here on the bank because they will get in the way of rescuers. Take him to the church.'
Lib saw the sense of that. 'You'd better do as Caris says, Ben,' she said.
Ben picked up the body effortlessly and moved off.
Caris realized they could move the bodies more quickly if they carried them on the kind of stretchers the builders used. The monks could organize those. Where were the monks? She had told Ralph to alert Mother Cecilia, but so far no one had appeared. The injured would need wound dressings, ointments, and cleansing fluids: every nun and monk would be needed. Matthew Barber must be summoned: there would be many broken bones to set. And Mattie Wise, to give potions to the injured to ease their pain. Caris needed to raise the alarm, but she was reluctant to leave the riverside before the rescue operation was properly organized. Where was Merthin?
A woman was crawling to the shore. Caris stepped into the water and pulled her to her feet. It was Griselda. Her wet dress clung to her, and Caris could see her full breasts and the swell of her thighs. Knowing that she was pregnant, Caris said anxiously: 'Are you all right?'
'I think so.'
'You're not bleeding?'
'No.'
'Thank God.' Caris looked around and was grateful to see Merthin coming from Ben Wheeler's garden at the head of a line of men, some of them wearing the earl's livery. She called to him: 'Take Griselda's arm. Help her up the steps to the priory. She should sit down and rest for a while.' She added reassuringly: 'She's all right, though.'
Both Merthin and Griselda looked at her strangely, and she realized in a flash how peculiar this situation was. The three of them stood for a moment in a frozen triangle: the mother-to-be, the father of her child, and the woman who loved him.
Then Caris turned away, breaking the spell, and began to give orders to the men.