World Without End

24

Caris stood on the green in front of Kingsbridge Cathedral, along with at least half the population of the town, waiting for the bride and groom to emerge from the great west door of the church.

Caris was not sure why she was here. She had been feeling negative about marriage ever since the day Merthin had finished his hoist, and they had had an abrasive conversation about their future. She felt angry with him, even though everything he had said made perfect sense. Of course he wanted to have his own house and live with her in it; of course he wanted to sleep with her every night and have children. That was what everyone wanted - everyone, it seemed, except Caris.

And in fact she wanted all those things, too, in a way. She would have liked to lie down beside him every evening, and put her arms around his slim body anytime she wanted, and feel his clever hands on her skin when she woke up in the morning, and give birth to a miniature version of him that they could both love and care for. But she did not want the things that went with marriage. She wanted a lover, not a master; she wanted to live with him, not dedicate her life to him. And she was angry with Merthin for forcing her to face up to the dilemma. Why could they not go on just as they were?

For three weeks she had hardly spoken to him. She pretended to have a summer cold, and in fact she developed a painful sore on her lip that gave her an excuse not to kiss him. He still took his meals at her house, and talked amiably with her father; but he did not linger after Edmund and Petranilla went to bed.

Now Caris's sore had healed and her anger had cooled. She still did not want to become Merthin's property, but she wished he would start kissing her again. However, he was not with her now. He was in the crowd, some distance away, talking to Bessie Bell, daughter of the landlord of the Bell Inn. She was a small girl with a curvy body and the kind of grin that men called saucy and women called tarty. Merthin was making her laugh. Caris looked away.

The big wooden church door opened. A cheer went up from the crowd, and the bride emerged. Margery was a pretty girl of sixteen, dressed in white, with flowers in her hair. The groom followed her out, a tall, serious-looking man about ten years older than she.

They both looked completely miserable.

They hardly knew each other. Until this week, they had met only once, six months ago, when the two earls had arranged the marriage. There was a rumor that Margery loved someone else, but of course there was no question of her disobeying Earl Roland. And her new husband had a studious air, as if he would prefer to be in a library somewhere, reading a book about geometry. What would their life together be like? It was hard to imagine their developing the kind of passion for one another that Caris and Merthin enjoyed.

She saw Merthin coming toward her through the crowd, and suddenly she was struck by the thought that she was ungrateful. How lucky she was not to be the niece of an earl! No one was going to force her into an arranged marriage. She was free to marry the man she loved - and all she could do was find reasons not to.

She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the lips. He looked surprised, but made no comment. Some men would have been unnerved by her change of mood, but Merthin had a bedrock equanimity that was hard to shake.

They stood together and watched as Earl Roland came out of the church, followed by the earl and countess of Monmouth, then Bishop Richard and Prior Godwyn. Caris noticed that her cousin Godwyn looked both pleased and apprehensive - almost as if he were the groom. The reason, no doubt, was that he had just been inaugurated as prior.

An escort of knights formed up, the Shiring men in Roland's red-and-black livery, the Monmouth men in yellow and green. The procession moved off, heading for the guildhall. There Earl Roland was giving a banquet for the wedding guests. Edmund was going, but Caris had managed to get out of it, and Petranilla was to accompany him.

As the bridal party left the precincts, a light shower of rain began to fall. Caris and Merthin took shelter in the cathedral porch. 'Come with me to the chancel,' Merthin said. 'I want to look at Elfric's repairs.'

The wedding guests were still leaving the church. Moving against the flow, Merthin and Caris pushed through the crowd in the nave and went to the south aisle of the chancel. This part of the church was reserved for the clergy, and they would have disapproved of Caris's being there, but the monks and nuns had already left. Caris glanced around, but there was no one to see her except one unfamiliar woman, a well-dressed redhead of about thirty, presumably a wedding guest, apparently waiting for someone.

Merthin craned his neck to look up at the vaulted ceiling over the aisle. The repairs were not quite finished: a small section of the vault was still open, and a sheet of canvas, painted white, was stretched across the gap, so that the ceiling looked complete to a casual glance.

'He's doing a decent job,' Merthin said. 'I wonder how long it will last.'

'Why wouldn't it last indefinitely?' Caris asked.

'Because we don't know why the vault crumbled. These things don't happen for no reason - they're not acts of God, regardless of what the priests may say. Whatever caused the stonework to collapse once will, presumably, do so again.'

'Is it possible to discover the cause?'

'It's not easy. Elfric certainly can't do it. I might.'

'But you've been sacked.'

'Exactly.' He stood there for a few moments, head tilted back, then said: 'I want to see this from above. I'm going into the loft.'

'I'll come with you.'

They both looked around, but there was no one nearby except for the red-haired wedding guest, who was still loitering in the south transept. Merthin led Caris to a small door that opened on a narrow spiral staircase. She followed him up, wondering what the monks would think if they knew a woman was exploring their secret passageways. The staircase emerged into an attic over the south aisle.

Caris was intrigued to see the vault from the other side. 'What you're looking at is called the extrados,' Merthin said. She liked the casual way he gave her architectural information, assuming she would be interested and knowing she would understand. He never made stupid jokes about women not grasping technicalities.

He moved along the narrow walkway then lay down to examine the new stonework closely. Mischievously, she lay beside him and put her arm around him, as if they were in bed. Merthin touched the mortar between the new stones then put his finger on his tongue. 'It's drying out quite quickly,' he said.

'I'm sure it's very dangerous if there's moisture in the cleft.'

He looked at her. 'I'll give you moisture in the cleft.'

'You already have.'

He kissed her. She closed her eyes to enjoy it more.

After a minute she said: 'Let's go to my house. We'll have it to ourselves - my father and my aunt are both at the wedding banquet.'

They were about to get up when they heard voices. A man and a woman had come into the south aisle, immediately below the repair work. What they said was only a little muffled by the canvas sheet covering the hole in the ceiling. 'Your son is thirteen now,' the woman said. 'He wants to be a knight.'

'All boys do,' came the reply.

Merthin whispered: 'Don't move - they'll hear us.'

Caris presumed the female voice to be that of the wedding guest. The male voice was familiar, and she had the feeling the speaker was a monk - but a monk could not have a son.

'And your daughter is twelve. She's going to be beautiful.'

'Like her mother.'

'A little.' There was a pause, then the woman went on: 'I can't stay long - the countess may look for me.'

So she was in the entourage of the countess of Monmouth. She might be a lady-in-waiting, Caris guessed. She seemed to be giving news of children to a father who had not seen them for years. Who could it be?

He said: 'Why did you want to meet me, Loreen?'

'Just to look at you. I'm sorry you lost your arm.'

Caris gasped, then covered her mouth, hoping she had not been heard. There was only one monk who had lost an arm: Thomas. Now that the name had come into her mind, she knew that the voice was his. Could it be that he had a wife? And two children? Caris looked at Merthin and saw that his face was a mask of incredulity.

'What do you tell the children of me?' Thomas asked.

'That their father is dead,' Loreen replied harshly. Then she began to cry. 'Why did you do it?'

'I had no choice. If I had not come here, I would have been killed. Even now, I almost never leave the precincts.'

'Why would anyone want to kill you?'

'To protect a secret.'

'I'd be better off if you'd died. As a widow, I could find a husband, someone to be a father to my children. But this way I have all the burdens of a wife and mother but no one to help me...no one to put his arms around me in the night.'

'I'm sorry I'm still alive.'

'Oh, I didn't mean that. I don't wish you dead. I loved you once.'

'And I loved you as much as a man of my kind can love a woman.'

Caris frowned. What did he mean by 'a man of my kind'? Was he one of those men who loved other men? Monks often were.

Whatever he meant, Loreen seemed to understand, for she said gently: 'I know you did.'

There was a long silence. Caris knew she and Merthin should not be eavesdropping on such an intimate conversation - but it was now too late to reveal themselves.

Loreen said: 'Are you happy?'

'Yes. I was not made to be a husband, or a knight. I pray for my children every day - and for you. I ask God to wash from my hands the blood of all the men I killed. This is the life I always wanted.'

'In that case, I wish you well.'

'You're very generous.'

'You'll probably never see me again.'

'I know.'

'Kiss me, and say good-bye.'

There was a long silence, then light footsteps receded. Caris lay still, hardly daring to breathe. After another pause, she heard Thomas crying. His sobs were muffled, but seemed to come from deep inside. Tears came to her own eyes as she listened.

Eventually Thomas got himself under control. He sniffed, coughed, and muttered something that might have been a prayer; then she heard his steps as he walked away.

At last she and Merthin could move. They stood up and walked back along the loft and down the spiral stairs. Neither spoke as they went down the nave of the great church. Caris felt as if she had been staring at a painting of high tragedy, the figures frozen in their dramatic attitudes of the moment, their past and future only to be guessed at.

Like a painting, the scene aroused different emotions in different people, and Merthin's reaction was not the same as hers. As they emerged into a damp summer afternoon, he said: 'What a sad story.'

'It makes me angry,' Caris said. 'That woman has been ruined by Thomas.'

'You can hardly blame him. He had to save his life.'

'And now her life is over. She has no husband, but she can't marry again. She's forced to raise two children alone. At least Thomas has the monastery.'

'She has the court of the countess.'

'How can you compare the two?' Caris said irritably. 'She's probably a distant relation, kept on as an act of charity, asked to perform menial tasks, helping the countess dress her hair and choose her clothes. She's got no choice - she's trapped.'

'So is he. You heard him say he can't leave the precincts.'

'But Thomas has a role, he's the matricularius, he makes decisions, he does something.'

'Loreen has her children.'

'Exactly! The man takes care of the most important building for miles around, and the woman is stuck with her children.'

'Queen Isabella had four children, and for a while she was one of the most powerful people in Europe.'

'But she had to get rid of her husband first.'

They went on in silence, walking out of the priory grounds into the main street, and stopped in front of Caris's house. She realized that this was another quarrel, and it was on the same subject as last time: marriage.

Merthin said: 'I'm going to the Bell for dinner.'

That was Bessie's father's inn. 'All right,' Caris said despondently.

As Merthin walked away, she called after him: 'Loreen would be better off if she'd never married.'

He spoke over his shoulder. 'What else would she do?'

That was the problem, Caris thought resentfully as she entered her house. What else was a woman to do?

The place was empty. Edmund and Petranilla were at the banquet, and the servants had the afternoon off. Only Scrap the dog was there to welcome Caris with a lazy wag of her tail. Caris patted her black head absentmindedly, then sat at the table in the hall, brooding.

Every other young woman in Christendom wanted nothing more than to marry the man she loved - why was Caris so horrified by the prospect? From where had she got such unconventional feelings? Certainly not from her own mother. Rose had wanted only to be a good wife to Edmund. She had believed what men said about the inferiority of women. Her subordination had embarrassed Caris and, though Edmund never complained, Caris suspected that he had been bored by it. Caris had more respect for her forceful, unlovable aunt Petranilla than for her compliant mother.

Even Petranilla had allowed her life to be shaped by men. For years she had worked to maneuver her father up the social ladder until he became alderman of Kingsbridge. Her strongest emotion was resentment: toward Earl Roland because he had jilted her, and toward her husband because he had died. As a widow she had dedicated herself to Godwyn's career.

Queen Isabella had been similar. She had deposed her husband, King Edward II; but the result had been that her lover, Roger Mortimer, had effectively ruled England until her son grew old enough and confident enough to oust him.

Was that what Caris should do - live her life through men? Her father wanted her to work with him in the wool business. Or she could manage Merthin's career, helping him secure contracts to construct churches and bridges, expanding his business until he was the richest and most important builder in England.

She was roused from her thoughts by a tap at the door, and the birdlike figure of Mother Cecilia walked briskly in.

'Good afternoon!' Caris said in surprise. 'I was just asking myself whether all women are doomed to live their lives through men - and here you are, an obvious counterexample.'

'You're not quite right,' Cecilia said with a friendly smile. 'I live through Jesus Christ, who was a man, though he is God, too.'

Caris was not sure whether that counted. She opened the cupboard and took out a small barrel of the best wine. 'Would you like a cup of my father's Rhenish?'

'Just a little, mixed with water.'

Caris half-filled two cups with wine then topped up the drinks with water from a jug. 'You know that my father and aunt are at the banquet.'

'Yes. I came to see you.'

Caris had guessed as much. The prioress did not wander around the town making social calls without a purpose.

Cecilia sipped, then went on: 'I've been thinking about you, and the way you acted on the day the bridge collapsed.'

'Did I do something wrong?'

'On the contrary. You did everything perfectly. You were gentle but firm with the injured, and you obeyed my orders but at the same time used your initiative. I was impressed.'

'Thank you.'

'And you seemed...not to enjoy it, exactly, but at least to find satisfaction in the work.'

'People were in distress, and we brought them relief - what could be more satisfying?'

'That's how I feel, and it's why I'm a nun.'

Caris saw where this was going. 'I couldn't spend my life in the priory.'

'The natural aptitude you showed for looking after the sick is only part of what I noticed. When people first started to walk into the cathedral carrying the injured and dead, I asked who had told them what to do. The answer was Caris Wooler.'

'It was obvious what should be done.'

'Yes - to you.' Cecilia leaned forward earnestly. 'The talent for organization is given to few people. I know - I have it, and I recognize it in others. When everyone around us is baffled, or panicked, or terrified, you and I take charge.'

Caris felt this was true. 'I suppose so,' she said reluctantly.

'I've watched you for ten years - since the day your mother died.'

'You brought her relief in her distress.'

'I knew then, just by talking to you, that you were going to grow up into an exceptional woman. My feeling was confirmed when you attended the nuns' school. You're twenty now. You must be thinking about what to do with your life. I believe that God has work for you.'

'How do you know what God thinks?'

Cecilia bristled. 'If anyone else in town asked me that question, I'd order them down on their knees to pray for forgiveness. But you're sincere, so I'll answer. I know what God thinks because I accept the teachings of His church. And I'm convinced he wants you to be a nun.'

'I like men too much.'

'Always a problem for me, as a youngster - but, I can assure you, a problem that diminishes with every passing year.'

'I can't be told how to live.'

'Don't be a Beguine.'

'What's that?'

'Beguines are nuns who accept no rules and consider their vows to be temporary. They live together, cultivate their lands and graze their cattle, and refuse to be governed by men.'

Caris was always intrigued to hear of women who defied the rules. 'Where are they to be found?'

'Mostly in the Netherlands. They had a leader, Marguerite Porete, who wrote a book called The Mirror of Simple Souls.'

'I'd like to read it.'

'Out of the question. The Beguines have been condemned by the church for the heresy of the Free Spirit - the belief that we can attain spiritual perfection here on earth.'

'Spiritual perfection? What does that mean? It's just a phrase.'

'If you're determined to close your mind to God, you'll never understand it.'

'I'm sorry, Mother Cecilia, but every time I'm told something about God by a mere human, I think: But humans are fallible, so the truth might be different.'

'How could the church be wrong?'

'Well, the Muslims have different beliefs.'

'They're heathens!'

'They call us infidels - it's the same thing. And Buonaventura Caroli says there are more Muslims than Christians in the world. So somebody's church is wrong.'

'Be careful,' Cecilia said severely. 'Don't allow your passion for argument to lead you into blasphemy.'

'Sorry, Mother.' Caris knew that Cecilia enjoyed sparring with her, but there always came a moment when the prioress stopped arguing and started preaching, and Caris had to back down. It left her feeling slightly cheated.

Cecilia stood up. 'I know I can't persuade you against your will, but I wanted you to know the tendency of my thoughts. You could do nothing better than to join our nunnery, and dedicate your life to the sacrament of healing. Thank you for the wine.'

As Cecilia was leaving, Caris said: 'What happened to Marguerite Porete? Is she still alive?'

'No,' said the prioress. 'She was burned at the stake.' She went out into the street, shutting the door behind her.

Caris stared at the closed door. A woman's life was a house of closed doors: she could not be an apprentice, she could not study at the university, she could not be a priest or a physician, or shoot a bow or fight with a sword, and she could not marry without submitting herself to the tyranny of her husband.

She wondered what Merthin was doing now. Was Bessie sitting at his table at the Bell Inn, watching him drink her father's best ale, giving him that inviting smile, pulling the front of her dress tight to make sure he could see what nice breasts she had? Was he being charming and amusing to her, making her laugh? Was she parting her lips to show him her even teeth, and throwing back her head so that he could appreciate the soft skin of her white throat? Was he talking to her father, Paul Bell, asking respectful and interested questions about his business, so that later Paul would tell his daughter that Merthin was a good sort, a fine young man? Would Merthin get drunk and put his arm around Bessie's waist, resting his hand on her hip then slyly inching his fingertips toward that sensitive place between her thighs that was already itching for his touch - just as he once had with Caris?

Tears came to her eyes. She felt she was a fool. She had the best man in town and here she was handing him over to a barmaid. Why did she do these things to herself?

At that moment he walked in.

She looked at him through a mist of tears. Her vision was so blurred that she could not read his expression. Had he come to make friends again - or to berate her, venting his anger with the courage of several tankards of ale?

She stood up. For a moment she was held in suspense, as he closed the door behind him and came slowly to stand in front of her. Then he said: 'No matter what you do or say, I still love you.'

She threw her arms around him and burst out crying.

He stroked her hair and said nothing, which was just right.

After a while they started to kiss. She felt the familiar hunger, but stronger than ever: she wanted his hands all over her, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside her. She felt differently and she wanted their love to find a new expression. 'Let's take off all our clothes,' she said. They had never done that before.

He smiled with pleasure. 'All right, but what if someone comes in?'

'They'll be at the banquet for hours. And anyway we can go upstairs.'

They went to her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes. Suddenly she felt shy. What would he think when he saw her naked? She knew he loved her body bit by bit: her breasts, her legs, her throat, her cunt - he always told her how beautiful they were as he kissed and caressed them. But would he now notice that her hips were too wide, her legs a little short, her breasts quite small?

He seemed to have no such inhibitions. He threw off his shirt, pulled down his underdrawers, and stood unself-consciously before her. His body was slight but strong, and he seemed full of pent-up energy, like a young deer. She noticed for the first time that the hair at his groin was the color of autumn leaves. His cock stood up eagerly. Desire overcame her shyness, and she pulled her dress quickly over her head.

He stared at her bare body, but she no longer felt embarrassed - his look inflamed her like an intimate caress. 'You're beautiful,' he said.

'So are you.'

They lay side by side on the straw-filled palliasse that was her bed. As they kissed and touched one another, she realized that today she was not going to be satisfied with the games they usually played. 'I want to do it properly,' she said.

'You mean go the whole way?'

The thought of pregnancy surfaced in her mind, but she pushed it back down. She was too heated to think of consequences. 'Yes,' she whispered.

'So do I.'

He lay on top of her. Half her life she had wondered what this moment would be like. She looked up at his face. It wore the concentrated expression that she loved so much, the look he had when he was working, his small hands shaping wood with tenderness and skill. His fingertips softly spread the petals of her sex. She was slippery and yearning for him.

He said: 'Are you sure?'

Once again she suppressed the thought of pregnancy. 'I'm sure.'

She felt a moment of fear when he entered her. She tightened involuntarily, and he hesitated, feeling her body resisting him. 'It's all right,' she said. 'You can push harder. You won't hurt me.' She was wrong about that, and there was a sudden sharp pain as he thrust. She could not help crying out.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'Just wait a minute,' she said.

They lay still. He kissed her eyelids and her forehead and the tip of her nose. She stroked his face and looked into his golden brown eyes. Then the pain was gone and the desire came back, and she began to move, rejoicing in the feeling of having the man she loved deep inside her body for the first time. She thrilled to see the intensity of his pleasure. He stared at her, a faint smile on his lips, a deep hunger in his eyes, as they moved faster.

'I can't stop,' he said breathlessly.

'Don't stop, don't stop.'

She watched him intently. In a few moments he was overwhelmed by pleasure, his eyes shut tight and his mouth open and his whole body as taut as a bowstring. She felt his spasms inside her, and the jet of his ejaculation, and she thought that nothing in life had prepared her for such happiness. A moment later she herself was convulsed with ecstasy. She had had this sensation before, but not so powerfully, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to it, pulling his body hard against her own as she shook like a tree in the wind.

When it was over, they lay still for a long while. He buried his face in her neck, and she felt his panting breath on her skin. She stroked his back. His skin was damp with perspiration. Gradually her heartbeat slowed, and a deep contentment stole over her like twilight on a summer evening.

'So,' she said after a while, 'that's what all the fuss is about.'