World Without End

'Oh, Ralph, how could you do it?' said his mother.

Merthin studied his brother's face in the dim light of their parents' home. Ralph appeared torn between outright denial and self-justification.

In the end, Ralph said: 'She led me on.'

Maud was distressed more than angry. 'But, Ralph, she is another man's wife!'

'A peasant's wife.'

'Even so.'

'Don't worry, Mother, they'll never convict a lord on the word of a serf.'

Merthin was not so sure. Ralph was a minor lord, and it seemed he had incurred the enmity of William of Caster. There was no telling how the trial would come out.

Their father said sternly: 'Even if they don't convict you - which I pray for - just think of the shame of it! You're the son of a knight - how could you forget that?'

Merthin was horrified and upset, but not surprised. That streak of violence had always been in Ralph's nature. In their boyhood he had ever been ready for a fight, and Merthin had often steered him away from fisticuffs, deflating a confrontation with a conciliatory word or a joke. Had anyone other than his brother committed this horrible rape, Merthin would have been hoping to see the man hang.

Ralph kept glancing at Merthin. He was worried about Merthin's disapproval - perhaps more so than his mother's. He had always looked up to his older brother. Merthin just wished there was some way Ralph could be shackled to prevent his attacking people, now that he no longer had Merthin nearby to keep him out of trouble.

The discussion with their distraught parents was set to go on for some time, but there was a knock at the door of the modest house, and Caris came in. She smiled at Gerald and Maud, though her face changed when she saw Ralph.

Merthin guessed she wanted him. He stood up. 'I didn't know you were back from London,' he said.

'Just arrived,' she replied. 'Can we have a few words?'

He pulled a cloak around his shoulders and stepped outside with her into the dim gray light of a cold December day. It was a year since she had terminated their love affair. He knew that her pregnancy had ended in the hospital, and he guessed she had somehow brought on the abortion deliberately. Twice in the following few weeks he had asked her to come back to him, but she had refused. It was bewildering: he sensed that she still loved him, but she was adamant. He had given up hope, and assumed that in time he would cease to grieve. So far, that had not happened. His heart still beat faster when he saw her, and he was happier talking to her than doing anything else in the world.

They walked to the main street and turned into the Bell. In the late afternoon the tavern was quiet. They ordered hot spiced wine.

'We lost the case,' Caris said.

Merthin was shocked. 'How is that possible? You had Prior Philip's will - '

'It made no difference.' She was bitterly disappointed, Merthin could see. She explained: 'Godwyn's smart lawyer argued that Kingsbridge people are serfs of the prior, and serfs have no right to appeal to the royal court. The judge dismissed the case.'

Merthin felt angry. 'But that's stupid. It means the prior can do anything he likes, regardless of laws and charters - '

'I know.'

Merthin realized she was impatient because he was saying things she had said to herself many times. He suppressed his indignation and tried to be practical. 'What are you going to do?'

'Apply for a borough charter. That would free the town from the control of the prior. Our lawyer thinks we have a strong case. Mind you, he thought we would win against the fulling mill. However, the king is desperate for money for this war against France. He needs prosperous towns to pay his taxes.'

'How long would it take to get a charter?'

'That's the bad news - at least a year, perhaps more.'

'And in that time, you can't manufacture scarlet cloth.'

'Not with the old fulling mill.'

'So we'll have to stop work on the bridge.'

'I can't see any way out of it.'

'Damn.' It seemed so unreasonable. Here they had at their fingertips the means to restore the town's prosperity, and one man's stubbornness was preventing them. 'How we all misjudged Godwyn,' Merthin said.

'Don't remind me.'

'We've got to escape from his control.'

'I know.'

'But sooner than a year from now.'

'I wish there was a way.'

Merthin racked his brains. At the same time, he was studying Caris. She was a wearing a new dress from London, particolored in the current fashion, which gave her a playful look, even though she was solemn and anxious. The colors, deep green and mid-blue, seemed to make her eyes sparkle and her skin glow. This happened every so often. He would be deep in conversation with her over some problem to do with the bridge - they rarely talked of anything else - then suddenly he would realize how lovely she was.

Even while he was thinking about that, the problem-solving part of his mind came up with a proposal. 'We should build our own fulling mill.'

Caris shook her head. 'It would be illegal. Godwyn would order John Constable to pull it down.'

'What if it were outside the town?'

'In the forest, you mean? That's illegal, too. You'd have the king's verderers on your back.' Verderers enforced the laws of the forest.

'Not in the forest, then. Somewhere else.'

'Wherever you went, you'd need the permission of some lord.'

'My brother's a lord.'

A look of distaste crossed Caris's face at the mention of Ralph, then her expression changed as she thought through what Merthin was saying. 'Build a fulling mill at Wigleigh?'

'Why not?'

'Is there a fast-flowing stream to turn the mill wheel?'

'I believe so - but if not, it can be driven by an ox like the ferry.'

'Would Ralph let you?'

'Of course. He's my brother. If I ask him, he'll say yes.'

'Godwyn will go mad with rage.'

'Ralph doesn't care about Godwyn.'

Caris was pleased and excited, Merthin could see; but what were her feelings toward him? She was glad they had a solution to their problem, and eager to outwit Godwyn, but beyond that he could not read her mind.

'Let's think this through before we rejoice,' she said. 'Godwyn will make a rule saying cloth can't be taken out of Kingsbridge to be fulled. Lots of towns have laws like that.'

'Very hard for him to enforce such a rule without the cooperation of a guild. And, if he does, you can get around it. Most of the cloth is being woven in the villages anyway, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'Then don't bring it into the city. Send it from the weavers to Wigleigh. Dye it there, full it in the new mill, then take it to London. Godwyn will have no jurisdiction.'

'How long would it take to build a mill?'

Merthin considered. 'The timber building can be put up in a couple of days. The machinery will be wooden, too, but it will take longer, as it has to be precisely measured. Getting the men and materials there will take the most time. I could have it finished a week after Christmas.'

'That's wonderful,' she said. 'We'll do it.'

Elizabeth rolled the dice and moved her last counter into the home position on the board. 'I win!' she said. 'That's three out of three. Pay up.'

Merthin handed her a silver penny. Only two people ever beat him at tabula: Elizabeth and Caris. He did not mind losing. He was grateful for a worthy opponent.

He sat back and sipped his pear wine. It was a cold Saturday afternoon in January, and already dark. Elizabeth's mother was asleep in a chair near the fire, snoring gently with her mouth open. She worked at the Bell, but she was always at home when Merthin visited her daughter. He preferred it that way. It meant he never had to decide whether to kiss Elizabeth or not. It was a question he did not want to confront. He would have liked to kiss her, of course. He remembered the touch of her cool lips and the firmness of her flat breasts. But it would mean admitting that his love affair with Caris was over forever, and he was not yet ready for that.

'How is the new mill at Wigleigh?' Elizabeth asked.

'Finished, and rolling,' Merthin said proudly. 'Caris has been fulling cloth there for a week.'

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. 'Herself?'

'No, that was a figure of speech. As a matter of fact, Mark Webber is running the mill, though he is training some of the village men to take over.'

'It will be good for Mark if he becomes Caris's second-in-command. He's been poor all his life - this is a big opportunity.'

'Caris's new enterprise will be good for us all. It will mean I can finish the bridge.'

'She's a clever girl,' Elizabeth said in a level voice. 'But what does Godwyn have to say?'

'Nothing. I'm not sure he knows about it yet.'

'He will, though.'

'I don't believe there's anything he can do.'

'He's a prideful man. If you've outwitted him, he'll never forgive you.'

'I can live with that.'

'And what about the bridge?'

'Despite all the problems, the work is only a couple of weeks behind schedule. I've had to spend money to catch up, but we will be able to use the bridge - with a temporary wooden roadbed - for the next Fleece Fair.'

'You and Caris between you have saved the town.'

'Not yet - but we will.'

There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth's mother woke up with a start. 'Now who could that be?' she said. 'It's dark out.'

It was one of Edmund's apprentice boys. 'Master Merthin is wanted at the parish guild meeting,' he said.

'What for?' Merthin asked him.

'Master Edmund said to tell you, you're wanted at the parish guild meeting,' the boy said. He had obviously learned the message off by heart and knew nothing more.

'Something about the bridge, I expect,' Merthin said to Elizabeth. 'They're worried about the cost.' He picked up his cloak. 'Thank you for the wine - and the game.'

'I'll play you anytime you like,' she said.

He walked beside the apprentice to the guildhall on the main street. The guild was holding a business meeting, not a banquet. The twenty or so most important people in Kingsbridge were sitting at a long trestle table, some drinking ale or wine, talking in low voices. Merthin sensed tension and anger, and he became apprehensive.

Edmund was at the head of the table. Prior Godwyn sat next to him. The prior was not a member of the guild: his presence suggested that Merthin's surmise had been right, and the meeting was about the bridge. However, Thomas the matricularius was not present, although Philemon was. That was odd.

Merthin had recently had a small dispute with Godwyn. His contract had been for a year at two pence a day plus the lease on Leper Island. It was due for renewal, and Godwyn had proposed to continue paying him two pence a day. Merthin had insisted on four pence, and in the end Godwyn had conceded the point. Had he complained about this to the guild?

Edmund spoke with characteristic abruptness. 'We've called you here because Prior Godwyn wishes to dismiss you as master builder in charge of the bridge.'

Merthin felt as if he had been punched in the face. He was not expecting anything like this. 'What?' he said. 'But Godwyn appointed me!'

Godwyn said: 'And therefore I have the right to dismiss you.'

'But why?

'The work is behind schedule and over budget.'

'It's behind schedule because the earl closed the quarry - and it's over budget because I had to spend money to catch up.'

'Excuses.'

'Am I inventing the death of a carter?'

Godwyn shot back: 'Killed by your own brother!'

'What has that to do with anything?'

Godwyn ignored the question. 'A man who is accused of rape!' he added.

'You can't dismiss a master builder because of his brother's behavior.'

'Who are you to say what I can do?'

'I'm the builder of your bridge!' Then it occurred to Merthin that much of his work as master builder was complete. He had designed all the most complicated parts and made wooden templates to guide the stonemasons. He had built the cofferdams, which no one else knew how to do. And he had constructed the floating cranes and hoists needed to move the heavy stones into position in midstream. Any builder could now finish the job, he realized with dismay.

'There is no guarantee of renewal of your contract,' Godwyn said.

It was true. Merthin looked around the room for support. No one would meet his eye. They had already argued this out with Godwyn, he deduced. Despair overwhelmed him. Why had this happened? It was not because the bridge was behind schedule and over budget - the delay was not Merthin's fault, and anyway he was catching up. What was the real reason? As soon as he had asked the question, the answer came into his mind. 'This is because of the fulling mill at Wigleigh!' he said.

Godwyn said primly: 'The two things are not necessarily connected.'

Edmund said quietly but distinctly: 'Lying monk.'

Philemon spoke for the first time. 'Take care, Alderman!' he said.

Edmund was undeterred. 'Merthin and Caris outwitted you, didn't they, Godwyn? Their mill at Wigleigh is entirely legitimate. You brought defeat on yourself by your greed and obstinacy. And this is your revenge.'

Edmund was right. No one was as capable a builder as Merthin. Godwyn must know that, but clearly he did not care. 'Who will you hire instead of me?' Merthin asked. Then he answered the question himself. 'Elfric, I suppose.'

'That has to be decided.'

Edmund said: 'Another lie.'

Philemon spoke again, his voice more shrill. 'You can be brought before the ecclesiastical court for talk like that!'

Merthin wondered if this might be no more than a move in the game, a way for Godwyn to renegotiate his contract. He said to Edmund: 'Is the parish guild in agreement with the prior on this?'

Godwyn said: 'It is not for them to agree or disagree!'

Merthin ignored him and looked expectantly at Edmund.

Edmund was shamefaced. 'It cannot be denied that the prior has the right. The guildsmen are financing the bridge by loans, but the prior is overlord of the town. This was agreed from the start.'

Merthin turned to Godwyn. 'Do you have anything else to say to me, Lord Prior?' He waited, hoping in his heart that Godwyn would come out with his real demands.

But Godwyn said stonily: 'No.'

'Good night, then.'

He waited a second longer. No one spoke. The silence told him it was all over.

He left the room.

Outside the building, he took a deep breath of the cold night air. He could hardly believe what had happened. He was no longer master of the bridge.

He walked through the dark streets. It was a clear night, and he could find his way by starlight. He walked past Elizabeth's house: he did not want to talk to her. He hesitated outside Caris's, but passed that, too, and went down to the waterside. His small rowboat was tied up opposite Leper Island. He got in and rowed himself across.

When he reached his house, he paused outside and looked up at the stars, fighting back tears. The truth was that in the end he had not outwitted Godwyn - rather the reverse. He had underestimated the lengths to which the prior would go to punish those who opposed him. Merthin had thought himself clever, but Godwyn had been cleverer, or at least more ruthless. He was prepared to damage the town and the priory, if necessary, to avenge a wound to his pride. And that had given him victory.

Merthin went inside and lay down, alone and beaten.