“I’ll find you somewhere to lie down,” she said through her linen mask.

“It’s the plague, isn’t it?” he said, and she was surprised to hear calm resignation in his voice in place of the usual panic. “Can you do anything to cure it?”

“We can make you comfortable, and we can pray for you.”

“That won’t do any good. Even you don’t believe in it, I can tell.”

She was shocked by how easily he had read her heart. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she protested weakly. “I’m a nun, I must believe it.”

“You can tell me the truth. How soon will I die?”

She looked hard at him. He was smiling at her, a charming smile that she guessed had melted a few female hearts. “Why aren’t you frightened?” she said. “Everyone else is.”

“I don’t believe what I’m told by priests.” He looked at her shrewdly. “And I have a suspicion that you don’t either.”

She was not about to have this discussion with a stranger, no matter how charming. “Almost everyone who falls ill with the plague dies within three to five days,” she said bluntly. “A few survive, no one knows why.”

He took it well. “As I thought.”

“You can lie down here.”

He gave her the bad-boy grin again. “Will it do me any good?”

“If you don’t lie down soon, you’ll fall down.”

“All right.” He lay on the palliasse she indicated.

She gave him a blanket. “What’s your name?”

“Tam.”

She studied his face. Despite his charm, she sensed a streak of cruelty. He might seduce women, she thought, but if that failed he would rape them. His skin was weathered by outdoor living, and he had the red nose of a drinker. His clothes were costly but dirty. “I know who you are,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be punished for your sins?”

“If I believed that, I wouldn’t have committed them. Are you afraid you’ll burn in hell?”

It was a question she normally sidestepped, but she felt that this dying outlaw deserved a true answer. “I believe that what I do becomes part of me,” she said. “When I’m brave and strong, and care for children and the sick and the poor, I become a better person. And when I’m cruel, or cowardly, or tell lies, or get drunk, I turn into someone less worthy, and I can’t respect myself. That’s the divine retribution I believe in.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I wish I’d met you twenty years ago.”

She made a deprecatory noise. “I would have been twelve.”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

That was enough, she decided. He was beginning to flirt – and she was beginning to enjoy it. She turned away.

“You’re a brave woman to do this work,” he said. “It will probably kill you.”

“I know,” she said, turning to face him again. “But this is my destiny. I can’t run away from people who need me.”

“Your prior doesn’t seem to think that way.”

“He’s vanished.”

“People can’t vanish.”

“I mean, no one knows where Prior Godwyn and the monks have gone.”

“I do,” said Tam.

The weather at the end of February was sunny and mild. Caris left Kingsbridge on a dun pony, heading for St-John-in-the-Forest. Merthin went with her, riding a black cob. Normally, eyebrows would have been raised by a nun going on a journey accompanied only by a man, but these were strange times.

The danger from outlaws had receded. Many had fallen victim to the plague, Tam Hiding had told her himself before he died. Also, the sudden drop in population had brought about a countrywide surplus of food, wine and clothing – all the things outlaws normally stole. Those outlaws who survived the plague could walk into ghost towns and abandoned villages and take whatever they wanted.

Caris had at first felt frustrated to learn that Godwyn was no farther than two days’ journey from Kingsbridge. She had imagined him gone to a place so distant that he would never return. However, she was glad of the chance to retrieve the priory’s money and valuables and, in particular, the nunnery’s charters, so vital whenever there was a dispute about property or rights.

When and if she was able to confront Godwyn, she would demand the return of the priory’s property, in the name of the bishop. She had a letter from Henri to back her up. If Godwyn still refused, that would prove beyond doubt that he was stealing it rather than keeping it safe. The bishop could then take legal action to get it back – or simply arrive at the cell with a force of men-at-arms.

Although disappointed that Godwyn was not permanently out of her life, Caris relished the prospect of confronting him with his cowardice and dishonesty.

As she rode away from the town she recalled that her last long journey had been to France, with Mair – a real adventure in every way. She felt bereft when she thought of Mair. Of all those who had died of the plague, she missed Mair the most: her beautiful face, her kind heart, her love.

But it was a joy to have Merthin to herself for two whole days. Following the road through the forest, side by side on their horses, they talked continuously, about anything that sprang to mind, just as they had when they were adolescents.

Merthin was as full of bright ideas as ever. Despite the plague, he was building shops and taverns on Leper Island, and he told her he planned to demolish the tavern he had inherited from Bessie Bell and rebuild it twice as big.

Caris guessed that he and Bessie had been lovers – why else would she have left her property to him? But Caris had only herself to blame. She was the one Merthin really wanted, and Bessie had been second best. Both women had known that. All the same, Caris felt jealous and angry when she thought of Merthin in bed with that plump barmaid.

They stopped at noon and rested by a stream. They ate bread, cheese and apples, the food that all but the wealthiest travellers carried. They gave the horses some grain: grazing was not enough for a mount that had to carry a man or woman all day. When they had eaten, they lay in the sun for a few minutes, but the ground was too cold and damp for sleep, and they soon roused themselves and moved on.

They quickly slipped back into the affectionate intimacy of their youth. Merthin had always been able to make her laugh, and she needed cheering up, with people dying every day in the hospital. She soon forgot to be angry about Bessie.

They were taking a route that had been followed by Kingsbridge monks for hundreds of years, and they stopped for the night at the usual half-way point, the Red Cow tavern in the small town of Lordsborough. They had roast beef and strong ale for supper.

By this time, Caris was aching for him. The last ten years seemed to have vanished from memory, and she longed to take him in her arms and make love to him the way they used to. But it was not to be. The Red Cow had two bedrooms, one for men and one for women – which was no doubt why it had always been the choice of the monks. Caris and Merthin parted company on the landing, and Caris lay awake, listening to the snores of a knight’s wife and the wheezing of a spice-seller, touching herself and wishing the hand between her thighs was Merthin’s.

She woke up tired and dispirited, and ate her breakfast porridge mechanically. But Merthin was so happy to be with her that her mood soon lifted. By the time they rode away from Lordsborough, they were talking and laughing as merrily as yesterday.

The second day’s journey was through dense woodland, and they saw no other travellers all morning. Their conversation became more personal. She learned more about his time in Florence: how he had met Silvia, and what kind of person she was. Caris wanted to ask: What was it like to make love to her? Was she different from me? How? But she held back, feeling that such questions would trespass on Silvia’s privacy, even though Silvia was dead. Anyway, she could guess a lot from Merthin’s tone of voice. He had been happy in bed with Silvia, she sensed, even if the relationship had not been as intensely passionate as his with Caris.