“You didn’t have to steal the cathedral ornaments.”

“I didn’t steal them. I took them for safekeeping. I shall return them to their rightful place when it’s safe to do so.”

“So why did you tell no one that you were taking them?”

“But I did. I wrote to Bishop Henri. Did he not receive my letter?”

Caris felt a growing sense of dismay. Surely Godwyn could not wriggle out of this? “Certainly not,” she said. “No letter was received, and I don’t believe one was sent.”

“Perhaps the messenger died of the plague before he could deliver it.”

“And what was the name of this vanishing messenger?”

“I never knew it. Philemon hired the man.”

“And Philemon is not here – how convenient,” she said sarcastically. “Well, you can say what you like, but Bishop Henri accuses you of stealing the treasure, and he has sent me here to demand its return. I have a letter ordering you to hand everything to me, immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take it to him myself.”

“That is not what your bishop commands you to do.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s best.”

“Your refusal is proof of theft.”

“I’m sure I can persuade Bishop Henri to see things differently.”

The trouble was, Caris thought despairingly, that Godwyn might well do just that. He could be very plausible, and Henri, like most bishops, would generally avoid confrontation if he could. She felt as if the victory trophy was slipping through her hands.

Godwyn felt he had turned the tables on her, and he permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction. That infuriated her, but she had no more to say. All she could do now was return and tell Bishop Henri what had happened.

She could hardly believe it. Would Godwyn really return to Kingsbridge and resume his position as prior? How could he possibly hold his head up in Kingsbridge Cathedral? After all he had done to damage the priory, the town and the church? Even if the bishop accepted him, surely the townspeople would riot? The prospect was dire, yet stranger things had happened. Was there no justice?

She stared at him. The look of triumph on his face must be matched, she supposed, by the defeat on her own.

Then she saw something that turned the tables yet again.

On Godwyn’s upper lip, just below his left nostril, there was a trickle of blood.

Next morning, Godwyn did not get out of bed.

Caris put on her linen mask and nursed him. She bathed his face in rose water and gave him diluted wine whenever he asked for a drink. Every time she touched him, she washed her hands in vinegar.

Other than Godwyn and Thomas, there were only two monks left, both Kingsbridge novices. They, too, were dying of the plague; so she brought them down from the dormitory to lie in the church, and she took care of them as well, flitting around the dim-lit nave like a shade as she went from one dying man to the next.

She asked Godwyn where the cathedral treasures were, but he refused to say.

Merthin and Thomas searched the priory. The first place they looked was under the altar. Something had been buried there, quite recently, they could tell by the looseness of the earth. However, when they made a hole – Thomas digging surprisingly well with one hand – they found nothing. Whatever had been buried there had since been removed.

They checked every echoing room in the deserted monastery, and even looked in the cold bakery oven and the dry brewery tanks, but they found no jewels, relics or charters.

After the first night, Thomas quietly vacated the dormitory – without being asked – and left Merthin and Caris to sleep there alone. He made no comment, not even a nudge or a wink. Grateful for his discreet connivance, they huddled under a pile of blankets and made love. Afterwards, Caris lay awake. An owl lived somewhere in the roof, and she heard its nocturnal hooting, and occasionally the scream of a small animal caught in its talons. She wondered if she would become pregnant. She did not want to give up her vocation – but she could not resist the temptation of lying in Merthin’s arms. So she just refused to think about the future.

On the third day, as Caris, Merthin and Thomas ate dinner in the refectory, Thomas said: “When Godwyn asks for a drink, refuse to give it to him until he’s told you where he hid the treasure.”

Caris considered that. It would be perfectly just. But it would also amount to torture. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I know he deserves it, but all the same I can’t do it. If a sick man asks for a drink I must give it to him. That’s more important than all the jewelled ornaments in Christendom.”

“You don’t owe him compassion – he never showed any to you.”

“I’ve turned the church into a hospital, but I won’t let it become a torture chamber.”

Thomas looked as if he might be inclined to argue further, but Merthin dissuaded him with a shake of the head. “Think, Thomas,” he said. “When did you last see this stuff?”

“The night we arrived,” Thomas said. “It was in leather bags and boxes on a couple of horses. It was unloaded at the same time as everything else, and I think it was carried into the church.”

“Then what happened to it?”

“I never saw it again. But after Evensong, when we all went to supper, I noticed that Godwyn and Philemon stayed behind in the church with two other monks, Juley and John.”

Caris said: “Let me guess: Juley and John were both young and strong.”

“Yes.”

Merthin said: “So that’s probably when they buried the treasure under the altar. But when did they dig it up?”

“It had to be when nobody was in the church, and they could be sure of that only at mealtimes.”

“Were they absent from any other meals?”

“Several, probably. Godwyn and Philemon always acted as if the rules didn’t really apply to them. Their missing meals and services wasn’t unusual enough for me to remember every instance.”

Caris said: “Do you recall Juley and John being absent a second time? Godwyn and Philemon would have needed help again.”

“Not necessarily,” Merthin said. “It’s much easier to re-excavate ground that has already been loosened. Godwyn is forty-three and Philemon is only thirty-four. They could have done it without help, if they really wanted to.”

That night, Godwyn began to rave. Some of the time he seemed to be quoting from the Bible, sometimes preaching, and sometimes making excuses. Caris listened for a while, hoping for clues. “Great Babylon is fallen, and all the nations have drunk of the wrath of her fornication; and out of the throne proceeded fire, and thunder; and all the merchants of the earth shall weep. Repent, oh, repent, all ye who have committed fornication with the mother of harlots! It was all done for a higher purpose, all done for the glory of God, because the end justifies the means. Give me something to drink, for the love of God.” The apocalyptic tone of his delirium was probably suggested by the wall painting, with its graphic depiction of the tortures of hell.

Caris held a cup to his mouth. “Where are the cathedral ornaments, Godwyn?”

“I saw seven golden candlesticks, all covered with pearls, and precious stones, and wrapped in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and lying in an ark made of cedar wood, and sandalwood, and silver. I saw a woman riding upon a scarlet beast, having seven heads and ten horns, and full of the names of blasphemy.” The nave rang with the echoes of his ranting.

On the following day the two novices died. That afternoon, Thomas and Merthin buried them in the graveyard to the north of the priory. It was a cold, damp day, but they sweated with the effort of digging. Thomas performed the funeral service. Caris stood at the grave with Merthin. When everything was falling apart, the rituals helped to maintain a semblance of normality. Around them were the new graves of all the other monks except Godwyn and Saul. Saul’s body lay under the little chancel of the church, an honour reserved for the most highly regarded priors.