She said: “I’m so proud of you.”

He glowed. He was proud of himself. He kissed her again, this time with a long, moist kiss that gave him an erection. He touched her breast through the linen of her robe, squeezing her nipple gently with his fingertips.

She touched his erection and giggled. “Do you want me to bring you off?” she whispered.

She did that sometimes late in the evening, when her father and Petranilla were asleep, and Merthin and she were alone on the ground floor of the house. But this was broad daylight, and someone could walk in at any moment. “No!” he said.

“I could do it quickly.” She tightened her grasp.

“I’m too embarrassed.” He stood up and moved to the other side of the table.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, maybe we won’t have to do this much longer.”

“Do what?”

“Hide, and worry about people walking in.”

She looked hurt. “Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do! But it would be nicer for us to be alone. I could take a house, now that I’m getting paid.”

“You’ve only been paid once.”

“That’s true… but you seem very pessimistic all of a sudden. Have I said something wrong?”

“No, but… why do you want to change the way things are?”

He was baffled by this question. “I just want more of the same, in private.”

She looked defiant. “I’m happy now.”

“Well, so am I… but nothing goes on for ever.”

“Why not?”

He felt as if he were explaining something to a child. “Because we can’t spend the rest of our lives living with our parents and stealing kisses when no one’s looking. We have to get a home of our own, and live as man and wife, and sleep together every night, and have real sex instead of bringing each other off, and raise a family.”

“Why?” she said.

“I don’t know why,” he said in exasperation. “That’s the way it is, and I’m not going to try to explain any more, because I think you’re determined not to understand; or, at least, to pretend you don’t understand.”

“All right.”

“And besides, I have to go back to work.”

“Go on, then.”

This was incomprehensible. He had been frustrated, during the last half year, by not being able to marry Caris, and he had assumed she felt the same. Now it seemed she did not. Indeed, she resented his assumption. But did she really believe that they could continue this adolescent relationship indefinitely?

He looked at her, trying to read her face, and saw only a sulky obstinacy there. He turned away and went out through the door.

He hesitated on the street outside. Perhaps he should go back in and make her say what was on her mind. But, remembering the look on her face, he knew this was not the moment to try to make her do anything. So he walked on, heading for St Mark’s, thinking: How did such a wonderful day turn so bad?

22

Godwyn was preparing Kingsbridge Cathedral for the big wedding. The church had to look its best. In addition to the earl of Monmouth and the earl of Shiring, there would be several barons and hundreds of knights in attendance. Broken flagstones had to be replaced, chipped masonry repaired, crumbling mouldings carved anew, walls whitewashed, pillars painted and everything scrubbed clean.

“And I want the repairs to the south aisle of the chancel finished,” Godwyn said to Elfric as they walked through the church.

“I’m not sure that’s possible-”

“It must be done. We can’t have scaffolding in the chancel during a wedding of this importance.” He saw Philemon waving urgently at him from the south transept door. “Excuse me.”

“I haven’t got the men!” Elfric called after him.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to sack them,” Godwyn said over his shoulder.

Philemon was looking excited. “Friar Murdo is asking to see the earl,” he said.

“Good!” Petranilla had spoken to the friar last night, and this morning Godwyn had instructed Philemon to lurk near the hospital and watch out for Murdo. He had been expecting an early visit.

He hurried to the hospital, with Philemon in tow. He was relieved to see that Murdo was still waiting in the big room on the ground floor. The fat friar had smartened up his appearance: his face and hands were clean, the fringe of hair around his tonsure was combed, and he had sponged the worst of the stains off his robe. He did not look like a prior, but he almost looked like a monk.

Godwyn ignored him and went up the stairs. Standing guard outside the earl’s room he saw Merthin’s brother, Ralph, who was one of the earl’s squires. Ralph was handsome, except for a broken nose, a recent injury. Squires were always breaking bones. “Hello, Ralph,” Godwyn said amiably. “What happened to your nose?”

“I had a fight with a peasant bastard.”

“You should have got it set properly. Did that friar come up here?”

“Yes. They asked him to wait.”

“Who’s with the earl?”

“Lady Philippa and the clerk, Father Jerome.”

“Ask if they’ll see me.”

“Lady Philippa says the earl must not see anyone.”

Godwyn gave Ralph a man-to-man grin. “But she’s only a woman.”

Ralph grinned back, then opened the door and put his head inside. “Brother Godwyn, the sacrist?” he said.

There was a pause, and then Lady Philippa stepped out and closed the door behind her. “I told you no visitors,” she said angrily. “Earl Roland is not getting the rest he needs.”

Ralph said: “I know, my lady, but Brother Godwyn wouldn’t bother the earl unnecessarily.”

Something in Ralph’s tone made Godwyn look at him. Although Ralph’s words were mundane, the expression on his face was adoring. Godwyn noticed, then, how voluptuous Philippa was. She wore a dark-red dress belted at the waist, and the fine wool clung to her breasts and hips. She looked like a statue representing Temptation, Godwyn thought, and he wished, yet again, that he could find a way to ban women from the priory. It was bad enough if a squire fell in love with a married woman, but for a monk to do the same would be a catastrophe.

“I regret the need to trouble the earl,” Godwyn said. “But there’s a friar waiting downstairs to see him.”

“I know – Murdo. Is his business so urgent?”

“On the contrary. But I need to forewarn the earl what to expect.”

“So you know what the friar is going to say?”

“I believe I do.”

“Well, I think it’s best if the two of you see the earl together.”

Godwyn said: “But-” then pretended to stifle a protest.

Philippa looked at Ralph. “Get the friar up here, please.”

Ralph summoned Murdo, and Philippa ushered him and Godwyn into the room. Earl Roland was on the bed, fully dressed as before, but this time he was sitting up, his bandaged head cushioned with feather pillows. “What’s this?” he said with his usual bad temper. “A meeting of the chapter? What do you monks want?”

Looking at his visage directly for the first time since the bridge collapse, Godwyn was shocked to see that the entire right side of his face was paralysed: the eyelid drooped, the cheek hardly moved and the mouth was slack. What made it so startling was that the left side was animated. When Roland spoke the left side of his forehead frowned, his left eye opened wide and seemed to blaze with authority, and he spoke vehemently out of the left side of his mouth. The doctor in Godwyn was fascinated. He knew that head injuries could have unpredictable effects, but he had never heard of this particular manifestation.

“Don’t gawk at me,” the earl said impatiently. “You look like a pair of cows staring over a hedge. State your business.”

Godwyn pulled himself together. He had to tread carefully over the next few minutes. He knew that Roland would reject Murdo’s application to be nominated as prior. All the same, he wanted to plant in Roland’s mind the idea of Murdo as a possible alternative to Saul Whitehead. Therefore Godwyn’s job was to strengthen Murdo’s application. He would do this, paradoxically, by objecting to Murdo, thereby showing Roland that Murdo would owe no allegiance to the monks – for Roland wanted a prior who served him alone. But, on the other hand, Godwyn must not protest too strongly, for he did not want the earl to realize what a truly hopeless candidate Murdo actually was. It was a tortuous path to walk.