World Without End

by Ken Follett

  However, Gwenda was determined to seal the repair of their love, and after a while she climbed onto him, drawing her cloak over them both. As they began to move together, she saw an adolescent boy watching them, wide-eyed, a few yards away. Adults would politely look the other way, of course, but he was at the age where sex was a captivating mystery, and he obviously could not tear his gaze away. Gwenda was feeling so happy that she hardly cared. She met his eye, then smiled at him, without ceasing to move. His mouth fell open in shock, and he was struck by agonizing embarrassment. Looking mortified, he rolled over and covered his eyes with his arm.

  Gwenda pulled her cloak up over her head and Wulfric's, buried her face in his neck, and gave herself up to pleasure.

  37

  Caris felt confident the second time she went to the royal court. The vast interior of Westminster Hall no longer intimidated her, nor did the mass of wealthy and powerful people crowding around the judges' benches. She had been here before, she knew the ropes, everything that had seemed so strange a year ago was now familiar. She even wore a dress in the London fashion, green on the right side and blue on the left. She enjoyed studying those around her, and reading their lives in their faces: cocksure or desperate, bewildered or sly. She could spot people who were new to the capital by their wide-eyed gaze and their air of uncertainty, and she felt pleasantly knowledgeable and superior.

  If she had any misgivings, they centred on her lawyer, Francis Bookman. He was young and well informed, and--like most lawyers, she thought--he seemed very sure of himself. A small man with sandy hair, quick in his movements and always ready for an argument, he made her think of a cheeky bird on a window ledge, pecking crumbs and aggressively chasing away rivals. He had told them that their case was incontrovertible.

  Godwyn had Gregory Longfellow, of course. Gregory had won the case against Earl Roland, and Godwyn had naturally asked him to represent the priory again. He had proved his ability, whereas Bookman was an unknown. However, Caris had a weapon up her sleeve, something that would come as a shock to Godwyn.

  Godwyn showed no awareness that he had betrayed Caris, her father, and the entire city of Kingsbridge. He had always presented himself as a reformer, impatient of stick-in-the-mud Prior Anthony, sympathetic with the needs of the town, eager for the prosperity of monks and merchants alike. Then, within a year of becoming prior, he had turned to face the opposite way and become even more of a traditionalist than Anthony. Yet he appeared to feel no shame. Caris flushed with anger every time she thought of it.

  He had no right to force the townspeople to use the fulling mill. His other impositions--the ban on hand mills, the fines for private fishponds and warrens--were technically correct, albeit outrageously harsh. But the fulling mill should be free, and Godwyn knew it. Caris wondered whether he believed that any deceit was pardonable provided it was done for the sake of God's work. Surely men of God should be more scrupulous about honesty than laymen, not less?

  She put the point to her father, as they hung around the court, waiting for their case to come up. He said: "I never trust anyone who proclaims his morality from the pulpit. That high-minded type can always find an excuse for breaking his own rules. I'd rather do business with an everyday sinner who thinks it's probably to his advantage, in the long run, to tell the truth and keep his promises. He's not likely to change his mind about that."

  In moments such as that, when Papa was his old self, Caris realized how much he had changed. Nowadays he was not often shrewd and quick-witted. More usually, he was forgetful and distracted. Caris suspected the decline had begun some months before she had noticed, and it probably accounted for his disastrous failure to anticipate the collapse of the wool market.

  After several days' wait, they were called before Sir Wilbert Wheatfield, the pink-faced judge with rotten teeth who had ruled for the priory against Earl Roland a year ago. Caris's confidence began to ebb away as the judge took his seat on the bench against the east wall. It was frightening that a mere mortal should have such power. If he made the wrong decision, Caris's new cloth manufacturing enterprise would be blighted, her father would be ruined, and no one would be able to pay for the new bridge.

  Then, as her lawyer began to speak, she started to feel better. Francis commenced with the history of the fulling mill, saying how it had been invented by the legendary Jack Builder, who built the first one, and how Prior Philip had given the townspeople the right to use it free.

  He then dealt with Godwyn's counterarguments, disarming the prior in advance. "It is true that the mill is in bad repair, slow, and prone to frequent breakdowns," he said. "But how can the prior argue that the people have lost the right to it? The mill is the priory's property, and it is for the priory to keep it in good repair. The fact that he has failed in this duty makes no difference. The people have no right to repair the mill, and they certainly have no obligation so to do. Prior Philip's grant was not conditional."

  At this point, Francis produced his secret weapon. "In case the prior should attempt to claim that the grant was conditional, I invite the court to read this copy of Prior Philip's will."

  Godwyn was astonished. He had tried to pretend that the will had been lost. But Thomas Langley had agreed to look for it, as a favor to Merthin; and he had sneaked it out of the library, for a day, time enough for Edmund to have it copied.

  Caris could not help enjoying the look of shock and outrage on Godwyn's face when he found that his deception had been foiled. He stepped forward and said indignantly: "How was this obtained?"

  The question was revealing. He did not ask: "Where was it found?"--which would have been the logical inquiry if it had really been lost.

  Gregory Longfellow looked annoyed, and waved at him with a hushing gesture; and Godwyn closed his mouth and stepped back, realizing he had given himself away--but it was surely too late, Caris thought. The judge must see that the only reason for Godwyn to be angry was that he knew the document favored the townspeople, and had attempted to suppress it.

  Francis wound up quickly after that--a good decision, Caris thought, for Godwyn's duplicity would be fresh in the judge's mind while Gregory made the case for the defense.

  But Gregory's approach took them all completely by surprise.

  He stepped forward and said to the judge: "Sir, Kingsbridge is not a chartered borough." He stopped there, as if that was all he had to say.

  It was true, technically. Most towns had a royal charter giving them the freedom to trade and hold markets without obligations to the local earl or baron. Their citizens were free men, owing allegiance to no one but the king. However, a few towns such as Kingsbridge remained the property of an overlord, usually a bishop or a prior: St. Albans and Bury St. Edmunds were examples. Their status was less clear.

  The judge said: "That makes a difference. Only free men can appeal to the royal court. What do you have to say to that, Francis Bookman? Are your clients serfs?"

  Francis turned to Edmund. In a low, urgent voice he said: "Have the townspeople appealed to the royal court before?"

  "No. The prior has--"

  "But not the parish guild? Even before your time?"

  "There's no record of it--"

  "So we can't argue from precedent. Damn." Francis turned back to the judge. His face changed from worried to confident in a flash, and he spoke as if condescending to deal with something trivial. "Sir, the townspeople are free. They enjoy burgess tenure."

  Gregory said quickly: "There is no universal pattern of burgess tenure. It means different things in different places."

  The judge said. "Is there a written statement of customs?"

  Francis looked at Edmund, who shook his head. "No prior would ever agree to such things being written down," he muttered.

  Francis turned back to the judge. "There is no written statement, sir, but clearly--"

  "Then this court must decide whether or not you are free men," the judge said.

  Edmund spoke directly to the judge. "Sir, the cit
izens have the freedom to buy and sell their homes." This was an important right not granted to serfs, who needed their lord's permission.

  Gregory said: "But you have feudal obligations. You must use the prior's mills and fishponds."

  Sir Wilbert said: "Forget fishponds. The key factor is the citizens' relationship to the system of royal justice. Does the town freely admit the king's sheriff?"

  Gregory answered that. "No, he must ask permission to enter the town."

  Edmund said indignantly: "That is the prior's decision, not ours!"

  Sir Wilbert said: "Very well. Do the citizens serve on royal juries, or claim exemption?"

  Edmund hesitated. Godwyn looked exultant. Serving on juries was a time-consuming chore that everyone avoided if they could. After a pause, Edmund said: "We claim exemption."

  "Then that settles the matter," the judge said. "If you refuse that duty on the grounds that you are serfs, you cannot appeal over the head of your landlord to the king's justice."

  Gregory said triumphantly: "In the light of that, I beg you to dismiss the townspeople's application."

  "So ruled," said the judge.

  Francis appeared outraged. "Sir, may I speak?"

  "Certainly not," said the judge.

  "But, sir--"

  "Another word and I'll hold you in contempt."

  Francis closed his mouth and bowed his head.

  Sir Wilbert said: "Next case."

  Another lawyer began to speak.

  Caris was dazed.

  Francis addressed her and her father in tones of protest. "You should have told me you were serfs!"

  "We're not."

  "The judge has just ruled that you are. I can't win cases on partial information."

  She decided not to squabble with him. He was the type of young man who could not admit a mistake.

  Godwyn was so pleased with himself that he looked as if he might burst. As he left, he could not resist a parting shot. He wagged a finger at Edmund and Caris. "I hope that, in future, you'll see the wisdom of submitting to the will of God," he said solemnly.

  Caris said: "Oh, piss off," and turned her back.

  She spoke to her father. "This makes us completely powerless! We proved we had the right to use the fulling mill free, but Godwyn can still withhold that right!"

  "So it seems," he said.

  She turned to Francis. "There must be something we can do," she said angrily.

  "Well," he said, "you could get Kingsbridge made into a proper borough, with a royal charter setting out your rights and freedoms. Then you would have access to the royal court."

  Caris saw a glimmer of hope. "How do we go about that?"

  "You apply to the king."

  "Would he grant it?"

  "If you argued that you need this to be able to pay your taxes, he would certainly listen."

  "Then we must try."

  Edmund warned: "Godwyn will be furious."

  "Let him," Caris said grimly.

  "Don't underestimate the challenge," her father persisted. "You know how ruthless he is, even over small disputes. Something like this will lead to total war."

  "So be it," said Caris bleakly. "Total war."

  "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."