World Without End Page 0,197

to the flatbed of a cart. Caris was thrilled for Gwenda. "How do you feel today?" she said.

"My back's been hurting all morning."

"Not long, now."

"A couple of weeks, I think."

Edmund said: "Who's this, my dear?"

"Don't you remember Gwenda?" said Caris. "She's been a guest at your house at least once a year for the past ten years!"

Edmund smiled. "I didn't recognize you, Gwenda - it must be the pregnancy. You look well, though."

They moved on. Wulfric had not been given his inheritance, Caris knew: Gwenda had failed in that task. Caris was not sure exactly what had gone on, last September, when Gwenda had gone to plead with Ralph, but it seemed Ralph had made some kind of promise then reneged. Anyway, Gwenda now hated Ralph with a passion that was almost frightening.

Nearby was a line of stalls at which local cloth merchants were selling brown burel, the loosely woven fabric that was bought by all but the rich for their home-made clothing. They seemed to be doing good business, unlike the wool merchants. Raw wool was a wholesale business - the absence of a few big buyers could ruin the market. But cloth was retail. Everyone needed it, everyone bought it. A bit less, perhaps, when times were hard, but they still needed clothes.

A vague thought formed in the back of Caris's mind. When merchants could not sell their wool, they sometimes had it woven and tried to sell it as cloth. But it was a lot of work, and there was not much profit in brown burel. Everyone bought the cheapest, and sellers had to keep the price down.

She looked at the cloth stalls with new eyes. "I wonder what fetches the most money?" she said. The burel was twelve pence per yard. You had to pay half as much again for cloth that had been fulled - thickened by pounding in water - and still more for colours other than the natural dull brown. Peter Dyer's stall featured green, yellow and pink cloth at two shillings - twenty-four pence - per yard, even though the colours were not very bright.

She turned to her father, to tell him the notion that was forming in her mind; but, before she could speak, something happened to distract her.

Being at the Fleece Fair reminded Ralph unpleasantly of the same event a year ago, and he touched his misshapen nose. How had that occurred? It had started with him harmlessly teasing the peasant girl, Annet, then teaching her oafish paramour a lesson in respect; but somehow it had ended up in humiliation for Ralph.

As he approached Perkin's stall, he consoled himself by reflecting on what had happened since. He had saved Earl Roland's life after the collapse of the bridge; he had pleased the earl by his decisive behaviour at the quarry; and he had at last been made a lord, albeit over nothing more than the little village of Wigleigh. He had killed a man, Ben Wheeler - a carter, so there was no honour in it, but all the same he had proved to himself that he could do it.

He had even made up his quarrel with his brother. Their mother had forced the issue, inviting them both to dinner on Christmas Day, insisting that they shake hands. It was a misfortune, their father had said, that they served masters who were rivals, but each had a duty to do his best, like soldiers who found themselves on opposing sides in a civil war. Ralph was pleased, and he thought Merthin felt the same.

He had been able to take a satisfying revenge on Wulfric, by denying him his inheritance and, at the same time, his girl. The eye-catching Annet was now married to Billy Howard, and Wulfric had to content himself with the ugly, though passionate, Gwenda.

It was a pity Wulfric did not look more crushed. He seemed to walk tall and proud around the village, as if he, not Ralph, owned the place. All his neighbours liked him and his pregnant wife worshipped him. Despite the defeats Ralph had inflicted, Wulfric somehow emerged as the hero. Perhaps it was because his wife was so lusty.

Ralph would have liked to tell Wulfric about Gwenda's visit to him at the Bell. "I lay with your wife," he wanted to say. "And she liked it." That would wipe the proud look off Wulfric's face. But then Wulfric would