with an arrow in its guts as she brought you into the world." He raised his goblet in a toast, looking fondly at Godwyn. "And now you're a man."
Godwyn decided that this was his moment. "I've been at the priory ten years," he said.
"Is it that long?"
"Yes - as schoolboy, novice and monk."
"My goodness."
"I hope I've been a credit to my mother and to you."
"We're both very proud of you."
"Thank you." Godwyn swallowed. "And now I want to go to Oxford."
The city of Oxford had long been a centre for masters of theology, medicine and law. Priests and monks went there to study and debate with teachers and other students. In the last century the masters had been incorporated into a company, or university, that had royal permission to set examinations and award degrees. Kingsbridge Priory maintained a branch or cell in the city, known as Kingsbridge College, where eight monks could carry on their lives of worship and self-denial while they studied.
"Oxford!" said Anthony, and an expression of anxiety and distaste came over his face. "Why?"
"To study. It's what monks are supposed to do."
"I never went to Oxford - and I'm prior."
It was true, but Anthony was sometimes at a disadvantage with his senior colleagues in consequence. The sacrist, the treasurer and several other monastic officials, or obedientiaries, were graduates of the university, as were all the physicians. They were quick-thinking and skilled in argument, and Anthony sometimes appeared bumbling by comparison, especially in chapter, the daily meeting of all the monks. Godwyn longed to acquire the sharp logic and confident superiority he observed in the Oxford men. He did not want to be like his uncle.
But he could not say that. "I want to learn," he said.
"Why learn heresy?" Anthony said scornfully. "Oxford students question the teachings of the church!"
"In order to understand them better."
"Pointless and dangerous."
Godwyn asked himself why Anthony was making this fuss. The prior had never appeared concerned about heresy before, and Godwyn was not in the least interested in challenging accepted doctrines. He frowned. "I thought you and my mother had ambitions for me," he said. "Don't you want me to advance, and become an obedientiary, and perhaps one day prior?"
"Eventually, yes. But you don't have to leave Kingsbridge to achieve that."
You don't want me to advance too fast, in case I outstrip you; and you don't want me to leave town, in case you lose control of me, Godwyn thought in a flash of insight. He wished he had anticipated this resistance to his plans. "I don't want to study theology," he said.
"What, then?"
"Medicine. It's such an important part of our work here."
Anthony pursed his lips. Godwyn had seen the same disapproving expression on his mother's face. "The monastery can't afford to pay for you," Anthony said. "Do you realize that just one book costs at least fourteen shillings?"
Godwyn was taken by surprise. Students could hire books by the page, he knew; but that was not the main point. "What about the students already there?" he said. "Who pays for them?"
"Two are supported by their families, and one by the nuns. The priory pays for the other three, but we can't afford any more. In fact there are two places vacant in the college for lack of funds."
Godwyn knew the priory was in financial difficulties. On the other hand, it had vast resources: thousands of acres of land; mills and fishponds and woodland; and the enormous income from Kingsbridge market. He could not believe his uncle was refusing him the money to go to Oxford. He felt betrayed. Anthony was his mentor as well as a relative. He had always favoured Godwyn over other young monks. But now he was trying to hold Godwyn back.
"Physicians bring money in to the priory," he argued. "If you don't train young men, eventually the old ones will die and the priory will be poorer."
"God will provide."
This infuriating platitude was always Anthony's answer. For some years the priory's income from the annual Fleece Fair had been declining. The townspeople had urged Anthony to invest in better facilities for the wool traders - tents, booths, latrines, even a wool exchange building - but he always refused, pleading poverty. And when his brother, Edmund, told him the fair would eventually decline to nothing, he said: "God will provide."
Godwyn said: "Well, then, perhaps he will provide the money for me to go to Oxford."
"Perhaps he will."
Godwyn felt painfully disappointed. He had an