World Without End Page 0,210

learned medicine by reading books that were hundreds of years old, and prescribed medicines without even looking at his patient. Elfric had punished Merthin for carving the parable of the virgins in a new way. Peter had never even tried to dye cloth scarlet. Only Mattie based her decisions on what she could see for herself, rather than on some venerated authority.

Caris's sister Alice stood watching her late one evening, with folded arms and pursed lips. As darkness gathered in the corners of the yard, the light of Caris's fire reddened Alice's disapproving face. "How much of our father's money have you spent on this foolishness?" she said.

Caris added it up. "Seven shillings for the madder, a pound for the alum, twelve shillings for the cloth - thirty-nine shillings."

"God save us!" Alice was horrified.

Caris herself was daunted. It was more than a year's wages for most people in Kingsbridge. "It is a lot, but I'll make more," she said.

Alice was angry. "You have no right to spend his money like this."

"No right?" Caris said. "I have his permission - what more do I need?"

"He's showing signs of age. His judgement is not what it was."

Caris pretended not to know this. "His judgement is fine, and a lot better than yours."

"You're spending our inheritance!"

"Is that what's bothering you? Don't worry, I'm making you money."

"I don't want to take the risk."

"You're not taking the risk, he is."

"He shouldn't throw away money that should come to us!"

"Tell him that."

Alice went away defeated, but Caris was not as confident as she pretended. She might never get it just right. And then what would she and her father do?

When finally she found the right formula, it was remarkably simple: an ounce of madder and two ounces of alum for every three ounces of wool. She boiled the wool in the alum first, then added the madder to the pot without re-boiling the liquid. The extra ingredient was lime water. She could hardly believe the result. It was more successful than she could have hoped. The red was bright, almost like the Italian red. She felt sure it would fade and give her another disappointment; but the colour remained the same through drying, re-washing and fulling.

She gave Peter the formula and, under her close supervision, he used all her remaining alum to dye twelve yards of best-quality wool cloth in one of his giant vats. When it had been fulled, Caris paid a finisher to draw off the loose threads with a teasel, the prickly head of a wild flower, and to repair small blemishes.

She went to St Giles's Fair with a bale of perfect bright red cloth.

As she was unrolling it, she was addressed by a man with a London accent. "How much is that?" he said.

She looked at him. His clothes were expensive without being ostentatious, and she guessed he was wealthy but not noble. Trying to mask the trembling in her voice, she said: "Seven shillings a yard. It's the best-"

"No, I meant how much for the whole cloth."

"It's twelve yards, so that would be eighty-four shillings."

He rubbed the cloth between finger and thumb. "It's not as close-woven as Italian cloth, but it's not bad. I'll give you twenty-seven gold florins."

The gold coin of Florence was in common use, because England had no gold currency of its own. It was worth about three shillings, thirty-six English silver pennies. The Londoner was offering to buy her entire cloth for only three shillings less than she would get selling it yard by yard. But she sensed that he was not very serious about haggling - otherwise he would have started lower. "No," she said, marvelling at her own temerity. "I want the full price."

"All right," he said immediately, confirming her instinct. She watched, thrilled, as he took out his purse. A moment later she held in her hand twenty-eight gold florins.

She examined one carefully. It was a bit larger than a silver penny. On one side was St John the Baptist, the patron saint of Florence, and on the other the flower of Florence. She placed it on a balance to compare its weight with that of a new-minted florin her father kept for the purpose. The coin was good.

"Thank you," she said, hardly believing her success.

"I'm Harry Mercer of Cheapside, London," he said. "My father is the largest cloth merchant in England. When you've got more of this scarlet, come to London. We'll buy as much as you