World Without End Page 0,22

two routes to such heights. One was aristocratic birth; the other, education. Godwyn came from a family of wool merchants: his only hope was the university. And for that, he was going to need Cecilia's money.

He put the dinner on the table. Cecilia was saying: "But how did the king die?"

"He suffered a fall," Anthony said.

Godwyn carved the goose. "May I give you some of the breast, Reverend Mother?"

"Yes, please. A fall?" she said sceptically. "You make the king sound like a doddering old man. He was forty-three!"

"It's what his jailers say." Having been deposed, the ex-king had been a prisoner at Berkeley Castle, a couple of days' ride from Kingsbridge.

"Ah, yes, his jailers," Cecilia said. "Mortimer's men." She disapproved of Roger Mortimer, the earl of March. Not only had he led the rebellion against Edward II, he had also seduced the king's wife, Queen Isabella.

They began to eat. Godwyn wondered whether there would be any left over.

Anthony said to Cecilia: "You sound as if you suspect something sinister."

"Of course not - but others do. There has been talk..."

"That he was murdered? I know. But I saw the corpse, naked. There were no marks of violence on the body."

Godwyn knew he should not interrupt, but he could not resist. "Rumour says that when the king died his screams of agony were heard by everyone in the village of Berkeley."

Anthony looked censorious. "When a king dies, there are always rumours."

"This king did not merely die," Cecilia said. "He was first deposed by Parliament - something that has never happened before."

Anthony lowered his voice. "The reasons were powerful. There were sins of impurity."

He was being enigmatic, but Godwyn knew what he meant. Edward had had 'favourites' - young men he seemed unnaturally fond of. The first, Peter Gaveston, had been given so much power and privilege that he aroused jealousy and resentment among the barons, and in the end he had been executed for treason. But then there had been others. It was no wonder, people said, that the queen took a lover.

"I cannot believe such a thing," said Cecilia, who was a passionate royalist. "It may be true that outlaws in the forest give themselves up to such foul practices, but a man of royal blood could never sink so low. Is there any more of that goose?"

"Yes," Godwyn said, concealing his disappointment. He cut the last of the meat from the bird and gave it to the prioress.

Anthony said: "At least there is now no challenge to the new king." The son of Edward II and Queen Isabella had been crowned as King Edward III.

"He is fourteen years old, and he has been put on the throne by Mortimer," said Cecilia. "Who will be the real ruler?"

"The nobles are glad to have stability."

"Especially those of them who are Mortimer's cronies."

"Such as Earl Roland of Shiring, you mean?"

"He seemed ebullient today."

"You're not suggesting..."

"That he had something to do with the king's 'fall'? Certainly not." The prioress ate the last of the meat. "Such an idea would be dangerous to speak of, even among friends."

"Indeed."

There was a tap at the door, and Saul Whitehead came in. He was the same age as Godwyn. Could he be the rival? He was intelligent and capable, and he had the great advantage of being a distant relation of the earl of Shiring; but Godwyn doubted whether he had the ambition to go to Oxford. He was devout and shy, the kind of man for whom humility was no virtue because it came naturally. But anything was possible.

"A knight has come into the hospital with a sword wound," Saul said.

"Interesting," said Anthony, "but hardly shocking enough to justify interrupting the prior and the prioress at dinner."

Saul looked scared. "I beg your pardon, Father Prior," he stammered. "But there is a disagreement about the treatment."

Anthony sighed. "Well, the goose is all gone," he said, and he got to his feet.

Cecilia went with him, and Godwyn and Saul followed. They entered the cathedral by the north transept and walked through the crossing, out by the south transept, across the cloisters and into the hospital. The wounded knight lay on the bed nearest the altar, as befitted his rank.

Prior Anthony uttered an involuntary grunt of surprise. For a moment he showed shock and fear. But he recovered his composure quickly, and made his face expressionless.

However, Cecilia missed nothing. "Do you know this man?" she asked Anthony.

"I believe I do. He is Sir Thomas