World Without End Page 0,249

case of the pot calling the kettle black, Godwyn thought sourly. "She's a witch," he said.

"Is she, now? That might help."

"I didn't mean literally."

Philemon said: "As a matter of fact, lord prior, there have been rumours."

Gregory raised his eyebrows. "Interesting!"

Philemon went on: "She is a great friend of a wise woman called Mattie, who mixes potions for gullible townspeople."

Godwyn was about to pour scorn on the witchcraft idea, then he decided to shut up. Any weapon that might shoot down the notion of a borough charter must surely have been sent by God. Perhaps Caris does use witchcraft, he thought; who knows?

Gregory said: "I see you hesitate. Of course, if you are fond of your cousin..."

"I was when we were younger," Godwyn said, and he felt a pang of regret for the old simplicities. "But I regret to say she has not grown into a God-fearing woman."

"In that case..."

"I must investigate this," Godwyn said.

Gregory said: "If I might make a suggestion?"

Godwyn had had enough of Gregory's suggestions, but he did not quite have the nerve to say so. "Of course," he said with slightly exaggerated politeness.

"Heresy investigations can be... mucky. You shouldn't get your own hands soiled. And people may be nervous about talking to a prior. Delegate the task to someone less intimidating. This young novice, for example." He indicated Philemon, who glowed with pleasure. "His attitude strikes me as... sensible."

Godwyn recalled that it was Philemon who had discovered Bishop Richard's weakness - his affair with Margery. He was certainly the man for any dirty work. "All right," he said. "See what you can find out, Philemon."

"Thank you, lord prior," said Philemon. "Nothing would give me more pleasure."

On Sunday morning, people were still pouring into Kingsbridge. Caris stood and watched them streaming over Merthin's two wide bridges on foot, on horseback, or driving two-wheeled and four-wheeled horse-carts and ox-carts laden with goods for the fair. The sight gladdened her heart. There had been no grand opening ceremony - the bridge was not really finished, but was usable thanks to a temporary timber roadbed - but, all the same, word had got around that it was open, and that the roads were safe from outlaws. Even Buonaventura Caroli was here.

Merthin had suggested a different way of collecting the tolls, which the parish guild had adopted eagerly. Instead of a single booth at the end of the bridge, creating a bottleneck, they had stationed ten men on Leper Island in temporary booths spread across the road between the two bridges. Most people handed over their penny without breaking stride. "There isn't even a queue," Caris said aloud, talking to herself.

And the weather was sunny and mild with no sign of rain. The fair was going to be a triumph.

Then, a week from today, she would marry Merthin.

She still had misgivings. The idea of losing her independence, and becoming someone's property, had not ceased to terrify her, even though she knew Merthin was not the kind of man to take advantage by bullying his wife. On the rare occasions when she had confessed this feeling - to Gwenda, for example, or to Mattie Wise - she had been told that she thought like a man. Well, so be it, that was how she felt.

But the prospect of losing him had seemed even more bleak. What would she have left, except for a cloth-manufacturing business that did not inspire her? When he finally announced his intention of leaving town, the future had suddenly seemed empty. And she had realized that the only thing worse than being married to him might be not being married to him.

At least, that was what she told herself in her more positive moments. Then, sometimes, when she lay awake in the middle of the night, she saw herself backing out at the last minute, often in the middle of the wedding, refusing to take the vows and rushing out of the church, to the consternation of the entire congregation.

That was nonsense, she felt now in the light of day, with everything going so well. She would marry Merthin and be happy.

She left the river bank and walked through the town to the cathedral, already crowded with worshippers waiting for the morning service. She remembered Merthin feeling her up behind a pillar. She felt nostalgic for the thoughtless passion of their early relationship; the long, intense conversations and the stolen kisses.

She found him near the front of the congregation,