of bread and a jug of ale. It was important to look prosperous, but not overly so. Edmund had explained to Caris, many years ago, that although customers needed to believe they were buying from a successful business, they would resent contributing to the wealth of someone who appeared to be rolling in money.
"Are you hungry?" he asked her.
"Starving."
He stood up to reach for the stew pot. Then he staggered, made an odd sound half way between a grunt and a cry, and fell to the ground.
The cook screamed.
Caris cried: "Father!" But she knew he would not respond. She could tell he was unconscious by the way he hit the earth, inertly heavy, like a sack of onions. She fought down the urge to scream. She knelt beside him. He was alive, and breathing hoarsely. She grasped his wrist and felt his pulse: it was strong, but slow. His face seemed flushed. It was always reddish, but now it seemed more so than usual.
Tutty said: "What is it? What is it?"
Caris forced herself to speak calmly. "He's had a fit," she said. "Fetch Mark Webber. He can carry Father into the hospital."
The cook ran off. People from the neighbouring stalls gathered around. Dick Brewer appeared and said: "Poor Edmund - what can I do?"
Dick was too old and fat to lift Edmund. Caris said: "Mark's coming to take him to the hospital." She began to cry. "I hope he'll be all right," she said.
Mark appeared. He lifted Edmund easily, cradling him gently in his strong arms, and walked towards the hospital, negotiating his way through the crowds, calling: "Mind out, there! Out of the way, please! Injured man, injured man."
Caris followed, distraught. She could hardly see through her tears, so she stayed close to Mark's broad back. They reached the hospital building and went inside. Caris was grateful to see the familiar knobbly face of Old Julie. "Fetch Mother Cecilia, as quick as you can!" Caris said to her. The old nun hurried away, and Mark laid Edmund on a pallet near the altar.
Edmund was still unconscious, eyes closed, breathing hoarsely. Caris felt his forehead: he was neither hot nor cold. What had caused this? It had been so sudden. One moment he had been talking normally, the next he fell down unconscious. How could such a thing happen?
Mother Cecilia came. Her bustling efficiency was reassuring. She knelt beside the pallet and felt Edmund's heart, then his pulse. She listened to his breathing and touched his face. "Get him a pillow and a blanket," she said to Julie. "Then fetch one of the monk-physicians."
She stood up and looked at Caris. "He's had a fit," she said. "He may recover. All we can do is make him comfortable. The physician may recommend bleeding, but apart from that the only treatment is prayer."
That was not good enough for Caris. "I'm going for Mattie," she said.
She ran out of the building and dodged through the fair, remembering that she had done exactly the same thing a year ago, rushing to fetch Mattie when Gwenda was bleeding to death. This time it was her father, and she felt a different kind of panic. She had been desperately worried about Gwenda, but now it was as if the world was falling apart. The fear that her father might die gave her the dreadful feeling she sometimes got in dreams, when she found herself on the roof of Kingsbridge Cathedral with no way down but to jump.
The physical effort of running through the streets calmed her a little, and she was in control of her emotions by the time she came to Mattie's house. Mattie would know what to do. She would say: I've seen this before, I know what will happen next, here's the treatment that helps.
Caris banged on the door. Hearing no immediate answer, she impatiently tried the latch and found it open. She dashed inside, saying: "Mattie, you have to come to the hospital right away, it's my father!"
The front room was empty. Caris pulled aside the curtain that screened off the kitchen. Mattie was not there, either. Caris said aloud: "Oh, why would you be out of the house at this very moment?" She looked around for some clue as to where Mattie might have gone. Then she noticed how stripped the room appeared. All the little jars and bottles had gone, leaving the shelves bare. There were none of the mortars and pestles Mattie used for grinding ingredients, none