World Without End Page 0,345

fuck you... that's happiness, for me."

Madge's simple words painted a vivid picture, and Caris was suddenly filled with a longing that was almost unbearable. She felt she could hardly wait to quit the cold, hard, loveless life of the priory, in which the greatest sin was to touch another human being. If Merthin had walked into the room at that moment she would have torn off his clothes and taken him there on the floor.

She saw that Madge was watching her with a little smile, reading her thoughts, and she blushed.

"It's all right," Madge said. "I understand." She put six silver pennies down on the bench and picked up the bottle. "I'd better go home and look after my man."

Caris recovered her composure. "Try to keep him comfortable, and come and fetch me immediately there's any change."

"Thank you, sister," said Madge. "I don't know what we'll do without you."

Merthin was thoughtful on the journey back to Kingsbridge. Even Lolla's bright, meaningless chatter did not bring him out of his mood. Ralph had learned a lot, but he had not changed deep down. He was still a cruel man. He neglected his child-wife, barely tolerated his parents and was vengeful to the point of mania. He enjoyed being a lord, but felt little obligation to care for the peasants in his power. He saw everything around him, people included, as being there for his gratification.

However, Merthin felt optimistic about Kingsbridge. All the signs were that Mark would become alderman on All Hallows' Day, and that could be the start of a boom.

Merthin got back on the last day of October, All Hallows' Eve. It was a Friday this year, so there was not the influx of crowds that came when the night of evil spirits fell on a Saturday, as it had in the year that Merthin was eleven, and he met the ten-year-old Caris. All the same the people were nervous, and everyone planned to be in bed by nightfall.

On the main street he saw Mark Webber's eldest son, John. "My father is in the hospital," the boy said. "He has a fever."

"This is a bad time for him to fall sick," Merthin said.

"It's an ill-starred day."

"I didn't mean because of the date. He has to be present at the parish guild meeting tomorrow. An alderman can't be elected in his absence."

"I don't think he'll be going to any meetings tomorrow."

That was worrying. Merthin took his horses to the Bell and left Lolla in the care of Betty.

Entering the priory grounds, he ran into Godwyn with his mother. He guessed they had dined together and now Godwyn was walking her to the gate. They were deep in an anxious conversation, and Merthin guessed they were worried about the prospect of their placeman Elfric losing the post of alderman. They stopped abruptly when they saw him. Petranilla said unctuously: "I'm sorry to hear that Mark is unwell."

Forcing himself to be civil, Merthin replied: "It's just a fever."

"We will pray that he gets well quickly."

"Thank you."

Merthin entered the hospital. He found Madge distraught. "He's been coughing blood," she said. "And I can't quench his thirst." She held a cup of ale to Mark's lips.

Mark had a rash of purple blotches on his face and arms. He was perspiring, and his nose was bleeding.

Merthin said: "Not so good today, Mark?"

Mark did not seem to see him, but he croaked: "I'm very thirsty." Madge gave him the cup again. She said: "No matter how much he drinks, he's always thirsty." She spoke with a note of panic that Merthin had never heard in her voice before.

Merthin was filled with dread. Mark made frequent trips to Melcombe, where he talked to sailors from plague-ridden Bordeaux.

Tomorrow's meeting of the parish guild was the least of Mark's worries now. And the least of Merthin's, too.

Merthin's first impulse was to cry out to everyone the news that they were in mortal danger. But he clamped his mouth shut. No one listened to a man in a panic, and besides he was not yet sure. There was a small chance Mark's illness was not what he feared. When he was certain, he would get Caris alone and speak to her calmly and logically. But it would have to be soon.

Caris was bathing Mark's face with a sweet-smelling fluid. She wore a stony expression that Merthin recognized: she was hiding her feelings. She obviously had some idea of how serious Mark's illness was.

Mark was clutching something that looked like a