World Without End Page 0,467

knowledge are priceless."

"Thank you, bishop."

"On the other hand, Sime is a priest, a university graduate... and a man. The learning he brings with him is essential to the proper running of a priory hospital. We do not want to lose him."

Caris said: "Some of the masters at the university agree with my methods - ask Brother Austin."

Philemon said: "Brother Austin has been sent to St-John-in-the-Forest."

"And now we know why," Caris said.

The bishop said: "I have to make this decision, not Austin nor the masters at the university."

Caris realized that she had not prepared for this showdown. She was exhausted, she had a headache, and she could hardly think straight. She was in the middle of a power struggle, and she had no strategy. If she had been fully alert she would not have come when the bishop called. She would have gone to bed and got over her bad head and woken up refreshed in the morning, and she would not have met with Henri until she had worked out her battle plan.

Was it yet too late for that?

She said: "Bishop, I don't feel adequate to this discussion tonight. Perhaps we could postpone it until tomorrow, when I'm feeling better."

"No need," said Henri. "I've heard Sime's complaint, and I know your views. Besides, I will be leaving at sunrise."

He had made up his mind, Caris realized. Nothing she said would make any difference. But what had he decided? Which way would he jump? She really had no idea. And she was too tired to do anything but sit and listen to her fate.

"Humankind is weak," Henri said. "We see, as the apostle Paul puts it, as through a glass, darkly. We err, we go astray, we reason poorly. We need help. That is why God gave us His church, and the pope, and the priesthood - to guide us, because our own resources are fallible and inadequate. If we follow our own way of thinking, we will fail. We must consult the authorities."

It looked as if he was going to back Sime, Caris concluded. How could he be so stupid?

But he was. "Brother Sime has studied the ancient texts of medical literature, under the supervision of the masters at the university. His course of study is endorsed by the church. We must accept its authority, and therefore his. His judgement cannot be subordinated to that of an uneducated person, no matter how brave and admirable she may be. His decisions must prevail."

Caris felt so weary and ill that she was almost glad the interview was over. Sime had won; she had lost; and all she wanted to do was sleep. She stood up.

Henri said: "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mother Caris..."

His voice tailed off as she walked away.

She heard Philemon say: "Insolent behaviour."

Henri said quietly: "Let her go."

She reached the door and went out without turning back.

The full meaning of what had happened became clear to her as she walked slowly through the graveyard. Sime was in charge of the hospital. She would have to follow his orders. There would be no separation of different categories of patient. There would be no face masks or hand washing in vinegar. Weak people would be made weaker by bleeding; starved people would be made thinner by purging; wounds would be covered with poultices made of animal dung to encourage the body to produce pus. No one would care about cleanliness or fresh air.

She spoke to nobody as she walked across the cloisters, up the stairs, and through the dormitory to her own room. She lay face down on her bed, her head pounding.

She had lost Menhin, she had lost her hospital, she had lost everything.

Head injuries could be fatal, she knew. Perhaps she would go to sleep now and never wake up.

Perhaps that would be for the best.

Chapter 79

Merthin's orchard had been planted in the spring of 1349. A year later most of the trees were established, and came out in a scatter of brave leaves. Two or three were struggling, and only one was inarguablv dead. He did not expect any of them to bear fruit yet but, by July, to his surprise, one precocious sapling had a dozen or so tiny dark-green pears, small as yet and as hard as stones, but promising ripeness in the autumn.

One Sunday afternoon he showed them to Lolla, who refused to believe that they would grow into the tangy, juicy fruits she loved. She thought - or