World Without End Page 0,511

drink, for the love of God," she said.

Giles picked up a jug of wine, and at last Caris's mind started to work and her body unfroze. "Don't give her wine - it will make her thirstier," she said. "I saw a barrel of ale in the other room - draw her a cup of that."

The woman focused on Caris. "You're the prioress, aren't you?" she said. Caris did not correct her. "People say you're a saint. Can you make my family well?"

"I'll try, but I'm not a saint, just a woman who has observed people in sickness and health." Caris took from her bag a strip of linen and tied it over her mouth and nose. She had not seen a case of the plague for ten years, but she had got into the habit of taking this precaution whenever she dealt with patients whose illness might be catching. She moistened a clean rag with rose water and bathed the woman's face. As always, the action soothed the patient.

Giles came back with a cup of ale, and the woman drank. Caris said to him: "Let them have as much to drink as they want, but give them ale or watered wine."

She moved to the father, who did not have long to live. He was not speaking coherently and his eyes failed to focus on Caris. She bathed his face, cleaning the dried blood from around his nose and mouth. Finally she attended to Giles's elder brother. He had only recently succumbed, and was still sneezing, but he was old enough to realize how seriously ill he was, and he looked terrified.

When she had finished she said to Giles: "Try to keep them comfortable and give them drinks. There's nothing else you can do. Do you have any relations? Uncles or cousins?"

"They're all in Wales."

She made a mental note to warn Bishop Henri that he might need to make arrangements for an orphan boy.

"Mother said to pay you," the boy said.

"I haven't done much for you," Caris said. "You can pay me sixpence."

There was a leather purse beside his mother's bed. He took out six silver pennies.

The woman raised herself again. Speaking more calmly now, she said: "What's wrong with us?"

"I'm sorry," said Caris. "It's the plague."

The woman nodded fatalistically. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Don't you recognize the symptoms from last time?"

"We were living in a small town in Wales - we escaped it. Are we all going to die?"

Caris did not believe in deceiving people about such important questions. "A few people survive it," she said. "Not many, though."

"May God have mercy on us, then," said the woman.

Caris said: "Amen."

All the way back to Kingsbridge, Caris brooded on the plague. It would spread, of course, just as fast as last time. It would kill thousands. The prospect filled her with rage. It was like the senseless carnage of war, except that war was caused by men, and the plague was not. What was she going to do? She could not sit back and watch as the events of thirteen years ago were cruelly repeated.

There was no cure for the plague, but she had discovered ways to slow its murderous progress. As her horse jogged the well-worn road through the forest, she thought over what she knew about the illness and how to combat it. Merthin was quiet, recognizing her mood, probably guessing accurately what she was thinking about.

When they got home, she explained to him what she wanted to do. "There will be opposition," he warned. "Your plan is drastic. Those who did not lose family and friends last time may imagine they are invulnerable, and say you're overreacting."

"That's where you can help me," she said.

"In that case, I recommend we divide up the potential objectors and deal with them separately."

"All right."

"You have three groups to win over: the guild, the monks and the nuns. Let's start with the guild. I'll call a meeting - and I won't invite Philemon."

Nowadays the guild met in the Cloth Exchange, a large new stone building on the main street. It enabled traders to do business even in bad weather. It had been paid for by profits from Kingsbridge Scarlet.

But before the guild convened, Caris and Merthin met individually with the leading members, to win their support in advance, a technique Merthin had developed long ago. His motto was: "Never call a meeting until the result is a foregone conclusion."

Caris herself went to see Madge