World Without End Page 0,55

seemed to be dying out, and now there were only two occupants, both elderly.

Brother Cuthbert, who was a wit, muttered: "I wouldn't want to be the one to tell Mother Cecilia she's being moved to a leper colony." There was a ripple of laughter.

"Women should be ruled by men," said Theodoric.

Prior Anthony said: "And Mother Cecilia is ruled by Bishop Richard. He would have to make a decision such as this."

"Heaven forbid that he should," said a new voice. It was Simeon, the treasurer. A thin man with a long face, he spoke against every proposal that involved spending money. "We could not survive without the nuns," he said.

Godwyn was taken by surprise. "Why not?" he said.

"We don't have enough money," Simeon said promptly. "When the cathedral needs repair, who do you think pays the builders? Not us - we can't afford it. Mother Cecilia pays. She buys supplies for the hospital, parchment for the scriptorium and fodder for the stables. Anything used communally by both monks and nuns is paid for by her."

Godwyn was dismayed. "How can this be? Why are we dependent on them?"

Simeon shrugged. "Over the years, many devout women have given the nunnery land and other assets."

That was not the whole story, Godwyn felt sure. The monks also had extensive resources. They collected rent and other charges from just about every citizen of Kingsbridge, and they held thousands of acres of farmland too. The way the wealth was husbanded must be a factor. But there was no point going into that now. He had lost the argument. Even Theodoric was silent.

Anthony said complacently: "Well, that was a most interesting discussion. Thank you, Godwyn, for asking the question. And now let us pray."

Godwyn was too angry for prayer. He had gained nothing of what he wanted, and he was unsure where he had gone wrong.

As the monks filed out, Theodoric gave him a frightened look and said: "I didn't know the nuns paid for so much."

"None of us knew," Godwyn said. He realized he was glaring at Theodoric, and made amends hastily, adding: "But you were splendid - you debated better than many an Oxford man."

It was just the right thing to say, and Theodoric looked happy.

This was the hour for monks to read in the library or walk in the cloisters, meditating, but Godwyn had other plans. Something had been nagging him all through dinner and chapter. He had thrust it to the back of his mind, because more important things had intervened, but now it came back. He thought he knew where Lady Philippa's bracelet might be.

There were few hiding places in a monastery. The monks lived communally: no one but the prior had a room to himself. Even in the latrine they sat side by side over a trough that was continuously flushed by a stream of piped water. They were not permitted to have personal possessions, so no one had his own cupboard or even box.

But today Godwyn had seen a hiding place.

He went upstairs to the dormitory. It was empty. He pulled the blanket cupboard away from the wall and removed the loose stone, but he did not look through the hole. Instead, he put his hand into the gap, exploring. He felt the top, bottom and sides of the hole. To the right there was a small fissure. Godwyn eased his fingers inside and touched something that was neither stone nor mortar. Scrabbling with his fingertips, he drew the object out.

It was a carved wooden bracelet.

Godwyn held it to the light. It was made of some hard wood, probably oak. The inner surface was smoothly polished, but the outside was carved with an interlocking design of bold squares and diagonals, executed with pleasing precision: Godwyn could see why Lady Philippa was fond of it.

He put it back, restored the loose stone and returned the cupboard to its usual position.

What did Philemon want with such a thing? He might be able to sell it for a penny or two, though that would be dangerous because it was so recognizable. But he certainly could not wear it.

Godwyn left the dormitory and went down the stairs to the cloisters. He was in no mood for study or meditation. He needed to talk over the day's events. He felt the need to see his mother.

The thought made him apprehensive. She might berate him for his failure in chapter. But she would praise him for his handling of Bishop Richard, he felt