World Without End Page 0,60

showers, but the main street was still a stream of mud. Because of the fair, the mud was mixed with animal droppings, rotten vegetables, and all the litter and filth of a thousand visitors.

As they splashed through the disgusting puddles, Caris asked about Gwenda's family.

"The cow died," Gwenda said. "Pa needs to buy another, but I don't know how he's going to do it. He only has a few squirrel furs to sell."

"A cow costs twelve shillings this year," Caris said with concern. "That's a hundred and forty-four silver pennies." Caris always did arithmetic in her head: she had learned Arabic numbers from Buonaventura Caroli, and she said that made it easy.

"For the last few winters that cow has kept us alive - especially the little ones." The pain of extreme hunger was familiar to Gwenda. Even with the cow to give milk, four of Ma's babies had died. No wonder Philemon had longed to be a monk, she thought: it was worth almost any sacrifice to have hearty meals provided every day without fail.

Caris said: "What will your father do?"

"Something underhand. It's difficult to steal a cow - you can't slip it into your satchel - but he'll have a crafty scheme." Gwenda was sounding more confident than she felt. Pa was dishonest, but not clever. He would do anything he could, legal or not, to get another cow, but he might just fail.

They passed through the priory gates into the wide fairground. The traders were wet and miserable on the sixth day of bad weather. They had exposed their stock to the rain and got little in return.

Gwenda felt awkward. She and Caris almost never talked about the disparity in wealth between the two families. Every time Gwenda visited, Caris would quietly give her a present to take home: a cheese, a smoked fish, a bolt of cloth, a jar of honey. Gwenda would thank her - and she was always profoundly grateful - but no more would be said. When Pa tried to make her take advantage of Caris's trust by stealing from the house, Gwenda would argue that she would then be unable to visit again, whereas this way she came home with something two or three times a year. Even Pa could see the sense of that.

Gwenda looked for the stall where Perkin would be selling his hens. Annet would probably be there and, wherever Annet was, Wulfric would not be far away. Gwenda was right. There was Perkin, fat and sly, greasily polite to his customers, curt to everyone else. Annet was carrying a tray of eggs, smiling coquettishly, the tray pulling her dress tight against her breasts, her fair hair straying from her hat in wisps that played around her pink cheeks and her long neck. And there was Wulfric, looking like an archangel who had lost his way and wandered among humankind by mistake.

"There he is," Gwenda murmured. "The tall one with-"

"I can tell which one he is," Caris said. "He looks good enough to eat."

"You see what I mean."

"He's a bit young, isn't he?"

"Sixteen. I'm eighteen. Annet is eighteen too."

"All right."

"I know what you're thinking," Gwenda said. "He's too handsome for me."

"No-"

"Handsome men never fall for ugly women, do they?"

"You're not ugly-"

"I've seen myself in a glass." The memory was painful, and Gwenda grimaced. "I cried when I realized what I looked like. I have a big nose and my eyes are too close together. I resemble my father."

Caris protested: "You have beautiful soft brown eyes, and wonderful thick hair."

"But I'm not in Wulfric's class."

Wulfric was standing side-on to Gwenda and Caris, giving them a good view of his carved profile. They both admired him for a moment - then he turned, and Gwenda gasped. The other side of his face was completely different: bruised and swollen, with one eye closed.

She ran up to him. "What happened to you?" she cried.

He was startled. "Oh, hello, Gwenda. I had a fight." He half turned away, obviously embarrassed.

"Who with?"

"Some squire of the earl's."

"You're hurt!"

He looked impatient. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

He did not understand why she was concerned, of course. Perhaps ne even thought she was revelling in his misfortune. Then Caris spoke. "Which squire?" she said.

Wulfric looked at her with interest, realizing from her dress that she was a wealthy woman. "His name is Ralph Fitzgerald."

"Oh - Merthin's brother!" Caris said. "Was he hurt?"

"I broke his nose." Wulfric looked