Caris was not going to let him slide past the question of her election. “Are you confirming me as prioress?” she said.
“Of course,” he said irritably.
“In that case, before I accept the honour-”
“You have no decision to make, Mother Prioress,” he said indignantly. “It is your duty to obey me.”
She wanted the post desperately, but she resolved to pretend otherwise. She was going to drive a hard bargain. “We live in strange times, don’t we?” she said. “You’ve given nuns authority to hear confessions. You’ve shortened the training for priests, but you still can’t ordain them fast enough to keep up with deaths from the plague, I hear.”
“Is it your intention to exploit the difficulties the church is facing for some purpose of your own?”
“No, but there is something you need to do to make it possible for me to carry out your instructions.”
Henri sighed. Clearly he did not like being spoken to in this way. But, as Caris had suspected, he needed her more than she needed him. “Very well, what is it?”
“I want you to convene an ecclesiastical court and reopen my trial for witchcraft.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“To declare me innocent, of course. Until that happens, it could be difficult for me to exercise authority. Anyone who disagrees with my decisions can all too easily undermine me by pointing out that I stand condemned.”
The tidy secretarial mind of Archdeacon Lloyd liked that idea. “It would be good to have the issue disposed of once and for all, my lord bishop.”
“Very well, then,” said Henri.
“Thank you.” She felt a surge of delight and relief, and bowed her head for fear that her triumph would show in her face. “I will do my best to bring honour to the position of prioress of Kingsbridge.”
“Lose no time in inquiring after Godwyn. I’d like some kind of answer before I leave town.”
“The alderman of the parish guild is a crony of Godwyn’s. He’ll know where they’ve gone if anyone does. I’ll go and see him.”
“Right away, please.”
Caris left. Bishop Henri was charmless, but he seemed competent, and she thought she could work with him. Perhaps he would be the kind of leader who made decisions based on the merits of the case, instead of siding with whomever he perceived as an ally. That would be a pleasant change.
Passing the Bell, she was tempted to go in and tell Merthin her good news. However, she thought she had better find Elfric first.
In the street in front of the Holly Bush she saw Duncan Dyer lying on the ground. His wife, Winnie, was sitting on the bench outside the tavern, crying. Caris thought the man must have been hurt, but Winnie said: “He’s drunk.”
Caris was shocked. “It isn’t even dinner time yet!”
“His uncle, Peter Dyer, caught the plague and passed away. His wife and children died too, so Duncan inherited all his money, and he just spends it on wine. I don’t know what to do.”
“Let’s get him home,” Caris said. “I’ll help you lift him.” They each took an arm and got Duncan to his feet. Holding him upright, they half dragged him down the street to his house. They put him on the floor and covered him with a blanket. Winnie said: “He’s like this every day. He’s says it’s not worth working, because we’re all going to die of the plague. What shall I do?”
Caris thought for a moment. “Bury the money in the garden, now, while he’s sleeping. When he wakes up, tell him he lost it all gambling with a chapman who left town.”
“I might do that,” Winnie said.
Caris crossed the street to Elfric’s house and went inside. Her sister, Alice, was sitting in the kitchen sewing stockings. They had not been close since Alice married Elfric, and what little was left of their relationship had been destroyed by Elfric’s testifying against Caris in the heresy trial. Forced to choose between sister and husband, Alice had been loyal to Elfric. Caris understood that, but it meant her sister had become like a stranger to her.
When Alice saw her she stood up and dropped her sewing. “What are you doing here?” she said.
“The monks have all disappeared,” Caris told her. “They must have left in the night.”
“So that was what it was!” Alice said.
“Did you see them?”
“No, but I heard a whole crowd of men and horses. They weren’t loud – in fact, now that I think of it, they must have been making an effort to be quiet – but you can’t keep horses silent, and men make a noise just walking along the street. They woke me, but I didn’t get up to see – it was too cold. Is that why you’ve entered my house for the first time in ten years?”
“You didn’t know they were going to run off?”
“Is that what they’ve done, run off? Because of the plague?”
“I assume so.”
“Surely not. What’s the use of physicians who flee from sickness?” Alice was troubled by this behaviour on the part of her husband’s patron. “I can’t understand it.”
“I was wondering if Elfric knew anything about it.”
“If he does, he hasn’t told me.”
“Where will I find him?”
“St Peter’s. Rick Silvers left some money to the church, and the priest decided to pave the floor of the nave.”
“I’ll go and ask him.” Caris wondered if she should make an attempt to be courteous. Alice had no children of her own, but she had a stepdaughter. “How is Griselda?” Caris said.
“Very well and happy,” Alice said with a touch of defiance, as if she thought Caris might prefer to hear otherwise.
“And your grandson?” Caris could not bring herself to use the child’s name, which was Merthin.
“Lovely. And another grandchild on the way.”
“I’m pleased for her.”
“Yes. It’s just as well she didn’t marry your Merthin, the way things have turned out.”
Caris refused to be drawn. “I’ll go and find Elfric.”
St Peter’s church was at the western end of the town. As Caris was threading her way through the winding streets, she came upon two men fighting. They were shouting curses at one another and punching wildly. Two women, presumably their wives, were screeching abuse, while a small crowd of neighbours looked on. The door of the nearest house had been broken down. On the ground nearby was a cage made of twigs and rushes containing three live chickens.
Caris went up to the men and stepped between them. “Stop it this instant,” she said. “I command you in the name of God.”
They did not take much persuading. They had probably expended their wrath with the first few blows and might even be grateful for an excuse to stop. They stepped back and dropped their arms.
“What’s this about?” Caris demanded.
They both started speaking at once, and so did their wives.
“One at a time!” Caris said. She pointed at the larger of the two men, a dark-haired fellow whose good looks were spoiled by a swelling around his eye. “You’re Joe Blacksmith, aren’t you? Explain.”
“I caught Toby Peterson stealing Jack Marrow’s chickens. He broke down the door.”
Toby was a smaller man with a gamecock bravado. He spoke through bleeding lips. “Jack Marrow owed me five shillings – I’m entitled to those chickens!”
Joe said: “Jack and all his family died of the plague two weeks ago. I’ve been feeding his chickens ever since. They’d be dead but for me. If anyone should take them, it ought to be me.”
Caris said: “Well, you’re both entitled to them, aren’t you? Toby because of the debt, and Joe because he kept them alive at his own expense.”
They looked taken aback at the thought that they might both be right.