Philemon continued in a smooth, assured voice. “If you have never witnessed anything suspicious, then of course that is the end of the matter. But I beg you to search your memory carefully.”

Godwyn noticed again how much Philemon had learned in the last two years. The awkward priory servant had vanished. He talked like an archdeacon.

“There may have been incidents that seemed at the time perfectly harmless, but which take on a sinister cast in the light of what you have been told today. On mature reflection, you may feel that these events were not as innocent as they at first appeared.”

“I get your meaning, brother,” Elfric said.

There was a long silence. None of them ate. Godwyn waited patiently for Elfric’s decision.

Philemon said: “And, of course, if Caris were dead, then Edmund’s entire fortune would come to the other sister, Alice… your wife.”

“Yes,” Elfric said. “I’d thought of that.”

“Well?” said Philemon. “Is there anything you can think of that might help us?”

“Oh, yes,” Elfric said at last. “I can think of quite a lot.”

42

Caris was unable to find out the truth about Mattie Wise. Some people said she had been captured and was locked in a cell in the priory. Others thought she would be tried in her absence. A third strand of opinion claimed that someone else entirely would stand trial for heresy. Godwyn refused to answer Caris’s questions, and the rest of the monks said they knew nothing.

Caris went to the cathedral on Saturday morning determined to defend Mattie whether she was present or not, and to stand up for any other poor old woman who suffered this absurd accusation. Why did monks and priests hate women so? They worshipped their Blessed Virgin, but treated every other female as an incarnation of the devil. What was the matter with them?

In a secular court there would have been a jury of indictment and a preliminary hearing, and Caris would have been able to find out in advance what the evidence against Mattie might be. But the church made its own rules.

Whatever they alleged, Caris would say loud and clear that Mattie was a genuine healer who used herbs and drugs and told people to pray to God to make them well. Some of the many townspeople who had been helped by Mattie would surely speak up for her.

Caris stood with Merthin in the north transept and remembered the Saturday two years ago when Crazy Nell had been tried. Caris had told the court Nell was mad but harmless. It had done no good.

Today, as then, there was a big crowd of townspeople and visitors in the cathedral, hoping for drama: accusations, counter-accusations, quarrels, hysterics, curses, and the spectacle of a woman being flogged through the streets and then hanged at Gallows Cross. Friar Murdo was present. He always showed up for sensational trials. They provided an opportunity for him to do what he did best, whip up hysteria in a congregation.

While they were waiting for the clergy, Caris’s mind wandered. Tomorrow, in this church, she would marry Merthin. Betty Baxter and her four daughters were already busy making the bread and pastry for the feast. Tomorrow night, Caris and Merthin would sleep together in his house on Leper Island.

She had stopped worrying about the marriage. She had made her decision and she would take the consequences. In truth she felt very happy. Sometimes she wondered how she could have been so scared. Merthin could not make anyone his slave – it was not in his nature. He was even kind to his boy labourer Jimmie.

Most of all she loved their sexual intimacy. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her. What she looked forward to most was having a home and a bed of their own, and being able to make love whenever they wanted to, on going to bed or on waking up, in the middle of the night or even the middle of the day.

At last the monks and nuns came in, led by Bishop Richard with his assistant, Archdeacon Lloyd. When they had taken their seats, Prior Godwyn stood up and said: “We are here today to try the charge of heresy against Caris, daughter of Edmund Wooler.”

The crowd gasped.

Merthin shouted: “No!”

Everyone turned to look at Caris. She felt sick with fear. She had had no suspicion of this. It hit her like a punch in the dark. Bewildered, she said: “Why?” No one answered her.

She remembered her father warning her that Godwyn would have an extreme reaction to the threat of a borough charter. “You know how ruthless he is, even over small disputes,” Edmund had said. “Something like this will lead to total war.” Caris shuddered now to remember her reply: “So be it – total war.”

Even so, Godwyn’s chance of success would have been slender indeed if her father had been in good health. Edmund would have fought Godwyn to a standstill, and probably destroyed him. But Caris alone was a different matter. She did not have her father’s power, authority or popular support – not yet. Without him, she had become vulnerable.

She noticed her Aunt Petranilla in the crowd. She was one of the few people not looking at Caris. How could she stand there in silence? Of course she supported her son, Godwyn, in general – but surely she would try to stop him condemning Caris to death? She had once said she wanted to be like a mother to Caris. Would she remember that? Somehow, Caris felt she would not. Her devotion to her son was too great. That was why she could not meet Caris’s eye. She had already made up her mind not to stand in Godwyn’s way.

Philemon stood up. “My lord bishop,” he said, formally addressing the judge. But he immediately turned to the crowd. “As everyone knows, the woman Mattie Wise has fled, too frightened and guilty to be tried. Caris has been a regular visitor to Mattie’s house for some years. Only days ago she defended the woman, in front of witnesses, here in the cathedral.”

So that was why Philemon had questioned her about Mattie, Caris realized. She caught Merthin’s eye. He had been worried because he could not figure out what Philemon was up to. He had been right to worry. Now they knew.

At the same time, part of her mind marvelled at the transformation of Philemon. That awkward, unhappy boy was now a confident, arrogant man, standing in front of the bishop, the prior and the townspeople, as full of spite as a snake about to strike.

Philemon said: “She offered to swear on oath that Mattie is no witch. Why would she do that – unless to cover her own guilt?”

Merthin shouted out: “Because she’s innocent, and so is Mattie, you mendacious hypocrite!”

He might have been put in the stocks for that, but others were shouting at the same time, and his insult passed without comment.

Philemon went on: “Recently, Caris has miraculously dyed wool the exact shade of Italian scarlet, something Kingsbridge dyers have never been able to do. How has this been achieved? By a magic spell!”

Caris heard the rumble of Mark Webber’s bass voice: “This is a lie!”

“She could not do this by daylight, of course. She lit a fire in her back yard at night, as was seen by people living nearby.”

Philemon had been assiduous, Caris noted with foreboding. He had interviewed her neighbours.

“And she chanted strange rhymes. Why?” Caris had sung to herself out of boredom, as she boiled up dyes and dipped the cloth, but Philemon had the ability to turn innocent trivia into evidence of evil. He dropped his voice to a thrilling stage whisper and said: “Because she was calling for the secret aid of the Prince of Darkness -” he raised his voice to a shout – “Lucifer!”

The crowd groaned with dread.

“That cloth is Satan’s scarlet!”

Caris looked at Merthin. He was aghast. “The fools are starting to believe him!” he said.

Caris’s courage began to return. “Don’t despair,” she said. “I haven’t had my say yet.”