The Fairies Of Godwyn Lake

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A minute later a little girl came by. Caris jumped out and grabbed her. Why are you following us? I met you in church this morning," Caris said to her in a softer voice. We aren't going to do you any harm. You'd better come with us, in case he runs off again. Besides, you might not be able to find your way back to town on your own.

Four children and the dog. People did not always get his jokes; girls almost never did. A moment later he heard Gwenda explaining it to Ralph: The small number of people who had legitimate business in the forest--woodcutters, charcoal burners, iron smelters--would not be working today, and it would be unusual to see an aristocratic hunting party on a Sunday.

Anyone they met was likely to be an outlaw. But the chances were slim. It was a big forest, stretching for many miles.

Merthin had never traveled far enough to see the end of it. They came to a wide clearing and Merthin said: Merthin stood side on to the target, as he had seen the men do. He took out one of his three arrows and fitted the notched end to the bowstring. The arrows had been as difficult to make as the bow. The wood was ash, and they had goose-feather flights. He had not been able to get iron for the points, so he had simply sharpened the ends, then scorched the wood to harden it.

He sighted on the tree, then pulled back on the bowstring. It took a great effort. He released the arrow. It fell to the ground well short of the target. Hop the dog scampered across the clearing to fetch it. Merthin was taken aback. He had expected the arrow to go winging through the air and embed its point in the tree. He realized that he had not bent the bow sufficiently. He tried the bow in his right hand and the arrow in his left. He was unusual in this respect, that he was neither right-handed nor left-handed, but a mixture. With the second arrow, he pulled on the bowstring and pushed the bow with all his might, and succeeded in bending them farther than before.

This time, the arrow almost reached the tree. For his third shot he aimed the bow upward, hoping the arrow would fly through the air in an arc and come down into the trunk. But he overcompensated, and the arrow went into the branches, and fell to the ground amid a flurry of dry brown leaves. Archery was more difficult than he had imagined. The bow was probably all right, he guessed: Once again, Caris seemed not to notice his discomfiture. Standing sideways on to the target, as Merthin had, he did not shoot straightaway, but flexed the bow several times, getting the feel of it.

Like Merthin, he found it harder than he had at first expected, but after a few moments, he seemed to get the hang of it. Hop had dropped all three arrows at Gwenda's feet, and now the little girl picked them up and handed them to Ralph. He took aim without drawing the bow, sighting the arrow at the tree trunk, while there was no pressure on his arms. Merthin realized he should have done the same. Why did these things come so naturally to Ralph, who could never answer a riddle? Ralph drew the bow, not effortlessly but with a fluid motion, seeming to take the strain with his thighs.

He released the arrow and it hit the trunk of the oak tree, sinking an inch or more into the soft outer wood. Hop scampered after the arrow. When he reached the tree, he stopped, baffled. Ralph was drawing the bow again. Merthin realized what he was intending to do. Ralph shot at the dog. The arrow hit the back of its neck and sunk in. Hop fell forward and lay twitching.

Look at her crying. With a smooth movement he notched another arrow, swept the bow around in an arc, and fired while it was still moving. Merthin did not see what he was shooting at until the arrow met its target, and a fat hare jumped into the air with the shaft sticking deep into its hindquarters.

Merthin could not hide his admiration. Even with practice, not everyone could hit a running hare. Ralph had a natural gift. Merthin was jealous, although he would never admit it. He longed to be a knight, bold and strong, and fight for the king as his father did; and it dismayed him when he turned out to be hopeless at things such as archery. Ralph found a stone and crushed the hare's skull, putting it out of its misery.

Merthin knelt beside the two girls and Hop. The dog was not breathing. Caris gently drew the arrow out of its neck and handed it to Merthin. There was no gush of blood: For a moment no one spoke. In the silence, they heard a man shout. Merthin sprang to his feet, heart thudding. He heard another shout, a different voice: Both sounded aggressive and angry. Some kind of fight was going on. He was terrified, and so were the others. As they stood frozen, listening, they heard the noises made by a man running headlong through woodland, snapping fallen branches, flattening saplings, trampling dead leaves.

He was coming their way. A moment later Caris was flat on her belly, crawling into the thicket. Gwenda followed, cradling the body of Hop. Ralph picked up the dead hare and joined them. Merthin was on his knees when he realized that they had left a telltale arrow sticking out of the tree trunk. He dashed across the clearing, pulled it out, ran back, and dived under the bush. They heard the man breathing before they saw him.

He was panting hard as he ran, drawing in ragged lungfuls of air in a way that suggested he was almost done in. The shouts were coming from his pursuers, calling to each other: Was the fleeing man a traveler who had been set upon by thieves? A moment later he burst into the clearing. He was a knight in his early twenties, with both a sword and a long dagger attached to his belt.

He was well dressed, in a leather traveling tunic and high boots with turned-over tops. He stumbled and fell, rolled over, got up, then stood with his back to the oak tree, gasping for breath, and drew his weapons. Merthin glanced at his playmates. Caris was white with fear, biting her lip. Gwenda was hugging the corpse of her dog as if that made her feel safer.

Ralph looked scared, too, but he was not too frightened to pull the arrow out of the hare's rump and stuff the dead animal down the front of his tunic. For a moment the knight seemed to stare at the bush, and Merthin felt, with terror, that he must have seen the hiding children. Or perhaps he had noticed broken branches and crushed leaves where they had pushed through the foliage.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merthin saw Ralph notch an arrow to the bow. Then the pursuers arrived. They were two men-at-arms, strongly built and thuggish-looking, carrying drawn swords. They wore distinctive two-colored tunics, the left side yellow and the right green. One had a surcoat of cheap brown wool, the other a grubby black cloak. All three men paused, catching their breath. Merthin was sure he was about to see the knight hacked to death, and he suffered a shameful impulse to burst into tears.

Then, suddenly, the knight reversed his sword and offered it, hilt first, in a gesture of surrender. The older man-at-arms, in the black cloak, stepped forward and reached out with his left hand. Warily, he took the proffered sword, handed it to his partner, then accepted the knight's dagger.

If he was feeling any fear, he had it well under control. You're welcome to read it. The men-at-arms were almost certainly unable to read. Thomas had a cool nerve, Merthin thought, to mock men who seemed ready to kill him. The second man-at-arms reached under the sword of the first and grasped the wallet attached to Thomas's belt. Impatiently, he cut the belt with his sword. He threw the belt aside and opened the wallet.

He took out a smaller bag made of what appeared to be oiled wool, and drew from that a sheet of parchment rolled into a scroll and sealed with wax. Could this fight be about nothing more than a letter? If so, what was written on the scroll? It was not likely to be routine instructions about taxes. Some terrible secret must be inscribed there. The man in the black cloak kept his sword point pressed to Thomas's throat and resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder. The one in green hesitated, then looked at the bush. At that point, Gwenda screamed.

The man in the green surcoat raised his sword and took two long strides across the clearing to the bush. Gwenda stood up and ran, bursting out of the foliage. The man-at-arms leaped after her, reaching out to grab her. Ralph stood up suddenly, raised the bow and drew it in one fluid motion, and shot an arrow at the man. It went through his eye and sank several inches into his head. His left hand came up, as if to grasp the arrow and pull it out; then he went limp and fell like a dropped sack of grain, hitting the ground with a thump Merthin could feel. Ralph ran out of the bush and followed Gwenda.

At the edge of his vision Merthin perceived Caris going after them. Merthin wanted to flee too, but his feet seemed stuck to the ground. There was a shout from the other side of the clearing, and Merthin saw that Thomas had knocked aside the sword that threatened him and had drawn, from somewhere about his person, a small knife with a blade as long as a man's hand. But the man-at-arms in the black cloak was alert, and jumped back out of reach. Then he raised his sword and swung at the knight's head. Thomas dodged aside, but not fast enough.

The edge of the blade came down on his left forearm, slicing through the leather jerkin and sinking into his flesh. He roared with pain, but did not fall. With a quick motion that seemed extraordinarily graceful, he swung his right hand up and thrust the knife into his opponent's throat; then, his hand continuing in an arc, he pulled the knife sideways, severing most of the neck. Blood came like a fountain from the man's throat. Thomas staggered back, dodging the splash. The man in black fell to the ground, his head hanging from his body by a strip.

Thomas dropped the knife from his right hand and clutched his wounded left arm. He sat on the ground, suddenly looking weak. Merthin was alone with the wounded knight, two dead men-at-arms, and the corpse of a three-legged dog. He knew he should run after the other children, but his curiosity kept him there. Thomas now seemed harmless, he told himself. The knight had sharp eyes. He crossed the clearing and stopped several feet away from the sitting knight.

In agreeing to the bargain, he was making no concessions. None of the children would tell what they had seen. There would be untold trouble if they did. What would happen to Ralph, who had killed one of the queen's men? Despite all that had happened, he spoke courteously, Merthin observed. The knight's poise was remarkable. Merthin felt he wanted to be like that when he was grown up. At last Merthin's constricted throat managed to produce a word.

Thomas's undershirt was soaked with blood, and the flesh of his arm was sliced open like something on a butcher's slab. Merthin felt a little nauseated, but he forced himself to twist the belt around Thomas's arm so that it pulled the wound closed and slowed the bleeding. He made a knot, and Thomas used his right hand to pull it tight. Then Thomas struggled to his feet. He looked at the dead men. Let's lug the guts into that bush where you were hiding. With his right hand he grasped the dead man's left ankle. Merthin took the other limp foot in both hands and heaved. Together they hauled the corpse into the shrubbery, next to Hop.

His face was white with pain. After a moment, he bent down and pulled the arrow out of the corpse's eye. Merthin took the arrow and wiped it on the ground to get rid of some of the blood and brains adhering to the shaft. In the same way they dragged the second body across the clearing, its loosely attached head trailing behind, and left it beside the first. Thomas picked up the two men's dropped swords and threw them into the bush with the bodies. Then he found his own weapons.

Thomas picked up the scroll and put it into the wool bag, then fastened the bag inside the wallet. So I needed to disappear. I decided I would take sanctuary in a monastery, become a monk. I've had enough of fighting, and I've a lot of sins to repent. As soon as I went missing, the people who gave me the letter started to search for me--and I was unlucky. I was spotted in a tavern in Bristol.

Merthin shoveled the earth back into the hole on top of the wallet, and Thomas covered the freshly turned earth with leaves and twigs until it was indistinguishable from the ground around it. Would you do that for me? While they know I've got the letter, but they don't know where it is, they'll be afraid to do anything. But if you tell the secret, two things will happen. First, they will kill me. Then they will kill you. It seemed unfair that he should be in so much danger just because he had helped a man by digging a hole. After all, I didn't ask you to come here.

Why don't you go back the way you came? I bet you'll find your friends waiting somewhere not far from here. When he had gone fifty yards, he vomited.

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After that he felt slightly better. As Thomas had predicted, the others were waiting for him, right at the edge of the wood, near the timber yard. They crowded around him, touching him as if to make sure he was all right, looking relieved yet ashamed, as if they were guilty about having left him. They were all shaken, even Ralph. He showed Ralph the arrow, still stained with blood. Then we hid the bodies in the bush. They stood in a little ring. Caris stuck out her arm so that her hand was in the center of the circle.

Merthin placed his hand over hers. Her skin was soft and warm. Ralph added his hand; then Gwenda did the same, and they swore by the blood of Jesus. Then they walked back into the town. Archery practice was over, and it was time for the midday meal. As they crossed the bridge, Merthin said to Ralph: Caris stopped outside a big house on the main street, just opposite the entrance to the priory precincts.

She put an arm around Gwenda's shoulders and said: Do you want to see them? The puppies would be a comfort to the little girl--and a distraction, too. When she returned to her family, she would talk about the puppies and be less likely to speak of going into the forest. They said good-bye, and the girls went into the house. Merthin found himself wondering when he would see Caris again.

Then his other troubles came back to him. What was his father going to do about his debts? Merthin and Ralph turned into the cathedral close, Ralph still carrying the bow and the dead hare. The place was quiet. The guesthouse was empty but for a few sick people. A nun said to them: Their parents were in the vestibule.

Mother was sitting at the foot of a pillar, on the outjutting corner where the round column met the square base. In the cold light that came through the tall windows, her face was still and serene, almost as if she were carved of the same gray stone as the pillar against which she leaned her head. Father stood beside her, his broad shoulders slumped in an attitude of resignation. Earl Roland faced them.

He was older than Father, but with his black hair and vigorous manner, he seemed more youthful. Prior Anthony stood beside the earl. The two boys hung back at the door, but Mother beckoned them. She was pretending to be pleased. Father was clearly ashamed to have lost his lands. There was more than a hint of disgrace in this, Merthin realized. Father addressed the earl.

Big decisions were being made too quickly. He was outraged that his younger brother should be so favored while no mention was made of himself. There were three separate rooms on the ground floor: When Caris and Gwenda walked in, the house was full of the mouthwatering smell of a ham boiling. Caris led Gwenda through the hall and up the internal staircase. She was small and frail: Caris was already the same height. Mama looked paler than usual, and her hair was not yet dressed, so it stuck to her damp cheeks. Caris felt a familiar, painful jumble of anxiety and helplessness.

Her mother had been ill for a year. It had started with pains in her joints. Soon she had ulcers inside her mouth and unaccountable bruises on her body.

She had felt too weak to do anything. Last week she had caught a cold. Now she was running a fever and had trouble in catching her breath. She had an extract of poppies that she mixed with honey and warm wine that eased the pain for a while. Caris regarded Cecilia as better than an angel. Mama paused, resting, then said: But Mama looked at Gwenda.

I've brought her to see the puppies. She closed her eyes and turned her head aside. The girls crept out quietly. Gwenda was looking shocked. Her mother's illness gave her the unnerving feeling that nothing was certain, anything could happen, there was no safety in the world. It was even more frightening than the fight they had witnessed in the forest. If she thought about what might happen, and the possibility that her mother might die, she suffered a panicky fluttering sensation in her chest that made her want to scream.

The middle bedroom was used in summer by the Italians, wool buyers from Florence and Prato who came to do business with Papa. Now it was empty. The puppies were in the back bedroom, which belonged to Caris and her sister, Alice. They were seven weeks old, ready to leave their mother, who was growing impatient with them.

Gwenda gave a sigh of joy and immediately got down on the floor with them. Caris picked up the smallest of the litter, a lively female, always going off on her own to explore the world. The other four clambered all over Gwenda, sniffing her and chewing her dress. She picked up an ugly brown dog with a long muzzle and eyes set too close together. The puppy curled up in her lap. If you like him, you can have him. Perhaps I'll call him Skip. The two girls sat quietly with the dogs.

Caris thought about the boys they had met: What had made her take them into the forest? It was not the first time she had yielded to a stupid impulse. It tended to happen when someone in authority ordered her not to do something. Her aunt Petranilla was a great rule maker. No ball games in the house.

Stay away from that boy--his family are peasants. But she had never done something this foolish. She felt shaky when she thought of it. Two men had died. But what might have happened was worse. The four children might have been killed, too. She wondered what the fight had been about, and why the men-at-arms had been chasing the knight. Obviously it was not a simple robbery. They had spoken about a letter. But Merthin had said no more about that. Probably he had learned nothing further. It was just another of the mysteries of adult life.

Caris had liked Merthin. His boring brother, Ralph, was just like every other boy in Kingsbridge, boastful and aggressive and stupid, but Merthin seemed different. He had intrigued her right from the start. Two new friends in one day, she thought, looking at Gwenda. The little girl was not pretty. She had dark brown eyes set close together above a beaky nose. She had picked a dog that looked a bit like her, Caris realized with amusement.

Gwenda's clothes were old, and must have been worn by many children before her. Gwenda was calmer now. She no longer looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. She, too, had been soothed by the puppies. There was a familiar lopsided tread in the hall below, and a moment later a voice bellowed: I've got a thirst like a cart horse's. He always shouts like that, but he's really nice. He sat on the big chair at the head of the table and took a long draft from the cup.

It had to be imported, for English dyers did not know how to achieve such a bright red. Following her eye, Papa said: She's always wanted a coat of Italian red. I'm hoping it will encourage her to get well enough to wear it. The wool was soft and close-woven, as only the Italians could make it. Aunt Petranilla entered from the street. She bore some resemblance to Papa, but was purse-mouthed where he was hearty.

She was more like her other brother, Anthony, the prior of Kingsbridge: She was clever as well as mean, a deadly combination in an adult: Caris was never able to outwit her. Gwenda sensed Caris's dislike, and looked apprehensively at the newcomer. Only Papa was pleased to see her. As for your apprentices, I hope they are both on guard duty at the warehouse by the riverside, making sure that no holiday revelers take it into their drunken heads to light a bonfire within a spark's fly of your wool store.

Her manner was supercilious, as always, but Papa did not mind, or pretended not to. He named me after Saint Petranilla--who was the daughter of Saint Peter, as I'm sure you know--and he prayed for a boy next time. But his first son was born deformed, and he did not want to give God a flawed gift, so he brought Edmund up to take over the wool business.

Happily, his third child was our brother, Anthony, a well-behaved and God-fearing child, who entered the monastery as a boy and is now, we are all proud to say, the prior. Like Grandfather Wooler, she had given a child to God. Caris had always felt sorry for Godwyn, her older cousin, for having Petranilla as a mother. Petranilla noticed the red coat.

Petranilla stared at him for a moment. Caris could tell she thought he was a fool to buy such a coat for a woman who had not left the house for a year. But all she said was: Father did not care. Caris's sister, Alice, came in from the street. She was eleven, a year older than Caris. She stared at Gwenda and said: She had not said that before. When Caris was learning to talk, she had called the cook Tutty, no one knew why, but the name had stuck.

Sit at the table, girls. Tutty refilled Papa's cup with ale, then gave Alice, Caris, and Gwenda ale mixed with water. Gwenda drank all of hers immediately, with relish, and Caris guessed she did not often get ale: Next, the cook put in front of each of them a thick slice of rye bread a foot square. Gwenda picked hers up to eat it, and Caris realized she had never dined at a table before. Tutty brought in the ham on a board and a dish of cabbage.

Papa took a big knife and cut slices off the ham, piling it on their bread trenchers. Gwenda stared big-eyed at the quantity of meat she was given. Caris spooned cabbage leaves on top of the ham. The chambermaid, Elaine, came hurrying down the stairs. The maid hurried off. Gwenda ate some cabbage and whispered: The cabbage was cooked with ginger. Gwenda had probably never tasted ginger: Petranilla came down, put some ham on a wooden platter, and took it up for Mama; but she came back a few moments later with the food untouched.

She sat at the table to eat it herself, and the cook brought her a bread trencher. He was the first wool merchant in town to deal directly with the Italians. Everyone does now--although my brother Edmund is still the most important. At last Mother Cecilia arrived; she was a small, vital woman with a reassuringly bossy manner. With her was Sister Juliana, a simple person with a warm heart. Caris felt better as she watched them climb the stairs, a chirpy sparrow with a hen waddling behind. They would wash Mama in rose water to cool her fever, and the fragrance would lift her spirits.

Tutty brought in apples and cheese. Papa peeled an apple absentmindedly with his knife. Caris remembered how, when she was younger, he used to feed her peeled slices, then eat the skin himself. Sister Juliana came downstairs, a worried look on her pudgy face. Joseph was the senior physician at the monastery: Papa put his peeled apple down, uneaten. How many sacks of wool do the Florentines need? Will the sheep catch a murrain?

Is the baby a girl, or a boy with a twisted leg? We never know, do we? That's"--he looked away--"that's what makes it so hard. Caris gave it to Gwenda, who ate it entire, core and pips, too. Brother Joseph arrived a few minutes later with a young assistant, whom Caris recognized as Saul Whitehead, so called because his hair--what little he had left after his monkish haircut--was ash blond. Cecilia and Juliana came downstairs, no doubt to make room for the two men in the small bedroom. Cecilia sat at the table, but did not eat. She had a small face with sharp features: She looked with curiosity at Gwenda.

I could have guessed you're Edmund's daughter. Caris, the saints are always powerful, but some prayers are more effective than others. Do you understand that? The nuns had a school for the daughters of the nobility and of the more prosperous townspeople. The monks ran a separate school for boys. Surely you don't want her to spend her life as your servant?

She will marry extremely well. There will be crowds of suitors for both sisters. Sons of merchants, even sons of knights will be eager to marry into this family.

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But Caris is a willful child: I'd have thought He would be satisfied by now. She would have to obey someone else's orders every hour of the day. It would be like remaining a child all your life, and having Petranilla for a mother. Being the wife of a knight, or of anyone else, seemed almost as bad, for women had to obey their husbands.

Helping Papa, then perhaps taking over the business when he was too old, was the least unattractive option, but on the other hand, it was not exactly her dream. There was, although Caris had not told anyone before, in fact had not fully realized it until now; but the ambition seemed fully formed, and suddenly she knew without doubt that it was her destiny. There was a moment of silence; then they all laughed. Caris flushed, not knowing what was so funny.

Papa took pity and said: Didn't you know that, buttercup? She turned to Cecilia. The monks who have studied under the masters understand the humors of the body, the way they go out of balance in sickness, and how to bring them back to their correct proportions for good health. They know which vein to bleed for migraine, leprosy, or breathlessness; where to cup and cauterize; whether to poultice or bathe.

Before she could say anything, Brother Saul came downstairs with a bowl of blood and went through the kitchen to the backyard to get rid of it. The sight made Caris feel weepy. All doctors used bloodletting as a cure, so it must be effective, she supposed; but all the same she hated to see her mother's life force in a bowl to be thrown away. Saul returned to the sick room, and a few moments later, he and Joseph came down.

Caris knew what that meant.

She began to cry. Papa took six silver pennies from his purse and gave them to the monk. His voice was hoarse. As the monks left, the two nuns went back upstairs. Alice sat on Papa's lap and buried her face in his neck. Caris cried and hugged Scrap. Petranilla ordered Tutty to clear the table.

Gwenda watched everything with wide eyes. They sat around the table in silence, waiting. He had eaten his dinner, a stew of sliced turnips with salt fish, and it had not satisfied him. The monks nearly always had fish and weak ale for dinner, even when it was not a fast day. Not all the monks, of course: Prior Anthony had a privileged diet. He would dine especially well today, for the prioress, Mother Cecilia, was to be his guest.

She was accustomed to rich food. The nuns, who always seemed to have more money than the monks, killed a pig or a sheep every few days and washed it down with Gascony wine. It was Godwyn's job to supervise the dinner, a hard task when his own stomach was rumbling. He spoke to the monastery cook, and checked on the fat goose in the oven and the pot of apple sauce bubbling on the fire. He asked the cellarer for a jug of cider from the barrel, and got a loaf of rye bread from the bakery--stale, for there was no baking on Sunday. He took the silver platters and goblets from the locked chest and set them on the table of the hall in the prior's house.

The prior and prioress dined together once a month. The monastery and the nunnery were separate institutions, with their own premises, and different sources of income. Prior and prioress were independently responsible to the bishop of Kingsbridge. Nevertheless they shared the great cathedral and several other buildings, including the hospital, where monks worked as doctors and nuns as nurses.

So there were always details to discuss: Anthony often tried to get Cecilia to pay costs that should, strictly speaking, have been divided equally--glass windows for the chapter house, bedsteads for the hospital, the repainting of the cathedral's interior--and she usually agreed. Today, however, the talk was likely to center on politics. Anthony had returned yesterday from two weeks in Gloucester, where he had assisted at the interment of King Edward II, who had lost his throne in January and his life in September.

Mother Cecilia would want to hear the gossip while pretending to be above it all. Godwyn had something else on his mind. He wanted to talk to Anthony about his future. He had been anxiously awaiting the right moment ever since the prior returned home. He had rehearsed his speech, but had not yet found the opportunity to deliver it. He hoped to get a chance this afternoon. Anthony entered the hall as Godwyn was putting a cheese and a bowl of pears on the sideboard. The prior looked like an older version of Godwyn. Both were tall, with regular features and light brown hair, and like all the family, they had greenish eyes with flecks of gold.

Anthony stood by the fire--the room was cold and the old building let in freezing drafts. Godwyn poured him a cup of cider. I was fourteen years old. My sister, Petranilla, screamed like a boar with an arrow in its guts as she brought you into the world. Priests and monks went there to study and debate with teachers and other students. In the last century the masters had been incorporated into a company, or university, that had royal permission to set examinations and award degrees. Kingsbridge Priory maintained a branch or cell in the city, known as Kingsbridge College, where eight monks could carry on their lives of worship and self-denial while they studied.

It's what monks are supposed to do. The sacrist, the treasurer, and several other monastic officials, or obedientiaries, were graduates of the university, as were all the physicians.

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They were quick-thinking and skilled in argument, and Anthony sometimes appeared bumbling by comparison, especially in chapter, the daily meeting of all the monks. Godwyn longed to acquire the sharp logic and confident superiority he observed in the Oxford men. He did not want to be like his uncle. But he could not say that. The prior had never appeared concerned about heresy before, and Godwyn was not in the least interested in challenging accepted doctrines. But you don't have to leave Kingsbridge to achieve that.

He wished he had anticipated this resistance to his plans. It's such an important part of our work here. Godwyn had seen the same disapproving expression on his mother's face. Students could hire books by the page, he knew; but that was not the main point. The priory pays for the other three, but we can't afford any more.

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In fact there are two places vacant in the college for lack of funds. On the other hand, it had vast resources: He could not believe his uncle was refusing him the money to go to Oxford. Anthony was his mentor as well as a relative. He had always favored Godwyn over other young monks. But now he was trying to hold Godwyn back.

For some years the priory's income from the annual Fleece Fair had been declining. The townspeople had urged Anthony to invest in better facilities for the wool traders--tents, booths, latrines, even a wool exchange building--but he always refused, pleading poverty. And when his brother, Edmund, told him the fair would eventually decline to nothing, he said: He had an urge to get away from his hometown and breathe a different air. At Kingsbridge College he would be subject to the same monastic discipline, of course--but nevertheless he would be far from his uncle and his mother, and that prospect was alluring.

He was not yet ready to give up the argument. He did not want to incur the wrath of his formidable sister. Cecilia made him nervous--she could be as intimidating as Petranilla--but she was more susceptible to his boyish charm. She might be persuaded to pay for a bright young monk's education. The suggestion took Anthony by surprise. Godwyn could see him trying to think of an objection.

But he had been arguing as if money were the main consideration, and it was difficult now for him to shift his ground. While Anthony hesitated, Cecilia came in. She wore a heavy cloak of fine wool, her only indulgence--she hated to be cold. After greeting the prior, she turned to Godwyn. Her voice was musically precise. In a family where everyone was a leader, Rose was the only follower. Her petals seemed the more fragile for being surrounded by brambles. Instead he poured her a goblet of cider.

Godwyn would have planned a careful speech and chosen the best time to deliver it. Now Anthony had blurted out the request in the most charmless fashion. The prior's house was on the north side of the cathedral. The cloisters, and all the other priory buildings, were to the south of the church.

Godwyn walked shivering across the cathedral green to the monastery kitchen. He had thought Anthony might quibble about Oxford, saying he should wait until he was older, or until one of the existing students graduated--for Anthony was a quibbler by nature. Anthony's flat opposition had left him feeling shocked. He asked himself who else had petitioned the prioress for support. Of the twenty-six monks, six were around Godwyn's age: In the kitchen the subcellarer, Theodoric, was helping the cook. Could he be the rival for Cecilia's money? Godwyn watched him put the goose on a platter with a bowl of apple sauce.

Theodoric had brains enough to study. He could be a contender. Godwyn carried the dinner back to the prior's house, feeling worried. If Cecilia decided to help Theodoric, he did not know what he would do. He had no fallback plan. He wanted to be prior of Kingsbridge one day. He felt sure he could do the job better than Anthony.

And if he was a successful prior, he might rise higher: He had only a vague idea of what he would do with such power, but he felt strongly that he belonged in some elevated position in life. However, there were only two routes to such heights. One was aristocratic birth; the other, education. Godwyn came from a family of wool merchants: And for that, he was going to need Cecilia's money. He put the dinner on the table.

Godwyn carved the goose. Vividly, bold shining flowers such as tulips, daisies, and lily's blossomed in the fields. The grass so fine and green. The sun boasted over the field, making the lake's presence ever so clear. The lake glistened different shades of turquoise blue. Deers,bears,wolves,and several species of birds were amongst the animals present within the lake's forest. There was a myth that the waters could cure any illness. The people of the village would go to the lake and get buckets of the water to store in their homes, they would either drink, or bathe in the water to soothe their needs.

That was until recently Many people had become bed ridden, and a few had passed on. As a result the Kettlestones were accused of poisoning their famous muffins. The town refused to consume anymore muffins from the Kettlestones. The town grew furious and set out to imprison them with orders from the village's mayor.

Upon there escape the Kettlestone's carriage crashes into a tree, and their horses trample on without them. Emily's mother demands for her to run. Whilst her parents are captured she finds solace by climbing up a forest tree by the lake. They next morning she's startled by a flickering light. She suddenly falls into the Godwyn lake, and when she re-emerges she's in an entirely different realm. Soon greeted by small fairies, she is told that she is a fairy herself.

The fairies tell her that when she fell into the lake she crossed through a portal, A portal that only fairies can travel through to get to the enchanted Godwyn forest. She soon discovers that the fairy of darkness has cursed all of Godwyn,Including the magical lake, which is the reason that people had become ill in her town. With Emily's help,the fairies establish a plan to defeat the fairy of darkness who has now become the queen of Fairy Godwyn village.

Read more Read less. Countdown to Christmas Sale. Sale ends on 24 December at Product description Product Description Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a very special girl named Emily Kettlestone.

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