Epic Historial Collection (103 page)

He felt drained. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and stared at the crack of light under the door, the tantalizing reminder of where he wanted to be. How had he got into this fix? He had never believed in the monastery, never intended to dedicate his life to God—he did not really believe in God. He had become a novice as a solution to an immediate problem, a way of staying in Kingsbridge, close to what he loved. He had thought: I can always leave if I want to. But now he did want to leave, wanted to more than he had ever imagined, and he could not: he was a prisoner. I'll strangle Prior Philip as soon as I get out of here, he thought, even if I have to hang for it afterward.

That started him wondering when he
would
be released. He heard the bell ring for supper. They certainly intended to leave him here all night. They were probably discussing him right now. The worst of the monks would argue that he should be shut up for a week—he could just see Pierre and Remigius calling for firm discipline. Others, who liked him, might say one night was sufficient punishment. What would Philip say? He liked Jack, but he would be terribly angry now, especially after Jack had said
You're not my superior, you silly ass, you're nothing to me
. Philip would be tempted to let the hard-liners have their own way. The only hope was that they might want Jack thrown out of the monastery immediately, which in their view would be a harsher sentence. That way he might be able to speak to her before the wedding. But Philip would be against that, Jack was sure. Philip would see expelling Jack as an admission of defeat.

The light under the door was growing fainter. It was getting dark outside. Jack wondered how prisoners were supposed to relieve themselves. There was no pot in the cell. It would not be characteristic of the monks to overlook that particular detail: they believed in cleanliness, even for sinners. He inspected the floor again, inch by inch, and found a small hole close to one corner. The noise of water was louder there, and he guessed it led to the underground channel. This was presumably his latrine.

Shortly after he made this discovery the small shutter opened. Jack sprang to his feet. A bowl and a crust of bread were placed on the sill. Jack could not see the face of the man who put them there. “Who's that?” he said.

“I am not permitted to converse with you,” the man said in a monotone. However, Jack recognized the voice: it was an old monk called Luke.

“Luke, have they said how long I have to stay in here?” Jack cried.

He repeated the formula: “I am not permitted to converse with you.”

“Please, Luke, tell me if you know!” Jack pleaded, not caring how pathetic he might sound.

Luke replied in a whisper. “Pierre said a week, but Philip made it two days.” The shutter slammed.

“Two days!” Jack said desperately. “But she'll be married by then!”

There was no reply.

Jack stood still, staring at nothing. The light coming through the slit had been strong by comparison with the near-dark inside, and he could not see for a few moments, until his sight readjusted to the gloom; then his eyes filled with new tears, and he was blind again.

He lay down on the floor. There was nothing more to be done. He was locked in here until Monday, and by Monday Aliena would be Alfred's wife, waking up in Alfred's bed, with Alfred's seed inside her. The thought nauseated him.

Soon it was pitch-black. He fumbled his way to the sill and drank from the bowl. It contained plain water. He took a small piece of bread and put it in his mouth, but he was not hungry and he could hardly swallow it. He drank the rest of the water and lay down again.

He did not sleep, but he went into a kind of doze, almost like a trance, in which he relived, as in a dream or a vision, the Sunday afternoons he had spent with Aliena last summer, when he had told her the story of the squire who loved the princess, and went in search of the vine that bore jewels.

The midnight bell brought him out of the doze. He was used to the monastic timetable now, and he felt wide awake at midnight, though he often needed to sleep in the afternoons, especially if there had been meat for dinner. The monks would be getting out of their beds and forming up in lines for the procession from dormitory to church. They were immediately above Jack, but he could hear nothing: the cell was soundproof. It seemed very soon afterward that the bell rang again for lauds, which took place an hour after midnight. Time was passing quickly, too quickly, for tomorrow Aliena would be married.

In the small hours, despite his misery, he fell asleep.

He came awake with a start. There was someone in the cell with him.

He was terrified.

The cell was pitch-black. The sound of water seemed louder. “Who is it?” he said in a trembling voice.

“It's me—don't be afraid.”

“Mother!” He almost fainted with relief. “How did you know I was in here?”

“Old Joseph came to tell me what had happened,” she replied in a normal voice.

“Quiet! The monks will hear you.”

“No, they won't. You can sing and shout in here without being heard above. I know—I've done it.”

His head was so full of questions that he did not know which to ask first. “How did you get in here? Is the door open?” He moved toward her, holding his hands out in front of him. “Oh—you're wet!”

“The water channel runs right under here. There's a loose stone in the floor.”

“How did you know that?”

“Your father spent ten months in this cell,” she said, and in her voice there was the bitterness of years.

“My father?
This
cell? Ten months?”

“That's when he taught me all those stories.”

“But why was he in here?”

“We never found out,” she said resentfully. “He was kidnapped, or arrested—he never knew which—in Normandy, and he was brought here. He didn't speak English or Latin and he had no idea where he was. He worked in the stables for a year or so—that's how I met him.” Her voice softened with nostalgia. “I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. He was so gentle, and he looked so frightened and unhappy, yet he sang like a bird. Nobody had spoken to him for months. He was so pleased when I said a few words in French, I think he fell in love with me just for that.” Anger made her voice hard again. “After a while they put him in this cell. That's when I discovered how to get in here.”

It occurred to Jack that he must have been conceived right here on the cold stone floor. The thought embarrassed him and he was glad it was too dark for him and his mother to see each other. He said: “But my father must have done something to be arrested like that.”

“He couldn't think of anything. And in the end they invented a crime. Someone gave him a jeweled cup and told him he could go. A mile or two away he was arrested, and accused of stealing the cup. They hanged him for it.” She was crying.

“Who did all this?”

“The sheriff of Shiring, the prior of Kingsbridge…it doesn't matter
who
.”

“What about my father's family? He must have had parents, brothers and sisters….”

“Yes, he had a big family, back in France.”

“Why didn't he escape, and go back there?”

“He tried, once; and they caught him and brought him back. That was when they put him in the cell. He could have tried again, of course, once we had found out how to get out of here. But he didn't know the way home, he couldn't speak a word of English, and he was penniless. His chances were slim. He should have done it anyway, we know now; but at the time we never thought they'd hang him.”

Jack put his arms around her, to comfort her. She was soaking wet and shivering. She needed to get out of here and get dry. He realized, with a shock, that if she could get out, so could he. For a few moments he had almost forgotten about Aliena, as his mother talked about his father; but now he realized that his wish had been granted—he could speak to Aliena before her wedding. “Show me the way out,” he said abruptly.

She sniffed and swallowed her tears. “Hold my arm and I'll lead you.”

They moved across the cell and then he felt her go down. “Just lower yourself into the channel,” she said. “Take a deep breath and put your head under. Then crawl against the flow. Don't go with the flow, or you'll end up in the monks' latrine. You'll get short of breath when you're almost there, but just keep calm and crawl on, and you'll make it.” She went lower still, and he lost contact.

He found the hole and eased himself down. His feet touched the water almost immediately. When he stood on the bottom of the channel his shoulders were still in the cell. Before lowering himself farther, he found the stone and replaced it in position, thinking mischievously that the monks would be mystified when they found the cell empty.

The water was cold. He took a deep breath, went down on his hands and knees, and crawled against the flow. He went as fast as he could. As he crawled, he pictured the buildings above him. He was going beneath the passageway, then the refectory, the kitchen and the bakehouse. It was not far, but it seemed to take forever. He tried to surface but banged his head on the roof of the tunnel. He felt panicky, and remembered what his mother had said. He was almost there. A few moments later he saw light ahead of him. Dawn must have broken while they were talking in the cell. He crawled until the light was above him, then he stood upright and gasped the fresh air gratefully. When he had got his breath back he climbed out of the ditch.

His mother had changed her clothes. She was wearing a clean, dry dress, and wringing out the wet one. She had brought dry clothes for him too. There in a neat pile on the bank were the garments he had not worn for half a year: a linen shirt, a green wool tunic, gray hose and leather boots. Mother turned her back and Jack threw off the heavy monastic robe, stepped out of the sandals, and quickly dressed in his own clothes.

He threw the monk's habit into the ditch. He was never going to wear it again.

“What will you do now?” Mother asked.

“Go to Aliena.”

“Right away? It's early.”

“I can't wait.”

She nodded. “Be gentle. She's bruised.”

Jack stooped to kiss her, then impulsively threw his arms around her and hugged her. “You got me out of a prison,” he said, and he laughed. “What a mother!”

She smiled, but her eyes were moist.

He gave her a farewell squeeze and walked away.

Even though it was now full light, there was nobody about because it was Sunday, and people did not have to work, so they took the opportunity to sleep past sunrise. Jack was not sure whether he should be afraid of being seen. Did Prior Philip have the right to come after a runaway novice and force him to return? Even if he had that right, would he want to? Jack did not know. However, Philip was the law in Kingsbridge, and Jack had defied him, so there was bound to be trouble of some kind. However, Jack was looking no farther ahead than the next few moments.

He reached Aliena's little house. It occurred to him that Richard might be there. He hoped not. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He went up to the door and tapped on it gently.

He cocked his head and listened. Nothing moved inside. He tapped again, harder, and this time he was rewarded by the sound of rustling straw as someone moved. “Aliena!” he said in a loud whisper.

He heard her come to the door. A frightened voice said: “Yes?”

“Open the door!”

“Who is it?”

“It's Jack.”

“Jack!”

There was a pause. Jack waited.

 

Aliena closed her eyes in despair and slumped forward, leaning against the door with her cheek on the rough woodwork. Not Jack, she thought; not today, not now.

His voice came again, a low, urgent whisper. “Aliena, please, open the door, quickly! If they catch me they'll put me back in the cell!”

She had heard that he had been locked up—it was all over town. Obviously he had escaped. And he had come straight to her. Her heart quickened. She could not turn him away.

She lifted the bar and opened the door.

His red hair was plastered wetly to his head, as if he had bathed. He was wearing ordinary clothes, not his monk's habit. He smiled at her, as if seeing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then he frowned, and said: “You've been crying.”

“Why have you come here?” she said.

“I had to see you.”

“I'm getting married today.”

“I know. Can I come in?”

It would be wrong to let him in, she knew; but then it occurred to her that tomorrow she would be Alfred's wife, so this might be the last time she would ever talk to Jack alone. She thought: I don't care if it is wrong. She opened the door wider. Jack stepped in, and she closed it again and replaced the bar.

They stood facing one another. Now she felt embarrassed. He stared at her with desperate longing, as a man dying of thirst might gaze at a waterfall. “Don't look at me like that,” she said, and she turned away.