Epic Historial Collection (98 page)

Nothing happened.

Tom was not even sure there was anyone in the cloisters. There was no time to speculate. He stepped back, put Jonathan down, lifted his large booted right foot and kicked at the door. The wood around the lock splintered. He kicked it again, harder. The door flew open. Just the other side of it was an elderly monk, looking astonished. Tom lifted Jonathan and put him inside. “Keep him in there,” he said to the old monk. “There's going to be trouble.”

The monk nodded dumbly and took Jonathan's hand.

Tom closed the door.

Now he had to find the rest of his family in a crowd of a thousand or more.

The near impossibility of the task scared him. He could not see a single familiar face. He climbed onto an empty beer barrel to get a better view. It was midday, and the fair was at its height. The crowd moved like a slow river along the aisles between the stalls, and there were eddies around the vendors of food and drink as people queued to buy dinner. Tom raked the crowds but he could not see any of his family. He despaired. He looked over the roofs of the houses. The riders were almost at the bridge, and had increased their pace to a gallop. They were men-at-arms, all of them, and they carried firebrands. Tom was horrified. There would be mayhem.

Suddenly he saw Jack right beside him, looking up at him with an expression of amusement. “Why are you standing on a barrel?” he said.

“There's going to be trouble!” Tom said urgently. “Where's your mother?”

“At Aliena's stall. What sort of trouble?”

“Bad. Where are Alfred and Martha?”

“Martha's with Mother. Alfred's watching the cockfighting. What is it?”

“See for yourself.” Tom gave Jack a hand up. Jack stood precariously on the rim of the barrel in front of Tom. The riders were pounding across the bridge into the village. Jack said: “Christ Jesus, who are they?”

Tom peered at the leader, a big man on a war-horse. He recognized the yellow hair and heavy build. “It's William Hamleigh,” he said.

As the riders reached the houses they touched their torches to the roofs, setting fire to the thatch. “They're burning the town!” Jack exploded.

“It's going to be even worse than I thought,” Tom said. “Get down.”

They both jumped to the ground.

“I'll get Mother and Martha,” Jack said.

“Take them to the cloisters,” Tom said urgently. “It will be the only safe place. If the monks object, tell them to go shit.”

“What if they lock the door?”

“I just broke the lock. Go quickly! I'll fetch Alfred. Go!”

Jack hurried away. Tom headed for the cockpit, roughly pushing people aside. Several men objected to his shoving but he ignored them and they shut up when they saw his size and the look of stony determination on his face. It was not long before the smoke of the burning houses blew into the priory close. Tom smelled it, and he noticed one or two other people sniffing the air curiously. He had only a few moments left before panic broke out.

The cockpit was near the priory gate. There was a large, noisy crowd around it. Tom shoved through, looking for Alfred. In the middle of the crowd was a shallow hole in the ground a few feet across. In the center of the hole, two cocks were tearing each other to pieces with beaks and spurred claws. There were feathers and blood everywhere. Alfred was near the front, watching intently, yelling at the top of his voice, encouraging one or other of the wretched birds. Tom forced his way between the packed people and grabbed Alfred's shoulder. “Come!” he shouted.

“I've got sixpence on the black one!” Alfred shouted back.

“We've got to get out of here!” Tom yelled. At that moment a drift of smoke blew over the cockpit. “Can't you smell the fire?”

One or two of the spectators heard the word
fire
and looked at Tom curiously. The smell came again, and they picked it up. Alfred smelled it too. “What is it?” he said.

“The town is on fire!” Tom said.

Suddenly everyone wanted to leave. The men dispersed in all directions, pushing and shoving. In the pit, the black cock killed the brown, but nobody cared anymore. Alfred started to go the wrong way. Tom grabbed him. “We'll go to the cloisters,” he said. “It's the only safe place.”

The smoke began to come over in billows, and fear spread through the crowd. Everyone was agitated but no one knew what to do. Looking over the heads, Tom could see that people were pouring out through the priory gate; but the gate was narrow, and anyway they were no safer out there than in here. Nevertheless, more people got the idea, and he and Alfred found themselves struggling against a tide of people frantically going in the opposite direction. Then, quite suddenly, the tide turned, and everyone was going their way. Tom looked around to discover the reason for the change, and saw the first of the horsemen ride into the close.

At that point the crowd became a mob.

The riders were a terrifying sight. Their huge horses, just as frightened as the crowd, plunged and reared and charged, trampling people left, right and center. The armed and helmeted riders laid about them with clubs and torches, felling men, women and children, and setting fire to stalls, clothes, and people's hair. Everyone was screaming. More riders came through the gate, and more people disappeared beneath the massive hooves. Tom shouted in Alfred's ear: “You go on to the cloisters—I want to make sure the others have got clear. Run!” He gave him a shove. Alfred took off.

Tom headed for Aliena's stall. Almost immediately he tripped over someone and fell to the ground. Cursing, he got to his knees; but before he could stand upright he saw a war-horse bearing down on him. The beast's ears were back and its nostrils were flared, and Tom could see the whites of its terrified eyes. Above the horse's head, Tom saw the beefy face of William Hamleigh, distorted into a grimace of hatred and triumph. The thought flashed through his mind that it would be nice to hold Ellen in his arms once again. Then a massive hoof kicked him in the exact center of his forehead, he felt a dreadful, frightening pain as his skull seemed to burst open, and the whole world went black.

 

The first time Aliena smelled smoke, she thought it was coming from the dinner she was serving.

Three Flemish buyers were sitting at the table in the open air in front of her storehouse. They were corpulent, black-bearded men who spoke English with a heavy Germanic accent and wore clothes of exquisitely fine cloth. Everything was going well. She was close to starting the selling, and had decided to serve lunch first in order to give the buyers time to get anxious. Nevertheless, she would be glad when this vast fortune in wool became someone else's. She put the platter of honey-roast pork chops in front of them and looked critically at it. The meat was done to a turn, with the border of fat just crisp and brown. She poured more wine. One of the buyers sniffed the air, then they all looked around anxiously. Aliena was suddenly fearful. Fire was the wool merchant's nightmare. She looked at Ellen and Martha, who were helping her serve dinner. “Can you smell smoke?” she said.

Before they could reply Jack appeared. Aliena had not got used to seeing him in a monk's habit, with his carrot-colored hair shaved from the top of his head. There was an agitated look on his sweet face. She felt a sudden urge to take him in her arms and kiss away the frown on his forehead. But she turned away quickly, remembering how she had let herself down with him in the old mill six months ago. She still flushed for shame every time she recalled that incident.

“There's trouble,” he shouted urgently. “We must all take refuge in the cloisters.”

She looked at him. “What's happening—is there a fire?”

“It's Earl William and his men-at-arms,” he said.

Aliena suddenly felt as cold as the grave. William. Again.

Jack said: “They've set fire to the town. Tom and Alfred are going to the cloisters. Come with me, please.”

Ellen unceremoniously dropped the bowl of greens she was carrying onto the table in front of a startled Flemish buyer. “Right,” she said. She grabbed Martha by the arm. “Let's go.”

Aliena shot a panicky look at her storehouse. She had hundreds of pounds' worth of raw wool in there that she had to protect from fire—but how? She caught Jack's eye. He was looking at her expectantly. The buyers left the table hurriedly. Aliena said to Jack: “Go. I have to look after my stall.”

Ellen said: “Jack—come on!”

“In a moment,” he said, and turned back to Aliena.

Aliena saw Ellen hesitate. She was clearly torn between saving Martha and waiting for Jack. Again she said: “Jack! Jack!”

He turned to her. “Mother! Take Martha!”

“All right!” she said. “But
please
hurry!” She and Martha left.

Jack said: “The town is on fire. The cloisters will be the safest place—they're made of stone. Come with me, quickly.”

Aliena could hear screams from the direction of the priory gate. The smoke was suddenly everywhere. She looked all around, trying to make out what was happening. Her insides were knotted with fear. Everything she had worked for for over six years was stacked up in the storehouse.

Jack said: “Aliena! Come to the cloisters—we'll be safe there!”

“I can't!” she shouted. “My wool!”

“To hell with your wool!”

“It's all I've got!”

“It's no good to you if you're dead!”

“It's easy for you to say that—but I've spent all these years getting to this position—”

“Aliena!
Please!
”

Suddenly the people right outside the stall were screaming in mortal terror. The riders had entered the priory close and were charging through the crowds, regardless of whom they trampled, setting fire to the stalls. Terror-stricken people were crushing one another in their desperate attempts to get out of the way of the flying hooves and the firebrands. The crowd pressed against the flimsy wooden hurdle that formed the front of Aliena's stall, and it immediately collapsed. People spilled onto the open space in front of the storehouse and upset the table with its plates of food and cups of wine. Jack and Aliena were forced back. Two riders charged into the stall, one swinging a club at random, the other brandishing a flaming torch. Jack pushed himself in front of Aliena, shielding her. The club came down at Aliena's head, but Jack threw a protective arm over her, and the club smashed down on his wrist. She felt the blow but he took the impact. When she looked up she saw the face of the second rider.

It was William Hamleigh.

Aliena screamed.

He looked at her for a moment, with the torch blazing in his hand and the light of triumph glittering in his eyes. Then he kicked his horse and forced it into her storehouse.

“No!” Aliena screamed.

She struggled to escape from the crush, shoving and punching those around her, including Jack. At last she got free and dashed into the storehouse. William was leaning out from the saddle, putting his torch to the piled sacks of wool. “No!” she screamed again. She threw herself at him and tried to pull him off the horse. He brushed her aside and she fell to the ground. He held his torch to the woolsacks again. The wool caught fire with a mighty roar. The horse reared and screamed in terror at the flames. Suddenly Jack was there, pulling Aliena out of the way. William wheeled the horse and went out of the storehouse fast. Aliena got to her feet. She picked up an empty sack and tried to beat the flames out. Jack said: “Aliena, you'll be killed!” The heat became agonizing. She grabbed at a woolsack that was not yet on fire, and tried to pull it free. Suddenly she heard a roaring in her ears and felt intense heat on her face, and she realized in terror that her hair was on fire. An instant later Jack threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her head and pulling her tightly against his body. They both fell to the ground. He held her hard for a moment, then loosed his hold. She smelled singed hair but it was no longer burning. She could see that Jack's face was burned and his eyebrows had gone. He grabbed her by one ankle and dragged her out through the door. He kept on pulling her, despite her struggles, until they were well clear.

The area of her stall had emptied. Jack released his hold on her. She tried to get up, but he grabbed her and held her down. She continued to struggle, staring madly at the fire that was consuming all her years of work and worry, all her wealth and security, until she had no energy left to fight him. Then she just lay there and screamed.

 

Philip was in the undercroft beneath the priory kitchen, counting money with Cuthbert Whitehead, when he heard the noise. He and Cuthbert looked at one another, frowning, then got up to see what was going on.

They stepped through the door into a riot.

Philip was horrified. People were running in every direction, pushing and shoving, falling over and treading on one another. Men and women were shouting and children were crying. The air was full of smoke. Everyone seemed to be trying to get out of the priory close. Apart from the main gate, the only exit was through the gap between the kitchen buildings and the mill. There was no wall there, but there was a deep ditch that carried water from the millpond to the brewery. Philip wanted to warn people to be careful of the ditch, but nobody was listening to anyone.