The Pillars of the Earth (147 page)

The apprentice handed the smoothed glass to her, and she began to paint the folds of the robe onto the surface, using a paint made of iron ore, urine, and gum arabic for adhesion. The flat glass suddenly began to look like soft, carelessly draped cloth. She was very skillful. She finished it quickly, then put the painted glass alongside several others in an iron pan, the bottom of which was covered with lime. When the pan was full it would go into an oven. The heat would fuse the paint to the glass.

She looked up at Jack, gave him a brief, dazzling smile, then picked up another piece of glass.

He moved away. He could watch her all day, but he had work to do. He was, as Aliena would say, daft about his daughter. When he looked at her it was often with a kind of amazement that he was responsible for the existence of this clever, independent, mature young woman. He was thrilled that she was such a good craftswoman.

Ironically, he had always pressured Tommy to be a builder. He had actually forced the boy to work on the site for a couple of years. But Tommy was interested in farming, horsemanship, hunting and swordplay, all the things that left Jack cold. In the end Jack had conceded defeat. Tommy had served as a squire to one of the local lords and had eventually been knighted. Aliena had granted him a small estate of five villages. And Sally had turned out to be the talented one. Tommy was married now, to a younger daughter of the earl of Bedford, and they had three children. Jack was a grandfather. But Sally was still single at the age of twenty-five. There was a lot of her grandmother Ellen in her. She was aggressively self-reliant.

Jack walked around to the west end of the cathedral and looked up at the twin towers. They were almost complete, and a huge bronze bell was on its way here from the foundry in London. There was not much for Jack to do nowadays. Where he had once controlled an army of muscular stonecutters and carpenters, laying rows of square stones and building scaffolding, he now had a handful of carvers and painters doing precise and painstaking work on a small scale, making statues for niches, building ornamental pinnacles, and gilding the wings of stone angels. There was not much to design, apart from the occasional new building for the priory—a library, a chapter house, more accommodation for pilgrims, new laundry and dairy buildings. In between petty jobs Jack was doing some stone carving himself, for the first time in many years. He was impatient to pull down Tom Builder’s old chancel and put up a new east end to his own design, but Prior Philip wanted to enjoy the finished church for a year before beginning another building campaign. Philip was feeling his age. Jack was afraid the old boy might not live to see the chancel rebuilt.

However, the work would be continued after Philip’s death, Jack thought as he saw the enormously tall figure of Brother Jonathan striding toward him from the direction of the kitchen courtyard. Jonathan would make a good prior, perhaps even as good as Philip himself. Jack was glad the succession was assured: it enabled him to plan for the future.

“I’m worried about this ecclesiastical court, Jack,” said Jonathan without preamble.

Jack said: “I thought that was all a big fuss about nothing.”

“So did I—but the archdeacon turns out to be an old enemy of Prior Philip’s.”

“Hell. But even so, surely he can’t find him guilty.”

“He can do anything he wants.”

Jack shook his head in disgust. He sometimes wondered how men such as Jonathan could continue to believe in the Church when it was so shamelessly corrupt. “What are you going to do?”

“The only way we can prove his innocence is to find out who my parents were.”

“It’s a bit late for that!”

“It’s our only hope.”

Jack was somewhat shaken. They were quite desperate. “Where are you going to start?”

“With you. You were in the area of St-John-in-the-Forest at the time I was born.”

“Was I?” Jack did not see what Jonathan was getting at. “I lived there until I was eleven, and I must be about eleven years older than you. ...”

“Father Philip says he met you, with your mother and Tom Builder and Tom’s children, the day after I was found.”

“I remember that. We ate all Philip’s food. We were starving.”

“Think hard. Did you see anyone with a baby, or a young woman who might have been pregnant, anywhere near that area?”

“Wait a minute.” Jack was puzzled. “Are you telling me that you were found near St-John-in-the-Forest?”

“Yes—didn’t you know that?”

Jack could hardly believe his ears. “No, I didn’t know that,” he said slowly. His mind was reeling with the implications of the revelation. “When we arrived in Kingsbridge, you were already here, and I naturally assumed you had been found in the forest near here.” He suddenly felt the need to sit down. There was a pile of building rubble nearby, and he lowered himself onto it.

Jonathan said impatiently: “Well, anyway, did you see anyone in the forest?”

“Oh, yes,” Jack said. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Jonathan.”

Jonathan paled. “You know something about this, don’t you? What did you see?”

“I saw you, Jonathan; that’s what I saw.”

Jonathan’s mouth dropped open. “What ... How?”

“It was dawn. I was on a duck-hunting expedition. I heard a cry. I found a newborn baby, wrapped in a cut-up old cloak, lying beside the embers of a dying fire.”

Jonathan stared at him. “Anything else?”

Jack nodded slowly. “The baby was lying on a new grave.”

Jonathan swallowed. “My mother?”

Jack nodded.

Jonathan began to weep, but he kept asking questions. “What did you do?”

“I fetched my mother. But while we were returning to the spot, we saw a priest, riding a palfrey, carrying the baby.”

“Francis,” Jonathan said in a choked voice.

“What?”

He swallowed hard. “I was found by Father Philip’s brother, Francis, the priest.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He was on his way to see Philip at St-John-in-the-Forest. That’s where he took me.”

“My God.” Jack stared at the tall monk with tears streaming down his cheeks. You haven’t heard it all yet, Jonathan, he thought.

Jonathan said: “Did you see anyone who might have been my father?”

“Yes,” Jack said solemnly. “I know who he was.”

“Tell me!” Jonathan whispered.

“Tom Builder.”

“Tom Builder?” Jonathan sat down heavily on the ground.
“Tom Builder was my father?”

“Yes.” Jack shook his head in wonderment. “Now I know who you remind me of. You and he are the tallest people I ever met.”

“He was always good to me when I was a child,” Jonathan said in a dazed tone. “He used to play with me. He was fond of me. I saw as much of him as I did of Prior Philip.” His tears flowed freely. “That was my father. My father.” He looked up at Jack. “Why did he abandon me?”

“They thought you were going to die anyway. They had no milk to give you. They were starving themselves, I know. They were miles from anywhere. They didn’t know the priory was nearby. They had no food except turnips, and turnips would have killed you.”

“They did love me, after all.”

Jack saw the scene as if it were yesterday: the dying fire, the freshly turned earth of the new grave, and the tiny pink baby kicking its arms and legs inside the old gray cloak. That little scrap of humanity had grown into the tall man who sat weeping on the ground in front of him. “Oh, yes, they loved you.”

“How come nobody ever spoke of it?”

“Tom was ashamed, of course,” Jack said. “My mother must have known that, and we children sensed it, I suppose. Anyway, it was an unmentionable topic. And we never connected
that
baby with
you
,
of course.”

“Tom must have made the connection,” Jonathan said.

“Yes.”

“I wonder why he never took me back?”

“My mother left him quite soon after we came here,” Jack said. He smiled ruefully. “She was hard to please, like Sally. Anyway, that meant Tom would have had to hire a nursemaid to look after you. So I suppose he thought: Why not leave the baby at the monastery? You were well cared for there.”

Jonathan nodded. “By dear old Johnny Eightpence, God rest his soul.”

“Tom probably spent more time with you that way. You were running around the priory close all day and every day, and he was working there. If he’d taken you away from the priory and left you at home with a nursemaid, he’d actually have seen less of you. And I imagine as the years went by, and you grew up as the priory orphan, and seemed happy that way, it felt more and more natural to leave you there. People often give a child to God, anyway.”

“All these years I’ve wondered about my parents,” Jonathan said. Jack’s heart ached for him. “I’ve tried to imagine what they were like, asked God to let me meet them, wondered whether they loved me, questioned why they left me. Now I know that my mother died giving birth to me and my father was close to me all the rest of his life.” He smiled through his tears. “I can’t tell you how happy I am.”

Jack felt close to tears himself. To cover his embarrassment he said: “You look like Tom.”

“Do I?” Jonathan was pleased.

“Don’t you remember how tall he was?”

“All adults were tall then.”

“He had good features, like you. Well-carved. If ever you’d grown a beard, people would have guessed.”

“I remember the day he died,” Jonathan said. “He took me around the fair. We watched the bearbaiting. Then I climbed the wall of the chancel. I was too frightened to come down, so he had to come up and carry me down. Then he saw William’s men coming. He put me in the cloisters. That was the last time I saw him alive.”

“I remember that,” Jack said. “I watched him climb down with you in his arms.”

“He made sure I was safe,” Jonathan said wonderingly.

“Then he took care of the others,” Jack said.

“He really loved me.”

Jack was struck by a thought. “This will make a difference to Philip’s trial, won’t it?”

“I’d forgotten that,” Jonathan said. “Yes, it will. My goodness.”

“Have we got irrefutable proof?” Jack wondered. “I saw the baby, and the priest, but I never actually saw the baby delivered to the little priory.”

“Francis did. But Francis is Philip’s brother, so his evidence is tainted.”

“My mother and Tom went off together that morning,” Jack said, straining his memory. “They said they were going to look for the priest. I bet they went to the priory to make sure the baby was all right.”

“If she would say so in court, that would really sew it up,” Jonathan said eagerly.

“Philip thinks she’s a witch,” Jack pointed out. “Would he let her testify?”

“We could spring it on him. But she hates him, too. Will she testify?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Let’s ask her.”

“Fornication and nepotism?” Jack’s mother cried. “Philip?” She started to laugh. “It’s too absurd!”

“Mother, this is serious,” Jack said.

“Philip couldn’t fornicate if you put him in a barrel with three whores,” she said. “He wouldn’t know what to do!”

Jonathan was looking embarrassed. “Prior Philip is in real trouble, even if the charge is absurd,” he said.

“And why would I help Philip?” she said. “He’s caused me nothing but heartache.”

Jack had been afraid of this. His mother had never forgiven Philip for splitting her and Tom. “Philip did the same to me as he did to you—if I can forgive him, you can.”

“I’m not the forgiving type,” she said.

“Don’t do it for Philip, then—do it for me. I want to continue building at Kingsbridge.”

“Why? The church is finished.”

“I’d like to pull down Tom’s chancel and rebuild it in the new style.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—”

“Mother. Philip is a good prior, and when he goes Jonathan will take over—if you come to Kingsbridge and tell the truth at the trial.”

“I hate courts,” she said. “No good ever comes out of them.”

It was maddening. She held the key to Philip’s trial: she could ensure that he was cleared. But she was a stubborn old woman. Jack was seriously afraid he would not be able to talk her into it.

He decided to try stinging her into consenting. “I suppose it’s a long way to travel, for someone of your age,” he said slyly. “How old are you now—sixty-eight?”

“Sixty-two, and don’t try to provoke me,” she snapped. “I’m fitter than you, my boy.”

It could be true, Jack thought. Her hair was white as snow, and her face was deeply lined, but her startling golden eyes saw just as much as ever they had: as soon as she looked at Jonathan she had known who he was, and she had said: “Well, I’ve no need to ask why you’re here. You’ve found out where you come from, have you? By God, you’re as tall as your father and nearly as broad.” She was also as independent and self-willed as ever.

“Sally is like you,” Jack said.

She was pleased. “Is she?” She smiled. “In what way?”

“In her mulish obstinacy.”

“Huh.” Mother looked cross. “She’ll be all right then.”

Jack decided he might as well beg. “Mother, please—come to Kingsbridge with us and tell the truth.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Jonathan said: “I have something else to ask you.”

Jack wondered what was coming. He was afraid Jonathan might say something to antagonize his mother: it was easily done, especially by clergymen. He held his breath.

Jonathan said: “Could you show me where my mother is buried?”

Jack let his breath out silently. There was nothing wrong with
that
.
Indeed, Jonathan could hardly have thought of anything more likely to soften her.

She dropped her scornful manner immediately. “Of course I’ll show you,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I could find it.”

Jack was reluctant to spend the time. The trial would start in the morning and they had a long way to go. But he sensed that he should let fate take its course.

Mother said to Jonathan: “Do you want to go there now?”

“Yes, please, if it’s possible.”

“All right.” She stood up. She picked up a short cape of rabbit fur and slung it across her shoulders. Jack was about to tell her she would be too warm in that, but he held back: old people always felt colder.