The Pillars of the Earth (92 page)

Behind the prior, the roof of the lodge fell in. Jack and Philip looked. As it fell into the fire, the dry thatch caught alight instantly, and a moment later there was a fierce blaze.

Tom appeared and pointed at the three workmen nearest to him. “You, you and you—bring that water butt from outside the smithy.” He turned to three others. “Peter, Rolf, Daniel, fetch buckets. You apprentices, shovel earth over the flames—all of you, and quick about it!”

For the next few minutes everyone concentrated on the fire, and Alfred and Jack were forgotten. Jack got out of the way and stood watching, feeling stunned and helpless. Alfred stood some distance away. Was I really about to smash Alfred’s head with a hammer? Jack thought incredulously. The whole thing seemed unreal. He was still in a state of dazed shock when the combination of water and earth put out the flames.

Prior Philip stood looking at the mess, breathing hard after his exertions. “Look at that,” he said to Tom. He was furious. “A lodge wrecked. Carpenters’ work ruined. A barrel of lime wasted and a whole section of new masonry destroyed.”

Jack realized that Tom was in trouble: it was his job to keep order on the site and Philip blamed him for the damage. The fact that the culprits were Tom’s sons made it even worse.

Tom put his hand on Philip’s arm and spoke softly. “The lodge will deal with it,” he said.

Philip was not to be mollified. “I will deal with it,” he snapped. “I’m the prior and you all work for me.”

“Then allow the masons to deliberate before you make any decisions,” Tom said in a quiet and reasonable voice. “We may come up with a proposal that will recommend itself to you. If not, you’re still free to do what you will.”

Philip was visibly reluctant to let the initiative pass from his hands, but tradition was on Tom’s side: the masons disciplined themselves. After a pause Philip said: “Very well. But whatever you decide, I will not have both your sons working on this site. One of them must go.” Still fuming, he strode away.

With a black look at Jack and Alfred, Tom turned away and went into the largest of the masons’ lodges.

Jack realized he was in serious trouble as he followed Tom into the lodge. When the masons disciplined one of their number it was usually for offenses such as drunkenness at work and theft of building materials, and the commonest punishment was a fine. Fighting between apprentices generally resulted in both combatants being put in the stocks for a day, but of course Alfred was not an apprentice, and anyway, fights did not normally do so much damage. The lodge could expel a member who worked for less than the agreed minimum wage. It could also punish a member who committed adultery with another mason’s wife, although Jack had never known this. Theoretically, apprentices could be flogged, but although this punishment was sometimes threatened he had never seen it carried out.

The master masons crowded into the wooden lodge, sitting on the benches and leaning against the back wall, which was in fact the side of the cathedral. When they were all inside, Tom said: “Our employer is angry, and with justification. This incident has done a lot of costly damage. Worse, it has brought disgrace on us masons. We must deal firmly with those who are to blame. This is the only way to regain our good reputation as proud and disciplined builders, men who are masters of ourselves as well as masters of our craft.”

“Well said,” Jack Blacksmith called out, and there was a murmur of agreement.

“I only saw the end of this fight,” Tom went on. “Did anyone see it start?”

“Alfred went for the lad,” said Peter Carpenter, the one who had advised Jack to be obedient and fetch Alfred’s ale.

A young mason called Dan, who worked for Alfred, said: “Jack threw beer in Alfred’s face.”

“The lad was provoked, though,” said Peter. “Alfred insulted Jack’s natural father.”

Tom looked at Alfred. “Did you?”

“I said his father was a thief,” Alfred replied. “It’s true. He was hanged for it at Shiring. Sheriff Eustace told me yesterday.”

Jack Blacksmith said: “It’s a poor thing if a master craftsman has to hold his tongue in case an apprentice doesn’t like what he says.”

There was a murmur of approval. Jack realized despondently that, whatever happened, he was not going to get off lightly. Perhaps I’m doomed to be a criminal, like my father, he thought; perhaps I’ll end up on the gallows too.

Peter Carpenter, who was emerging as Jack’s defender, said: “I still say it makes a difference if the craftsman went out of his way to anger the apprentice.”

“The apprentice still has to be punished,” said Jack Blacksmith.

“I don’t deny that,” said Peter, “I just think the craftsman ought to be disciplined too. Master craftsmen should use the wisdom of their years to bring about peace and harmony on a building site. If they provoke fights they fail in their duty.”

There appeared to be some agreement with that, but Dan, Alfred’s supporter, said: “It’s a dangerous principle, to forgive the apprentice because the craftsman was unkind. Apprentices always think masters are unkind. If you start arguing that way you’ll end up with masters never speaking to their apprentices for fear the apprentices will strike them for discourtesy.”

That speech drew warm support, to Jack’s disgust. It just showed that the masters’ authority had to be bolstered, regardless of the rights and wrongs of the case. He wondered what his punishment would be. He had no money to pay a fine. He hated the thought of being put in the stocks: what would Aliena think of him? But it would be worse to be flogged. He thought he would knife anyone who tried to flog him.

Tom said: “We mustn’t forget that our employer also has a strong view about this. He says he will not have both Alfred and Jack working on the site. One of them must go.”

“Might he be talked out of that?” said Peter.

Tom looked thoughtful, but after a pause he said: “No.”

Jack was shocked. He had not taken Prior Philip’s ultimatum seriously. But Tom had.

Dan said: “If one of them has to go, I trust there’s no argument about which it will be.” Dan was one of the masons working for Alfred, rather than directly for the priory, and if Alfred went Dan would probably have to go too.

Once again Tom looked thoughtful, and once again he said: “No, no argument.” He looked at Jack. “Jack must be the one to go.”

Jack realized he had fatally underestimated the consequences of the fight. But he could hardly believe they were going to throw him out. What would life be like if he did not work on Kingsbridge Cathedral? Since Aliena had withdrawn into her shell, the cathedral was all he cared about. How could he leave?

Peter Carpenter said: “The priory might accept a compromise. Jack could be suspended for a month.”

Yes, please, thought Jack.

“Too weak,” said Tom. “We must be seen to act decisively. Prior Philip will not accept anything less.”

“So be it,” Peter said, giving in. “This cathedral loses the most talented young stone carver most of us have ever seen, all because Alfred can’t keep his damn mouth shut.” Several masons voiced their approval of that sentiment. Encouraged, Peter went on: “I respect you, Tom Builder, more than I’ve ever respected any master builder I’ve worked for, but it must be said that you’ve got a blind spot about your pigheaded son Alfred.”

“No abuse, please,” Tom said. “Let’s stick to the facts of the case.”

“All right,” Peter said. “I say Alfred must be punished.”

“I agree,” Tom said, to everyone’s surprise. Jack thought the remark about his blind spot had got to him. “Alfred should be disciplined.”

“Why?” Alfred said indignantly. “For beating an apprentice?”

“He’s not your apprentice, he’s mine,” Tom said. “And you did more than beat him. You chased him all over the site. If you had let him run away the lime wouldn’t have spilled, the masonry wouldn’t have been damaged and the carpenters’ lodge wouldn’t have burned down; and you could have dealt with him as soon as he came back. There was no need for what you did.”

The masons agreed.

Dan, who seemed to have become the spokesman for Alfred’s masons, said: “I hope you’re not proposing we expel Alfred from the lodge. I for one will fight against that.”

“No,” Tom said. “It’s bad enough to lose a talented apprentice. I don’t also want to lose a sound mason who runs a reliable gang. Alfred must stay—but I think he should be fined.”

Alfred’s men looked relieved.

“A heavy fine,” said Peter.

“A week’s wages,” Dan proposed.

“A month’s,” said Tom. “I doubt whether Prior Philip will be satisfied with less.”

Several men said: “Aye.”

“Are we of one mind on this, brother masons?” Tom said, using a customary form of words.

“Aye,” they all said.

“Then I will tell the prior our decision. The rest of you had better go back to work.”

Jack watched miserably as they all filed out. Alfred shot him a look of smug triumph. Tom waited until they had all gone, then said to Jack: “I did my best for you—I hope your mother will see that.”

“You’ve never done anything for me!” Jack burst out.

“You couldn’t feed me or clothe me or house me. We were happy until you came along, and then we starved!”

“But in the end—”

“You won’t even protect me from that mindless brute you call your son!”

“I tried—”

“You wouldn’t even have this job if I hadn’t burned the old cathedral down!”

“What did you say?”

“Yes, I burned the old cathedral.”

Tom went pale. “That was lightning—”

“There was no lightning. It was a fine night. And no one had made a fire in the church, either. I set light to the roof.”

“But why?”

“So that you would have work. Otherwise my mother would have died in the forest.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“Your first wife did, though, didn’t she?”

Tom turned white. Suddenly he looked older. Jack realized that he had wounded Tom profoundly. He had won the argument, but he had probably lost a friend. He felt sour and sad.

Tom whispered: “Get out of here.”

Jack left.

He walked away from the towering walls of the cathedral, close to tears. His life had been devastated in a few moments. It was incredible that he was going away from this church forever. He turned at the priory gate and looked back. There were so many things he had been planning. He wanted to carve a whole doorway all by himself; he wanted to persuade Tom to have stone angels in the clerestory; he had an innovative design for blind arcading in the transepts which he had not even shown to anyone yet. Now he would never do any of these things. It was so unfair. His eyes filled with tears.

He made his way home, seeing through a blur. Mother and Martha were sitting at the kitchen table. Mother was teaching Martha to write with a sharp stone and a slate. They were surprised to see him. Martha said: “It can’t be dinnertime already.”

Mother read Jack’s face. “What is it?” she said anxiously.

“I had a fight with Alfred and got expelled from the site,” he said grimly.

“Wasn’t Alfred expelled?” said Martha.

Jack shook his head.

“That’s not fair!” Martha said.

Mother said wearily: “What did you fight about this time?”

Jack said: “Was my father hanged at Shiring for thieving?”

Martha gasped.

Mother looked sad. “He wasn’t a thief,” she said. “But yes, he was hanged at Shiring.”

Jack was fed up with enigmatic statements about his father. He said brutally: “Why will you never tell me the truth?”

“Because it makes me so sad!” Mother burst out, and to Jack’s horror she began to cry.

He had never seen her cry. She was always so strong. He was close to breaking down himself. He swallowed hard and persisted. “If he wasn’t a thief, why was he hanged?”

“I don’t know!” Mother cried. “I never knew. He never knew either. They said he stole a jeweled cup.”

“From whom?”

“From here—from Kingsbridge Priory.”

“Kingsbridge! Did Prior Philip accuse him?”

“No, no, it was long before the time of Philip.” She looked at Jack through her tears. “Don’t start asking me who accused him and why. Don’t get caught in that trap. You could spend the rest of your life trying to put right a wrong done before you were born. I didn’t raise you so that you could take revenge. Don’t make that your life.”

Jack vowed he would learn more sometime, despite what she said; but right now he wanted her to stop crying. He sat beside her on the bench and put his arm around her. “Well, it looks as if the cathedral won’t be my life, now.”

Martha said: “What will you do, Jack?”

“I don’t know. I can’t live in Kingsbridge, can I?”

Martha was distraught. “But why not?”

“Alfred tried to kill me and Tom expelled me from the site. I’m not going to live with them. Anyway, I’m a man. I should leave my mother.”

“But what will you do?”

Jack shrugged. “The only thing I know about is building.”

“You could work on another church.”

“I might come to love another cathedral as much as I love this one, I suppose,” he said despondently. He was thinking: But I’ll never love another woman the way I love Aliena.

Mother said: “How could Tom do this to you?”

Jack sighed. “I don’t think he really wanted to. Prior Philip said he wouldn’t have me and Alfred both working on the site.”

“So that damned monk is at the bottom of this!” Mother said angrily. “I swear—”

“He was very upset about the damage we did.”

“I wonder if he could be made to see reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“God is supposed to be merciful—perhaps monks should be too.”

“You think I should plead with Philip?” Jack asked, somewhat surprised at the direction of Mother’s thinking.

“I was thinking I might talk to him,” she said.

“You!” That was even more uncharacteristic. Jack was quite shocked. For Mother to be willing to ask Philip for mercy, she must be badly upset.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

Tom had seemed to think Philip would not be merciful, Jack recalled. But then, Tom’s overriding concern had been that the lodge should take decisive action. Having promised Philip that they would be firm, Tom could not then plead for mercy. Mother was not in the same position. Jack began to feel a little more hopeful. Perhaps he would not have to leave after all. Perhaps he could stay in Kingsbridge, close to the cathedral and to Aliena. He no longer hoped that she would love him, but nevertheless he hated the thought of going away and never seeing her again.