The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [122]
“Probably it was struck by lightning,” said Alfred. “Or there might have been a fire.”
“But there’s nothing to burn,” Jack said. “It’s all made of stone.”
“The roof isn’t stone, stupid,” Alfred said scornfully. “The roof is made of wood.”
Jack thought about that for a moment. “And if the roof burns, does the building always fall down?”
Alfred shrugged. “Sometimes.”
They sat in silence for a while. Tom and Jack’s mother were talking in low voices on the other side of the fireplace. Jack said: “It’s funny about that baby.”
“What’s funny?” Alfred said after a moment.
“Well, your baby was lost in the forest, miles away, and now here’s a baby at the priory.”
Neither Alfred nor Martha seemed to think the coincidence very remarkable, and Jack promptly forgot about it.
The monks all went to bed immediately after supper, and they did not provide candles for the humbler sort of guest, so Tom’s family sat and looked at the fire until it went out, then lay down on the straw.
Jack stayed awake, thinking. It had occurred to him that if the cathedral were to burn down tonight, all their problems would be solved. The prior would hire Tom to rebuild the church, they would all live here in this fine house, and they would have meat-bone pottage and horsebread for ever and ever.
If I were Tom, he thought, I’d set fire to the church myself. I’d get up quietly while everyone else was sleeping, and sneak into the church, and start a fire with my flint, then creep back here while it was spreading, and pretend to be asleep when the alarm was raised. And when the people started throwing buckets of water on the flames, as they did when the stables burned at Earl Bartholomew’s castle, I’d join in with them, as if I wanted to put out the fire just as much as they did.
Alfred and Martha were asleep—Jack could tell by their breathing. Tom and Ellen did what they usually did under Tom’s cloak (Alfred said it was called “fucking”) then they, too, fell asleep. It seemed that Tom was not going to get up and set fire to the cathedral.
But what was he going to do? Would the family walk the roads until they starved to death?
When they were all asleep, and he could hear the four of them breathing in the slow, regular rhythm that indicated deep slumber, it occurred to Jack that he could set the cathedral on fire.
The thought made his heart race with fear.
He would have to get up very quietly. He could probably unbar the door and slip out without waking anyone. The church doors might be locked, but there would surely be a way to get in, especially for someone small.
Once inside, he knew how he would reach the roof. He had learned a lot in two weeks with Tom. Tom talked about buildings all the time, mostly addressing his remarks to Alfred; and although Alfred was not interested, Jack was. He had found out, among other things, that all large churches had staircases built into the walls to give access to the higher parts for repair work. He would find a staircase and climb up to the roof.
He sat up in the dark, listening to the breathing of the others. He could distinguish Tom’s by its slightly chesty wheeze, caused (Mother said) by years of inhaling stone dust. Alfred snored once, loudly, then turned over and was silent again.
Once he had set the fire, he would have to get back to the guesthouse quickly. What would the monks do if they caught him? In Shiring Jack had seen a boy of his own age tied up and flogged for stealing a cone of sugar from a spice shop. The boy had screamed and the springy switch had made his bottom bleed. It had seemed much worse than men killing one another in a battle as they had at Earlscastle, and the vision of the bleeding boy had haunted Jack. He was terrified of the same happening to him.
If I do this, he thought, I’ll never tell a soul.
He lay down again, pulled his cloak around him, and closed his eyes.
He wondered if the church door was locked. If it was, he could get in through the windows. Nobody would see him if he stayed on the north side of the close. The monks’ dormitory