The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [135]
Philip was appalled. The sight of such a mighty building being destroyed was strangely shocking. It was like watching a mountain fall down or a river run dry: he had never really thought it could happen. He could hardly believe his eyes. It made him feel disoriented, and he did not know what to do.
Cuthbert was tugging at his sleeve. “Come out!” he yelled.
Philip could not tear himself away. He remembered that he had been anticipating ten years of austerity and hard work to put the monastery back on a sound financial footing. Now, suddenly, he had to build a new roof and a new north wall, and perhaps more if the destruction went on.... This is the devil’s work, he thought. How else could the roof have caught fire on a freezing night in January?
“We’ll be killed!” Cuthbert shouted, and the note of human fear in his voice touched Philip’s heart. He turned away from the blaze, and they both ran out of the church into the cloisters.
The monks had been alerted and were filing out of the dormitory. As they came out they naturally wanted to stop and look at the church. Milius Kitchener was standing at the door hurrying them along to avoid a logjam, directing them away from the church and along the south walk of the cloisters. Halfway along the walk Tom Builder stood, telling them to turn under the arch and escape that way. Philip heard Tom saying: “Go to the guesthouse—stay well clear of the church!”
He was overreacting, Philip thought: surely they would have been safe enough here in the cloisters? But there was no harm done, and perhaps it was a sensible precaution. In fact, he reflected, I probably should have thought of it myself.
But Tom’s caution made him wonder how far the destruction might spread. If the cloisters were not absolutely safe, what about the chapter house? There, in a little side room with thick stone walls and no windows, they kept the ironbound oak chest containing what little money they had, plus the sacrist’s jeweled vessels and all the priory’s precious charters and deeds of ownership. A moment later he saw Alan the treasurer, a young monk who worked with the sacrist and took care of the ornaments. Philip called him. “The treasure must be taken from the chapter house—where’s the sacrist?”
“He’s gone, Father.”
“Go and find him and get the keys, then take the treasure out of the chapter house and carry it to the guesthouse. Run!”
Alan ran off. Philip turned to Cuthbert. “You’d better make sure he does it.” Cuthbert nodded and followed Alan.
Philip looked back at the church. In the few moments his attention had been elsewhere, the fire had become fiercer, and now the light of the flames shone brightly in all the windows. The sacrist should have thought of the treasure, instead of saving his own skin so hastily. Was there anything else that had been overlooked? Philip found it hard to think systematically when everything was happening so quickly. The monks were moving to safety, the treasury was being taken care of—
He had forgotten the saint.
At the far east end of the church, beyond the bishop’s throne, was the stone tomb of Saint Adolphus, an early English martyr. Inside the tomb was a wooden coffin containing the skeleton of the saint. Periodically the lid of the tomb was lifted to display the coffin. Adolphus was not as popular now as he had once been, but in the old days sick people had been miraculously cured by touching the tomb. A saint’s remains could be a big attraction in a church, promoting worship and pilgrimages. They brought in so much money that, shamefully, it was not unknown for monks actually to steal holy relics from other churches. Philip had planned to revive interest in Adolphus. He had to save the skeleton.
He would need help to lift the lid of the tomb and carry the coffin. The sacrist should have thought