The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [140]
Now that he had a moment to reflect, it occurred to him that he ought not to be happy about the burning of a church; but then, he thought, no one had been hurt, and the priory’s treasure had been saved, and the church was old and crumbling anyway; so why not rejoice?
The young monks came back across the green, carrying the heavy book cupboard. All I have to do now, Tom thought, is make sure that I get the job of rebuilding this church. And the time to speak to Prior Philip about it is now.
However, Philip was not with the monks carrying the book cupboard. They reached the guesthouse and lowered the cupboard to the ground. “Where’s your prior?” Tom said to them.
The eldest of them looked back in surprise. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was behind us.”
Perhaps he had stayed back to watch the blaze, Tom thought; but perhaps he was in trouble.
Without further ado Tom ran across the green and around the back of the kitchen. He hoped Philip was all right, not just because Philip seemed such a good man, but because he was Jonathan’s protector. Without Philip there was no knowing what might happen to the baby.
Tom found Philip in the passage between the refectory and the dormitory. To his relief, the prior was sitting upright, looking dazed but unhurt. Tom helped him to his feet.
“Something hit my head,” Philip said groggily.
Tom looked past him. The south transept had fallen into the cloisters. “You’re fortunate to be alive,” Tom said. “God must have a purpose for you.”
Philip shook his head to clear it. “I passed out for a moment. I’m all right now. Where are the books?”
“They took them to the guesthouse.”
“Let’s go back there.”
Tom took Philip’s arm as they walked. The prior was not badly hurt but he was upset, Tom could see.
By the time they got back to the guesthouse, the fire in the church was past its peak, and the flames were dying down a little; but nevertheless Tom could see people’s faces quite clearly, and he realized with a little shock that it was daybreak.
Philip started organizing things again. He told Milius Kitchener to make porridge for everyone and authorized Cuthbert Whitehead to open a barrel of strong wine to warm them up in the meantime. He ordered the fire lit in the guesthouse, and the older monks went in out of the cold. It started to rain, wind-driven sheets of water, freezing cold, and the flames in the ruined church faded fast.
When everyone was busy again, Prior Philip walked away from the guesthouse, on his own, and headed for the church. Tom saw him and followed. This was his chance. If he could handle this right he could work here for years.
Philip stood staring at what had been the west end of the church, shaking his head sadly at the wreckage, looking as if it were his life that was in ruins. Tom stood beside him in silence. After a while Philip moved on, walking along the north side of the nave, through the graveyard. Tom walked with him, surveying the damage.
The north wall of the nave was still standing, but the north transept and part of the north wall of the chancel had fallen. The church still had an east end. They turned around the end and looked at the south side. Most of the south wall had come down and the south transept had collapsed into the cloisters. The chapter house was still standing.
They walked to the archway that led into the east walk of the cloisters. There they were halted by the pile of rubble. It looked a mess, but Tom’s trained eye could see that the cloister walks themselves were not badly damaged, just buried under the fallen ruins. He climbed over the broken stones until he could see into the church. Just behind the altar there was a semi-concealed staircase that led down into the