The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [157]
“I’m not going to confess.”
His self-control broke. “Ellen, don’t leave!”
She looked sad. “Listen, Tom. Before I met you I had food to eat and a place to live. I was safe and secure and self-sufficient: I needed nobody. Since I’ve been with you I’ve come closer to starvation than at any time in my life. You’ve got work now, but there’s no security in it: the priory has no money to build a new church, and you could be on the road again next winter.”
“Philip will raise the money somehow,” Tom said. “I’m sure he will.”
“You can’t be sure,” she said.
“You don’t believe,” Tom said bitterly. Then, before he could stop himself, he added: “You’re just like Agnes, you don’t believe in my cathedral.”
“Oh, Tom, if it was just me, I’d stay,” she said sadly. “But look at my son.”
Tom looked at Jack. His face was purple with bruising, his ear was swollen to twice its normal size, his nostrils were full of dried blood and he had a broken front tooth.
Ellen said: “I was afraid he would grow up like an animal if we stayed in the forest. But if this is the price of teaching him to live with other people, it’s too much to pay. So I’m going back to the forest.”
“Don’t say that,” Tom said desperately. “Let’s talk about it. Don’t make a rash decision—”
“It’s not rash, it’s not rash, Tom,” she said sorrowfully. “I’m so sad that I can’t even be angry anymore. I really wanted to be your wife. But not at any cost.”
If Alfred had not chased Jack, none of this would have happened, Tom thought. But it was only a boyish scrap, wasn’t it? Or was Ellen right when she said Tom had a blind spot about Alfred? Tom began to feel he had been wrong. Perhaps he should have taken a firmer line with Alfred. Boys fighting was one thing, but Jack and Martha were smaller than Alfred. Perhaps he was a bully.
But it was too late to change that now. “Stay in the village,” Tom said desperately. “Wait a while and see what happens.”
“I don’t suppose the monks will let me, now.”
He realized she was right. The village was owned by the priory and all the householders paid rent to the monks—usually in the form of days of work—and the monks could refuse to house anyone they did not like. They could hardly be blamed if they rejected Ellen. She had made her decision and she had literally pissed on her chances of retracting it.
“I’ll go with you, then,” he said. “The monastery owes me seventy-two pennies already. We’ll go on the road again. We survived before....”
“What about your children?” she said gently.
Tom remembered how Martha had cried from hunger. He knew he could not make her go through that again. And there was his baby son, Jonathan, living here with the monks. I don’t want to leave him again, Tom thought; I did it once, and hated myself for it.
But he could not bear the thought of losing Ellen.
“Don’t tear yourself apart,” she said. “I won’t tramp the roads with you again. That’s no solution—we’d be worse off than we are now, in every way. I’m going back to the forest, and you’re not coming with me.”
He stared at her. He wanted to believe that she did not mean it, but the look on her face told him she did. He could not think of anything more to say to stop her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He felt helpless. She was breathing hard, her bosom rising and falling with emotion. He wanted to touch her, but he felt she did not want him to. I may never embrace her again, he thought. It was hard to believe. For weeks he had lain with her every night, and touched her as familiarly as he would touch himself; and now suddenly it was forbidden, and she was like a stranger.
“Don’t look so sad,” she said. Her eyes were full of tears.
“I can’t help it,” he said. “I am sad.”
“I’m sorry I’ve made you so unhappy.”
“Don’t be sorry for that. Be sorry that you made me so happy. That’s what hurts, woman. That you made me so happy.”
A sob escaped from her lips. She turned away and left without another word.
Jack and Martha went out after her. Alfred hesitated, looking awkward, then followed them.
Tom stood staring