The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [158]
He sat down in the chair. It was still warm from her body, the body he loved so much. He stiffened his face to stop the tears.
He knew she would not change her mind now. She never vacillated: she was a person who made a decision and then carried it through.
She might regret it eventually, though.
He seized on that shred of hope. He knew she loved him. That had not changed. Only last night she had made love frantically, like someone slaking a terrible thirst; and after he was satisfied she had rolled on top of him and carried on, kissing him hungrily, gasping into his beard as she came time and time again, until she was too exhausted with pleasure to go on. And it was not just the fucking that she liked. They enjoyed being together all the time. They talked constantly, much more than he and Agnes had talked even in the early days. She’s going to miss me as much as I’ll miss her, he thought. After a while, when her anger has died down, and she has settled into a new routine, she’ll hanker for someone to talk to, a hard body to touch, a bearded face to kiss. Then she’ll think of me. But she was proud. She might be too proud to come back even if she wanted to.
He sprang out of his chair. He had to tell her what was on his mind. He left the house. She was at the priory gate, saying goodbye to Martha. Tom ran past the stable and caught up with her.
She gave him a sad smile. “Goodbye, Tom.”
He took her hands. “Will you come back, one day? Just to see us? If I know you’re not going away forever, that I will see you again sometime, if only for a little while—if I know that I can bear it.”
She hesitated.
“Please?”
“All right,” she said.
“Swear it.”
“I don’t believe in oaths.”
“But I do.”
“All right. I swear it.”
“Thank you.” He pulled her gently to him. She did not resist him. He hugged her, and his control broke. Tears poured down his face. At last she drew away. Reluctantly he let her go. She turned toward the gate.
At that moment there was a noise from the stable, the sound of a spirited horse being disobedient, stamping and snorting. Automatically, they all looked round. The horse was Waleran Bigod’s black stallion, and the bishop was about to mount. His eyes met Ellen’s, and he froze.
At that moment she started to sing.
Tom did not know the song, although he had heard her sing often. The melody was terribly sad. The words were French, but he could understand them well enough.
A lark, caught in a hunter’s net
Sang sweeter then than ever,
As if the falling melody
Might wing and net dissever.
Tom looked from her to the bishop. Waleran was terrified: his mouth was open, his eyes wide, his face as white as death. Tom was astonished: why did a simple song have the power to scare such a man?
At dusk the hunter took his prey,
The lark his freedom never.
All birds and men are sure to die
But songs may live forever.
Ellen called out: “Goodbye, Waleran Bigod. I’m leaving Kingsbridge, but I’m not leaving you. I’ll be with you in your dreams.”
And mine, Tom thought.
For a moment no one moved.
Ellen turned away, holding Jack’s hand; and they all watched in silence as she marched out through the priory gates and disappeared into the gathering dusk.
PART TWO
1136-1137
Chapter 5
AFTER ELLEN HAD GONE, Sundays were very quiet at the guesthouse. Alfred played football with the village boys in the meadow on the other side of the river. Martha, who missed Jack, played pretend games, gathering vegetables and making pottage and dressing a doll. Tom worked on his cathedral design.
He had hinted to Philip, once or twice, that he should think about what kind of church he wanted to build, but Philip had not noticed, or had chosen to ignore the implication. He had a lot on his mind. But Tom thought about little else, especially on Sundays.
He liked to sit just inside the door of the guesthouse and look across the green at the cathedral ruins. He made sketches on a piece of slate sometimes, but most of the work was in