The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [165]
“I am Richard, the heir to the earldom,” the boy said in a cracked adolescent voice.
Behind Philip, the man said: “And I am Matthew, the steward of the castle.”
The three of them had been hiding here since Earl Bartholomew was captured, Philip realized. The steward was taking care of the children: he must have a store of food or money hidden away. Philip addressed the girl. “I know where your father is, but what about your mother?”
“She died many years ago.”
Philip felt a stab of guilt. The children were virtually orphans, and it was partly his doing. “But haven’t you got relatives to look after you?”
“I’m looking after the castle until my father returns,” she said.
They were living in a dream world, Philip realized. She was trying to live as if she still belonged to a rich and powerful family. With her father imprisoned and in disgrace, she was just another girl. The boy was heir to nothing at all. Earl Bartholomew was never coming back to this castle, unless the king decided to hang him here. He pitied the girl, but in a way he also admired the strength of will that sustained the fantasy and made two other people share it. She might have been a queen, he thought.
From outside came a clatter of hooves on wood: several horses were crossing the bridge. Aliena said to Philip: “Why have you come here?”
“It’s just a rendezvous,” Philip said. He turned around and took a step toward the door. Matthew was in his way. For a moment they stood still, facing one another. The four people in the room made a frozen tableau. Philip wondered if they were going to try to stop him from leaving. Then the steward stood aside.
Philip went out. He held up the skirt of his robe and hurried down the spiral stairs. When he reached the bottom he heard footsteps behind him. Matthew caught him up.
“Don’t tell anyone we’re here,” he said.
Philip saw that Matthew understood the unreality of their position. “How long will you stay here?” he asked.
“As long as we can,” the steward replied.
“And when you have to leave? What will you do then?”
“I don’t know.”
Philip nodded. “I’ll keep your secret,” he said.
“Thank you, Father.”
Philip crossed the dusty hall and stepped outside. Looking down, he saw Bishop Waleran and two others reining in their horses near his own. Waleran wore a heavy cloak trimmed with black fur, and a black fur cap. He looked up, and Philip met his pale eyes. “My lord bishop,” said Philip respectfully. He went down the wooden steps. The image of the virginal girl upstairs was still vivid in his mind, and he felt like shaking his head to get rid of her.
Waleran dismounted. He had the same two companions, Philip saw: Dean Baldwin and the man-at-arms. He nodded to them, then knelt and kissed Waleran’s hand.
Waleran accepted his homage but did not wallow in it: he withdrew his hand after a moment. It was power itself, not its trappings, that Waleran loved.
“On your own, Philip?” Waleran said.
“Yes. The priory is poor, and an escort for me is an unnecessary expense. When I was prior of St-John-in-the-Forest I never had an escort, and I’m still alive.”
Waleran shrugged. “Come with me,” he said. “I want to show you something.” He marched off across the courtyard to the nearest tower. Philip followed. Waleran entered the low doorway at the foot of the tower and climbed the staircase inside. There were bats clustered under the low ceiling, and Philip ducked his head to avoid brushing against them.
They emerged at the top of the tower and stood at the battlements, looking out over the land all around. “This is one of the smaller earldoms in the land,” Waleran said.
“Indeed.” Philip shivered. There was a cold, damp wind up here, and his cloak was not as thick as Waleran’s. He wondered what the bishop was leading up to.
“Some of this land is good, but much is forest and stony hillsides.”
“Yes.” On a clear day they might have seen many acres