The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [262]
William was not going to show gratitude. “You really hate Philip, don’t you?”
“He’s in my way,” Waleran said, but for a moment William had glimpsed the naked savagery beneath the bishop’s cool, calculating manner.
William returned to practical matters. “There must be thirty quarrymen there, some with their wives and children,” he said.
“So what?”
“There may be bloodshed.”
Waleran raised his black eyebrows. “Indeed?” he said. “Then I shall give you absolution.”
III
They set out while it was still dark, in order to arrive at dawn. They carried flaming torches, which made the horses jumpy. As well as Walter and the other four knights, William took six men-at-arms. Trailing behind them were a dozen peasants who would dig the ditch and put up the fence.
William believed firmly in careful military planning—which was why he and his men were so useful to King Stephen—but on this occasion he had no battle plan. It was such an easy operation that it would have been demeaning to make preparations as if it were a real fight. A few stonecutters and their families could not put up much opposition; and anyway, William remembered being told how the stonecutters’ leader—was his name Otto? Yes, Otto Blackface—had refused to fight, on the first day Tom Builder had taken his men to the quarry.
A chill December morning dawned, with rags and tatters of mist hanging on the trees like poor people’s washing. William disliked this time of year. It was cold in the morning and dark in the evening, and the castle was always damp. Too much salt meat and salt fish was served. His mother was bad-tempered and the servants were surly. His knights became quarrelsome. This little fight would be good for them. It would also be good for him: he had already arranged to borrow two hundred pounds from the Jews of London against the surety of the quarry. By the end of today his future would be secure.
When they were about a mile from the quarry William stopped, picked out two men, and sent them ahead, on foot. “There may be a sentry, or some dogs,” he warned. “Have a bow out ready with an arrow at the string.”
A little later the road curved to the left, then ended suddenly at the sheer side of a mutilated hill. This was the quarry. All was quiet. Beside the road, William’s men were holding a scared boy—presumably an apprentice who had been on sentry duty—and at his feet was a dog bleeding to death with an arrow through its neck.
The raiding party drew up, making no particular effort to be silent. William reined in and studied the scene. Much of the hill had disappeared since last he saw it. The scaffolding ran up the hillside to inaccessible areas and down into a deep pit which had been opened up at the foot of the hill. Stone blocks of different shapes and sizes were stacked near the road, and two massive wooden carts with huge wheels were loaded with stone ready to go. Everything was covered with gray dust, even the bushes and trees. A large area of woodland had been cleared—my woodland, William thought angrily—and there were ten or twelve wooden buildings, some with small vegetable gardens, one with a pigsty. It was a little village.
The sentry had probably been asleep—and his dog, too. William spoke to him. “How many men are here, lad?”
The boy looked scared but brave. “You’re Lord William, aren’t you?”
“Answer the question, boy, or I’ll take off your head with this sword.”
He went white with fear, but replied in a voice of quavering defiance. “Are you trying to steal this quarry away from Prior Philip?”
What’s the matter with me, William thought? I can’t even frighten a skinny child with no beard! Why do people think they can defy me? “This quarry is mine!” he hissed. “Forget about Prior Philip—he can’t do anything for you now. How many men?”
Instead of replying the boy threw back his head and began to yell. “Help! Look out! Attack! Attack!”
William’s hand went