The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [283]
He progressed slowly along the street, moving against the flood of people. He had gained only a few yards when a group of four horsemen came charging along the street. They were the cause of the stampede. Some people flattened themselves against house walls, but others could not get out of the way in time, and many fell beneath the flailing hooves. Philip was horrified but there was nothing he could do, and he dodged into an alleyway to avoid becoming a victim himself. A moment later the horsemen had passed by and the street was deserted.
Several bodies were left lying on the ground. As Philip stepped out of his alley he saw one of them move: a middle-aged man in a scarlet cloak was trying to crawl along the ground despite an injured leg. Philip crossed the street, intending to try to carry the man; but before he got there, two men with iron helmets and wooden shields appeared. One of them said: “This one’s alive, Jake.”
Philip shuddered. It seemed to him that their demeanor, their voices, their clothes and even their faces were the same as those of the two men who had killed his parents.
The one called Jake said: “He’ll fetch a ransom—look at that red cloak.” He turned, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled. A third man came running up. “Take Redcoat here into the castle and tie him up.”
The third man put his arms around the wounded citizen’s chest and dragged him off. The injured man screamed in pain as his legs bumped over the stones. Philip shouted: “Stop!” They all stopped for a moment, looked at him, and laughed; then they carried on with what they were doing.
Philip shouted again but they ignored him. He watched helplessly as the wounded man was dragged off. Another man-at-arms came out of a house, wearing a long fur coat and carrying six silver plates under his arm. Jake saw him and took note of the booty. “These are rich houses,” he said to his comrade. “We ought to get into one of them. See what we can find.” They went up to the locked door of a stone house and attacked it with a battle-ax.
Philip felt useless but he was not willing to give up. However, God had not put him in this position to defend rich men’s property, so he left Jake and his companions and hurried toward the west gate. More men-at-arms came running along the street. Mingled with them were several short, dark men with painted faces, dressed in sheepskin coats and armed with clubs. They were the Welsh tribesmen, Philip realized, and he felt ashamed that he came from the same country as these savages. He clung to the wall of a house and tried to look inconspicuous.
Two men emerged from a stone house dragging by the legs a white-bearded man in a skullcap. One of them held a knife to the man’s throat and said: “Where’s your money, Jew?”
“I have no money,” the man said plaintively.
Nobody would believe that, Philip thought. The wealth of the Jews of Lincoln was famous; and anyway, the man had been living in a stone house.
Another man-at-arms came out dragging a woman by the hair. The woman was middle-aged and presumably the Jew’s wife. The first man shouted: “Tell us where the money is, or she’ll have my sword up her cunt.” He lifted the woman’s skirt, exposing her graying pubic hair, and held a long dagger pointing at her groin.
Philip was about to intervene, but the old man gave in immediately. “Don’t hurt her, the money’s in the back,” he said urgently. “It’s buried in the garden, by the woodpile—please, let her go.”
The three men ran back into the house. The woman helped the man to his feet. Another group of horsemen thundered down the narrow