The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [349]
Jack was studying a map of the world drawn on a big sheet of vellum. He looked up. The speaker was a gnarled old man too feeble now for heavy work. He probably had Jack confused with someone else. “Why’s that, Joseph?”
“Didn’t you know? Your brother’s getting married.”
“I have no brothers,” Jack said automatically, but his heart had gone cold.
“Stepbrother, then,” said Joseph.
“No, I didn’t know.” Jack had to ask the question. He gritted his teeth. “Who is he marrying?”
“That Aliena.”
So she was determined to go through with it. Jack had been harboring a secret hope that she would change her mind. He looked away so that Joseph should not see the despair on his face. “Well, well,” he said, trying to make his voice sound unemotional.
“Yes—her that used to be so high-and-mighty, until she lost everything in the fire.”
“Did—did you say when?”
“Tomorrow. They’re going to get wed in the new parish church Alfred built.”
Tomorrow!
Aliena was going to marry Alfred tomorrow. Until now Jack had never really believed it would happen. Now the reality burst on him like a thunderclap. Aliena was going to get married tomorrow. Jack’s life would end tomorrow.
He looked down at the map on the lectern in front of him. What did it matter whether the center of the world was Jerusalem or Wallingford? Would he be happier if he knew how levers worked? He had told Aliena that she should jump from the clerestory rather than marry Alfred. What he should have said was that he, Jack, might as well jump from the clerestory.
He despised the priory. Being a monk was a stupid way of life. If he could not work on the cathedral and Aliena married someone else, he had nothing to live for.
What made it worse was that he knew how thoroughly miserable she would be living with Alfred. This was not just because he hated Alfred. There were some girls who might be more or less contented married to Alfred: for example, Edith, the one who had giggled when Jack talked to her about how he loved to carve stone. Edith would not expect much of Alfred, and she would be glad to flatter him and obey him as long as he continued prosperous and loved their children. But Aliena would hate every minute. She would loathe Alfred’s physical coarseness, she would despise him for his bullying ways, she would be disgusted by his meanness, and she would find his slow-wittedness maddening. Marriage to Alfred would be hell for her.
Why could she not see that? Jack was mystified. What was going on in her mind? Surely anything would be better than marriage to a man she did not love. She had caused a sensation by refusing to marry William Hamleigh seven years ago, yet now she had passively accepted a proposal from someone equally unsuitable. What was she thinking of?
Jack had to know.
He had to talk to her, and to hell with the monastery.
He rolled up the map, replaced it in the cupboard, and went to the door. Joseph was still leaning on his broomstick. “Are you leaving?” he said to Jack. “I thought you were supposed to stay here until the circuitor comes for you.”
“The circuitor can go shit,” said Jack, and he stepped out. As he emerged into the east walk of the cloisters, he caught the eye of Prior Philip, who was coming in from the building site to the north. Jack turned away quickly, but Philip called out: “Jack! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be confined.”
Jack had no patience for monastic discipline now. He ignored Philip and walked the other way, heading for the passage that led from the south walk down to the small houses around the new quay. But his luck was out. At that moment Brother Pierre, the circuitor, came out of the passage, followed by his two deputies. They saw Jack and stopped dead. A look of astonished indignation spread over Pierre’s moon-shaped face.
Philip called out: “Stop that novice, Brother Circuitor!”
Pierre held out a hand to stop Jack. Jack pushed him aside. Pierre reddened and grabbed at Jack’s arm. Jack wrenched his arm free and punched Pierre on the nose. Pierre gave a shout, more of outrage than pain. Then