The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [402]
“I don’t know.”
“They’re more interested in you than the statue! Have you been here before?”
“Never.”
Aliena said: “It’s the older ones who look at Jack. The youngsters look at the statue.”
She was right. The children and young people were reacting to the statue with normal curiosity. It was the middle-aged who stared at him. He tried staring back, and found that they got scared. One made the Sign of the Cross at him. “What have they got against me?” he wondered aloud.
Their procession attracted followers just as rapidly as always, however, and they reached the marketplace with a large crowd in tow. They put the Madonna down in front of the church. The air smelled of salt water and fresh fish. Several townspeople went into the church. What normally happened next was that the local clergy would come out and talk to Reynold and Edward. There would be a discussion and explanations, and then the statue would be carried inside, where it would weep. The Madonna had only failed once: on a cold day, when Reynold insisted on going through with the procedure despite Jack’s warning that it might not work. Now they respected his advice.
The weather was right today, but something else was wrong. There was superstitious fear on the wind-whipped faces of the sailors and fishermen all around. The young sensed the disquiet of their elders, and the whole crowd was suspicious and vaguely hostile. No one approached the little group to ask questions about the statue. They stood at a distance, talking in low voices, waiting for something to happen.
At last the priest emerged. In other towns the priest had approached in a mood of wary curiosity, but this one came out like an exorcist, holding a cross in front of him like a shield and carrying a chalice of holy water in his other hand. Reynold said: “What does he think he’s going to do—cast out demons?” The priest walked over, chanting something in Latin, and approached Jack. He said in French: “I command, thee, evil spirit, to return to the Place of Ghosts! In the name—”
“I’m not a ghost, you damn fool!” Jack burst out. He felt unnerved.
The priest went on: “Father, Son and Holy Spirit—”
“We’re on a mission for the archbishop of Canterbury,” Reynold protested. “We’ve been blessed by him.”
Aliena said: “He’s not a ghost; I’ve known him since he was twelve years old!”
The priest began to look uncertain. “You are the ghost of a man of this town who died twenty-four years ago,” he said. Several people in the crowd voiced their agreement, and the priest recommenced his incantation.
“I’m only twenty years old,” Jack said. “Perhaps I just resemble the man who died.”
Someone stepped out from the crowd. “You don’t just resemble him,” he said. “You are him—no different from the day you died.”
The crowd murmured with superstitious dread. Jack, feeling unnerved, looked at the speaker. He was a gray-bearded man of forty or so years, wearing the clothes of a successful craftsman or small merchant. He was not the hysterical type. Jack addressed him with a voice that faltered somewhat. “My companions know me,” he said. “Two of them are priests. The woman is my wife. The baby is my son. Are they ghosts, too?”
The man looked uncertain.
A white-haired woman standing beside him spoke up. “Don’t you know me, Jack?”
Jack jumped as if he had been stung. Now he was scared. “How did you know my name?” he said.
“Because I’m your mother,” she said.
“You’re not!” Aliena said, and Jack heard a note of panic in her voice. “I know his mother, and she’s not you! What’s happening here?”
“Evil magic!” said the priest.
“Wait a minute,” said Reynold. “Jack may be related to the man who died. Did he have any children?”
“No,” said the gray-bearded man.
“Are you sure?”
“He never married.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
One or two people snickered. The priest glared at them.
The gray-bearded man said: “But he died twenty-four years ago, and this Jack says he’s only twenty.