The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [438]
Jonathan said: “And so they end up queueing at the priory gate for free horsebread and pottage.”
Philip nodded grimly. It broke his heart to see strong men reduced to begging for bread because they could find no work. “But remember, it’s caused by war, not bad weather,” he said.
With youthful passion Jonathan said: “I hope there’s a special place in hell for the earls and kings who cause such misery.”
“I hope so—Saints preserve us, what’s that?”
A strange figure had burst from the undergrowth and was running full-tilt at Philip. His clothes were ragged, his hair was wild, and his face was black with dirt. Philip thought the poor man must be running away from an enraged boar, or even an escaped bear.
Then the man ran up and threw himself on Philip.
Philip was so surprised that he fell off his horse.
His attacker fell on top of him. The man smelled like an animal, and sounded like one too: he made a constant inarticulate grunting noise. Philip wriggled and kicked. The man seemed to be trying to get hold of the leather satchel that Philip had slung over his shoulder. Philip realized the man was trying to rob him. There was nothing in the satchel but a book, The Song of Solomon. Philip struggled desperately to get free, not because he was specially attached to the book, but because the robber was so disgustingly dirty.
But Philip was tangled up in the strap of the satchel and the robber would not let go. They rolled over on the hard ground, Philip trying to get away and the robber trying to keep hold of the satchel. Philip was vaguely aware that his horse had bolted.
Suddenly the robber was jerked away by Richard. Philip rolled over and sat upright, but he did not get to his feet for a moment. He was dazed and winded. He breathed the clean air, relieved to be free of the robber’s noxious embrace. He felt his bruises. Nothing was broken. He turned his attention to the others.
Richard had the robber flat on the ground and was standing over him, with one foot between the man’s shoulder blades and the point of his sword touching the back of the man’s neck. Jonathan was holding the two remaining horses and looking bewildered.
Philip got gingerly to his feet, feeling weak. When I was Jonathan’s age, he thought, I could fall off a horse and jump right back on again.
Richard said: “If you keep an eye on this cockroach, I’ll catch your horse.” He offered Philip his sword.
“All right,” Philip said. He waved the sword away. “I shan’t need that.”
Richard hesitated, then sheathed his sword. The robber lay still. The legs sticking out from under his tunic were as thin as twigs, and the same color; and he was barefoot. Philip had never been in any serious danger: this poor man was too weak to strangle a chicken. Richard walked off after Philip’s horse.
The robber saw Richard go, and tensed. Philip knew the man was about to make a break for it. He stopped him by saying: “Would you like something to eat?”
The robber raised his head and looked at Philip as if he thought Philip was mad.
Philip went to Jonathan’s horse and opened a saddlebag. He took out a loaf, broke it, and offered half to the robber. The man grabbed it unbelievingly and immediately stuffed most of it into his mouth.
Philip sat on the ground and watched him. The man ate like an animal, trying to swallow as much as possible before the meal could be snatched from him. At first Philip had thought he was an old man, but now that he could see him better he realized that the thief was quite young, perhaps twenty-five.
Richard came back, leading Philip’s horse. He was indignant when he saw the robber sitting eating. “Why have you given him our food?” he said to Philip.
“Because he’s starving,” Philip said.
Richard did not reply, but his expression said that monks were mad.