The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [439]
When the robber had eaten the bread, Philip said: “What’s your name?”
The man looked wary. He hesitated. Philip somehow got the idea that the man had not spoken to another human being for a while. At last he said: “David.”
He still had his sanity, anyway, Philip thought. He said: “What happened to you, David?”
“I lost my farm after the last harvest.”
“Who was your landlord?”
“The earl of Shiring.”
William Hamleigh. Philip was not surprised.
Thousands of tenant farmers had been unable to pay their rents after three bad harvests. When Philip’s tenants defaulted he simply forgave the rent, since if he made people destitute they would just come to the priory for charity anyway. Other landlords, notably Earl William, took advantage of the crisis to evict tenants and repossess their farms. The result was a huge increase in the number of outlaws living in the forest and preying on travelers. That was why Philip had to take Richard everywhere with him as bodyguard.
“What about your family?” Philip asked the robber.
“My wife took the baby and went back to her mother. But there was no room for me.”
It was a familiar story. Philip said: “It’s a sin to lay hands on a monk, David, and it’s wrong to live by theft.”
“But how shall I live?” the man cried.
“If you’re going to stay in the forest you’d better catch birds and fish.”
“I don’t know how!”
“You’re a failure as a robber,” Philip said. “What chance of success did you have, with no weapon, up against three of us, and Richard here armed to the teeth?”
“I was desperate.”
“Well, next time you’re desperate, go to a monastery. There’s always something for a poor man to eat.” Philip got to his feet. The sour taste of hypocrisy was in his mouth. He knew the monasteries could not possibly feed all the outlaws. For most of them there really was no alternative but theft. But his role in life was to counsel virtuous living, not to make excuses for sin.
There was no more he could do for this wretched man. He took the reins of his horse from Richard and climbed into the saddle. He could tell that the bruises from his fall were going to hurt him for days. “Go thy way, and sin no more,” he said, quoting Jesus; then he kicked his horse forward.
“You’re too good, you are,” said Richard as they rode off.
Philip shook his head sadly. “The real trouble is, I’m not good enough.”
On the Sunday before Whitsun, William Hamleigh got married.
It was his mother’s idea.
Mother had been nagging him for years to find a wife and father an heir, but he had always put it off. Women bored him and, in a way that he did not understand and really did not want to think about, they made him anxious. He kept telling Mother he would marry soon but he never did anything about it.
In the end she found him a bride.
Her name was Elizabeth. She was the daughter of Harold of Weymouth, a wealthy knight and a strong supporter of Stephen. As Mother explained to William, with a little effort he could have made a better match—could have married the daughter of an earl—but as he was not willing to put his mind to it, Elizabeth would do.
William had seen her at the king’s court in Winchester, and Mother had noticed him staring at her. She had a pretty face, a mass of light brown curls, a big bust and narrow hips—just William’s type.
She was fourteen years old.
When William stared at her, he had been imagining meeting her on a dark night and taking her by force in the back alleys of Winchester: marriage had not crossed his mind. However, Mother swiftly established that the father was agreeable, and the girl herself was an obedient child who would do what she was told. Having reassured William that there would be no repetition of the humiliation Aliena had inflicted on the family, Mother arranged a meeting.
William had been nervous. Last time he had done this, he had been an inexperienced youth of twenty, the son of a knight, meeting an arrogant young lady of the nobility. But now he was a battle-hardened man, thirty-seven years old, and he had been the earl of Shiring for ten years. He was foolish to be