The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [443]
William looked more closely at Aliena. She was not quite as lovely as ever, after all: there were lines of strain around her eyes, and behind the proud smile was a hint of sadness. After all these years she still could not marry Jack, of course, William thought with satisfaction: Bishop Waleran had kept his promise and had repeatedly blocked the annulment. That thought often gave William consolation.
It was Waleran, William now realized, who was standing at the altar, lifting the Host above his head so that the entire congregation could see it. Hundreds of people went down on their knees. The bread became Christ at that moment, a transformation that struck awe into William even though he had no idea what was involved.
He concentrated on the service for a while, watching the mystical actions of the priests, listening to the meaningless Latin phrases and muttering familiar fragments of the responses. The dazed feeling that had been with him for the last day or so persisted, and the magical new church, with sunlight playing on its impossible columns, served to intensify the sense that he was in a dream.
The service was coming to an end. Bishop Waleran turned to address the congregation. “We will now pray for the soul of Countess Regan Hamleigh, the mother of Earl William of Shiring, who died on Friday night.”
There was a buzz of comment as people heard the news, but William was staring at the bishop in horror. He had realized at last what she had been trying to say while she died. She had been asking for the priest—but William had not sent for him. He had watched her weaken, he had seen her eyes close, he had heard her breathing stop, and he had let her die unshriven. How could he have done something like that? Ever since Friday night her soul had been in Hell, suffering the torments that she had described to him so graphically many times, with no prayers to relieve her! His heart was so laden with guilt that he seemed to feel it slow its pace and for a moment he felt that he, too, would die. How could he have let her languish in that dread place, her soul disfigured by sins as her face was with boils, while she longed for the peace of Heaven? “What am I going to do?” he said aloud, and the people around him looked at him in surprise.
When the prayer ended and the monks filed out in procession, William remained on his knees in front of the altar. The rest of the congregation drifted out into the sunshine, ignoring him; all except Walter, who stayed nearby, watching and waiting. William was praying with all his might, keeping a picture of his mother in his head while he repeated the Paternoster and all the other bits of prayers and services he could remember. After a while he realized there were other things he could do. He could light candles; he could pay priests and monks to say masses for her regularly; he could even have a special chapel built for the benefit of her soul. But everything he thought of seemed insufficient. It was as if he could see her, shaking her head, looking hurt and disappointed in him, saying: “How long will you let your mother suffer?”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Bishop Waleran stood in front of him, still wearing the gorgeous red robe he used for Whitsun. His black eyes looked deep into William’s, and William felt as if he had no secrets from that penetrating gaze. Waleran said: “Why do you weep?”
William realized his face was wet with tears. He said: “Where is she?”
“She has gone to be purified by fire.”
“Is she in pain?”
“Terrible pain. But we can speed the souls of our loved ones as they pass through that dread place.”
“I’ll do anything!” William sobbed. “Just tell me what!”
Waleran’s eyes glittered with greed. “Build a church,” he said. “Just like this one. But in Shiring.”
A cold fury possessed Aliena whenever she traveled around the estates that had been part of her father’s earldom. All the blocked ditches and broken fences and empty, tumble-down cow sheds