The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [447]
The sound of the rain became a loud drumming. Aliena looked through the open door. The church was only a few yards away but already the rain had obscured it. This was going to be a real squall.
Aliena said to her carter: “Did you put the cart under cover?”
The man nodded. “With the beasts.”
“Good. I don’t want my yarn felted.”
Ranulf came back in, soaking wet.
There was a flash of lightning followed by a long rumble of thunder. “This will do the crops no good,” the priest said lugubriously.
He was right, Aliena thought. What they needed was three weeks of hot sunshine.
There was another flash and a longer crash of thunder, and a gust of wind shook the wooden house. Cold water dropped on Aliena’s head, and she looked up to see a drip coming from the thatched roof. She shifted her seat to get out of its way. The rain was blowing in at the door, too, but nobody seemed to want to close it: Aliena preferred to look at the storm, and it seemed the others felt the same.
She looked at Elizabeth. The girl was white-faced. Aliena put an arm around her. She was shivering, although it was not cold. Aliena hugged her.
“I’m frightened,” Elizabeth whispered.
“It’s only a storm,” Aliena said.
It became very dark outside. Aliena thought it must be getting near suppertime; then she realized she had not had dinner yet: it was only noon. She got up and went to the door. The sky was iron gray. She had never known such peculiar weather in summer. The wind was gusting strongly. A lightning flash illuminated numerous loose objects blowing past the doorway: a blanket, a small bush, a wooden bowl, an empty barrel.
She turned back inside, frowning, and sat down. She was getting mildly worried. The house shook again. The central pole that held up the ridge of the roof was vibrating. This was one of the better-built houses in the village, she reflected: if this was unsteady, some of the poorer places must be in danger of collapse. She looked at the priest. “If it gets any worse we may have to round up the villagers and all take shelter in the church,” she said.
“I’m not going out in that,” the priest said with a short laugh.
Aliena stared at him incredulously. “They’re your flock,” she said. “You’re their shepherd.”
The priest looked back at her insolently. “I answer to the bishop of Kingsbridge, not you, and I’m not going to play the fool just because you tell me to.”
Aliena said: “At least bring the plow team into shelter.” The most precious possession of a village such as this was the team of eight oxen that pulled the plow. Without those beasts the peasants could not cultivate their land. No individual peasant could afford to own a plow team—it was communal property. The priest would surely value the team, for his prosperity depended on it too.
The priest said: “We’ve no plow team.”
Aliena was mystified. “Why?”
“We had to sell four of them to pay rent; then we killed the others for meat in the winter.”
That explained the half-sown fields, Aliena thought. They had only been able to cultivate the lighter soils, using horses or manpower to pull the plow. The story angered her. It was foolish as well as hardhearted of William to make these people sell their plow team, for that meant they would have trouble paying their rent this year too, even though the weather had been fair. It made her want to take William by the neck and strangle him.
Another powerful gust shook the wood-framed house. Suddenly one side of the roof seemed to shift; then it lifted several inches, becoming detached from the wall, and through the gap Aliena saw black sky and forked lightning. She leaped to her feet as the gust subsided and the thatched roof crashed back down on its supports. This was now becoming dangerous. She stood up and yelled at the priest over the noise of the weather: “At least go and open the church door!”
He looked resentful but he complied. He took a key from a chest, put on a cloak, and went outside and disappeared into the rain. Aliena began to organize the others. “Carter, take