The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [521]
Philip sat down heavily. When the crowd began to quiet down, Ellen told the story of Jack hearing a cry and finding a newborn baby. Philip listened, dazed, as she told how she and Tom had hidden in the bushes, watching, as Philip and the monks came back from their morning’s work to find Francis waiting for them with a newborn baby, and Johnny Eightpence trying to feed it with a rag dipped into a bucket of goat’s milk.
Philip remembered very clearly how interested the young Tom had been, a day or so later, when they had met by accident and Philip had told him about the abandoned baby. Philip had assumed his interest was that of any compassionate man in a touching story, but in fact Tom had been learning the fate of his own child.
Then Philip recalled how fond Tom had been of Jonathan in later years, as the baby turned into a toddler and then a mischievous boy. Nobody had remarked on it: the whole monastery had treated Jonathan as a pet in those days and Tom spent all his time in the priory close, so his behavior was completely unremarkable; but now, in retrospect, Philip could see that the attention Tom paid to Jonathan was special.
As Ellen sat down, Philip realized that he had been proved innocent. Ellen’s revelations had been so devastating that he had almost forgotten he was on trial. Her story of childbirth and death, desperation and hope, ancient secrets and enduring love, made the question of Philip’s chastity seem trivial. It was not trivial, of course; the future of the priory hung on it; and Ellen had now answered the question so dramatically that it seemed impossible the trial should continue. Even Peter of Wareham can’t find me guilty after evidence like this, Philip thought. Waleran had lost again.
Waleran was not quite ready to concede defeat, however. He pointed an accusing finger at Ellen. “You say Tom Builder told you that the baby brought to the cell was his.”
“Yes,” Ellen said warily.
“But the other two people who might have been able to confirm this—the children Alfred and Martha—did not accompany you to the monastery.”
“No.”
“And Tom is dead. So we only have your word for it that Tom said this to you. Your story cannot be verified.”
“How much verification do you want?” she said spiritedly. “Jack saw the abandoned baby. Francis picked it up. Jack and I met Tom and Alfred and Martha. Francis took the baby to the priory. Tom and I spied on the priory. How many witnesses would satisfy you?”
“I don’t believe you,” Waleran said.
“You don’t believe me?” Ellen said, and suddenly Philip could see she was angry, deeply and passionately angry. “You don’t believe me? You, Waleran Bigod, whom I know to be a perjurer?”
What on earth was coming now? Philip had a premonition of cataclysm. Waleran had blanched. There’s something more here, Philip thought; something Waleran is afraid of. He felt an excited fluttering in his belly. Waleran had a vulnerable look all of a sudden.
Philip said to Ellen: “How do you know the bishop to be a perjurer?”
“Forty-seven years ago, in this very priory, there was a prisoner called Jack Shareburg,” Ellen said.
Waleran interrupted her. “This court isn’t interested in events that took place so long ago.”
Philip said: “Yes it is. The accusation against me refers to an alleged act of fornication thirty-five years ago, my lord bishop. You have demanded that I prove my innocence. The court will now expect no less of you.” He turned to Ellen. “Continue.”
“No one knew why he was a prisoner, least of all himself; but the time came when he was set free, and given a jeweled cup, perhaps as recompense for the years he had been unjustly confined. He didn’t want a jeweled cup, of course: he had no use for it, and it was too precious to be sold at a market. He left it behind, in the old cathedral here at Kingsbridge. Soon afterward he was arrested—by Waleran Bigod, who was then a plain country priest, humble but ambitious—and the cup mysteriously reappeared in Jack’s bag. Jack Shareburg was falsely accused of stealing the cup. He was convicted on the