The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [537]
It occurred to Philip that he, too, might be killed if he did not run. But he could not tear himself away from the side of the archbishop.
One of the knights said to Thomas: “Renounce your treachery!” Philip recognized the voice of Reginald Fitzurse, who had done the talking earlier.
“I have nothing to renounce,” Thomas replied. “I have committed no treachery.” He was deadly calm, but his face was white, and Philip realized that Thomas, like everyone else, had realized that he was going to die.
Reginald shouted at Thomas: “Run away, you’re a dead man!”
Thomas stood still.
They want him to run, Philip thought; they can’t bring themselves to kill him in cold blood.
Perhaps Thomas had understood that too, for he stood unflinching in front of them, defying them to touch him. For a long moment they were all frozen in a murderous tableau, the knights unwilling to make the first move, the priest too proud to run.
It was Thomas who fatally broke the spell. He said: “I am ready to die, but you are not to touch any of my men, priests or monks or laymen.”
Reginald moved first. He waved his sword at Thomas, pushing its point closer and closer to his face, as if daring himself to let the blade touch the priest. Thomas stood like stone, his eyes focused on the knight, not the sword. Suddenly, with a quick twist of the wrist, Reginald knocked Thomas’s cap off.
Philip was suddenly filled with hope again. They can’t bring themselves to do it, he thought; they’re afraid to touch him.
But he was wrong. The knights’ resolution seemed to be strengthened by the silly gesture of knocking off the archbishop’s cap; as if, perhaps, they had half expected to be struck down by the hand of God, and the fact that they had got away with it gave them courage to do worse. Reginald said: “Carry him out of here.”
The other knights sheathed their swords and approached the archbishop.
One of them grasped Thomas about the waist and tried to lift him.
Philip despaired. They had touched him at last. They were, after all, willing to lay hands on a man of God. Philip had a stomach-lurching sense of the depths of their evil, like looking over the edge of a bottomless pit. They must know, in their hearts, that they would go to hell for this; yet still they did it.
Thomas lost his balance, flailed his arms, and began to struggle. The other knights joined in trying to lift him up and carry him. The only people left from Thomas’s entourage were Philip and a priest called Edward Grim. They both rushed forward to help Thomas. Edward grabbed Thomas’s mantle and clung on tight. One of the knights turned and lashed out at Philip with a mailed fist. The blow struck the side of Philip’s head, and he went down, dazed.
When he recovered, the knights had released Thomas, who was standing with his head bowed and his hands together in an attitude of prayer. One of the knights raised his sword.
Philip, still on the floor, gave a long, helpless yell of protest: “Noooo!”
Edward Grim held out his arm to ward off the blow.
Thomas said: “I commend myself to Go—”
The sword fell.
It struck both Thomas and Edward. Philip heard himself scream. The sword cut into the archbishop’s skull and sliced the priest’s arm. As blood spurted from Edward’s arm, Thomas fell to his knees.
Philip stared aghast at the appalling wound to Thomas’s head.
The archbishop fell slowly forward onto his hands, supported himself only for an instant, then crashed onto his face on the stone floor.
Another knight lifted his sword and struck. Philip gave an involuntary howl of grief. The second blow landed in the same place as the first, and sliced off the top of Thomas’s skull. It was such a forceful swing that the sword struck the pavement and snapped in two. The knight dropped the stump.
A third knight committed an act which would burn in Philip’s memory for the rest of his life: he stuck the point of his sword into the opened head of the archbishop and spilled the brains out onto the floor.
Philip’s legs felt weak and he sank to his knees, overcome with