The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [89]
“And deny that Waleran helped us,” added Father.
Mother shook her head. “Let him have his share of the glory, and his reward. Then he will be indebted to us. That can’t do us anything but good.”
“But how shall we go about finding evidence of the plot?” said Father anxiously.
“We’ll have to find a way to look around Bartholomew’s castle,” Mother said with a frown. “It won’t be easy. Nobody would credit us making a social call—everyone knows we hate Bartholomew.”
William was struck by a thought. “I could go,” he said.
His parents were both a little startled. Mother said: “You’d arouse less suspicion than your father, I suppose. But what pretext would you have?”
William had thought of that. “I could go to see Aliena,” he said, and his pulse raced at the idea. “I could beg her to reconsider her decision. After all, she doesn’t really know me. She misjudged me when we met. I could make her a good husband. Perhaps she just needs to be wooed a little harder.” He gave what he hoped was a cynical smile, so that they would not know that he meant every word.
“A perfectly credible excuse,” said Mother. She looked hard at William. “By Christ, I wonder whether the boy might have some of his mother’s brains after all.”
William felt optimistic, for the first time in months, when he set out for Earlscastle on the day after Epiphany. It was a clear, cold morning. The north wind stung his ears and the frosted grass crunched under the hooves of his war-horse. He wore a gray cloak of fine Flanders cloth trimmed with rabbit fur over a scarlet tunic.
He was accompanied by Walter, his groom. When William was twelve years old Walter had become his tutor in arms, and had taught him to ride, hunt, fence and wrestle. Now Walter was his groom, companion and bodyguard. He was as tall as William but broader, a formidable barrel of a man. Nine or ten years older than William, he was young enough to go drinking and chasing girls but old enough to keep the boy out of trouble when necessary. He was William’s closest friend.
William was strangely excited by the prospect of seeing Aliena again, even though he knew he faced rejection and humiliation once more. That glimpse of her in Kingsbridge Cathedral, when for an instant he had looked into her dark, dark eyes, had rekindled his desire for her. He looked forward eagerly to talking to her, getting close to her, seeing her mass of curls tumble and shake as she talked, watching her body move under her dress.
At the same time, the opportunity for revenge had sharpened William’s hatred. He was tense with excitement at the thought that now he might wipe out the humiliation he and his family had suffered.
He wished he had a clearer idea of what he was looking for. He was fairly confident he would find out whether Waleran’s story was true, for there would surely be signs of preparation for war at the castle—horses being mustered, weapons being cleaned, food being stockpiled—even though the activity would naturally be masked as something else, preparations for an expedition perhaps, to deceive the casual observer. However, convincing himself of the existence of a plot was not the same as finding proof. William could not think of anything that would count as proof. He planned to keep his eyes open and hope that something would suggest itself. This was not much of a plan, however, and he suffered a nagging worry that the opportunity for revenge might yet slip through his fingers.
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