The Pillars of the Earth

by Ken Follett

  Philip took a few moments to catch his breath. In that pause he realized that this was no time to act stunned. He was the prior, he was in charge here. What should he do next? It might be wise to make sure all the monks had escaped safely. He took one more deep breath, then straightened his shoulders and looked at the other men. "Cuthbert, you stay here and guard the saint's coffin," he said. "The rest of you, follow me."

  He led them around the back of the kitchen buildings, passed between the brewery and the mill, and crossed the green to the guesthouse. The monks, Tom's family, and most of the villagers were standing around in groups, talking in subdued tones and staring wide-eyed at the blazing church. Philip turned to look at it before speaking to them. The sight was painful. The entire west end was a pile of rubble, and huge flames were shooting up from what remained of the roof.

  He tore his gaze away. "Is everyone here?" he called out. "If you can think of anyone who's missing, call out his name."

  Someone said: "Cuthbert Whitehead."

  "He's guarding the bones of the saint. Anyone else?"

  There was no one else.

  Philip said to Milius: "Count the monks, to make sure. There should be forty-five including you and me." Knowing he could trust Milius, he put that out of his mind and turned to Tom Builder. "Is all your family here?"

  Tom nodded and pointed. They were standing by the guesthouse wall; the woman, the grown son and the two little ones. The small boy gave Philip a frightened look. This must be a terrifying experience for them, Philip thought.

  The sacrist was sitting on the ironbound box that contained the treasure. Philip had forgotten about that: he was relieved to see it safe. He addressed the sacrist. "Brother Andrew, the coffin of Saint Adolphus is behind the refectory. Take some brothers to help you, and carry it ..." He thought for a moment. The safest place was probably the prior's residence. "Take it to my house."

  "To your house?" Andrew said argumentatively. "The relics should be in my care, not yours."

  "Then you should have rescued them from the church!" Philip flared. "Do as I say, without another word!"

  The sacrist got up reluctantly, looking furious.

  Philip said: "Make haste, man, or I'll strip you of your office here and now!" He turned his back on Andrew and spoke to Milius. "How many?"

  "Forty-four, plus Cuthbert. Eleven novices. Five guests. Everyone is accounted for."

  "That's a mercy." Philip looked at the raging fire. It seemed almost miraculous that they were all alive and no one had even been hurt. He realized he was exhausted, but he was too worried to sit down and rest. "Is there anything else of value that we should rescue?" he said. "We have the treasure and the relics...."

  Alan, the young treasurer, spoke up. "What about the books?"

  Philip groaned. Of course--the books. They were kept in a locked cupboard in the east cloister, next to the door of the chapter house, where the monks could get them during study periods. It would take a dangerously long time to empty the cupboard book by book. Perhaps a few strong youngsters could pick up the whole cupboard and carry it to safety. Philip looked around. The sacrist had chosen half a dozen monks to deal with the coffin, and they were already making their way across the green. Now Philip selected three young monks and three of the older novices, and told them to follow him.

  He retraced his steps across the open space in front of the burning church. He was too tired to run. They passed between the mill and the brewery, and went around the back of the kitchen and refectory. Cuthbert Whitehead and the sacrist were organizing the removal of the coffin. Philip led his group along the passage that ran between the refectory and the dormitory and under the south archway into the cloisters.

  He could feel the heat of the fire. The big book cupboard had carvings on its doors depicting Moses and the tablets of stone. Philip directed the young men to tip the cupboard forward and hoist it on their shoulders. They carried it around the cloisters to the south archway. There Philip paused and looked back while they went on. His heart filled with grief at the sight of the ruined church. There was less smoke and more flame now. Whole stretches of the roof had disappeared. As he watched, the roof over the crossing seemed to sag, and he realized it was going to go next. There was a thunderous crash, louder than anything that had gone before, and the roof of the south transept fell in. Philip felt a pain that was almost physical, as if his own body were burning. A moment later the wall of the transept seemed to bulge out over the cloisters. God help us, it's going to fall down, Philip thought. As the stonework began to crumble and scatter he realized it was falling toward him, and he turned to flee; but before he had taken three steps something hit the back of his head and he lost consciousness.

  For Tom, the raging fire that was destroying Kingsbridge Cathedral was a beacon of hope.

  He looked across the green at the huge flames that leaped high in the air from the ruins of the church, and all he could think was: This means work!

  The thought had been hiding in the back of his mind, ever since he had emerged, bleary-eyed, from the guesthouse, and seen the faint red glow in the church windows. All the time he had been hurrying the monks out of danger, and rushing into the burning church to find Prior Philip, and carrying the saint's coffin out, his heart had been bursting with shameless, happy optimism.

  Now that he had a moment to reflect, it occurred to him that he ought not to be happy about the burning of a church; but then, he thought, no one had been hurt, and the priory's treasure had been saved, and the church was old and crumbling anyway; so why not rejoice?

  The young monks came back across the green, carrying the heavy book cupboard. All I have to do now, Tom thought, is make sure that I get the job of rebuilding this church. And the time to speak to Prior Philip about it is now.

  However, Philip was not with the monks carrying the book cupboard. They reached the guesthouse and lowered the cupboard to the ground. "Where's your prior?" Tom said to them.

  The eldest of them looked back in surprise. "I don't know," he said. "I thought he was behind us."

  Perhaps he had stayed back to watch the blaze, Tom thought; but perhaps he was in trouble.

  Without further ado Tom ran across the green and around the back of the kitchen. He hoped Philip was all right, not just because Philip seemed such a good man, but because he was Jonathan's protector. Without Philip there was no knowing what might happen to the baby.

  Tom found Philip in the passage between the refectory and the dormitory. To his relief, the prior was sitting upright, looking dazed but unhurt. Tom helped him to his feet.

  "Something hit my head," Philip said groggily.

  Tom looked past him. The south transept had fallen into the cloisters. "You're fortunate to be alive," Tom said. "God must have a purpose for you."

  Philip shook his head to clear it. "I passed out for a moment. I'm all right now. Where are the books?"

  "They took them to the guesthouse."

  "Let's go back there."

  Tom took Philip's arm as they walked. The prior was not badly hurt but he was upset, Tom could see.

  By the time they got back to the guesthouse, the fire in the church was past its peak, and the flames were dying down a little; but nevertheless Tom could see people's faces quite clearly, and he realized with a little shock that it was daybreak.

  Philip started organizing things again. He told Milius Kitchener to make porridge for everyone and authorized Cuthbert Whitehead to open a barrel of strong wine to warm them up in the meantime. He ordered the fire lit in the guesthouse, and the older monks went in out of the cold. It started to rain, wind-driven sheets of water, freezing cold, and the flames in the ruined church faded fast.

  When everyone was busy again, Prior Philip walked away from the guesthouse, on his own, and headed for the church. Tom saw him and followed. This was his chance. If he could handle this right he could work here for years.

  Philip stood staring at what had been the west end of the church, shaking his he
ad sadly at the wreckage, looking as if it were his life that was in ruins. Tom stood beside him in silence. After a while Philip moved on, walking along the north side of the nave, through the graveyard. Tom walked with him, surveying the damage.

  The north wall of the nave was still standing, but the north transept and part of the north wall of the chancel had fallen. The church still had an east end. They turned around the end and looked at the south side. Most of the south wall had come down and the south transept had collapsed into the cloisters. The chapter house was still standing.

  They walked to the archway that led into the east walk of the cloisters. There they were halted by the pile of rubble. It looked a mess, but Tom's trained eye could see that the cloister walks themselves were not badly damaged, just buried under the fallen ruins. He climbed over the broken stones until he could see into the church. Just behind the altar there was a semi-concealed staircase that led down into the crypt. The crypt itself was beneath the quire. Tom peered in, studying the stone floor over the crypt for signs of cracking. He could see none. There was a good chance the crypt had survived intact. He would not tell Philip yet: he would save the news for a crucial moment.

  Philip had walked on, around the back of the dormitory. Tom hurried to catch him. They found the dormitory unmarked. Going on, they found the other monastic buildings more or less unharmed: the refectory, the kitchen, the bakehouse and the brewery. Philip might have taken some consolation in that, but his expression remained glum.

  They ended up where they had started, in front of the ruined west end, having completed a full circuit of the priory close without speaking a word. Philip sighed heavily and broke the silence. "The devil did this," he said.

  Tom thought: This is my moment. He took a deep breath and said: "It might be God's work."

  Philip looked up at him in surprise. "How so?"

  Tom said carefully: "No one has been hurt. The books, the treasure and the bones of the saint were saved. Only the church has been destroyed. Perhaps God wanted a new church."

  Philip smiled skeptically. "And I suppose God wanted you to build it." He was not too stunned to see that Tom's line of thought might be self-interested.

  Tom stood his ground. "It may be so," he said stubbornly. "It was not the devil who sent a master builder here on the night the church burned down."

  Philip looked away. "Well, there will be a new church, but I don't know when. And what am I to do meanwhile? How can the life of the monastery go on? All we're here for is worship and study."

  Philip was deep in despair. This was the moment for Tom to offer him new hope. "My boy and I could have the cloisters cleared and ready for use in a week," he said, making his voice sound more confident than he felt.

  Philip was surprised. "Could you?" Then his expression changed once more, and he looked defeated again. "But what will we use for a church?"

  "What about the crypt? You can hold services there, couldn't you?"

  "Yes--it would do very well."

  "I'm sure the crypt is not badly damaged," Tom said. It was almost true: he was almost sure.

  Philip was looking at him as if he were the angel of mercy.

  "It won't take long to clear a path through the debris from the cloisters to the crypt stairs," Tom went on. "Most of the church on that side has been completely destroyed, which is fortunate, oddly enough, because it means there's no further danger from falling masonry. I'd have to survey the walls that are still standing, and it might be necessary to shore some of them up. Then they should be checked every day for cracks, and even so you ought not to enter the church in a gale." All of this was important, but Tom could see that Philip was not taking it in. What Philip wanted from Tom now was positive news, something to lift his spirits. And the way to get hired was to give him what he wanted. Tom changed his tone. "With some of your younger monks laboring for me, I could fix things up so that you're able to resume normal monastic life, after a fashion, within two weeks."

  Philip was staring at him. "Two weeks?"

  "Give me food and lodging for my family, and you can pay my wages when you have the money."

  "You could give me back my priory in two weeks?" Philip repeated incredulously.

  Tom was not sure he could, but if it took three no one would die of it. "Two weeks," he said firmly. "After that, we can knock down the remaining walls--that's a skilled job, mind you, if it's to be done safely--then clear the rubble, stacking the stones for reuse. Meanwhile we can plan the new cathedral." Tom held his breath. He had done his best. Surely Philip would hire him now!

  Philip nodded, smiling for the first time. "I think God did send you," he said. "Let's have some breakfast, then we can start work."

  Tom breathed a shaky sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said. There was a quaver in his voice that he could not quite control, but suddenly he did not care, and with a barely suppressed sob, he said: "I can't tell you how much it means to me."

  After breakfast Philip held an impromptu chapter in Cuthbert's storeroom beneath the kitchen. The monks were nervously excited. They were men who had chosen, or had reconciled themselves to, a life of security, predictability and tedium, and most of them were badly disoriented. Their bewilderment touched Philip's heart. He felt more than ever like a shepherd, whose job it is to care for foolish and helpless creatures; except that these were not dumb animals, they were his brothers, and he loved them. The way to comfort them, he had decided, was to tell them what was going to happen, use up their nervous energy in hard work, and return to a semblance of normal routine as soon as possible.

  Despite the unusual surroundings, Philip did not abbreviate the ritual of chapter. He ordered the reading of the martyrology for the day, followed by the memorial prayers. This was what monasteries were for: prayer was the justification of their existence. Nevertheless, some of the monks were restive, so he chose Chapter Twenty of Saint Benedict's Rule, the section called "On Reverence at Prayer." The necrology followed. The familiar ritual calmed their nerves, and he noticed that the scared look was slowly leaving the faces around him as the monks realized that their world was not coming to an end after all.

  At the end Philip rose to address them. "The catastrophe that struck us last night is, after all, only physical," he began, putting into his voice as much warmth and reassurance as he could. "Our life is spiritual; our work is prayer, worship and contemplation." He looked all around the room for a moment, catching as many eyes as he could, making sure he had their concentrated attention; then he said: "We will resume that work within a few days, that I promise you."

  He paused to let those words sink in, and the easing of tension in the room was almost tangible. He gave them a moment, then went on. "God in his wisdom sent us a master builder yesterday to help us through this crisis. He has assured me that if we work under his direction we can have the cloisters ready for normal use within a week."

  There was a subdued murmur of pleased surprise.

  "I'm afraid our church will never be used for services again--it will have to be built anew, and that will take many years, of course. However, Tom Builder believes the crypt to be undamaged. The crypt is consecrated, so we can hold services there. Tom says he can make it safe within a week after finishing the cloisters. So, you see, we can resume normal worship in time for Quinquagesima Sunday."

  Once again their relief was audible. Philip saw that he had succeeded in soothing and reassuring them. At the beginning of this chapter they had been frightened and confused; now they were calm and hopeful. Philip added: "Brothers who feel themselves too frail to undertake physical labor will be excused. Brothers who work all day with Tom Builder will be allowed red meat and wine."

  Philip sat down. Remigius was the first to speak. "How much will we have to pay this builder?" he asked suspiciously.

  You could trust Remigius to try to find fault. "Nothing, yet," Philip replied. "Tom knows our poverty. He will work for food and lodging for himself and his family, until we can afford his wages." That wa
s ambiguous, Philip realized: it might mean that Tom would not be entitled to wages until the priory could afford it, whereas the reality was that the priory would owe him wages for every day he worked, starting today. But before Philip could clarify the agreement, Remigius spoke again.

  "And where will they lodge?"

  "I have given them the guesthouse."

  "They could lodge with one of the village families."

  "Tom has made us a generous offer," Philip said impatiently. "We're fortunate to have him. I don't want to make him sleep crowded in with someone's goats and pigs when we have a decent house standing empty."

  "There are two women in that family--"

  "A woman and a girl," Philip corrected him.

  "One woman, then. We don't want a woman living in the priory!"

  The monks muttered restively: they did not like Remigius's quibbling. Philip said: "It's perfectly normal for women to stay in the guesthouse."

  "Not that woman!" Remigius blurted, then he immediately looked as if he regretted it.

  Philip frowned. "Do you know the woman, Brother?"

  "She once inhabited these parts," Remigius said reluctantly.

  Philip was intrigued. It was the second time something of this sort had happened in connection with the builder's wife: Waleran Bigod had also been disturbed by the sight of her. Philip said: "What's wrong with her?"

  Before Remigius could answer, Brother Paul, the old monk who kept the bridge, spoke up. "I remember," he said rather dreamily. "There was a wild forest girl used to live around here--oh, it must be fifteen year ago. That's who she reminds me of--probably it's the same girl, grown up."

  "People said she was a witch," Remigius said. "We can't have a witch living in the priory!"

  "I don't know about that," said Brother Paul in the same slow, meditative voice. "Any woman who lives wild gets called a witch sooner or later. People saying a thing doesn't make it so. I'm content to leave it to Prior Philip to judge, in his wisdom, whether she's a danger."

  "Wisdom doesn't come immediately with the assumption of monastic office," Remigius snapped.

  "Indeed not," said Brother Paul slowly. He looked directly at Remigius and said: "Sometimes it doesn't come at all."