by Ken Follett
Shortly after he made this discovery the small shutter opened. Jack sprang to his feet. A bowl and a crust of bread were placed on the sill. Jack could not see the face of the man who put them there. "Who's that?" he said.
"I am not permitted to converse with you," the man said in a monotone. However, Jack recognized the voice: it was an old monk called Luke.
"Luke, have they said how long I have to stay in here?" Jack cried.
He repeated the formula: "I am not permitted to converse with you."
"Please, Luke, tell me if you know!" Jack pleaded, not caring how pathetic he might sound.
Luke replied in a whisper. "Pierre said a week, but Philip made it two days." The shutter slammed.
"Two days!" Jack said desperately. "But she'll be married by then!"
There was no reply.
Jack stood still, staring at nothing. The light coming through the slit had been strong by comparison with the near-dark inside, and he could not see for a few moments, until his sight readjusted to the gloom; then his eyes filled with new tears, and he was blind again.
He lay down on the floor. There was nothing more to be done. He was locked in here until Monday, and by Monday Aliena would be Alfred's wife, waking up in Alfred's bed, with Alfred's seed inside her. The thought nauseated him.
Soon it was pitch-black. He fumbled his way to the sill and drank from the bowl. It contained plain water. He took a small piece of bread and put it in his mouth, but he was not hungry and he could hardly swallow it. He drank the rest of the water and lay down again.
He did not sleep, but he went into a kind of doze, almost like a trance, in which he relived, as in a dream or a vision, the Sunday afternoons he had spent with Aliena last summer, when he had told her the story of the squire who loved the princess, and went in search of the vine that bore jewels.
The midnight bell brought him out of the doze. He was used to the monastic timetable now, and he felt wide awake at midnight, though he often needed to sleep in the afternoons, especially if there had been meat for dinner. The monks would be getting out of their beds and forming up in lines for the procession from dormitory to church. They were immediately above Jack, but he could hear nothing: the cell was soundproof. It seemed very soon afterward that the bell rang again for lauds, which took place an hour after midnight. Time was passing quickly, too quickly, for tomorrow Aliena would be married.
In the small hours, despite his misery, he fell asleep.
He came awake with a start. There was someone in the cell with him.
He was terrified.
The cell was pitch-black. The sound of water seemed louder. "Who is it?" he said in a trembling voice.
"It's me--don't be afraid."
"Mother!" He almost fainted with relief. "How did you know I was in here?"
"Old Joseph came to tell me what had happened," she replied in a normal voice.
"Quiet! The monks will hear you."
"No, they won't. You can sing and shout in here without being heard above. I know--I've done it."
His head was so full of questions that he did not know which to ask first. "How did you get in here? Is the door open?" He moved toward her, holding his hands out in front of him. "Oh--you're wet!"
"The water channel runs right under here. There's a loose stone in the floor."
"How did you know that?"
"Your father spent ten months in this cell," she said, and in her voice there was the bitterness of years.
"My father? This cell? Ten months?"
"That's when he taught me all those stories."
"But why was he in here?"
"We never found out," she said resentfully. "He was kidnapped, or arrested--he never knew which--in Normandy, and he was brought here. He didn't speak English or Latin and he had no idea where he was. He worked in the stables for a year or so--that's how I met him." Her voice softened with nostalgia. "I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. He was so gentle, and he looked so frightened and unhappy, yet he sang like a bird. Nobody had spoken to him for months. He was so pleased when I said a few words in French, I think he fell in love with me just for that." Anger made her voice hard again. "After a while they put him in this cell. That's when I discovered how to get in here."
It occurred to Jack that he must have been conceived right here on the cold stone floor. The thought embarrassed him and he was glad it was too dark for him and his mother to see each other. He said: "But my father must have done something to be arrested like that."
"He couldn't think of anything. And in the end they invented a crime. Someone gave him a jeweled cup and told him he could go. A mile or two away he was arrested, and accused of stealing the cup. They hanged him for it." She was crying.
"Who did all this?"
"The sheriff of Shiring, the prior of Kingsbridge . . . it doesn't matter who."
"What about my father's family? He must have had parents, brothers and sisters...."
"Yes, he had a big family, back in France."
"Why didn't he escape, and go back there?"
"He tried, once; and they caught him and brought him back. That was when they put him in the cell. He could have tried again, of course, once we had found out how to get out of here. But he didn't know the way home, he couldn't speak a word of English, and he was penniless. His chances were slim. He should have done it anyway, we know now; but at the time we never thought they'd hang him."
Jack put his arms around her, to comfort her. She was soaking wet and shivering. She needed to get out of here and get dry. He realized, with a shock, that if she could get out, so could he. For a few moments he had almost forgotten about Aliena, as his mother talked about his father; but now he realized that his wish had been granted--he could speak to Aliena before her wedding. "Show me the way out," he said abruptly.
She sniffed and swallowed her tears. "Hold my arm and I'll lead you."
They moved across the cell and then he felt her go down. "Just lower yourself into the channel," she said. "Take a deep breath and put your head under. Then crawl against the flow. Don't go with the flow, or you'll end up in the monks' latrine. You'll get short of breath when you're almost there, but just keep calm and crawl on, and you'll make it." She went lower still, and he lost contact.
He found the hole and eased himself down. His feet touched the water almost immediately. When he stood on the bottom of the channel his shoulders were still in the cell. Before lowering himself farther, he found the stone and replaced it in position, thinking mischievously that the monks would be mystified when they found the cell empty.
The water was cold. He took a deep breath, went down on his hands and knees, and crawled against the flow. He went as fast as he could. As he crawled, he pictured the buildings above him. He was going beneath the passageway, then the refectory, the kitchen and the bakehouse. It was not far, but it seemed to take forever. He tried to surface but banged his head on the roof of the tunnel. He felt panicky, and remembered what his mother had said. He was almost there. A few moments later he saw light ahead of him. Dawn must have broken while they were talking in the cell. He crawled until the light was above him, then he stood upright and gasped the fresh air gratefully. When he had got his breath back he climbed out of the ditch.
His mother had changed her clothes. She was wearing a clean, dry dress, and wringing out the wet one. She had brought dry clothes for him too. There in a neat pile on the bank were the garments he had not worn for half a year: a linen shirt, a green wool tunic, gray hose and leather boots. Mother turned her back and Jack threw off the heavy monastic robe, stepped out of the sandals, and quickly dressed in his own clothes.
He threw the monk's habit into the ditch. He was never going to wear it again.
"What will you do now?" Mother asked.
"Go to Aliena."
"Right away? It's early."
"I can't wait."
She nodded. "Be gentle. She's bruised."
Jack stooped to kiss her, then impulsi
vely threw his arms around her and hugged her. "You got me out of a prison," he said, and he laughed. "What a mother!"
She smiled, but her eyes were moist.
He gave her a farewell squeeze and walked away.
Even though it was now full light, there was nobody about because it was Sunday, and people did not have to work, so they took the opportunity to sleep past sunrise. Jack was not sure whether he should be afraid of being seen. Did Prior Philip have the right to come after a runaway novice and force him to return? Even if he had that right, would he want to? Jack did not know. However, Philip was the law in Kingsbridge, and Jack had defied him, so there was bound to be trouble of some kind. However, Jack was looking no farther ahead than the next few moments.
He reached Aliena's little house. It occurred to him that Richard might be there. He hoped not. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He went up to the door and tapped on it gently.
He cocked his head and listened. Nothing moved inside. He tapped again, harder, and this time he was rewarded by the sound of rustling straw as someone moved. "Aliena!" he said in a loud whisper.
He heard her come to the door. A frightened voice said: "Yes?"
"Open the door!"
"Who is it?"
"It's Jack."
"Jack!"
There was a pause. Jack waited.
Aliena closed her eyes in despair and slumped forward, leaning against the door with her cheek on the rough woodwork. Not Jack, she thought; not today, not now.
His voice came again, a low, urgent whisper. "Aliena, please, open the door, quickly! If they catch me they'll put me back in the cell!"
She had heard that he had been locked up--it was all over town. Obviously he had escaped. And he had come straight to her. Her heart quickened. She could not turn him away.
She lifted the bar and opened the door.
His red hair was plastered wetly to his head, as if he had bathed. He was wearing ordinary clothes, not his monk's habit. He smiled at her, as if seeing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then he frowned, and said: "You've been crying."
"Why have you come here?" she said.
"I had to see you."
"I'm getting married today."
"I know. Can I come in?"
It would be wrong to let him in, she knew; but then it occurred to her that tomorrow she would be Alfred's wife, so this might be the last time she would ever talk to Jack alone. She thought: I don't care if it is wrong. She opened the door wider. Jack stepped in, and she closed it again and replaced the bar.
They stood facing one another. Now she felt embarrassed. He stared at her with desperate longing, as a man dying of thirst might gaze at a waterfall. "Don't look at me like that," she said, and she turned away.
"Don't marry him," Jack said.
"I must."
"You'll be miserable."
"I'm miserable now."
"Look at me, please?"
She turned to face him and raised her eyes.
"Please tell me why you're doing this," he said.
"Why should I?"
"Because of the way you kissed me in the old mill."
She dropped her gaze and felt herself blush hotly. She had let herself down that day and had been ashamed of herself ever since. Now he was using it against her. She said nothing. She had no defense.
He said: "After that, you turned cold."
She kept her gaze lowered.
"We were such friends," he went on remorselessly. "All that summer, in your glade, by the waterfall ... my stories ... we were so happy. I kissed you there, once. Do you remember?"
She did remember, of course, although she had been pretending to herself that it never happened. Now the memory melted her heart, and she looked at him with tearful eyes.
"Then I made the mill do your felting," he said. "I was so pleased that I could help you in your business. You were thrilled when you saw it. Then we kissed again, but that wasn't a little kiss, like the first one. This time it was ... passionate." Oh, God, yes, it was, she thought, and she blushed again, and began to breathe fast; and wished he would stop, but he would not. "We held each other very tight. We kissed for a long time. You opened your mouth--"
"Stop!" she cried.
"Why?" he said brutally. "What's wrong with it? Why did you turn cold?"
"Because I'm frightened!" she said without thinking, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. A moment later she felt his hands on her heaving shoulders. She did nothing, and after a while he gently enfolded her in his arms. She took her hands from her face and cried on his green tunic.
After a while she put her arms around his waist.
He laid his cheek on her hair--her ugly, short, shapeless hair, not yet grown back after the fire--and stroked her back as if she were a baby. She wanted to stay like that forever. But he pulled away from her so that he could look at her, and he said: "Why does it make you frightened?"
She knew, but she could not tell him. She shook her head and took a step back; but he held her wrists, keeping her near.
"Listen, Aliena," he said. "I want you to know how terrible this has been for me. You seemed to love me, then you seemed to hate me, and now you're going to marry my stepbrother. I don't understand. I don't know anything about these things, I've never been in love before. It's all so hurtful. I can't find words for how bad it is. Don't you think you should at least try to explain to me why I have to go through this?"
She felt full of remorse. To think that she had hurt him so badly when she loved him so much. She was ashamed of the way she had treated him. He had done nothing but kind things to her and she had ruined his life. He was entitled to an explanation. She steeled herself. "Jack, something happened to me a long time ago, something truly awful, something I've made myself forget for years. I wanted never to think of it again, but when you kissed me like that it all came back to me, and I couldn't stand it."
"What was it? What was the thing that happened?"
"After my father was imprisoned, we lived in the castle, Richard and I and a servant called Matthew; and one night William Hamleigh came and threw us out."
He narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"They killed poor Matthew."
He knew she was not telling him the whole truth. "Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why did they kill your servant?"
"Because he was trying to stop them." Tears were streaming down her face now, and her throat felt constricted every time she tried to speak, as if the words were choking her. She shook her head helplessly, and tried to turn away, but Jack would not let her go.
In a voice as gentle as a kiss he said: "Stop them from doing what?"
Suddenly she knew she could tell him, and it all came out in a rush. "They forced me," she said. "The groom held me down, and William got on top of me, but still I wouldn't let him, and then they cut off a piece of Richard's ear, and they said they would cut him more." She was sobbing with relief now, grateful beyond expression that at last she could say it. She looked into Jack's eyes and said: "So I opened my legs, and William did it to me, while the groom forced Richard to watch."
"I'm so sorry," Jack whispered. "I heard rumors, but I never thought ... Dear Aliena, how could they?"
She had to tell him everything. "Then, when William had done it to me, the groom did it too."
Jack closed his eyes. His face was white and taut.
Aliena said: "And then, you see, when you and I kissed, I wanted you to do it, and that made me think of William and his groom; and I felt so horrible, and frightened, and I ran away. That's why I was so mean to you, and made you miserable. I'm sorry."
"I forgive you," he whispered. He drew her to him, and she let him put his arms around her again. It was so comforting.
She felt him shudder. Anxiously she said: "Do I disgust you?"
He looked at her. "I adore you," he said. He bent his head and kissed her mouth.
She
froze. This was not what she wanted. He pulled away a little, then kissed her again. The touch of his lips on hers was very soft. Feeling grateful, and friendly toward him, she pursed her lips, just a little, then relaxed them again, in a faint echo of his kiss. Encouraged, he moved his lips against hers again. She could feel his breath warm on her face. He opened his mouth a fraction. She pulled away quickly.
He looked hurt. "Is it that bad?"
In truth, she was no longer as frightened as she had been. She had told him the horrible truth about herself and he had not recoiled in disgust; in fact, he was as tender and kind as ever. She tilted her head and he kissed her again. This was not scary. There was nothing threatening, nothing violently uncontrollable, no force or hatred or dominance; just the reverse. This kiss was a shared pleasure.
His lips parted and she felt the tip of his tongue. She went taut. He teased her lips apart. She relaxed again. He sucked gently at her lower lip. She felt a little dizzy.
He said: "Would you do what you did last time?"
"What did I do?"
"I'll show you. Open your mouth, just a little."
She did as he said, and she felt his tongue again, touching her lips, passing between her parted teeth, and probing into her mouth until he found her own tongue. She pulled away.
"There," he said. "That's what you did."
"Did I?" She was shocked.
"Yes." He smiled, then suddenly he looked solemn. "If you would only do it again, that would make up for all the sorrow of the last nine months."
She tilted her face again and closed her eyes. After a moment she felt his mouth on hers. She opened her lips, hesitated, then nervously pushed her tongue into his mouth. As she did so she remembered how she had felt the last time she did it, in the old mill, and that ecstatic sensation came back. She was filled with the need to hold him, to touch his skin and his hair, to feel his muscles and his bones, to be inside him and have him inside her. Her tongue met his, and instead of feeling embarrassed and faintly repelled, she was thrilled to be doing something so intimate as touching his tongue with her own.