The Pillars of the Earth

by Ken Follett

  They were both breathing hard now. Jack held her head in his hands. She stroked his arms, his back, and then his hips, feeling the taut, bunched muscles. Her heart pounded in her chest. At last she broke the kiss, breathless.

  She looked at him. He was flushed and panting, and his face shone with desire. After a moment he bent forward again, but instead of kissing her mouth, he lifted her chin and kissed the delicate skin of her throat. She heard herself moan with pleasure. He moved his head lower, and brushed his lips over the swell of her breast. Her nipples were swollen under the coarse fabric of the linen nightshirt, and they felt unbearably tender. His lips closed over one nipple. She felt the heat of his breath on her skin. "Gently," she whispered fearfully. He kissed her nipple through the linen, and although he was as gentle as could be, she felt a sensation of pleasure as sharp as if he had bitten her, and she gasped.

  Then he went down on his knees in front of her.

  He pressed his face into her lap. Until this moment all the sensation had been in her breasts, but now, suddenly, she felt the tingling move to her groin. He found the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it to her waist. She watched him, afraid of his reaction: she had always felt ashamed of being so hairy down there. But he was not repelled; in fact he leaned forward and kissed her gently, right there, as if it was the nicest thing in the world.

  She sank down on her knees in front of him. Her breath came in gasps now, as if she had run a mile. She wanted him badly. Her throat was dry with desire. She put her hands on his knees, then slid one hand under his tunic. She had never touched a man's cock. It was hot and dry and hard as a board. Jack closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat as she explored its length with her fingertips. She lifted his tunic, bent down, and kissed it, just as he had kissed her, a gentle brush of the lips. Its end was swollen tight as a drum and wet with some kind of moisture.

  She was suddenly possessed by a desire to show him her breasts. She came upright again. He opened his eyes. Watching him, she quickly pulled her nightshirt over her head and discarded it. Now she was completely naked. She felt sharply self-conscious, but it was a good feeling, delightfully indecent. Jack stared, mesmerized, at her breasts. "They're so beautiful," he said.

  "Do you really think so?" she said. "I always thought they were too big."

  "Too big!" he said as if the suggestion were outrageous. He reached out and touched her left breast with his right hand. He stroked her skin gently with his fingertips. She looked down, watching what he was doing. After a while she wanted him to be firmer. She took both his hands in hers and pressed them to her breasts. "Do it harder," she said hoarsely. "I want to feel you more."

  Her words inflamed him. He squeezed her breasts, then took her nipples in his fingers and pinched them, just hard enough to hurt a little. The sensation drove her wild. All thought went out of her mind and she was completely possessed by the feel of his body and her own. "Take off your clothes," she said. "I want to look at you."

  He pulled off his tunic and his undershirt, his boots and his hose, and knelt in front of her again. His red hair was drying into undisciplined curls. His body was thin and white, with bony shoulders and hips. He looked wiry and agile, young and fresh. His cock stuck up like a tree out of the auburn hair of his groin. Suddenly she wanted to kiss his chest. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his flat male nipples. They puckered, just as hers had. She sucked at them gently, wanting him to have the same pleasure he had given her. He stroked her hair.

  She wanted him inside her, quickly.

  She could see that he was not sure what to do next. "Jack," she said. "Are you a virgin?"

  He nodded, looking a little foolish.

  "I'm glad," she said fervently. "I'm so glad."

  She took his hand and put it between her legs. She was swollen and sensitive there, and his touch was like a shock. "Feel me," she said. He moved his fingers, exploring. "Feel inside," she said. Hesitantly, he pushed a finger inside her. She was slippery with desire. "There," she said with a sigh of satisfaction. "That's where it has to go." She detached his hand and lay back in the straw.

  He lay over her, supporting himself on one elbow, and kissed her mouth. She felt him enter her a little way, then stop. "What is it?" she said.

  "It feels too small," he said. "I'm afraid of hurting you."

  "Push harder," she said. "I want you so much I don't care if it hurts."

  She felt him push. It did hurt, more than she had expected, but only for a moment, and then she felt wonderfully filled. She looked at him. He withdrew a little and pushed again, and she pushed back. She smiled at him. "I never knew it was so nice," she said wonderingly. He closed his eyes, as if the happiness was too much to bear.

  He began to move rhythmically. The constant strokes set up a pulse of pleasure somewhere in her groin. She heard herself give little gasps of excitement every time their bodies came together. He lowered himself so that his chest was touching her nipples and she could feel his hot breath. She dug her fingers into his hard back. Her regular gasps turned into cries. Suddenly she needed to kiss him. She buried her hands in his curls and pulled his head to hers. She kissed his lips hard, then thrust her tongue into his mouth and moved faster and faster. Having his cock in her cunt and her tongue in his mouth drove her out of her mind with pleasure. She felt a great spasm of joy shake her, so violent that it was like falling off a horse and hitting the ground. It made her cry out loud. She opened her eyes and looked into his eyes and said his name, and then another wave took her, and another; and then she felt his body convulse, and he cried out too, and she felt a hot jet spurt inside her, and that inflamed her even more, so that she shook with pleasure again and again, so many times that she lost count, until at last the feeling began to fade, and gradually she went limp and still.

  She was too exhausted to speak or move, but she could feel Jack's weight slumped on top of her, his bony hips on hers, his flat chest squashing her soft breasts, his mouth close to her ear, his fingers entwined in her hair. A part of her mind thought vaguely: That's what it's supposed to be like, between men and women; that's why everyone makes so much fuss about it; that's why husbands and wives love one another so much.

  Jack's breathing became light and regular, and his body relaxed until it was completely limp. He was asleep.

  She turned her head and kissed his face. He was not too heavy. She wanted him to stay there, asleep on top of her, forever.

  That thought made her remember.

  Today was her wedding day.

  Dear God, she thought, what have I done?

  She began to cry.

  After a moment, Jack woke up.

  He kissed the tears on her cheeks with unbearable tenderness.

  She said: "Oh, Jack, I want to marry you."

  "Then that's what we'll do," he said in a voice of profound satisfaction.

  He had misunderstood her, and that made it even worse. "But we can't," she said, and her tears flowed faster.

  "But after this--"

  "I know--"

  "After this, you must marry me!"

  "We can't marry," she said. "I've lost all my money, and you've got nothing."

  He raised himself on his elbows. "I've got my hands," he said fiercely. "I'm the best stone carver for miles around."

  "You were dismissed--"

  "It makes no difference. I could get work on any building site in the world."

  She shook her head miserably. "It's not enough. I have to think about Richard."

  "Why?" he said indignantly. "What has all this got to do with Richard? He can take care of himself."

  Suddenly Jack looked boyish, and Aliena felt the difference in their ages: he was five years younger than she, and he still thought he had a right to be happy. She said: "I swore an oath to my father, when he was dying, that I would look after Richard until he becomes earl of Shiring."

  "But that could be never!"

  "But an oath is an oath."

  Jack looked nonpl
ussed. He rolled off her. His soft penis slipped out of her and she experienced a sense of loss like a pain. I will never feel him inside me again, she thought sorrowfully.

  He said: "You can't mean this. An oath is just words! It's nothing by comparison with this. This is real, this is you and me." He looked at her breasts, then he reached out and stroked the curly hair between her legs. It was so poignant that she felt his touch like a whiplash. He saw her wince, and stopped.

  For a moment she was on the edge of saying Yes, all right, let's run away together now, and perhaps if he had carried on stroking her like that she would have; but reason returned, and she said: "I'm going to marry Alfred."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "It's the only way."

  He stared at her. "I just don't believe you," he said.

  "It's true."

  "I can't give you up. I can't, I can't." His voice cracked, and he stifled a sob.

  She tried reason, arguing with herself as much as with him. "What's the point of breaking my vow to my father, in order to make a marriage vow to you? If I break the first vow, the second is worthless."

  "I don't care. I don't want your vows. I just want us to be together all the time and make love whenever we feel like it."

  It was an eighteen-year-old view of marriage, she thought, but she did not say so. She would have accepted it gladly if she had been free. "I can't do what I want," she said sadly. "It's not my destiny."

  "What you're doing is wrong," he said. "I mean evil. To give up happiness like this is like throwing jewels into the ocean. It's far worse than any sin."

  She was unexpectedly struck by the thought that her mother would have agreed with that. She was not sure how she knew. She dismissed the idea. "I could never be happy, even with you, if I had to live with the knowledge that I had broken my promise to my father."

  "You care more for your father and your brother than you do for me," he said, sounding faintly petulant for the first time.

  "No .. "

  "What, then?"

  He was just being argumentative, but she considered the question seriously. "I suppose it means that my oath to my father is more important to me than my love for you."

  "Is it?" he said incredulously. "Is it really?"

  "Yes, it is," she said with a heavy heart, and her words sounded to her like a funeral bell.

  "Then there's nothing more to be said."

  "Only ... that I'm sorry."

  He got to his feet. He turned his back to her and picked up his undershirt. She looked at his long, slender body. There was a lot of curly red-gold hair on his legs. He put on his shirt and tunic quickly, then pulled up his socks and stepped into his boots. It all happened much too quickly.

  "You're going to be fearfully unhappy," he said.

  He was trying to be nasty to her, but the attempt was a failure, for she could hear compassion in his voice.

  "Yes, I am," she said. "Would you at least ... at least say you respect me for my decision?"

  "No," he said without hesitation. "I don't. I despise you for it."

  She sat there naked, looking at him, and she began to weep.

  "I might as well go," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word.

  "Yes, go," she sobbed.

  He went to the door.

  "Jack!"

  He turned at the door.

  She said: "Wish me luck, Jack?"

  He lifted the bar. "Good--" He stopped, unable to speak. He looked down at the floor, then up at her again. This time his voice came out in a whisper. "Good luck," he said.

  Then he went out.

  The house that had been Tom's house was now Ellen's, but it was also Alfred's home, so this morning it was full of people preparing a wedding feast, organized by Martha, Alfred's thirteen-year-old sister, with Jack's mother looking on disconsolately. Alfred was there with a towel in his hand, about to go down to the river--women bathed once a month, and men at Easter and Michaelmas, but it was traditional to bathe on your wedding morning. The place went quiet when Jack walked in.

  Alfred said: "What do you want?"

  "I want you to call off the wedding," Jack replied.

  "Piss off," Alfred said.

  Jack realized he had started badly. He should try not to make a confrontation out of this. What he was proposing was in Alfred's interest, too, if only he could be made to see it. "Alfred, she doesn't love you," he said as gently as he could.

  "You don't know anything about it, laddie."

  "I do," Jack persisted. "She doesn't love you. She's marrying you for Richard's sake. He's the only one who will be made happy by this marriage."

  "Go back to the monastery," Alfred said contemptuously. "Where's your habit, anyway?"

  Jack took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it but to tell him the real truth. "Alfred. She loves me."

  He expected Alfred to be enraged, but instead the shadow of a sly grin appeared on Alfred's face. Jack was nonplussed. What did it mean? Gradually the explanation dawned on him. "You know that already," he said unbelievingly. "You know she loves me, and you don't care! You want her anyway, whether she loves you or not. You just want to have her."

  Alfred's furtive smile became more visible and more malicious, and Jack knew that everything he was saying was true; but there was something else, something more to be read in Alfred's face. An incredible suspicion arose in Jack's mind. "Why do you want her?" he said. "Is it ... Could it be that you only want to marry her to take her away from me?" His voice rose in anger. "That you're marrying her out of spite?" A look of cunning triumph spread across Alfred's stupid face, and Jack knew that he was right again. He was devastated. The idea that Alfred was doing all this not out of an understandable lust for Aliena but out of pure malice was too much to bear. "Damn you, you'd better treat her right!" he yelled.

  Alfred laughed.

  The ultimate malignity of Alfred's purpose struck Jack like a blow. Alfred was not going to treat her well. That would be his final revenge on Jack. Alfred was going to marry Aliena and make her miserable. "You filth," Jack said bitterly. "You slime. You shit. You ugly, stupid, evil, loathsome slug."

  His contempt finally got to Alfred, who dropped his towel and came at Jack with his hand balled into a fist. Jack was ready for him, and stepped forward to hit him first. Then Jack's mother was between them, and despite being smaller than either of them she stopped them with a word.

  "Alfred. Go and bathe."

  Alfred calmed down quickly. He realized he had won the day without needing to fight Jack, and his thoughts revealed themselves in a smug look. He left the house.

  Mother said: "What are you going to do, Jack?"

  Jack found that he was shaking with rage. He breathed in and out several times before he could speak. He could not stop the wedding, he realized. But he could not watch it either. "I have to leave Kingsbridge."

  He saw sorrow cross her face, but she nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that. But I think you're right."

  A bell began to ring in the priory. Jack said: "Any moment now they'll discover that I've escaped."

  She lowered her voice. "Go quickly, but hide down by the river, within sight of the bridge. I'll bring you some things."

  "All right." He turned away.

  Martha stood between him and the door with tears pouring down her face. He hugged her. She squeezed him hard. Her girlish body was flat and bony, like a boy's. "Come back one day," she said fiercely.

  He kissed her once, quickly, and went out.

  There were plenty of people about now, fetching water and enjoying the mild autumn morning. Most people knew he had become a novice monk--the town was still small enough for everyone to know everyone else's business--and his layman's clothing drew surprised looks, although nobody actually questioned him. He went quickly down the hill, crossed the bridge, and walked along the bank of the river until he came to a clump of reeds. He crouched down beside the reeds and watched the bridge, waiting for his mother.

  H
e had no idea where he was going to go. Perhaps he would walk in a straight line until he came to a town where they were building a cathedral, and stop there. He had meant what he said to Aliena about finding work: he knew he was good enough to be employed anywhere. Even if the site had a full complement, he would only have to show the master builder how he could carve, and he would get taken on. But there seemed no point to it anymore. He would never love another woman after Aliena, and he felt much the same about Kingsbridge Cathedral. He wanted to build here, not just anywhere.

  Perhaps he would just walk into the forest and lie down and die. That seemed to him a nice idea. It was mild weather, the trees were green-and-gold; he could make a peaceful end. His only regret would be that he had not found out more about his father before he died.

  He was picturing himself lying on a bed of autumn leaves and passing gently into death, when he saw Mother cross the bridge. She was leading a horse.

  He got to his feet and ran to her. The horse was the chestnut mare she always rode. "I want you to take my mare," she said.

  He took her hand and squeezed it by way of thanks.

  Tears came to her eyes. "I never did look after you very well," she said. "First I brought you up wild, in the forest. Then I let you nearly starve with Tom. Then I made you live with Alfred."

  "You looked after me fine, Mother," he said. "I made love to Aliena this morning. Now I can die happy."

  "You foolish boy," she said. "You're just like me. If you can't have the lover you want, you won't have anyone else."

  "Is that how you are?" he said.

  She nodded. "After your father died, I lived alone rather than take second best. I never wanted another man until I saw Tom. That was eleven years later." She detached her hand from his. "I'm telling you this for a reason. It may take eleven years, but you will love someone else one day; I promise you."

  He shook his head. "It doesn't seem possible."

  "I know." She looked nervously back over her shoulder at the town. "You'd better go."

  He walked over to the horse. It was loaded with two bulging saddlebags. "What's in the bags?" he asked.

  "Some food and money, and a full wineskin, in this one," she replied. "The other contains Tom's tools."

  Jack was moved. Mother had insisted on keeping Tom's tools after he died, as a memento. Now she was passing them on to him. He hugged her. "Thank you," he said.