The Pillars of the Earth (94 page)

The sun was edging over the east wall of the priory close. Everything was in order on the site. The stall holders who had spent the night with their goods were beginning to fold away their bedding and put out their wares. The first customers would be here soon. A baker walked past Jack carrying a tray of new loaves on her head. The smell of hot fresh bread made Jack’s mouth water. He turned and went back to the monastery, heading for the refectory, where they would soon be serving breakfast.

The first customers were the families of the stall holders and the townspeople, all curious to look at the first Kingsbridge Fleece Fair, none very interested in buying. Thrifty people had filled their bellies with horsebread and porridge before leaving home, so that they would not be tempted by the highly spiced and garishly colored confections on the food stalls. The children wandered around wide-eyed, dazzled by the display of desirable things. An optimistic early-rising whore with red lips and red boots sauntered along, smiling hopefully at middle-aged men, but there were no takers at this hour.

Aliena watched it all from her stall, which was one of the biggest. In the last few weeks she had taken delivery of Kingsbridge Priory’s entire output of fleece for the year; the wool for which she had paid a hundred and seven pounds last summer. She had also been buying from farmers, as she always did; and this year there had been more sellers than usual, because William Hamleigh had forbidden his tenants to sell at the Kingsbridge fair, so they had all sold to merchants. And of all the merchants, Aliena had got the most business, because she was based at Kingsbridge where the fair was to be held. She had done so well that she had run out of money for buying, and had borrowed forty pounds from Malachi to keep her going. Now, in the warehouse that formed the rear half of her stall, she had a hundred and sixty sacks of raw wool, the product of forty thousand sheep, and it had cost her more than two hundred pounds, but she would sell it for three hundred, which was enough money to pay the wages of a skilled mason for over a century. The sheer scale of her own business amazed her whenever she thought of the numbers.

She did not expect to see her buyers until midday. There would be only five or six of them. They would all know each other, and she would know most of them from previous years. She would give each one a cup of wine, and sit and talk for a while. Then she would show him her wool. He would ask her to open a sack or two—never the top one on the pile, of course. He would plunge his hand deep into the sack and bring out a handful of wool. He would tease out the strands to determine their length, rub them between finger and thumb to test their softness, and sniff them. Finally he would offer to buy her entire stock at a ridiculously low price, and Aliena would refuse him. She would tell him her asking price, and he would shake his head. They would take another glass of wine.

Aliena would go through the same ritual with another buyer. She would give dinner to as many of them as were there at midday. Someone would offer to take a large quantity of wool at a price not much above what Aliena had paid for it. She would counter by dropping her asking price a shade. In the early afternoon she would begin closing deals. Her first deal would be at a lowish price. The other merchants would demand that she deal with them at the same price, but she would refuse. Her price would go up during the course of the afternoon. If it went up too fast, business would be slow, while the merchants calculated how soon they could fill their quotas elsewhere. If she was asking less than they were willing to pay, she would know by the relative haste with which they reached agreement. She would close deals one by one, and their servants would begin loading the huge sacks of wool onto the ox wagons with their enormous wooden wheels, while Aliena weighed the pound bags of silver pennies and guilders.

There was no doubt that today she would rake in more money than ever before. She had twice as much to sell, and wool prices were up. She planned to buy Philip’s output a year in advance again, and she had a secret scheme to build herself a stone house, with spacious cellars for storage of wool, an elegant and comfortable hall, and a pretty upstairs bedroom just for herself. Her future was secure, and she was confident of being able to support Richard as long as he needed her. Everything was perfect.

That was why it was so strange that she was completely and utterly miserable.

It was four years, almost to the day, since Ellen had returned to Kingsbridge, and they had been the best four years of Tom’s life.

The pain of Agnes’s death had dulled to an ache. It was still with him, but he no longer got that embarrassing feeling that he was about to burst into tears every now and again for no apparent reason. He still held imaginary conversations with her, in which he told her about the children, and Prior Philip, and the cathedral; but the conversations were less frequent. The bittersweet memory of her had not blighted his love for Ellen. He was able to live in the present. Seeing Ellen and touching her, talking to her and sleeping with her were daily joys.

He had been deeply wounded, on the day of the fight between Jack and Alfred, by Jack’s saying that Tom had never looked after him; and that accusation had overshadowed even the appalling revelation that Jack had set fire to the old cathedral. He had agonized over it for several weeks, but in the end he had decided that Jack was wrong. Tom had done his best, and no man could do any more. Having reached that conclusion he had stopped worrying.

Building Kingsbridge Cathedral was the most profoundly satisfying work he had ever done. He was responsible for the design and the execution. No one interfered with him, and there was no one else to blame if things went wrong. As the mighty walls rose, with their rhythmic arches, their graceful moldings, and their individual carvings, he could look around and think: I did all this, and I did it well.

His nightmare, that one day he would again find himself on the road with no work, no money and no way of feeding his children, seemed very far away, now that there was a stout money chest full to bursting with silver pennies buried under the straw in his kitchen. He still shuddered when he remembered that cold, cold night when Agnes had given birth to Jonathan and died; but he felt sure nothing that bad would ever happen again.

He sometimes wondered why Ellen and he had not had children. They had both been proved fertile in the past, and there was no shortage of opportunities for her to get pregnant—they still made love almost every night, even after four years. However, it was not a cause of deep regret to him. Little Jonathan was the apple of his eye.

He knew, from past experience, that the best way to enjoy a fair was with a small child, so he sought Jonathan out around midmorning, when the crowds began to arrive. Jonathan was almost an attraction in his own right, dressed as he was in his miniature habit. He had lately conceived a desire to have his head shaved, and Philip had indulged him—Philip was as fond of the child as Tom was—with the result that he looked more than ever like a tiny little monk. There were several real midgets in the crowd, performing tricks and begging, and they fascinated Jonathan. Tom had to hurry him away from one who drew a crowd by exposing his full-size penis. There were jugglers, acrobats and musicians performing and passing a hat round; soothsayers and surgeons and whores touting for business; trials of strength, wrestling contests and games of chance. People were wearing their most colorful clothes, and those who could afford it had doused themselves with scent and oiled their hair. Everyone seemed to have money to spend, and the air was full of the jingle of silver.

The bearbaiting was about to begin. Jonathan had never seen a bear, and he was fascinated. The animal’s grayish-brown coat was scarred in several places, indicating that it had survived at least one previous contest. A heavy chain around its waist was fixed to a stake driven deep into the ground, and it was padding around on all fours at the limit of the chain, glaring angrily at the waiting crowd. Tom fancied he saw a cunning light in the beast’s eye. Had he been a gambling man, he might have bet on the bear.

The sound of frantic barking came from a locked chest to one side. The dogs were in there, and they could smell their enemy. Every now and again the bear would stop his pacing, look at the box, and growl; and the barking would rise to hysteria pitch.

The owner of the animals, the bearward, was taking bets. Jonathan became impatient, and Tom was about to move on when at last the bearward unlocked the box. The bear stood upright at the limit of its chain and snarled. The bearward shouted something and threw the chest open.

Five greyhounds sprang out. They were light and fast-moving, and their gaping mouths showed sharp little teeth. They all went straight for the bear. The bear lashed out at them with its massive paws. It struck one dog and sent it flying; then the others backed off.

The crowd pushed closer. Tom checked on Jonathan: he was at the front, but still well out of the bear’s reach. The bear was clever enough to draw back to the stake, letting its chain go loose, so that when it lunged it would not be brought up short. But the dogs were smart, too. After their initial scattered attack they regrouped and then spread out in a circle. The bear swung around in an agitated fashion, trying to see all ways at once.

One of the dogs rushed at it, yapping fiercely. The bear came to meet it and lashed out. The dog quickly retreated, staying out of reach; and the other four rushed in from all sides. The bear swung around, swiping at them. The crowd cheered as three of them sank their teeth into the flesh of its haunches. It rose on its hind legs with a roar of pain, shaking them off, and they scrambled out of reach.

The dogs tried the same tactic once more. Tom thought the bear was going to fall for it again. The first dog darted within its reach, the bear went for it, and the dog backed off; but when the other dogs rushed the bear it was ready for them, and it turned quickly, lunged at the nearest, and swiped the dog’s side with its paw. The crowd cheered as much for the bear as they had for the dogs. The bear’s sharp claws ripped the dog’s silky skin and left three deep bloody tracks. The dog yelped pitifully and retired from the fight to lick its wounds. The crowd jeered and booed.

The remaining four dogs circled the bear warily, making the occasional rush but turning back well before the danger point. Someone started a slow handclap. Then a dog made a frontal attack. It rushed in like a streak of lightning, slipped under the bear’s swipe, and leaped for its throat. The crowd went wild. The dog sank its pointed white teeth into the bear’s massive neck. The other dogs attacked. The bear reared up, pawing at the dog at its throat, then went down and rolled. For a moment Tom could not tell what was happening: there was just a flurry of fur. Then three dogs jumped clear, and the bear righted itself and stood on all fours, leaving one dog on the ground, crushed to death.

The crowd became tense. The bear had eliminated two dogs, leaving three; but it was bleeding from its back, neck and hind legs, and it looked frightened. The air was full of the smell of blood and the sweat of the crowd. The dogs had stopped yapping, and were circling the bear silently. They too looked scared, but they had the taste of blood in their mouths and they wanted a kill.

Their attack began the same way: one of them rushed in and rushed out again. The bear swiped at it halfheartedly and swung around to meet the second dog. But now this one, too, cut short its rush and retreated out of reach; and then the third dog did the same. The dogs darted in and out, one at a time, keeping the bear constantly shifting and turning. With each rush they got a little closer, and the bear’s claws came a little nearer to catching them. The spectators could see what was happening, and the excitement in the crowd grew. Jonathan was still at the front, just a few steps from Tom, looking awestruck and a little frightened. Tom looked back at the fight just in time to see the bear’s claws brush one dog while another dashed between the great beast’s hind legs and savaged its soft belly. The bear made a sound like a scream. The dog dashed out from under it and escaped. Another dog rushed the bear. The bear slashed at it, missing by inches; and then the same dog went for its underbelly again. This time when the dog escaped it left the bear with a huge bleeding gash in its abdomen. The bear reared up and went down on all fours again. For a moment Tom thought it was finished, but he was wrong: the bear still had some fight left in it. When the next dog rushed in, the bear made a token swipe at it, turned its head, saw the second dog coming, turned surprisingly fast and hit it with a mighty blow that sent it flying through the air. The crowd roared with delight. The dog landed like a bag of meat. Tom watched it for a moment. It was alive, but it seemed unable to move. Perhaps its back was broken. The bear ignored it, for it was out of reach and out of action.

Now there were only two dogs left. They both darted in and out of the bear’s reach several times, until its lunges at them became perfunctory; then they began to circle it, moving faster and faster. The bear turned this way and that, trying to keep them both in sight. Exhausted and bleeding copiously, it could hardly stay upright. The dogs went around in ever-decreasing circles. The earth beneath the bear’s mighty paws had been turned to mud by all the blood. One way or another, the end was in sight. Finally the two dogs attacked at once. One went for the throat and the other for the belly. With a last desperate swipe, the bear slashed the dog at its throat. There was a grisly fountain of blood. The crowd yelled their approval. At first Tom thought the dog had killed the bear, but it was the other way around: the blood came from the dog, which now fell to the ground with its throat slashed open. Its blood pumped out for a moment longer, then stopped. It was dead. But in the meantime the last dog had ripped open the bear’s belly, and now its guts were falling out. The bear swiped feebly at the dog. The dog easily evaded the blow and struck again, savaging the bear’s intestines. The bear swayed and seemed about to fall. The roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo. The bear’s ripped guts gave out a revolting stench. It gathered its strength and struck at the dog again. The blow connected, and the dog jumped sideways, with blood oozing from a slash along its back; but the wound was superficial and the dog knew the bear was finished, so it went right back on the attack, biting at the bear’s guts until, at last, the great animal closed its eyes and slumped to the ground, dead.