“The town is on fire!” Tom said.
Suddenly everyone wanted to leave. The men dispersed in all directions, pushing and shoving. In the pit, the black cock killed the brown, but nobody cared anymore. Alfred started to go the wrong way. Tom grabbed him. “We’ll go to the cloisters,” he said. “It’s the only safe place.”
The smoke began to come over in billows, and fear spread through the crowd. Everyone was agitated but no one knew what to do. Looking over the heads, Tom could see that people were pouring out through the priory gate; but the gate was narrow, and anyway they were no safer out there than in here. Nevertheless, more people got the idea, and he and Alfred found themselves struggling against a tide of people frantically going in the opposite direction. Then, quite suddenly, the tide turned, and everyone was going their way. Tom looked around to discover the reason for the change, and saw the first of the horsemen ride into the close.
At that point the crowd became a mob.
The riders were a terrifying sight. Their huge horses, just as frightened as the crowd, plunged and reared and charged, trampling people left, right and center. The armed and helmeted riders laid about them with clubs and torches, felling men, women and children, and setting fire to stalls, clothes, and people’s hair. Everyone was screaming. More riders came through the gate, and more people disappeared beneath the massive hooves. Tom shouted in Alfred’s ear: “You go on to the cloisters—I want to make sure the others have got clear. Run!” He gave him a shove. Alfred took off. Tom headed for Aliena’s stall. Almost immediately he tripped over someone and fell to the ground. Cursing, he got to his knees; but before he could stand upright he saw a war-horse bearing down on him. The beast’s ears were back and its nostrils were flared, and Tom could see the whites of its terrified eyes. Above the horse’s head, Tom saw the beefy face of William Hamleigh, distorted into a grimace of hatred and triumph. The thought flashed through his mind that it would be nice to hold Ellen in his arms once again. Then a massive hoof kicked him in the exact center of his forehead, he felt a dreadful, frightening pain as his skull seemed to burst open, and the whole world went black.
The first time Aliena smelled smoke, she thought it was coming from the dinner she was serving.
Three Flemish buyers were sitting at the table in the open air in front of her storehouse. They were corpulent, black-bearded men who spoke English with a heavy Germanic accent and wore clothes of exquisitely fine cloth. Everything was going well. She was close to starting the selling, and had decided to serve lunch first in order to give the buyers time to get anxious. Nevertheless, she would be glad when this vast fortune in wool became someone else’s. She put the platter of honey-roast pork chops in front of them and looked critically at it. The meat was done to a turn, with the border of fat just crisp and brown. She poured more wine. One of the buyers sniffed the air, then they all looked around anxiously. Aliena was suddenly fearful. Fire was the wool merchant’s nightmare. She looked at Ellen and Martha, who were helping her serve dinner. “Can you smell smoke?” she said.
Before they could reply Jack appeared. Aliena had not got used to seeing him in a monk’s habit, with his carrot-colored hair shaved from the top of his head. There was an agitated look on his sweet face. She felt a sudden urge to take him in her arms and kiss away the frown on his forehead. But she turned away quickly, remembering how she had let herself down with him in the old mill six months ago. She still flushed for shame every time she recalled that incident.
“There’s trouble,” he shouted urgently. “We must all take refuge in the cloisters.”
She looked at him. “What’s happening—is there a fire?”
“It’s Earl William and his men-at-arms,” he said.
Aliena suddenly felt as cold as the grave. William. Again.
Jack said: “They’ve set fire to the town. Tom and Alfred are going to the cloisters. Come with me, please.”
Ellen unceremoniously dropped the bowl of greens she was carrying onto the table in front of a startled Flemish buyer. “Right,” she said. She grabbed Martha by the arm. “Let’s go.”
Aliena shot a panicky look at her storehouse. She had hundreds of pounds’ worth of raw wool in there that she had to protect from fire—but how? She caught Jack’s eye. He was looking at her expectantly. The buyers left the table hurriedly. Aliena said to Jack: “Go. I have to look after my stall.”
Ellen said: “Jack—come on!”
“In a moment,” he said, and turned back to Aliena.
Aliena saw Ellen hesitate. She was clearly torn between saving Martha and waiting for Jack. Again she said: “Jack! Jack!”
He turned to her. “Mother! Take Martha!”
“All right!” she said. “Butpleasehurry!” She and Martha left.
Jack said: “The town is on fire. The cloisters will be the safest place—they’re made of stone. Come with me, quickly.”
Aliena could hear screams from the direction of the priory gate. The smoke was suddenly everywhere. She looked all around, trying to make out what was happening. Her insides were knotted with fear. Everything she had worked for for over six years was stacked up in the storehouse.
Jack said: “Aliena! Come to the cloisters—we’ll be safe there!”
“I can’t!” she shouted. “My wool!”
“To hell with your wool!”
“It’s all I’ve got!”
“It’s no good to you if you’re dead!”
“It’s easy for you to say that—but I’ve spent all these years getting to this position—”
“Aliena!Please!”
Suddenly the people right outside the stall were screaming in mortal terror. The riders had entered the priory close and were charging through the crowds, regardless of whom they trampled, setting fire to the stalls. Terror-stricken people were crushing one another in their desperate attempts to get out of the way of the flying hooves and the firebrands. The crowd pressed against the flimsy wooden hurdle that formed the front of Aliena’s stall, and it immediately collapsed. People spilled onto the open space in front of the storehouse and upset the table with its plates of food and cups of wine. Jack and Aliena were forced back. Two riders charged into the stall, one swinging a club at random, the other brandishing a flaming torch. Jack pushed himself in front of Aliena, shielding her. The club came down at Aliena’s head, but Jack threw a protective arm over her, and the club smashed down on his wrist. She felt the blow but he took the impact. When she looked up she saw the face of the second rider.
