He despised the priory. Being a monk was a stupid way of life. If he could not work on the cathedral and Aliena married someone else, he had nothing to live for.
What made it worse was that he knew how thoroughly miserable she would be living with Alfred. This was not just because he hated Alfred. There were some girls who might be more or less contented married to Alfred: for example, Edith, the one who had giggled when Jack talked to her about how he loved to carve stone. Edith would not expect much of Alfred, and she would be glad to flatter him and obey him as long as he continued prosperous and loved their children. But Aliena would hate every minute. She would loathe Alfred’s physical coarseness, she would despise him for his bullying ways, she would be disgusted by his meanness, and she would find his slow-wittedness maddening. Marriage to Alfred would be hell for her.
Why could she not see that? Jack was mystified. What was going on in her mind? Surelyanythingwould be better than marriage to a man she did not love. She had caused a sensation by refusing to marry William Hamleigh seven years ago, yet now she had passively accepted a proposal from someone equally unsuitable. What was she thinking of?
Jack had to know.
He had to talk to her, and to hell with the monastery.
He rolled up the map, replaced it in the cupboard, and went to the door. Joseph was still leaning on his broomstick. “Are you leaving?” he said to Jack. “I thought you were supposed to stay here until the circuitor comes for you.”
“The circuitor can go shit,” said Jack, and he stepped out.
As he emerged into the east walk of the cloisters, he caught the eye of Prior Philip, who was coming in from the building site to the north. Jack turned away quickly, but Philip called out: “Jack! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be confined.”
Jack had no patience for monastic discipline now. He ignored Philip and walked the other way, heading for the passage that led from the south walk down to the small houses around the new quay. But his luck was out. At that moment Brother Pierre, the circuitor, came out of the passage, followed by his two deputies. They saw Jack and stopped dead. A look of astonished indignation spread over Pierre’s moon-shaped face.
Philip called out: “Stop that novice, Brother Circuitor!”
Pierre held out a hand to stop Jack. Jack pushed him aside. Pierre reddened and grabbed at Jack’s arm. Jack wrenched his arm free and punched Pierre on the nose. Pierre gave a shout, more of outrage than pain. Then his two deputies jumped on Jack.
Jack struggled like a maniac, and almost got free, but when Pierre recovered from the blow to his nose and joined in, the three of them were able to wrestle Jack to the ground and hold him there. He continued to wriggle, furious that this monastic horseshit was now keeping him from something really important, speaking to Aliena. He kept saying: “Let me go, you stupid fools!” The two deputies sat on him. Pierre stood upright, wiping his bleeding nose on the sleeve of his habit. Philip appeared beside him.
Despite his own rage, Jack could see that Philip too was angry, angrier than Jack had ever seen him. “I will not tolerate this behavior from anyone,” he said in a voice like iron. “You’re a novice monk, and youwillobey me.” He turned to Pierre. “Put him in the obedience room.”
“No!” Jack shouted. “You can’t!”
“I most certainly can,” Philip said wrathfully.
The obedience room was a small, windowless cell in the undercroft beneath the dormitory, at the south end, next to the latrines. It was mainly used to imprison lawbreakers who were waiting to be dealt with at the prior’s court, or to be transferred to the sheriffs jail at Shiring; but it did occasional service as a punishment cell for monks who committed serious disciplinary offenses, such as acts of impurity with priory servants.
It was not the solitary confinement that scared Jack—it was the fact that he would not be able to get out to see Aliena. “You don’t understand!” he yelled at Philip. “I have to speak to Aliena!”
It was the worst thing he could have said. Philip got angrier. “It was for speaking to her that you were originally punished,” he said furiously.
“But I must!”
“The only thing youmustdo is learn to fear God and obey your superiors.”
“You’re not my superior, you silly ass! You’re nothing to me. Let me go, damn you all!”
“Take him away,” Philip said grimly.
A little crowd had gathered by now, and several monks lifted Jack by his arms and legs. He wriggled like a fish on a hook but there were too many of them. He could not believe that this was happening. They carried him, kicking and struggling, along the passage to the door of the obedience room. Someone opened it. Brother Pierre’s voice said vengefully: “Throw him in!” They swung him back, then he was hurled through the air. He landed in a heap on the stone floor. He scrambled to his feet, numb to his bruises, and rushed at the door, but it slammed shut just as he crashed into it, and a moment later the heavy iron bar thudded down outside and the key turned in the lock.
Jack hammered on the door with all his might. “Let me out!” he yelled hysterically. “I have to stop her from marrying him! Let me out!” There was no sound from outside. He kept on calling, but his demands turned into pleas, and his voice dropped to a whine, then eventually to a whisper, and he wept tears of frustrated rage.
At last his eyes dried up and he could cry no more.
He turned from the door. The cell was not quite pitch-Mack: a little light came under the door and he could make out his surroundings vaguely. He went around the walls, feeling with his hands. He could tell by the pattern of chisel marks on the stones that the cell had been built a long time ago. The room was almost featureless. It was about six feet square, with a column in one corner and an upward-arching ceiling: clearly it had once been part of a larger room and had been walled off for use as a prison. In one wall there was a space like an opening for a slit window, but it was tightly shuttered, and would have been too small for anyone to crawl through even if it had been open. The stone floor felt damp. Jack became aware of a constant rushing noise, and realized that the water channel, which ran through the priory from the millpond to the latrines, must pass beneath the cell. That would explain why the floor was of stone instead of beaten earth.
He felt drained. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and stared at the crack of light under the door, the tantalizing reminder of where he wanted to be. How had he got into this fix? He had never believed in the monastery, never intended to dedicate his life to God—he did not really believe in God. He had become a novice as a “solution to an immediate problem, a way of staying in Kingsbridge, close to what he loved. He had thought: I can always leave if I want to. But now he did want to leave, wanted to more than he had ever imagined, and he could not: he was a prisoner. I’ll strangle Prior Philip as soon as I get out of here, he thought, even if I have to hang for it afterward.
That started him wondering when hewouldbe released. He heard the bell ring for supper. They certainly intended to leave him here all night. They were probably discussing him right now. The worst of the monks would argue that he should be shut up for a week—he could just see Pierre and Remigius calling for firm discipline. Others, who liked him, might say one night was sufficient punishment. What would Philip say? He liked Jack, but he would be terribly angry now, especially after Jack had saidYou’re not my superior, you silly ass, you’re nothing to me.Philip would be tempted to let the hard-liners have their own way. The only hope was that they might want Jack thrown out of the monastery immediately, which in their view would be a harsher sentence. That way he might be able to speak to her before the wedding. But Philip would be against that, Jack was sure. Philip would see expelling Jack as an admission of defeat.
The light under the door was growing fainter. It was getting dark outside. Jack wondered how prisoners were supposed to relieve themselves. There was no pot in the cell. It would not be characteristic of the monks to overlook that particular detail: they believed in cleanliness, even for sinners. He inspected the floor again, inch by inch, and found a small hole close to one corner. The noise of water was louder there, and he guessed it led to the underground channel. This was presumably his latrine.
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.
