The priest frowned at his vulgarity. “I’m sure it will just be the usual rain,” he said in a prissy voice. Aliena could not help laughing, and Elizabeth joined in. Aliena had the feeling the girl did not laugh often.
The sound of the rain became a loud drumming. Aliena looked through the open door. The church was only a few yards away but already the rain had obscured it. This was going to be a real squall.
Aliena said to her carter: “Did you put the cart under cover?”
The man nodded. “With the beasts.”
“Good. I don’t want my yarn felted.”
Ranulf came back in, soaking wet.
There was a flash of lightning followed by a long rumble of thunder. “This will do the crops no good,” the priest said lugubriously.
He was right, Aliena thought. What they needed was three weeks of hot sunshine.
There was another flash and a longer crash of thunder, and a gust of wind shook the wooden house. Cold water dropped on Aliena’s head, and she looked up to see a drip coming from the thatched roof. She shifted her seat to get out of its way. The rain was blowing in at the door, too, but nobody seemed to want to close it: Aliena preferred to look at the storm, and it seemed the others felt the same.
She looked at Elizabeth. The girl was white-faced. Aliena put an arm around her. She was shivering, although it was not cold. Aliena hugged her.
“I’m frightened,” Elizabeth whispered.
“It’s only a storm,” Aliena said.
It became very dark outside. Aliena thought it must be getting near suppertime; then she realized she had not had dinner yet: it was only noon. She got up and went to the door. The sky was iron gray. She had never known such peculiar weather in summer. The wind was gusting strongly. A lightning flash illuminated numerous loose objects blowing past the doorway: a blanket, a small bush, a wooden bowl, an empty barrel.
She turned back inside, frowning, and sat down. She was getting mildly worried. The house shook again. The central pole that held up the ridge of the roof was vibrating. This was one of the better-built houses in the village, she reflected: if this was unsteady, some of the poorer places must be in danger of collapse. She looked at the priest. “If it gets any worse we may have to round up the villagers and all take shelter in the church,” she said.
“I’m not going out in that,” the priest said with a short laugh.
Aliena stared at him incredulously. “They’re your flock,” she said. “You’re their shepherd.”
The priest looked back at her insolently. “I answer to the bishop of Kingsbridge, not you, and I’m not going to play the fool just because you tell me to.”
Aliena said: “At least bring the plow team into shelter.” The most precious possession of a village such as this was the team of eight oxen that pulled the plow. Without those beasts the peasants could not cultivate their land. No individual peasant could afford to own a plow team—it was communal property. The priest would surely value the team, for his prosperity depended on it too.
The priest said: “We’ve no plow team.”
Aliena was mystified. “Why?”
“We had to sell four of them to pay rent; then we killed the others for meat in the winter.”
That explained the half-sown fields, Aliena thought. They had only been able to cultivate the lighter soils, using horses or manpower to pull the plow. The story angered her. It was foolish as well as hardhearted of William to make these people sell their plow team, for that meant they would have trouble paying their rent this year too, even though the weather had been fair. It made her want to take William by the neck and strangle him.
Another powerful gust shook the wood-framed house. Suddenly one side of the roof seemed to shift; then it lifted several inches, becoming detached from the wall, and through the gap Aliena saw black sky and forked lightning. She leaped to her feet as the gust subsided and the thatched roof crashed back down on its supports. This was now becoming dangerous. She stood up and yelled at the priest over the noise of the weather: “At least go and open the church door!”
He looked resentful but he complied. He took a key from a chest, put on a cloak, and went outside and disappeared into the rain. Aliena began to organize the others. “Carter, take my wagon and oxen into the church. Ranulf, you get the horses. Elizabeth, come with me.”
They put on their cloaks and went out. It was hard to walk in a straight line because of the wind, and they held hands for stability. They fought their way across the graveyard. The rain had turned to hail, and big pebbles of ice bounced off the tombstones. In a corner of the cemetery Aliena saw an apple tree as bare as in wintertime: its leaves and fruit had been ripped off the branches by the gale. There won’t be many apples in the county this autumn, she thought.
A moment later they reached the church and went inside. The sudden hush was like going deaf. The wind still howled and the rain drummed on the roof, and thunder crashed every few moments, but it was all at one remove. Some of the villagers were here already, their cloaks sodden. They had brought their valuables with them, their chickens in sacks, their pigs trussed, their cows on leads. It was dark in the church, but the scene was illuminated fitfully by lightning. After a few moments the carter drove Aliena’s wagon inside, and Ranulf followed with the horses.
Aliena said to the priest: “Let’s get the beasts to the west end and the people to the east, before the church starts to look like a stable.” Everyone now seemed to have accepted that Aliena was in charge, and he concurred with a nod. The two of them moved off, the priest talking to the men and Aliena to the women. Gradually the people separated from the animals. The women took the children to the little chancel and the men tied the animals to the columns of the nave. The horses were frightened, rolling their eyes and prancing. The cows all lay down. The villagers got into family groups and began to pass food and drink around. They had come prepared for a long stay.
The storm was so violent that Aliena thought it must pass soon, but instead it got worse. She went to a window. The windows were not made of glass, of course, but of fine translucent linen, which now hung in shreds from the window frames. Aliena pulled herself up to the windowsill to look out, but all she could see was rain.
The wind grew stronger, shrieking around the walls of the church, and she began to wonder whether even this was safe. She made a discreet tour of the building. She had spent enough time with Jack to know the difference between good masonry and bad, and she was relieved to see that the stonework here was neat and careful. There were no cracks. The building was made of cut stone blocks, not rubble, and it seemed as solid as a mountain.
The priest’s housekeeper lit a candle, and that was when Aliena realized night was falling outside. The day had been so dark that the difference was small. The children tired of running up and down the aisles, and curled up in their cloaks to go to sleep. The chickens put their heads under their wings. Elizabeth and Aliena sat side by side on the floor with their backs to the wall.
