Ellen asked Johnny: “Where does he sleep?”
Johnny answered for himself this time. “He has a crib in the dormitory with the rest of us.”
“He must wake you all in the night.”
“We get up at midnight anyway, for matins,” Johnny said.
“Of course! I was forgetting that monks’ nights are as sleepless as mothers’.”
Cuthbert handed Johnny the jug of milk. Johnny took the baby from Tom with a practiced one-arm movement. Tom was not ready to give the baby up, but in the monks’ eyes he had no rights at all, so he had to let him go. A moment later Johnny and the baby were gone, and Tom had to resist the impulse to go after them and sayWait, stop, that’s my son, give him back to me.Ellen stood beside him and squeezed his arm in a discreet gesture of sympathy.
Tom realized he had new reason to hope. If he could get work here, he could see baby Jonathan all the time, and it would be almost as if he had never abandoned him. It seemed almost too good to be true, and he did not dare to wish for it.
Cuthbert was looking shrewdly at Martha and Jack, who had both gone big-eyed at the sight of the jug full of creamy milk that Johnny had taken away. “Would the children like some milk?” he asked.
“Yes, please, Father, they would,” Tom said. He would have liked some himself.
Cuthbert ladled milk into two wooden bowls and gave them to Martha and Jack. They both drank quickly, leaving big white rings around their mouths. “Some more?” Cuthbert offered.
“Yes, please,” they replied in unison. Tom looked at Ellen, knowing that she must feel as he did, deeply thankful to see the little ones fed at last.
As Cuthbert refilled the bowls he said casually: “Where have you folks come from?”
“Earlscastle, near Shiring,” said Tom. “We left there yesterday morning.”
“Have you eaten since?”
“No,” Tom said flatly. He knew that Cuthbert’s inquiry was kindly, but he hated to admit that he had been unable to feed his children himself.
“Have some apples to keep you going until suppertime, then,” Cuthbert said, pointing to the barrel near the door.
Alfred, Ellen and Tom went to the barrel while Martha and Jack were drinking their second bowl of milk. Alfred tried to fill his arms with apples. Tom smacked them out of his hands and said in a low voice: “Just take two or three.” He took three.
Tom ate his apples gratefully, and his belly felt a little better, but he could not help wondering how soon supper would be served. Monks generally ate before dark, to save candles, he recalled happily.
Cuthbert was looking hard at Ellen. “Do I know you?” he said eventually.
She looked uneasy. “I don’t think so.”
“You seem familiar,” he said uncertainly.
“I used to live near here as a child,” she said.
“That would be it,” he said. “That’s why I have this feeling that you look older than you should.”
“You must have a very good memory.”
He frowned at her. “Not quite good enough,” he said. “I’m sure there’s something else. ... No matter. Why did you leave Earlscastle?”
“It was attacked, yesterday at dawn, and taken,” Tom replied. “Earl Bartholomew is accused of treason.”
Cuthbert was shocked. “Saints preserve us!” he exclaimed, and suddenly he looked like an old maid frightened by a bull. “Treason!”
There was a footstep outside. Tom turned and saw another monk walk in. Cuthbert said: “This is our new prior.”
Tom recognized the prior. It was Philip, the monk they had met on their way to the bishop’s palace, the one who had given them the delicious cheese. Now everything fell into place: the new prior of Kingsbridge was the old prior of the little cell in the forest, and he had brought Jonathan with him when he came here. Tom’s heart leaped with optimism. Philip was a kindly man, and he had seemed to like and trust Tom. Surely he would give him a job.
Philip recognized him. “Hello, Master Builder,” he said. “You didn’t get much work at the bishop’s palace, then?”
