Ken Follett - World Without End

He considered fighting Thomas off, and thought better of it. He could hear the cries of the outlaws as the arrows struck home. From ground level he could not see much, but some of his men were drawing their swords. However, they were too far from the archers: if they ran at their enemy, they would be shot down before they could engage. It was a massacre, not a battle. Hooves drummed the earth, and Ralph wondered whether Tam was charging the archers or riding away.

Confusion reigned, but not for long. Within moments he could tell that the outlaws were in full retreat.

Thomas got off him, pulled a long dagger from under his Benedictine robe, and said: “Don’t even think about drawing your sword.”

Ralph stood up. He looked at the archers, and recognized many of them: fat Dick Brewer, randy Edward Butcher, convivial Paul Bell, grumpy Bill Watkin – timid, law-abiding citizens of Kingsbridge, every one. He had been captured by tradesmen. But that was not the most surprising thing.

He looked curiously at Thomas. “You saved my life, monk,” he said.

“Only because your brother asked me to,” Thomas replied crisply. “If it had been up to me, you would have been dead before you hit the ground.”

The Kingsbridge jail was in the basement of the guild hall. The pen had stone walls, a dirt floor and no windows. There was no fire either, and prisoners occasionally died of cold in the winter; but this was May, and Ralph had a wool cloak to keep him warm at night. He also had a few items of furniture – a chair, a bench and a small table – rented from John Constable and paid for by Merthin. On the other side of the barred oak door was John Constable’s office. On market days and during the fair, he and his deputies sat there waiting to be summoned to deal with trouble.

Alan Fernhill was in the cell with Ralph. A Kingsbridge archer had brought him down with an arrow in the thigh, and although the wound was not serious he had been unable to run. However, Tam Hiding had got away.

Today was their last here. The sheriff was due at midday to take them to Shiring. They had already been sentenced to death, in their absence, for the rape of Annet, and for the crimes they had committed in that court under the judge’s eye: wounding the foreman of the jury, wounding Wulfric and escaping. When they got to Shiring they would be hanged.

An hour before noon, Ralph’s parents brought them dinner: hot ham, new bread and a jug of strong ale. Merthin came with them, and Ralph surmised that this was goodbye.

His father confirmed it. “We’ll not follow you to Shiring,” he said.

His mother added: “We don’t want to see you-” She broke down, but he knew what she was going to say. They would not journey to Shiring to see him hang.

Ralph drank the ale but found it difficult to eat. He was going to the gallows, and food seemed pointless. Anyway, he had no appetite. Alan tucked in: he seemed to have no sense of the doom that awaited him.

The family sat in an awkward silence. Although these were their last minutes together, no one knew what to say. Maud wept quietly, Gerald looked thunderous and Merthin sat with his head in his hands. Alan Fernhill just looked bored.

Ralph had a question for his brother. Part of him did not want to ask it, but now he realized that this was his last chance. “When Brother Thomas pulled me off my horse, protecting me from the arrows, I thanked him for saving my life,” he said. Looking at his brother, he went on: “Thomas said he did it for you, Merthin.”

Merthin just nodded.

“Did you ask him to?”

“Yes.”

“So you knew what was going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“So… how did Thomas know where to find me?”

Merthin did not answer.

Ralph said: “You told him, didn’t you?”

Their father was shocked. “Merthin!” he said. “How could you?”

Alan Fernhill said: “You treacherous swine.”

Merthin said to Ralph: “You were murdering people! Innocent peasants and their wives and children! You had to be stopped!”

Ralph did not feel angry, somewhat to his surprise. He felt a choking sensation. He swallowed, then said: “But why did you ask Thomas to spare my life? Was it because you preferred that I should hang?”

Maud said: “Ralph, don’t,” and sobbed.

“I don’t know,” Merthin said. “Perhaps I just wanted you to live a little longer.”

“But you did betray me.” Ralph found that he was on the verge of breaking down. Tears seemed to gather behind his eyes, and he felt the pressure in his head. “You betrayed me,” he repeated.

Merthin stood up and said angrily: “By God, you deserved it!”

Maud said: “Don’t fight.”

Ralph shook his head sadly. “We’re not going to fight,” he said. Those days are over.’

The door opened and John Constable stepped in. “The sheriff is outside,” he announced.

Maud put her arms around Ralph and clung to him, weeping. After a few moments, Gerald gently pulled her away.

John walked out and Ralph followed him. He was surprised not to be tied up or chained. He had escaped once before – were they not afraid he would do the same again? He walked through the constable’s office and out into the open air. His family came behind.

It must have been raining earlier, for now bright sunshine reflected off the wet street and Ralph had to screw up his eyes against the glare. As he adjusted to the light he recognized his own horse, Griff, saddled ready. The sight gladdened his heart. He took the reins and spoke into the horse’s ear. “You never betrayed me, boy, did you, eh?” The horse blew through its nostrils and stamped, pleased to have its master back.

The sheriff and several deputies were waiting, mounted and armed to the teeth: they were going to let Ralph ride to Shiring, but they were not taking any risks with him. There would be no escape this time, he realized.

Then he looked again. The sheriff was here, but the other armed riders were not his deputies. They were Earl Roland’s men. And there was the earl himself, black-haired and black-bearded, mounted on a grey charger. What was he doing here?

Without dismounting, the earl leaned down and handed a rolled sheet of parchment to John Constable. “Read that, if you can,” Roland said, speaking as always out of one side of his mouth. “It is a writ from the king. All the prisoners in the county are pardoned and freed – on condition they come with me to join the king’s army.”

Gerald shouted: “Hoorah!” Maud burst into tears. Merthin looked over the constable’s shoulder and read the writ.

Ralph looked at Alan, who said: “What does it mean?”

“It means we’re free!” Ralph said.

John Constable said: “It does, if I read it aright.” He looked at the sheriff. “Do you confirm this?”

“I do,” said the sheriff.

“Then there is no more to be said. These men are free to go with the earl.” The constable rolled up the parchment.

Ralph looked at his brother. Merthin was weeping. Were they tears of joy, or frustration?

He was given no more time to wonder. “Come on,” said Roland impatiently. “We’ve completed the formalities, let’s get on the road. The king is in France – we’ve a long way to go!” He wheeled his horse and rode down the main street.

Ralph kicked Griffs sides, and the horse eagerly broke into a trot and followed the earl.

“You can’t win,” Gregory Longfellow said to Prior Godwyn, sitting in the large chair in the hall of the prior’s house. “The king is going to grant a borough charter to Kingsbridge.”

Godwyn stared at him. This was the lawyer who had won two cases for him at the royal court, one against the earl and the other against the alderman. If such a champion declared himself beaten then, surely, defeat must be inevitable.