She sniffed and swallowed her tears. “Hold my arm and I’ll lead you.”

They moved across the cell and then he felt her go down. “Just lower yourself into the channel,” she said. “Take a deep breath and put your head under. Then crawl against the flow. Don’t go with the flow, or you’ll end up in the monks’ latrine. You’ll get short of breath when you’re almost there, but just keep calm and crawl on, and you’ll make it.” She went lower still, and he lost contact.

He found the hole and eased himself down. His feet touched the water almost immediately. When he stood on the bottom of the channel his shoulders were still in the cell. Before lowering himself farther, he found the stone and replaced it in position, thinking mischievously that the monks would be mystified when they found the cell empty.

The water was cold. He took a deep breath, went down on his hands and knees, and crawled against the flow. He went as fast as he could. As he crawled, he pictured the buildings above him. He was going beneath the passageway, then the refectory, the kitchen and the bakehouse. It was not far, but it seemed to take forever. He tried to surface but banged his head on the roof of the tunnel. He felt panicky, and remembered what his mother had said. He was almost there. A few moments later he saw light ahead of him. Dawn must have broken while they were talking in the cell. He crawled until the light was above him, then he stood upright and gasped the fresh air gratefully. When he had got his breath back he climbed out of the ditch.

His mother had changed her clothes. She was wearing a clean, dry dress, and wringing out the wet one. She had brought dry clothes for him too. There in a neat pile on the bank were the garments he had not worn for half a year: a linen shirt, a green wool tunic, gray hose and leather boots. Mother turned her back and Jack threw off the heavy monastic robe, stepped out of the sandals, and quickly dressed in his own clothes.

He threw the monk’s habit into the ditch. He was never going to wear it again.

“What will you do now?” Mother asked.

“Go to Aliena.”

“Right away? It’s early.”

“I can’t wait.”

She nodded. “Be gentle. She’s bruised.”

Jack stooped to kiss her, then impulsively threw his arms around her and hugged her. “You got me out of a prison,” he said, and he laughed. “What a mother!”

She smiled, but her eyes were moist.

He gave her a farewell squeeze and walked away.

Even though it was now full light, there was nobody about because it was Sunday, and people did not have to work, so they took the opportunity to sleep past sunrise. Jack was not sure whether he should be afraid of being seen. Did Prior Philip have the right to come after a runaway novice and force him to return? Even if he had that right, would he want to? Jack did not know. However, Philip was the law in Kingsbridge, and Jack had defied him, so there was bound to be trouble of some kind. However, Jack was looking no farther ahead than the next few moments.

He reached Aliena’s little house. It occurred to him that. Richard might be there. He hoped not. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He went up to the door and tapped on it gently.

He cocked his head and listened. Nothing moved inside. He tapped again, harder, and this time he was rewarded by the sound of rustling straw as someone moved. “Aliena!” he said in a loud whisper.

He heard her come to the door. A frightened voice said: “Yes?”

“Open the door!”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jack.”

“Jack!”

There was a pause. Jack waited.

Aliena closed her eyes in despair and slumped forward, leaning against the door with her cheek on the rough woodwork. Not Jack, she thought; not today, not now.

His voice came again, a low, urgent whisper. “Aliena, please, open the door, quickly! If they catch me they’ll put me back in the cell!”

She had heard that he had been locked up-it was all over town. Obviously he had escaped. And he had come straight to her. Her heart quickened. She could not turn him away.

She lifted the bar and opened the door.

His red hair was plastered wetly to his head, as if he had bathed. He was wearing ordinary clothes, not his monk’s habit. He smiled at her, as if seeing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then he frowned, and said: “You’ve been crying.”

“Why have you come here?” she said.

“I had to see you.”

“I’m getting married today.”

“I know. Can I come in?”

It would be wrong to let him in, she knew; but then it occurred to her that tomorrow she would be Alfred’s wife, so this might be the last time she would ever talk to Jack alone. She thought: I don’t care if it is wrong. She opened the door wider. Jack stepped in, and she closed it again and replaced the bar.

They stood facing one another. Now she felt embarrassed. He stared at her with desperate longing, as a man dying of thirst might gaze at a waterfall. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, and she turned away.

“Don’t marry him,” Jack said.

“I must.”

“You’ll be miserable.”

“I’m miserable now.”

“Look at me, please?”

She turned to face him and raised her eyes.

“Please tell me why you’re doing this,” he said.

“Why should I?”

“Because of the way you kissed me in the old mill.”

She dropped her gaze and felt herself blush hotly. She had let herself down that day and had been ashamed of herself ever since. Now he was using it against her. She said nothing. She had no defense.

He said: “After that, you turned cold.”

She kept her gaze lowered.

“We were such friends,” he went on remorselessly. “All that summer, in your glade, by the waterfall… my stories… we were so happy. I kissed you there, once. Do you remember?”

She did remember, of course, although she had been pretending to herself that it never happened. Now the memory melted her heart, and she looked at him with tearful eyes.

“Then I made the mill do your felting,” he said. “I was so pleased that I could help you in your business. You were thrilled when you saw it. Then we kissed again, but that wasn’t a little kiss, like the first one. This time it was… passionate.” Oh, God, yes, it was, she thought, and she blushed again, and began to breathe fast; and wished he would stop, but he would not. “We held each other very tight. We kissed for a long time. You opened your mouth-”

“Stop!” she cried.

“Why?” he said brutally. “What’s wrong with it? Why did you turn cold?”

“Because I’m frightened!” she said without thinking, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. A moment later she felt his hands on her heaving shoulders. She did nothing, and after a while he gently enfolded her in his arms. She took her hands from her face and cried on his green tunic.

After a while she put her arms around his waist.

He laid his cheek on her hair-her ugly, short, shapeless hair, not yet grown back after the fire-and stroked her back as if she were a baby. She wanted to stay like that forever. But he pulled away from her so that he could look at her, and he said: “Why does it make you frightened?”

She knew, but she could not tell him. She shook her head and took a step back; but he held her wrists, keeping her near.

“Listen, Aliena,” he said. “I want you to know how terrible this has been for me. You seemed to love me, then you seemed to hate me, and now you’re going to marry my stepbrother. I don’t understand. I don’t know anything about these things, I’ve never been in love before. It’s all so hurtful. I can’t find words for how bad it is. Don’t you think you should at least try to explain to me why I have to go through this?”

She felt full of remorse. To think that she had hurt him so badly when she loved him so much. She was ashamed of the way she had treated him. He had done nothing but kind things to her and she had ruined his life. He was entitled to an explanation. She steeled herself. “Jack, something happened to me a long time ago, something truly awful, something I’ve made myself forget for years. I wanted never to think of it again, but when you kissed me like that it all came back to me, and I couldn’t stand it.”