Page 58 of The Pillars of the Earth

“Where are you going?”

“Home!”

The man was losing his grip. William knew where he lived, and it was north of here. He had been heading in the wrong direction.

“Where are you going?” William said again.

“What do you want from me?”

“I know when you’re lying,” William said. “Just tell me the truth.” He heard Walter give a low grunt of approval, and he thought: I’m getting better at this. “Where are you going?” he said for the fourth time.

Gilbert became too exhausted to swing himself anymore. Groaning in pain, he came to a stop over the fire, and once more bent his legs to take his feet out of the flames. But now the fire was burning high enough to singe his knees. William noticed a smell, vaguely familiar but also slightly sickening; and after a moment he realized it was the smell of burning flesh, and it was familiar because it was like the smell of dinner. The skin of Gilbert’s legs and feet was turning brown and cracking, the hairs on his shins going black; and fat from his flesh dripped into the fire and sizzled. Watching his agony mesmerized William. Every time Gilbert cried out, William felt a profound thrill. He had the power of pain over a man, and it made him feel good. It was a bit like the way he felt when he got a girl alone, in a place where nobody could hear her protest, and pinned her to the ground, pulling her skirts up around her waist, and knew that nothing could now stop him from having her.

Almost reluctantly, he said again: “Where are you going?”

In a voice that was a suppressed scream, Gilbert said: “To Sherborne.”

“Why?”

“Cut me down, for the love of Christ Jesus, and I’ll tell you everything.”

William sensed victory within his grasp. It was deeply satisfying. But he was not quite there yet. He said to Walter: “Just pull his feet out of the fire.”

Walter grabbed Gilbert’s tunic and pulled on it so that his legs were clear of the flames.

“Now,” William said.

“Earl Bartholomew has fifty knights in and around Sherborne,” Gilbert said in a strangled cry. “I am to muster them and bring them to Earlscastle.”

William smiled. All his guesses were proving gratifyingly accurate. “And what is the earl planning to do with these knights?”

“He didn’t say.”

William said to Walter: “Let him burn a little more.”

“No!” Gilbert screamed. “I’ll tell you!”

Walter hesitated.

“Quickly,” William warned.

“They are to fight for the Empress Maud, against Stephen,” Gilbert said at last.

That was it: that was the proof. William savored his success. “And when I ask you this in front of my father, will you answer the same?” he said.

“Yes, yes.”

“And when my father asks you in front of the king, will you still tell the truth?”

“Yes!”

“Swear by the cross.”

“I swear by the cross, I’ll tell the truth!”

“Amen,” William said contentedly, and he began to stamp out the fire.

They tied Gilbert to his saddle and put his horse on a leading rein, then rode on at a walk. The knight was barely able to stay upright, and William did not want him to die, for he was no use dead, so he tried not to treat him too roughly. Next time they passed a stream he threw cold water over the knight’s burned feet. Gilbert screamed in pain, but it probably did him good.