Epic Historial Collection (70 page)

Philip was excited. “Does it work?”

“Sometimes. It probably depends on the weather.”

“How is it managed? Does the priest make an announcement at the end of the service, or what?”

“It's more organized than that. The bishop, or prior, sends out messengers to the parish churches, announcing that forgiveness for sins may be had in return for work on the building site.”

“That's a grand idea,” Philip said enthusiastically. “We might get a bigger congregation than usual, attracted by the novelty.”

“Or a smaller one,” Cuthbert said. “Some people would rather give money to the priest, or light a candle to a saint, than spend all day wading in mud and carrying heavy stones.”

“I never thought of that,” Philip said, suddenly deflated. “Perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all.”

“What other ideas have you got?”

“Not one.”

“Then you'll have to try this, and hope for the best, won't you?”

“Yes,” said Philip. “Hope for the best.”

III

Philip did not sleep at all during the night before Whitsunday.

There had been a week of sunshine, perfect for his plan—more people would volunteer in fine weather—but as darkness fell on the Saturday, it began to rain. He lay awake listening disconsolately to the raindrops on the roof and the wind in the trees. He felt he had prayed enough. God must be fully aware of the circumstances now.

On the previous Sunday, every monk in the priory had visited one or more churches to speak to the congregations and tell them they could obtain forgiveness for their sins by working on the cathedral building site on Sundays. On Whitsunday they would get forgiveness for the past year, and thereafter a day of labor was worth a week of routine sins, excluding murder and sacrilege. Philip himself had gone to the town of Shiring, and had spoken at each of its four parish churches. He had sent two monks to Winchester to visit as many as possible of the multitude of small churches in that city. Winchester was two days' journey away, but Whitsun was a six-day holiday, and people would make such a trip for a big fair or a spectacular service. In total, many thousands of people had heard the message. There was no knowing how many might respond.

For the rest of the time they had all been working on the site. The good weather and the long days of early summer had helped, and they had achieved most of what Philip had hoped for. The foundation had been laid for the wall at the easternmost end of the chancel. Some of the foundation for the north wall had been dug to its full depth, ready for foundation stones to be laid; and Tom had built enough lifting mechanisms to keep scores of people busy digging the rest of the vast hole, if scores of people should turn up. In addition, the riverbank was crowded with timber sent downstream by the foresters and with stones from the quarry, all of which had to be carried up the slope to the cathedral site. There was work here for hundreds.

But would anyone come?

At midnight Philip got up and walked through the rain to the crypt for matins. When he returned after the service, the rain had stopped. He did not go back to bed, but sat up reading. Nowadays this period between midnight and dawn was the only time he had for study and meditation, for the whole of the day was always taken up with the administration of the monastery.

Tonight, however, he had trouble concentrating, and his mind kept returning to the prospect of the day ahead, and the chances of success or failure. Tomorrow he could lose everything he had worked for over the past year and more. It occurred to him, perhaps because he was feeling fatalistic, that he ought not to want success for its own sake. Was it his pride that was at stake here? Pride was the sin he was most vulnerable to. Then he thought of all the people who depended on him for support, protection and employment: the monks, the priory servants, the quarrymen, Tom and Alfred, the villagers of Kingsbridge and the worshipers of the whole county. Bishop Waleran would not care for them the way Philip did. Waleran seemed to think he was entitled to use people any way he chose in the service of God. Philip believed that caring for people
was
the service of God. That was what salvation was about. No, it could not be God's will that Bishop Waleran should win this contest. Perhaps my pride is at stake, a little bit, Philip admitted to himself; but there are men's souls in the balance too.

At last dawn cracked the night, and once again he walked to the crypt, this time for the service of prime. The monks were restless and excited: they knew that today was crucial to their future. The sacrist hurried through the service, and for once Philip forgave him.

When they left the crypt and headed toward the refectory for breakfast it was fully light, and there was a clear blue sky. God had sent the weather they had prayed for, at least. It was a good start.

 

Tom Builder knew that his future was at stake today.

Philip had shown him the letter from the prior of Canterbury. Tom was sure that if the cathedral was built at Shiring, Waleran would hire his own master builder. He would not want to use a design Philip had approved, nor would he risk employing someone who might be loyal to Philip. For Tom, it was Kingsbridge or nothing. This was the only opportunity he would ever get to build a cathedral, and it was in jeopardy today.

He was invited to attend chapter with the monks in the morning. This happened occasionally. Usually it was because they were going to discuss the building program and might need his expert opinion on questions of design, cost or timetabling. Today he was going to make arrangements for employing the volunteer workers, if any came. He wanted the site to be a hive of busy, efficient activity when Bishop Henry arrived.

He sat patiently through the readings and the prayers, not understanding the Latin words, thinking about his plans for the day; then Philip switched to English and called on him to outline the organization of the work.

“I shall be building the east wall of the cathedral and Alfred will be laying stone in the foundations,” Tom began. “The aim, in both cases, is to show Bishop Henry how far advanced the building is.”

“How many men will the two of you need to help you?” Philip asked.

“Alfred will need two laborers to bring the stones to him. He'll be using material from the ruins of the old church. He'll also need someone to make mortar. I'll also need a mortar maker and two laborers. Alfred can use misshapen stones in the foundations, as long as they're flat top and bottom; but my stones will have to be properly dressed, since they will be visible aboveground, so I've brought two stonecutters back from the quarry to help me.”

Philip said: “All that is very important for impressing Bishop Henry, but most of the volunteers will be digging the foundations.”

“That's right. The foundations are marked out for the whole of the chancel of the cathedral, and most of them are still only a few feet deep. Monks must man the winding gear—I've instructed several of you how to do it—and the volunteers can fill the barrels.”

Remigius said: “What if we get more volunteers than we can use?”

“We can employ just about any number,” Tom said. “If we haven't enough lifting devices, people can carry earth out of the holes in buckets and baskets. The carpenter will have to stand by to make extra ladders—we've got the timber.”

“But there's a limit to the number of people who can get down in that foundation hole,” Remigius persisted.

Tom had the feeling that Remigius was just argumentative. “It will take several hundred,” he said testily. “It's a big hole.”

Philip said: “And there's other work to be done, besides digging.”

“Indeed,” Tom said. “The other main area of work is carrying timber and stone up to the site from the riverside. You monks must make sure the materials are stacked in the right places on the site. The stones should go beside the foundation holes, but on the
outside
of the church, where they won't get in the way. The carpenter will tell you where to put the timber.”

Philip said: “Will all the volunteers be unskilled?”

“Not necessarily. If we get people from the towns, there may be some craftsmen among them—I hope so. We must find out who they are and use them. Carpenters can build lodges for winter work. Any masons can cut stones and lay foundations. If there's a blacksmith, we'll put him to work in the village forge, making tools. All that sort of thing will be tremendously useful.”

Milius the bursar said: “That's all quite clear. I'd like to get started. Some of the villagers are here already, waiting to be told what to do.”

There was something else Tom needed to tell them, something important but subtle, and he was searching for the right words. Monks could be arrogant, and might alienate the volunteers. Tom wanted today's operation to be easygoing and cheerful. “I've worked with volunteers before,” he began. “It's important not to…not to treat them like servants. We may feel that they are laboring to obtain a heavenly reward, and should therefore work harder than they would for money; but they don't necessarily take that attitude. They feel they're working for nothing, and doing a great kindness to us thereby; and if we seem ungrateful they will work slowly and make mistakes. It will be best to rule them with a light touch.”

He caught Philip's eye and saw that the prior was suppressing a smile, as if he knew what misgivings underlay Tom's honeyed words. “A good point,” Philip said. “If we handle them right, these people will feel happy and uplifted, and that will create a good atmosphere, which will make a positive impression on Bishop Henry.” He looked around at the assembled monks. “If there are no more questions, let's begin.”

 

Aliena had enjoyed a year of security and prosperity under the wing of Prior Philip.

All her plans had worked. She and Richard had toured the countryside buying fleeces from peasants all last spring and summer, selling to Philip every time they had a standard woolsack. They had ended the season with five pounds of silver.

Father had died just a few days after they saw him, although Aliena did not find out until Christmas. She had located his grave, after spending much hard-earned silver on bribes, in a pauper's cemetery in Winchester. She cried hard, not just for him but for the life they had lived together, secure and carefree, the life that would never come back. In a way she had said goodbye to him before he died: when she left the jail she knew she would never see him again. In another way he was still with her, for she was bound by the oath he had made her swear, and she was resigned to spending her life doing his will.

During the winter she and Richard lived in a small house up against the wall of Kingsbridge Priory. They had built a cart, buying the wheels from the Kingsbridge cartwright, and in the spring they had bought a young ox to pull it. The shearing season was now in full swing and already they had made more than the cost of the ox and the new cart. Next year, perhaps she would employ a man to help her, and find Richard a place as a page in the household of a minor noble, so that he could begin his knightly training.

But it was all dependent on Prior Philip.

As an eighteen-year-old girl on her own, she was still considered fair game by every thief and many legitimate traders. She had tried to sell a sack of wool to merchants in Shiring and Gloucester, just to see what would happen, and both times she had been offered half price. There was never more than one merchant in a town so they knew she had no alternative. Eventually she would have her own storehouse, and sell her entire stock to the Flemish buyers; but that time was a long way off. Meanwhile she was dependent on Philip.

And Philip's position had suddenly become precarious.

She was constantly alert to danger from outlaws and thieves, but it had come as a great shock to her, when everything was going smoothly, to have her whole livelihood threatened in such an unexpected way.

Richard had not wanted to work on the cathedral building site on Whitsunday—he was nothing if not ungrateful—but Aliena had bullied him into agreeing, and the two of them walked the few yards to the priory close soon after sunrise. Almost the whole village had turned out: thirty or forty men, some of them with their wives and children. Aliena was surprised, until she reflected that Prior Philip was their lord, and when your lord asked for volunteers it was probably unwise to refuse. In the past year she had gained a startling new perspective on the lives of ordinary people.

Tom Builder was giving the villagers their assignments. Richard immediately went to speak to Tom's son Alfred. They were almost the same age—Richard was fifteen and Alfred about a year older—and they played football with the other boys in the village every Sunday. The little girl, Martha, was here too, but the woman, Ellen, and the funny-looking boy with red hair had disappeared, no one knew where. Aliena remembered when Tom's family had come to Earlscastle. They had been destitute then. Like Aliena, they had been saved by Prior Philip.

Aliena and Richard were given a shovel each and told to dig foundations. The ground was damp but the sun was out and it would soon dry the surface. Aliena began to dig energetically. Even with fifty people working, it took a long time to make the holes noticeably deeper. Richard rested on his shovel rather frequently. One time Aliena said: “If you ever want to be a knight, dig!” But it made no difference.