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That made them angrier. “Unacceptable,” someone said, and several of the others repeated it: “Unacceptable, unacceptable.” Jack found that infuriating. “What are you talking about? If the priory hasn’t got the money, you’re not going to get paid. What’s the point of chanting ‘Unacceptable, unacceptable,’ like a class of schoolboys learning Latin?” Edward Twonose spoke up again. “We’re not a cheap shoes mbt class of schoolboys, we’re a lodge of masons,” he said. “The lodge has the right of promotion, and nobody can take it away.” “And if there’s no money for the extra pay?” Jack said hotly. One of the younger masons said: “I don’t believe that.” It was Dan Bristol, one of the summer workers. He was not a skillful cutter but he could lay stones very accurately and fast. Jack said to him: “How can you say you don’t believe it? What do you know about the priory’s finances?” “I know what I see,” Dan said. “Are the monks mbt shoes review starving? No. Are there candles in the church? Yes. Is there wine in the stores? Yes. Does the prior go barefoot? No. There’s money. He just doesn’t want to give it to us.” Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH Several people agreed loudly. In fact, he was wrong about at least one item, and that was the wine; but no one would believe Jack now— mbt online he had become the representative of the priory. T mbt uk hat was not fair: he was not responsible for Philip’s decisions. He said: “Look, I’m only telling you what the prior said to me. I don’t guarantee that it’s true. But if he tells us there’s not enough money, and we don’t believe him, what can we do?” “We can all stop work,” said Dan. “Immediately.” “That’s right,” said another voice. This was getting out of control, Jack realized with a sense of panic. “Wait a moment,” he said. Desperately he searched for something to say that would bring down the temperature. “Let’s go back to work now, and this afternoon I’ll try to persuade Prior Philip to moderate his plans.” “I don’t think we should work,” Dan said. Jack could not believe this was happening. He had anticipated many threats to the building of his dream church, but he had not foreseen that the craftsmen would sabotage it. “Why shouldn’t we work?” he said incredulously. “What’s the point?” Dan said: “As things stand, half of us aren’t even sure we’re going to get paid for the rest of the week.” “Which is against all custom and practice,” said Pierre Paris. The phrase custom and practice was much used in court. Jack said desperately: “At least work while I’m trying to talk Philip around.” Edward Twonose said: “If we work, can you guarantee that everyone will be paid for the whole week?” Jack knew he could offer no such guarantee, with Philip in his present mood. It crossed his mind to say yes anyway, and pay the money himself, if necessary; but he realized immediately that his entire savings would not be enough to cover a week’s wages here. So he said: “I’ll do my level best to persuade him, and I think he’ll agree.” “Not good enough for me,” said Dan. “Nor me,” said Pierre. Dan said: “No guarantee, no work.” To Jack’s dismay, there was general agreement. He saw that if he continued to oppose them he would lose what little authority he had left. “The lodge must act as one man,” mbt walking shoes he said, quoting a much-used form of words. “Are we all in favor of a stoppage?” There was a chorus of assent. “So be it,” said Jack dismally. “I’ll tell the prior.” Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH Bishop Waleran rode into Shiring followed by a small army of attendants. Earl William was wait mbt shop uk ing for him in the porch of the church on the market square. William frowned in puzzlement: he had been expecting a site meeting, not a state visit. What was the devious bishop up to now? With Waleran was a stranger on a chestnut gelding. The man was tall and rangy, with heavy black eyebrows and a large curved nose. He wore a scornful expression that seemed permanent. He rode beside Waleran, as if they were equals, but he was not wearing the clothes of a bishop. When they dismounted, Waleran introduced the stranger. “Earl William, this is Peter of Wareham, who is an archdeacon in the service of the archbishop of Canterbury.” No explanation of what Peter is doing here, William thought. Waleran is definitely up to something. The archdeacon bowed and said: “Your bishop has told me of your generosity to Holy Mother Church, Lord William.” Before William could reply, Waleran pointed to the parish church. “This building will be pulled down to make room for the new church, Archdeacon,” he said. “Have you appointed a master mason yet?” Peter asked. William wondered why an archdeacon from Canterbury was so interested in the parish church of Shiring. But perhaps he was just being polite. “No, I haven’t found a master yet,” Waleran said. “There are plenty of builders looking for work, but I can’t get anyone from Paris. It seems the whole world wants to build churches like Saint-Denis, and the masons who know the style are in heavy demand.” “It could be important,” said Peter. “There’s a builder who may be able to help waiting to see us later.” Once again William was a little puzzled. Why did Peter think it was imp mbt clearance ortant to build in the style of Saint-Denis? Waleran said: “The new church will be much bigger, of course. It will protrude a good deal farther into the square here.” William did not like the proprietorial air Waleran was assuming. Now he interjected: “I can’t have the church encroaching on the market square.” Waleran looked irritated, as if William had spoken out of turn. “Whyever not?” mbt kisumu he said. “Every inch of the square makes money on market days.” Waleran looked as if he was disposed to argue, but Peter said with a smile: “We mustn’t block the silver fountain!” “That’s righ cheap mbt t,” William said. He was paying for this church. Happily, the fourth bad harvest had ma mbt discount de little difference to his income. Smaller peasants Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH paid rent in kind, and many of them had given William his sack of grain and brace of geese even though they were living on acorn soup. Furthermore, that sack of grain was worth ten times what it had fetched five years ago, and the increase in the price more than compensated for the tenants who had defaulted and the serfs who had starved to death. He still had the resources to finance the new building. They walked around to the back of the church. Here was an area of housing that generated minimal income. William said: “We can mbt uk build out at this end, and knock down all these houses.” “But most of them are clerical residences,” Waleran objected. “We’ll find other houses for the clergymen.” Waleran looked dissatisfied, but said no more on that subject. On the north side of the church a broad-shouldered man of about thirty years bowed to them. By his dress William judged him to be a craftsman. Archdeacon Baldwin, the bishop’s close colleague, said: “This is the man I told you about, my lord bishop. His name is Alfred of Kingsbridge.” At first glance the man was not very prepossessing: he was rather ox-like, big and strong and dumb. But on closer examination there was a cunning look about his face, rather like a fox or a sly dog. Archdea UK MBT con Baldwin said: “Alfred is the son of Tom Builder, the first master at Kingsbridge; and was himself master for a while, until he was usurped by his stepbrother.” The son of Tom Builder. This was the man who had married Aliena, William realized. But he had never consummated the marriage. William looked at him with keen interest. He would never have guessed this man to be impotent. He appeared healthy and normal. But Aliena could have a strange effect on a man. Archdeacon Peter was saying: “Have you worked in Paris, and learned the style of Saint-Denis?” “No—” “But we must have a church built in the new style.” “At present I’m working at Kingsbridge, where my brother is master. He brought the new style back from Paris and I’ve learned it from him.” William wondered how Bishop Waleran had managed to suborn Alfred without arousing suspicion; then he remembered that the Kingsbridge subprior, Remigius, was a tool of Waleran. Remigius must have made the initial approach. He remembered something else about Kingsbridge. He said to Alfred: “But your roof fell down.” Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH “That wasn’t my fault,” Alfred said. “Prior Philip insisted on a change of design.” “I know Philip,” said Peter, and there was venom in his voice. “A stubborn, arrogant man.” “How do you know him?” William asked. “Many years ago I was a monk at the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest when Philip was in charge there,” Peter said bitterly. “I criticized his slack regime, and he made me almoner to get me out of the way.” Peter’s resentment still burned hot, it was clear. No doubt that was a factor in whatever Waleran was scheming. William said: “Be that as it may, I don’t think I want to hire a builder whose roofs fall down, no matter what excuses there might be.” Alfred said: “I’m the only master builder in England who has worked on a new-style church, apart from Jack Jackson.” William said: “I don’t care about Saint-Denis. I believe my poor mother’s soul will be served just as well by a traditional design.” Bishop Waleran and Archdeacon Peter exchanged a look. After a moment, Waleran spoke to William in a lowered voice. “One day this church could be Shiring Cathedral,” he said. Everything became clear to William. Many years ago Waleran had schemed to have the seat of the diocese moved from Kingsbridge to Shiring, but Prior Philip had outmaneuvered him. Now Waleran had revived the plan. This time, it seemed, he would go about it more deviously. Last time he had simply asked the archb mbt clearance ishop of Canterbury to grant his request. This time he was going to start building a new church, one large and prestigious enough to be a cathedral, and at the same time develop allies such as Peter within the archbishop’s circle, before making his application. That was all very well, but William just wanted to build a church in memory of his mother, to ease her soul’s passage through the eternal fires; and he resented Waleran’s attempt to take over the scheme for his own purposes. On the other hand, it would be a tremendous boost to Shiring to have the cathedral here, and William would profit from that. Alfred was saying: “There’s something else.” Waleran said: “Yes?” William looked at the two men. Alfred was bigger, stronger and younger than Waleran, and he could have knocked Waleran to the ground with one of his big hands tied behind his back; yet he was acting like the weak man in a confrontation. Years ago it would have made William angry to see a prissy white-skinned priest dominate a strong man, but he no longer got upset about such things: that was the way of the world. Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH Alfred lowered his voice and said: “I can bring the entire Kingsbridge work force with me.” Suddenly his three listeners were riveted. “Say that again,” said Waleran. “If you hire me as master builder, I’ll bring all the craftsmen from Kingsbridge with me.” Waleran said warily: “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” “I don’t ask you to trust me,” Alfred said. “Give me the job conditionally. If I don’t do what I promise, I’ll leave without pay.” For different reasons all three of his listeners hated Prior Philip, and they were immediately gripped by the prospect of striking such a blow at him. Alfred added: “Several of the masons worked on Saint-Denis.” Waleran said: “But how can you bring them with you?” “Does it matter? Let’s just say they prefer me to Jack.” William thought Alfred was lying about this, and Waleran appeared to think the same, for he tilted back his head and gave Alfred a long look down his pointed nose. However, Alfred had seemed to be telling the truth earlier.
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cheat him, he knew. He did not really understand why she was so devoted to him. If it was love, he thought, surely she would have got fed up by now, for she and the whole world knew that Aliena was the love of his life. He had once contemplated sending her away, to force her out of her rut: that way perhaps she would fall for a suitable man. But he knew in his heart that it would not work and would only make her desperately unhappy. So he let it be. Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH He reached inside his tunic for his purse, and took out three silver pennies. “You’d better have twelvepence a week, and see if you can manage on that,” he said. It seemed a lot. His pay was only twenty-four pennies a week, although he got perquisites as well, candles and robes and boots. He swallowed the rest of a mug of beer and went out. It was unusually c cheap mbt old for early autumn. The weather was still strange. He walked briskly along the street and entered the priory close. It was still a little before sunrise and only a handful of craftsmen were here. He walked up the nave, looking at the foundations. They were almost complete, which was fortunate, as the mortar work would probably have to stop early this year because of the cold weather. He looked up at the new transepts. His pleasure in his own creation was blighted by the cracks. They had reappeared on the day after the great storm. He was terribly disappointed. It had been a phenomenal tempest, of course, but his church was designed to survive a hundred such storms. He shook his head in perplexity, and climbed the turret stairs to the gallery. He wished he could talk to someone who had built a similar church, but nobody in England had, and even in France they had not yet gone this high. On impulse, he did not go to his tracing floor, but continued up the staircase to the roof. The lead had all been laid, and cheap shoes mbt he saw that the pinnacle that had been blocking the flow of rainwater now had a generous gutter running through its base. It was windy up on the roof, and he tried to keep hold of something whenever he was near the edge: he would not be the first builder to be blown off a roof to his death by a gust of wind. The wind always seemed stronger up here than it did on the ground. In fact, the wind seemed to increase disproportionately as you climbed. … He stood still, staring into space. That was the answer to his puzzle. It was not the weight of his vault that was causing the cracks—it was the height. He had built the church strong enough to bear the weight, he was sure; but he had not thought about the wind. These towering walls were constantly buffeted, and because they were so high, the wind was enough to crack them. Standing on the roof, feeling its force, he could just imagine the effect it was having on the tautly balanced structure below him. He knew the building so well that he could almost feel the strain, as if the walls were part of his body. The wind pushed sideways against the church, just as it was pushing against him; and because the church could not bend, it cracked. He was quite sure he had found the explanation; but what was he going to do about it? He needed to strengthen the clerestory so that it could withstand the wind. But how? To build massive buttresses up against the walls would Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH destroy the stunning effect of lightness and grace that he had achieved so successfully. But if that was what it took to make the building stand up, he would have to do it. He went down the stairs again. He felt no more cheerful, even though he had finally understood the problem; for it looked as if the solution would destroy his dream. Perhaps I was arroga UK MBT nt, he thought. I was so sure I could build the most beautiful cathedral in the world. Why did I imagine I could do better than anyone else? What made me think I was special? I should have copied another master’s design exactly, and been content. Philip was waiting for him at the tracing floor. There was a worried frown on the prior’s brow, and the fringe of graying hair around his shaved head was untidy. He looked as if he had been up all night. “We’ve got to reduce our expenditure,” he said without preamble. “We just haven’t got the money to carry on building at our present rate.” Jack had been afraid of this. The hurricane had destroyed the harvest throughout most of southern England: it was sure to have an effect on the priory’s finances. Talk of cutbacks always made him anxious. In his heart he was afraid that if building slowed down too much he might not live to see his cathedral completed. But he did not let his fear show. “Winter’s coming,” he said casually. “Work always slows down then anyway. And winter will be early this year.” “Not early enough,” Philip said grimly. “I want to cut our outgoings in half, immediately.” “In half!” It sounded impossible. “The winter layoff begins today.” This was worse than Jack had anticipated. The summer workers normally left around the beginning of December. They spent the winter months building wooden houses or making plows and carts, either for their families or to earn money. This year their families would not be pleased to see mbt walking shoes them. Jack said: “Do you know you’re sending them to homes where people are already starving?” Philip just stared back at him angrily. “Of course you know it,” Jack said. “Sorry I asked.” Philip said forcefully: “If I don’t do this now, then one Saturday in midwinter the entire work force will stand in line for their pay and I will show them an mbt shop uk empty chest.” mbt discount Jack shrugged helplessly. “There’s no arguing with that.” “It’s not all,” Philip warned. “From now on there’s to be no hiring, even to replace people who leave.” Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH “We haven’t been hiring for months.” “You hired Alfred.” “That was different.” Jack was embarrassed. “Anyway, no hiring.” “And no upgrading.” Jack nodded. Every now and again an apprentice or a laborer asked to be upgraded to mason or stonecutter. If the other craftsmen judged that his skills were adequate, the request would be granted, and the priory would have to pay him higher wages. Jack s mbt kisumu aid: “Upgradin mbt clearance g is the prerogative of the masons’ lodge.” “I’m not trying to alter that,” Philip said. “I’m asking the masons to postpone all promotions until the famine is over.” “I’ll put it to them,” Jack said noncommit mbt shoes review tally. He had a feeling there could be trouble over that. mbt online Philip pressed on. “From now on there’ll be no work on saint’s days.” There were too many saint’s days. In principle, they were holidays, but whether workers were paid for the holiday was a matter for negotiation. At Kingsbridge the rule was that when two or more saint’s days fell in the same week, the first was a paid holiday and the second was an unpaid optional day off. Most people chose to work the second. Now, however, they would not have that option. The second saint’s day would be an obligatory unpaid holiday. Jack was feeling uncomfortable about the prospect of explaining these changes to the lodge. He said: “All this would go down a lot better if I could present it to them as a matter for discussion, rather than as something already settled.” Philip shook his head. “Then they’d think it was open to negotiation, and some of the proposals might be softened. They’d suggest working half the saint’s days, and allowing a limited number of upgrades.” He was right, of course. “But isn’t that reasonable?” Jack said. “Of course it’s reasonable,” Philip said irritably. “It’s just that there’s no room for adjustment. I’m already worried that these measures won’t be sufficient—I can’t make any concessions.” “All right,” Jack said. Philip was clearly in no mood to compromise right now. “Is there anything else?” he mbt uk said warily. “Yes. Stop buying supplies. Run down your stocks of stone, iron and timber.” “We get the timber free!” Jack protested. “But we have to pay for it to be carted here.” “True. All right.” Jack went to the window and looked down at the stones and tree trunks stacked in the priory close. It was a reflex action: he already Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH knew how much he had in stock. “That’s not a problem,” he said after a moment. “With the reduced work force, we’ve got enough materials to last us until next summer.” Philip sighed wearily. “There’s no guarantee we’ll be taking on summer workers next year,” he said. “It depends on the price of wool. You’d better warn them.” Jack nodded. “It’s as bad as that, is it?” “It’s worse than I’ve ever known it,” Philip said. “What this country needs is three years of good weather. And a new king.” “Amen to that,” said Jack. Philip returned to his house. Jack spent the morning wondering how to handle the changes. There were two ways to build a nave: bay by bay, beginning at the crossing and working west; or course by course, laying the base of the entire nave first and then working up. The second way was faster but required more masons. It was the method Jack had intended to use. Now he reconsidered. Building bay by bay was more suited to a reduced work force. It had another advantage, too: any modifications he introduced into his design to take account of wind resistance could be tested in one or two bays before being used throughout the building. He also brooded over the long-term effect of the financial crisis. Work might slow down more and more, over the years. Gloomily he saw himself growing old and gray and feeble without achieving his life’s ambition, and eventually being buried in the priory graveyard in the shadow of a still unfinished cathedral. When the noon bell mbt clearance rang he went to the masons’ lodge. The men were sitting down to their ale and cheese, and he noticed for the first time that many of them had no bread. He asked the masons who normally went home to dinner if they would stay for a moment. “The priory is running short of money,” he said. “I’ve never known a monastery that didn’t, sooner or later,” said one of the older men. Jack looked at him. He was called Edward Twonose because he had a wart on his face almost as big as his nose. He was a good stone carver, with a sharp eye for exact curves, and Jack always used him for shafts and drums. Jack said: “You’d have to admit that this place manages its money better than most. But Prior Philip can’t avert storms and bad harvests, and now he needs to reduce his expenditur mbt uk e. I’ll tell you about it before you have your dinners. First of all, we’re not taking in any more supplies of stone or timber.” Ken Follett – THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH The craftsmen from the other lodges were drifting in to listen. One of the old carpenters, Peter, said: “The wood we’ve got won’t last the winter.” “Yes, it will,” Jack said. “We’ll be building more slowly, because we’ll have fewer craftsmen. The winter layoff starts today.” He knew immediately that he had handled the announcement wrongly. There were protests from all sides, several men speaking at once. I should have broken it to them gently, he thought. But he had no experience of this kind of thing. He had been master for seven years, but in that time there had been no financial crises. The voice that emerged from the hubbub was that of Pierre Paris, one of the masons who had come from Saint-Denis. After six years in Kingsbridge his English was still imperfect, and his anger made his accent thicker, but he was not discouraged. “You cannot dismiss men on a Tuesday,” he said. “That’s right,” said Jack Blacksmith. “You have to give them until the end of the week, at least.” Jack’s stepbrother Alfred chimed in. “I remember when my father was building a house for the earl of Shiring, and Will Hamleigh came and dismissed the whole crew. My father told him he had to give everyone a week’s wages, and held his horse’s head until he handed over the money.” Thank you for nothing, Alfred, thought Jack. He said doggedly: “You might as well hear the rest. From now on, there’s no work on saint’s days, and no promotions.”
