The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
, pretending to study the cracks in the clerestory (a problem that was still unsolved), and waited until he saw Philip hurry across to his own house from the cloisters. When Philip was inside, Jack followed.
Philip's door was always open. Jack tapped on it and went in. Philip was on his knees in front of the small altar in the corner. You'd think he'd get enough praying done, in church most of the day and half the night, without doing it at home too, Jack thought. There was no fire: Philip was economizing. Jack waited silently until Philip rose and turned around. Then Jack said: "This has got to come to an end."
Philip's normally amiable face was set in hard lines. "I see no difficulty about that," he said coldly. "They can come back to work as soon as they like."
"On your terms."
Philip just looked at him.
Jack said: "They won't come back on your terms, and they won't wait forever for you to see reason." He added hastily: "Or what they think is reason."
"Won't wait forever?" Philip said. "Where will they go when they get tired of waiting? They won't find work elsewhere. Do they think this is the only place that is suffering from the famine? It's all over England. Every building site is having to cut back."
"So you're going to wait for them to come crawling back to you, begging forgiveness," Jack said.
Philip looked away. "I won't make anyone crawl," he said. "I don't believe I've ever given you reason to expect such behavior from me."
"No, and that's why I've come to see you," Jack said. "I know you don't really want to humiliate these men-it's not in your nature. And besides, if they returned feeling beaten and resentful, they'd work badly for years to come. So from my point of view as well as yours, we must let them save face. And that means making concessions."
Jack held his breath. That had been his big speech, and this was his make-or-break moment. If Philip remained unmoved now, the future looked bleak.
Philip looked hard at Jack for a long moment. Jack could see reason struggling with emotion in the prior's face. Then at last his expression softened and he said: "We'd better sit down."
Jack suppressed a sigh of relief as he took a seat. He had planned what he was going to say next; he was not going to repeat the spontaneous tactlessness he had shown with the builders. "There's no need to modify your freeze on purchase of supplies," he began. "Similarly, the moratorium on new hiring can stand--no one objects to that. I also think they can be persuaded to accept that there will be no work on saints' days, if they gain concessions in other areas." He paused to let that sink in. So far he was giving everything and asking for nothing.
Philip nodded. "All right. What concessions?"
Jack took a deep breath. "They were highly offended by the proposal to ban promotions. They think you're trying to usurp the ancient prerogative of the lodge."
"I explained to you that that was not my intention," Philip said in an exasperated tone.
"I know, I know," Jack said hastily. "Of course you did. And I believed you, but they didn't." An injured look came over Philip's face. How could anyone disbelieve him? Hastily, Jack said: "But that's in the past. I'm going to propose a compromise that won't cost you anything."
Philip looked interested.
Jack went on: "Let them continue to approve applications for promotion, but postpone the associated pay raise for a year." And he thought: Find something to object to in that, if you can.
"Will they accept that?" Philip said skeptically.
"It's worth a try."
"What if I still can't afford the pay raises a year from now?"
"Cross that bridge when you get to it."
"You mean, renegotiate in a year's time."
Jack shrugged. "If necessary."
"I see," Philip said noncommittally. "Anything else?"
"The biggest stumbling block is the instant dismissal of the summer-workers." Jack was being completely candid now. This issue could not be honeyed. "Instant dismissal has never been allowed on any building site in Christendom. The end of the week is the earliest." To help Philip feel less foolish, Jack added: "I ought to have warned you of that."
"So all I have to do is employ them for two more days?"
"I don't think that will be enough, now," Jack said. "If we'd handled it differently from the start we might have got away with that, but now they'll want more of a compromise."
"No doubt you've got something specific in mind."
Jack had, and it was the only real concession he had to ask for. "It's now the beginning of October. We normally dismiss the summer workers at the beginning of December. Let's meet the men halfway, and do it at the beginning of November."
"That only gives me half of what I need."
"It gives you more than half. You still benefit from the rundown of stocks, the postponement of pay raises for promotion, and the saint's days."
"Those things are trimmings."
Jack sat back, feeling gloomy. He had done his best. He had no more arguments to put to Philip, no more resources of persuasion to deploy, nothing left to say. He had shot his arrow. And Philip was still resistant. Jack was ready to concede defeat. He looked at Philip's stony face and waited.
Philip looked over at the altar in the corner for a long, silent moment. Finally he looked back to Jack and said: "I'll have to put this to the chapter."
Jack went limp with relief. It was not a victory, but it was close. Philip would not ask the monks to consider anything he did not himself approve, and more often than not they did what Philip wanted. "I hope they accept," Jack said weakly.
Philip stood up and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He smiled for the first time. "If I put the case as persuasively as you, they will," he said.
Jack was surprised by this sudden change of mood. He said: "The sooner this is over, the less long-term effect it will have."
"I know. It's made me very angry, but I don't want to quarrel with you." Unexpectedly, he put out his hand.
Jack shook it, and felt good.
Jack said: "Shall I tell the builders to come to the lodge in the morning to hear the chapter's verdict?"
"Yes, please."
"I'll do that now." He turned to go.
Philip said: "Jack."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Jack nodded acknowledgment and went out. He walked through the rain without raising his hood. He felt happy.
That afternoon he went to the homes of all the craftsmen and told them there would be a meeting in the morning. Those who were not at home--the unmarried men and the summer workers, mostly--he found in the alehouse. However, they were sober, for the price of ale had gone up along with everything else, and no one could afford to get drunk. The only craftsman he could not find was Alfred, who had not been seen for a couple of days. Eventually he turned up at dusk. He came to the alehouse with an oddly triumphant look on his bovine face. He did not say where he had been, and Jack did not ask him. Jack left him drinking with the other men, and went to have supper with Aliena and the children.
Next morning he started the meeting before Prior Philip came to the lodge. He wanted to lay the groundwork. Once again he had prepared what he had to say very carefully, to be sure he did not damage his case by tactlessness. Once again he tried to handle things as Philip might have.
All he craftsmen were there early. Their livelihoods were at stake. One or two of the younger ones looked red-eyed: Jack guessed the alehouse had stayed open late last night, and some of them had forgotten their poverty for a while. The youngsters and the summer workers were most likely to prove difficult. The older craftsmen took a more long-term view. The small minority of women craftsmen were always cautious and conservative, and would back any kind of settlement.
"Prior Philip is going to ask us to go back to work, and offer us some kind of compromise," Jack began. "Before he comes, we ought to discuss what we might be prepared to accept, what we will definitely reject, and where we might be willing to negotiate. We must show Philip a united front. I hope you all agree."
There were a few nods.
He made himself sound slightly angry, and said: "In my view we should absolutely refuse to accept instant dismissal." He banged his fist on the workbench to emphasize his inflexibility on this point. Several people voiced their agreement loudly. Jack knew this was one demand Philip was certainly not going to make. He wanted the hotheads to get themselves worked up to defend ancient custom and practice on this point, so that when Philip conceded it, the wind would be taken out of their sails.
"Also, we must guard the lodge's right to make promotions, for only craftsmen can judge whether a man is skilled or not." Once again he was being disingenuous. He was focusing their attention on the nonfinancial aspect of promotions, in the hope that when they won that point they would be ready to compromise on payments.
"As for working on saint's days, I'm in two minds. Holidays are normally a matter for negotiation--there's no standard custom and practice, as far as I know." He turned to Edward Twonose and said: "What's your view on that, Edward?"
"Practice varies from site to site," Edward said. He was pleased to be consulted. Jack nodded, encouraging him to go on. Edward began to recall variant methods of dealing with saint's days. The meeting was going just the way Jack wanted. An extended discussion of a point that was not very controversial would bore the men and sap their energy for confrontation.
However, Edward's monologue was interrupted by a voice from the back which said: "This is all irrelevant."
Jack looked over and saw that the speaker was Dan Bristol, a summer worker. Jack said: "One at a time, please. Let Edward have his say."
Dan was not so easily deflected. "Never mind about all that," he said. "What we want is a raise."
"A raise?" Jack was irritated by this ludicrous remark.
To his surprise, however, Dan was supported. Pierre said: "That's right, a raise. Look--a four-pound loaf costs a penny. A hen, which used to be eightpence, is now twenty-four! None of us here has had strong beer for weeks, I bet. Everything is going up, but most of us are still getting the wage we were hired at, which is a twelvepence a week. We've got families to feed on that."
Jack's heart was sinking. He had had everything moving along nicely, but this interruption had ruined his strategy. He restrained himself from opposing Dan and Pierre, however, for he knew he would have more influence if he appeared open-minded. "I agree with you both," he said, to their evident surprise. "The question is, what chance have we got of persuading Philip to give us a raise at a time when the priory is running out of money?"
Nobody responded to that. Instead, Dan said: "We need twenty-four pence a week to stay alive, and even then we'll be worse off than we used to be."
Jack felt dismayed and bewildered: why was the meeting slipping out of his hands? Pierre said: "Twenty-four pence a week," and several others nodded their heads.
It occurred to Jack that he might not be the only person who had come to the meeting with a prepared strategy. Giving Dan a hard look, he said: "Have you discussed this previously?"
"Yes, last night, in the alehouse," Dan said defiantly. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Certainly not. But for the benefit of those of us who were not privileged to attend that meeting, would you like to summarize its conclusions?"
"All right." The men who had not been at the alehouse were looking resentful, but Dan was unrepentant. Just as he opened his mouth, Prior Philip walked in. Jack threw a quick, searching look at Philip. The prior looked happy. He caught Jack's eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jack felt jubilant: the monks had accepted the compromise. He opened his mouth to prevent Dan from speaking, but he was an instant too late. "We want twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen," Dan said loudly. "Twelvepence for laborers and forty-eight pence for master craftsmen."
Jack looked again at Philip. The pleased look had gone, and his face had once again set in the hard, angry lines of confrontation. "Just a moment," Jack said. "This is not the view of the lodge. It's a foolish demand cooked up by a drunken faction in the alehouse."
"No, it's not," said a new voice. It was Alfred. "I think you'll find most of the craftsmen support the demand for double pay."
Jack stared at him in fury. "A few months ago you begged me to give you a job," he said. "Now you're demanding double pay. I should have let you starve!"
Prior Philip said: "And that's what will happen to all of you if you don't see sense!"
Jack had wanted desperately to avoid such challenging remarks, but now he saw no alternative: his own strategy had collapsed.
Dan said: "We won't go back to work for less than twenty-four pence, and that's that."
Prior Philip said angrily: "It's out of the question. It's a foolish dream. I'm not even going to discuss it."
"We aren't going to discuss anything else," said Dan. "We won't work for less, under any circumstances."
Jack said: "This is stupid! How can you sit there and say you won't work for less? You won't work at all, you fool. You've got nowhere else to go!"
"Haven't we?" said Dan.
The lodge went quiet.
Oh, God, Jack thought in despair; this is it--they've got an alternative.
"We have got somewhere else to go," Dan said. He stood up. "And as for me, I'm going there now."
"What are you talking about?" Jack said.
Dan looked triumphant. "I've been offered work on a new site, in Shiring. Building the new church. At twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen."
Jack looked around. "Has anyone else been offered the same?"
The whole lodge looked shamefaced.
Dan said: "We all have."
Jack was devastated. This whole thing had been organized. He had been betrayed. He felt foolish as well as wronged. He had completely misread the situation. Hurt turned to anger, and he cast about for someone to blame. "Which of you?" he yelled. "Which of you is the traitor?" He looked around at all of them. Few were able to meet his eye. Their shame gave him no consolation. He felt like a spurned lover. "Who brought you this offer from Shiring?" he shouted. "Who is to be the master builder at Shiring?" His eye raked the assembled copany and came to rest on Alfred. Of course. He felt sick with disgust. "Alfred?" he said scornfully. "You're leaving me to work for Alfred?"
There was silence. Finally Dan said: "Yes, we are."
Jack saw that he had been defeated. "So be it," he said bitterly. "You know me, and you know my brother; and you've chosen Alfred. You know Prior Philip, and you know Earl William; and you've chosen William. All I have left to say to you is that you deserve everything you're going to get."
Chapter 15
"TELL ME A STORY," Aliena said. You never tell me stories anymore. Remember how you used to?"
"I remember," Jack said.
They were in their secret glade in the forest. It was late autumn, so instead of sitting in the shade by the stream they had built a fire in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. It was a gray, cold, dark afternoon, but lovemakig had warmed them and the fire crackled cheerfully. They were both naked under their cloaks.
Jack opened Aliena's cloak and touched her breast. She thought her breasts were too big, and she was sad that they were not as high and firm as they had been before she had the children, but he seemed to love them just as much, which was a great relief. He said: "A story about a princess who lived at the top of a high castle." He touched her nipple gently. "And a prince, who lived at the top of another high castle." He touched her other breast. "Every day they gazed at one another from the windows of their prisons, and yearned to cross the valley between." His hand rested in the cleft between her breasts, then suddenly moved down. "But every Sunday afternoon they met in the forest!" She squealed, startled, then laughed at herself.
These Sunday afternoons were the golden moments in a life that was rapidly falling apart.
The bad harvest and the slump in the wool price had brought economic devastation. Merchants were ruined, townspeople were unemployed and peasants were starving. Jack was still earning a wage, fortunately: with a handful of craftsmen he was slowly erecting the first bay of the nave. But Aliena had almost completely closed down her cloth manufacturing enterprise. And things were worse here than in the rest of southern England because of the way William was responding to the famine.
For Aliena this was the most painful aspect of the situation. William was greedy for cash to build his new church in Shiring, the church dedicated to the memory of his vicious, half-mad mother. He had evicted so many of his tenants for rent arrears that some of the best land in the county was now uncultivated, which made the shortage of grain worse. However, he had been stockpiling grain to drive the price up even farther. He had few employees and nobody to feed, so he actually profited from the famine in the short term. But in the long run he was doing irreparable damage to the estate and its ability to feed its people. Aliena remembered the earldom under her father's rule, a rich county of fertile fields and prosperous towns, and it broke her heart.
For a few years she had almost forgotten about the vows she and her brother had made to their dying father. Since William Hamleigh had been made earl, and she had started a family, the idea of Richard winning back the earldom had come to seem a remote fantasy. Richard himself had settled down as Head of the Watch. He had even married a local girl, the daughter of a carpenter; although sadly the poor girl had turned out to have bad health, and had died last year without giving him any children.
Since the famine had started, Aliena had begun to think again about the earldom. She knew that if Richard was earl, with her help he could do a lot to alleviate the suffering caused by the famine. But it was all a dream: William was well favored by King Stephen, who had gained the upper hand in the civil war, and there was no prospect of a change.
However, all these sorry wishes faded away in the secret glade, when Aliena and Jack lay down on the turf to make love. Right from the start they had been greedy for one another's bodies--Aliena would never forget how shocked she had been at her own lust, in the beginning--and even now, when she was thirty-three years old, and childbirth had broadened her rear and made her formerly flat belly sag, still Jack was so consumed with desire for her that they would make love three or four times over every Sunday.
Now his joke abou
Philip's door was always open. Jack tapped on it and went in. Philip was on his knees in front of the small altar in the corner. You'd think he'd get enough praying done, in church most of the day and half the night, without doing it at home too, Jack thought. There was no fire: Philip was economizing. Jack waited silently until Philip rose and turned around. Then Jack said: "This has got to come to an end."
Philip's normally amiable face was set in hard lines. "I see no difficulty about that," he said coldly. "They can come back to work as soon as they like."
"On your terms."
Philip just looked at him.
Jack said: "They won't come back on your terms, and they won't wait forever for you to see reason." He added hastily: "Or what they think is reason."
"Won't wait forever?" Philip said. "Where will they go when they get tired of waiting? They won't find work elsewhere. Do they think this is the only place that is suffering from the famine? It's all over England. Every building site is having to cut back."
"So you're going to wait for them to come crawling back to you, begging forgiveness," Jack said.
Philip looked away. "I won't make anyone crawl," he said. "I don't believe I've ever given you reason to expect such behavior from me."
"No, and that's why I've come to see you," Jack said. "I know you don't really want to humiliate these men-it's not in your nature. And besides, if they returned feeling beaten and resentful, they'd work badly for years to come. So from my point of view as well as yours, we must let them save face. And that means making concessions."
Jack held his breath. That had been his big speech, and this was his make-or-break moment. If Philip remained unmoved now, the future looked bleak.
Philip looked hard at Jack for a long moment. Jack could see reason struggling with emotion in the prior's face. Then at last his expression softened and he said: "We'd better sit down."
Jack suppressed a sigh of relief as he took a seat. He had planned what he was going to say next; he was not going to repeat the spontaneous tactlessness he had shown with the builders. "There's no need to modify your freeze on purchase of supplies," he began. "Similarly, the moratorium on new hiring can stand--no one objects to that. I also think they can be persuaded to accept that there will be no work on saints' days, if they gain concessions in other areas." He paused to let that sink in. So far he was giving everything and asking for nothing.
Philip nodded. "All right. What concessions?"
Jack took a deep breath. "They were highly offended by the proposal to ban promotions. They think you're trying to usurp the ancient prerogative of the lodge."
"I explained to you that that was not my intention," Philip said in an exasperated tone.
"I know, I know," Jack said hastily. "Of course you did. And I believed you, but they didn't." An injured look came over Philip's face. How could anyone disbelieve him? Hastily, Jack said: "But that's in the past. I'm going to propose a compromise that won't cost you anything."
Philip looked interested.
Jack went on: "Let them continue to approve applications for promotion, but postpone the associated pay raise for a year." And he thought: Find something to object to in that, if you can.
"Will they accept that?" Philip said skeptically.
"It's worth a try."
"What if I still can't afford the pay raises a year from now?"
"Cross that bridge when you get to it."
"You mean, renegotiate in a year's time."
Jack shrugged. "If necessary."
"I see," Philip said noncommittally. "Anything else?"
"The biggest stumbling block is the instant dismissal of the summer-workers." Jack was being completely candid now. This issue could not be honeyed. "Instant dismissal has never been allowed on any building site in Christendom. The end of the week is the earliest." To help Philip feel less foolish, Jack added: "I ought to have warned you of that."
"So all I have to do is employ them for two more days?"
"I don't think that will be enough, now," Jack said. "If we'd handled it differently from the start we might have got away with that, but now they'll want more of a compromise."
"No doubt you've got something specific in mind."
Jack had, and it was the only real concession he had to ask for. "It's now the beginning of October. We normally dismiss the summer workers at the beginning of December. Let's meet the men halfway, and do it at the beginning of November."
"That only gives me half of what I need."
"It gives you more than half. You still benefit from the rundown of stocks, the postponement of pay raises for promotion, and the saint's days."
"Those things are trimmings."
Jack sat back, feeling gloomy. He had done his best. He had no more arguments to put to Philip, no more resources of persuasion to deploy, nothing left to say. He had shot his arrow. And Philip was still resistant. Jack was ready to concede defeat. He looked at Philip's stony face and waited.
Philip looked over at the altar in the corner for a long, silent moment. Finally he looked back to Jack and said: "I'll have to put this to the chapter."
Jack went limp with relief. It was not a victory, but it was close. Philip would not ask the monks to consider anything he did not himself approve, and more often than not they did what Philip wanted. "I hope they accept," Jack said weakly.
Philip stood up and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He smiled for the first time. "If I put the case as persuasively as you, they will," he said.
Jack was surprised by this sudden change of mood. He said: "The sooner this is over, the less long-term effect it will have."
"I know. It's made me very angry, but I don't want to quarrel with you." Unexpectedly, he put out his hand.
Jack shook it, and felt good.
Jack said: "Shall I tell the builders to come to the lodge in the morning to hear the chapter's verdict?"
"Yes, please."
"I'll do that now." He turned to go.
Philip said: "Jack."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Jack nodded acknowledgment and went out. He walked through the rain without raising his hood. He felt happy.
That afternoon he went to the homes of all the craftsmen and told them there would be a meeting in the morning. Those who were not at home--the unmarried men and the summer workers, mostly--he found in the alehouse. However, they were sober, for the price of ale had gone up along with everything else, and no one could afford to get drunk. The only craftsman he could not find was Alfred, who had not been seen for a couple of days. Eventually he turned up at dusk. He came to the alehouse with an oddly triumphant look on his bovine face. He did not say where he had been, and Jack did not ask him. Jack left him drinking with the other men, and went to have supper with Aliena and the children.
Next morning he started the meeting before Prior Philip came to the lodge. He wanted to lay the groundwork. Once again he had prepared what he had to say very carefully, to be sure he did not damage his case by tactlessness. Once again he tried to handle things as Philip might have.
All he craftsmen were there early. Their livelihoods were at stake. One or two of the younger ones looked red-eyed: Jack guessed the alehouse had stayed open late last night, and some of them had forgotten their poverty for a while. The youngsters and the summer workers were most likely to prove difficult. The older craftsmen took a more long-term view. The small minority of women craftsmen were always cautious and conservative, and would back any kind of settlement.
"Prior Philip is going to ask us to go back to work, and offer us some kind of compromise," Jack began. "Before he comes, we ought to discuss what we might be prepared to accept, what we will definitely reject, and where we might be willing to negotiate. We must show Philip a united front. I hope you all agree."
There were a few nods.
He made himself sound slightly angry, and said: "In my view we should absolutely refuse to accept instant dismissal." He banged his fist on the workbench to emphasize his inflexibility on this point. Several people voiced their agreement loudly. Jack knew this was one demand Philip was certainly not going to make. He wanted the hotheads to get themselves worked up to defend ancient custom and practice on this point, so that when Philip conceded it, the wind would be taken out of their sails.
"Also, we must guard the lodge's right to make promotions, for only craftsmen can judge whether a man is skilled or not." Once again he was being disingenuous. He was focusing their attention on the nonfinancial aspect of promotions, in the hope that when they won that point they would be ready to compromise on payments.
"As for working on saint's days, I'm in two minds. Holidays are normally a matter for negotiation--there's no standard custom and practice, as far as I know." He turned to Edward Twonose and said: "What's your view on that, Edward?"
"Practice varies from site to site," Edward said. He was pleased to be consulted. Jack nodded, encouraging him to go on. Edward began to recall variant methods of dealing with saint's days. The meeting was going just the way Jack wanted. An extended discussion of a point that was not very controversial would bore the men and sap their energy for confrontation.
However, Edward's monologue was interrupted by a voice from the back which said: "This is all irrelevant."
Jack looked over and saw that the speaker was Dan Bristol, a summer worker. Jack said: "One at a time, please. Let Edward have his say."
Dan was not so easily deflected. "Never mind about all that," he said. "What we want is a raise."
"A raise?" Jack was irritated by this ludicrous remark.
To his surprise, however, Dan was supported. Pierre said: "That's right, a raise. Look--a four-pound loaf costs a penny. A hen, which used to be eightpence, is now twenty-four! None of us here has had strong beer for weeks, I bet. Everything is going up, but most of us are still getting the wage we were hired at, which is a twelvepence a week. We've got families to feed on that."
Jack's heart was sinking. He had had everything moving along nicely, but this interruption had ruined his strategy. He restrained himself from opposing Dan and Pierre, however, for he knew he would have more influence if he appeared open-minded. "I agree with you both," he said, to their evident surprise. "The question is, what chance have we got of persuading Philip to give us a raise at a time when the priory is running out of money?"
Nobody responded to that. Instead, Dan said: "We need twenty-four pence a week to stay alive, and even then we'll be worse off than we used to be."
Jack felt dismayed and bewildered: why was the meeting slipping out of his hands? Pierre said: "Twenty-four pence a week," and several others nodded their heads.
It occurred to Jack that he might not be the only person who had come to the meeting with a prepared strategy. Giving Dan a hard look, he said: "Have you discussed this previously?"
"Yes, last night, in the alehouse," Dan said defiantly. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Certainly not. But for the benefit of those of us who were not privileged to attend that meeting, would you like to summarize its conclusions?"
"All right." The men who had not been at the alehouse were looking resentful, but Dan was unrepentant. Just as he opened his mouth, Prior Philip walked in. Jack threw a quick, searching look at Philip. The prior looked happy. He caught Jack's eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jack felt jubilant: the monks had accepted the compromise. He opened his mouth to prevent Dan from speaking, but he was an instant too late. "We want twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen," Dan said loudly. "Twelvepence for laborers and forty-eight pence for master craftsmen."
Jack looked again at Philip. The pleased look had gone, and his face had once again set in the hard, angry lines of confrontation. "Just a moment," Jack said. "This is not the view of the lodge. It's a foolish demand cooked up by a drunken faction in the alehouse."
"No, it's not," said a new voice. It was Alfred. "I think you'll find most of the craftsmen support the demand for double pay."
Jack stared at him in fury. "A few months ago you begged me to give you a job," he said. "Now you're demanding double pay. I should have let you starve!"
Prior Philip said: "And that's what will happen to all of you if you don't see sense!"
Jack had wanted desperately to avoid such challenging remarks, but now he saw no alternative: his own strategy had collapsed.
Dan said: "We won't go back to work for less than twenty-four pence, and that's that."
Prior Philip said angrily: "It's out of the question. It's a foolish dream. I'm not even going to discuss it."
"We aren't going to discuss anything else," said Dan. "We won't work for less, under any circumstances."
Jack said: "This is stupid! How can you sit there and say you won't work for less? You won't work at all, you fool. You've got nowhere else to go!"
"Haven't we?" said Dan.
The lodge went quiet.
Oh, God, Jack thought in despair; this is it--they've got an alternative.
"We have got somewhere else to go," Dan said. He stood up. "And as for me, I'm going there now."
"What are you talking about?" Jack said.
Dan looked triumphant. "I've been offered work on a new site, in Shiring. Building the new church. At twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen."
Jack looked around. "Has anyone else been offered the same?"
The whole lodge looked shamefaced.
Dan said: "We all have."
Jack was devastated. This whole thing had been organized. He had been betrayed. He felt foolish as well as wronged. He had completely misread the situation. Hurt turned to anger, and he cast about for someone to blame. "Which of you?" he yelled. "Which of you is the traitor?" He looked around at all of them. Few were able to meet his eye. Their shame gave him no consolation. He felt like a spurned lover. "Who brought you this offer from Shiring?" he shouted. "Who is to be the master builder at Shiring?" His eye raked the assembled copany and came to rest on Alfred. Of course. He felt sick with disgust. "Alfred?" he said scornfully. "You're leaving me to work for Alfred?"
There was silence. Finally Dan said: "Yes, we are."
Jack saw that he had been defeated. "So be it," he said bitterly. "You know me, and you know my brother; and you've chosen Alfred. You know Prior Philip, and you know Earl William; and you've chosen William. All I have left to say to you is that you deserve everything you're going to get."
Chapter 15
"TELL ME A STORY," Aliena said. You never tell me stories anymore. Remember how you used to?"
"I remember," Jack said.
They were in their secret glade in the forest. It was late autumn, so instead of sitting in the shade by the stream they had built a fire in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. It was a gray, cold, dark afternoon, but lovemakig had warmed them and the fire crackled cheerfully. They were both naked under their cloaks.
Jack opened Aliena's cloak and touched her breast. She thought her breasts were too big, and she was sad that they were not as high and firm as they had been before she had the children, but he seemed to love them just as much, which was a great relief. He said: "A story about a princess who lived at the top of a high castle." He touched her nipple gently. "And a prince, who lived at the top of another high castle." He touched her other breast. "Every day they gazed at one another from the windows of their prisons, and yearned to cross the valley between." His hand rested in the cleft between her breasts, then suddenly moved down. "But every Sunday afternoon they met in the forest!" She squealed, startled, then laughed at herself.
These Sunday afternoons were the golden moments in a life that was rapidly falling apart.
The bad harvest and the slump in the wool price had brought economic devastation. Merchants were ruined, townspeople were unemployed and peasants were starving. Jack was still earning a wage, fortunately: with a handful of craftsmen he was slowly erecting the first bay of the nave. But Aliena had almost completely closed down her cloth manufacturing enterprise. And things were worse here than in the rest of southern England because of the way William was responding to the famine.
For Aliena this was the most painful aspect of the situation. William was greedy for cash to build his new church in Shiring, the church dedicated to the memory of his vicious, half-mad mother. He had evicted so many of his tenants for rent arrears that some of the best land in the county was now uncultivated, which made the shortage of grain worse. However, he had been stockpiling grain to drive the price up even farther. He had few employees and nobody to feed, so he actually profited from the famine in the short term. But in the long run he was doing irreparable damage to the estate and its ability to feed its people. Aliena remembered the earldom under her father's rule, a rich county of fertile fields and prosperous towns, and it broke her heart.
For a few years she had almost forgotten about the vows she and her brother had made to their dying father. Since William Hamleigh had been made earl, and she had started a family, the idea of Richard winning back the earldom had come to seem a remote fantasy. Richard himself had settled down as Head of the Watch. He had even married a local girl, the daughter of a carpenter; although sadly the poor girl had turned out to have bad health, and had died last year without giving him any children.
Since the famine had started, Aliena had begun to think again about the earldom. She knew that if Richard was earl, with her help he could do a lot to alleviate the suffering caused by the famine. But it was all a dream: William was well favored by King Stephen, who had gained the upper hand in the civil war, and there was no prospect of a change.
However, all these sorry wishes faded away in the secret glade, when Aliena and Jack lay down on the turf to make love. Right from the start they had been greedy for one another's bodies--Aliena would never forget how shocked she had been at her own lust, in the beginning--and even now, when she was thirty-three years old, and childbirth had broadened her rear and made her formerly flat belly sag, still Jack was so consumed with desire for her that they would make love three or four times over every Sunday.
Now his joke abou