The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [236]
Bishop Henry would arrive on a Sunday, of course, so nobody would be working, unless Philip were to co-opt the congregation. That would provide a hundred laborers. He imagined himself standing up in front of them and announcing a new kind of Whitsun service: instead of singing hymns and saying prayers, we’re going to dig holes and carry stones. They would be astonished. They would ...
What would they do, actually?
They would probably cooperate wholeheartedly.
He frowned. Either I’m crazy, he thought, or this idea could actually work.
He thought about it some more. I get up at the end of the service, and I say that today’s penance for forgiveness of all sins is half a day’s labor on the cathedral building site. Bread and ale will be provided at dinnertime.
They would do it. Of course they would.
He felt the need to try the idea out on someone else. He considered Milius, but rejected him: Milius’s thought processes were too similar to his own. He needed someone with a slightly different outlook. He decided to talk to Cuthbert Whitehead, the cellarer. He pulled on his cloak, drew the hood forward to keep the rain off his face, and went out.
He hurried across the muddy building site, passing Tom with a perfunctory wave, and made for the kitchen courtyard. This range of buildings now included a hen house, a cow shed and a dairy, for Philip did not like to spend scarce cash on simple commodities that the monks could provide for themselves, such as eggs and butter.
He entered the cellarer’s storeroom in the undercroft below the kitchen. He inhaled the dry, fragrant air, full of the herbs and spices Cuthbert had stored. Cuthbert was counting garlic, peering at the strings of bulbs and muttering numbers in an undertone. Philip saw with a small shock that Cuthbert was getting old: his flesh seemed to be wasting away beneath his skin.
“Thirty-seven,” Cuthbert said aloud. “Would you like a cup of wine?”
“No, thank you.” Philip found that wine in the daytime made him lazy and short-tempered. No doubt that was why Saint Benedict counseled monks to drink in moderation. “I want your advice, not your victuals. Come and sit down.”
Negotiating a path through the boxes and barrels, Cuthbert stumbled over a sack and almost fell before sitting on a three-legged stool in front of Philip. The storeroom was not as tidy as it had once been, Philip noted. He was struck by a thought. “Are you having trouble with your eyesight, Cuthbert?”
“It’s not what it was, but it will do,” Cuthbert said shortly.
His eyes had probably been poor for years—that might even be why he had never learned to read very well. However, he was obviously touchy about it, so Philip said no more, but made a mental note to begin grooming a replacement cellarer. “I’ve had a very disturbing letter from the prior of Canterbuy,” he said, and he told Cuthbert about Bishop Waleran’s scheming. He concluded by saying: “The only way to make the site look like a hive of activity is to get the congregation to work on it. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t do that?”
Cuthbert did not even think about it. “On the contrary, it’s a good idea,” he said immediately.
“It’s a little unorthodox, isn’t it?” Philip said.
“It’s been done before.”
“Really?” Philip was surprised and pleased. “Where?”
“I’ve heard of it in several places.”
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