The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [400]
The mob gathered around the doorway expectantly. Jack was at a loss to know what to do. They probably wanted a sermon. He had acted like a clergyman, bearing the statue on high and calling out sonorous warnings, but that was the limit of his priestly skills. He felt fearful: what might the crowd do to him if he disappointed them now?
Suddenly they gave a collective gasp.
Jack looked behind him. Some of the nobles from the congregation had gathered in the north transept, looking out, but he could see nothing to justify the crowd’s apparent amazement.
“A miracle!” someone said, and others took up the cry: “A miracle! A miracle!”
Jack looked at the statue, and then he understood. Water was dripping from its eyes. At first he was as awestruck as the crowd, but a moment later he recalled his theory that the lady wept when there was a sudden change from warm to cold, as happened at nightfall in southern regions. The statue had just been moved from the heat of the day into the cool of the north porch. That would explain the tears. But the crowd did not know that, of course. All they saw was a statue weeping, and they marveled.
A woman at the front tossed a denier, the French silver penny, at the feet of the statue. Jack felt like laughing aloud. What was the point of giving money to a piece of wood? But the people had been so indoctrinated by the Church that their automatic response to something holy was to give money, and several others in the crowd followed the woman’s example.
Jack had never thought that Raschid’s toy might make money. Indeed, it could not make money for Jack—the people would not give if they thought the money was going into Jack’s pocket. But it would be worth a fortune to any church.
And when Jack realized that, he suddenly saw what he had to do.
It came to him in a flash, and he began speaking even before he had seen all the implications himself: the words came at the same time as the thoughts. “The Weeping Madonna belongs not to me, but to God,” he began. The crowd fell silent. This was the sermon they had been waiting for. Behind Jack, the bishops were singing in the church, but no one was interested in them now. “For hundreds of years, she languished in the land of the Saracens,” Jack went on. He had no idea what the history of the statue was, but it did not seem to matter: the priests themselves never inquired too closely into the truth of stories of miracles and holy relics. “She has traveled many miles, but her journey is not yet ended. Her destination is the cathedral church of Kingsbridge, in England.”
He caught Aliena’s eye. She was staring at him in amazement. He had to resist the temptation to wink at her to let her know he was making it up as he went along.
“It is my holy mission to take her to Kingsbridge. There, she will find her resting place. There, she will be at peace.” As he looked at Aliena the final, most brilliant inspiration came to him and he said: “I have been appointed master builder of the new church at Kingsbridge.”
Aliena’s mouth fell open. Jack looked away from her. “The Weeping Madonna has commanded that a new, more glorious church be built for her at Kingsbridge, and with her help I shall create a shrine for her as beautiful as the