The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [410]
On the following day Jack attended chapter and presented his plans. The drawings were propped up on a bench against the wall, and the monks crowded around to look at them. As they took in the details, there was a murmur of discussion which rose rapidly to a hubbub. Jack was discouraged: the tone was disapproving, bordering on outrage. The noise grew louder as they began to argue among themselves, some attacking the design and others defending it.
After a while Philip called for order and they calmed down. Milius Bursar asked a prearranged question. “Why are the arches pointed?”
“It’s a new technique they’re using in France,” Jack replied. “I’ve seen it in several churches. The pointed arch is stronger. That is what will enable me to build the church so high. It will probably be the tallest nave in England.”
They liked that idea, Jack could tell.
Someone else said: “The windows are so big.”
“Thick walls are unnecessary,” Jack said. “They’ve proved that in France. It’s the piers that hold the building up, especially with rib-vaulting. And the effect of the big windows is breathtaking. At Saint-Denis the abbot has put in colored glass with pictures on it. The church becomes a place of sunshine and air, instead of gloom and darkness.”
Several of the monks were nodding approval. Perhaps they were not as conservative as he had thought.
But Andrew Sacrist spoke next. “Two years ago you were a novice among us. You were disciplined for striking the prior, and you evaded that discipline and ran away. Now you come back wanting to tell us how to build our church.”
Before Jack could speak, one of the younger monks protested: “That’s nothing to do with it! We’re discussing the design, not Jack’s past!”
Several monks tried to speak at the same time, some of them shouting. Philip made them all shut up and asked Jack to answer the question.
Jack had been expecting something like this and he was ready. “I made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela as penance for that sin, Father Andrew, and I hope my bringing the Weeping Madonna to you may count as recompense for my wrongdoing,” he said meekly. “I’m not destined to be a monk, but I hope I can serve God in a different way—as his builder.”
They seemed to accept that.
However, Andrew had not finished. “How old are you?” he said, although he surely knew the answer.
“Twenty years.”
“That’s very young to be a master builder.”
“Everyone here knows me. I’ve lived here since I was a boy.” Since I burned down your old church, he thought guiltily. “I served my apprenticeship under the original master builder. You’ve seen my stonework. When I was a novice I worked with Prior Philip and Tom Builder as clerk of the works. I humbly ask the brothers to judge me by my work, not by my age.”
It was another prepared speech. He saw one of the monks grin at the word humbly, and realized it might have been a small error: they all knew that whatever other qualities he had he was not humble.
Andrew was quick to take advantage of his slip. “Humbly?” he said, and his face began to turn red as he feigned outrage. “It wasn’t very humble of you to announce to the masons of Paris three months ago that you had already been appointed master builder here.”
Once again there was a hubbub of indignant reactions from the monks. Jack groaned inwardly. How the devil had Andrew got hold of that little tidbit? Reynold or Edward must have been indiscreet. He tried to shrug it off. “I was hoping to attract some of those craftsmen to Kingsbridge,” he said as the noise died down. “They will be useful, no matter who is appointed master here. I don’t think my presumption did any harm.” He tried an engaging grin. “But I’m sorry I’m not humbler.” This did not go down very well.
Milius Bursar got him out of trouble by asking another prearranged question. “What do you propose to do about the existing chancel, which has partly collapsed?”
“I’ve