The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [418]
Eventually Waleran said bitterly: “That woman has dogged me for twenty years.” He was normally so guarded that William was shocked to see him letting his feelings show.
“She disappeared after the cathedral fell down,” Regan said. “I thought we’d seen the last of her.”
“Now her son has come to haunt us.” There was something like real fear in Waleran’s voice.
William said: “Why don’t you slap him in irons for accusing you of perjury?”
Waleran threw him a look of scorn, then said: “Your boy’s a damn fool, Regan.”
William realized the charge of perjury must be true. And if he was able to figure that out, so could Jack. “Does anyone else know?”
Regan said: “Prior James confessed his perjury, before he died, to the sub-prior, Remigius. But Remigius has always been on our side against Philip, so he’s no danger. Jack’s mother knows some of it, but not all; otherwise she would have used the information by now. But Jack has traveled around—he may have picked up something his mother didn’t know.”
William saw that this strange story from the past could be used to his advantage. As if it had just occurred to him, he said: “Then let’s kill Jack Jackson.”
Waleran just shook his head contemptuously.
Regan said: “That would serve to draw attention to him and his charges.”
William was disappointed. It had seemed almost providential. He thought about it, while the silence in the room dragged out. Then a new thought came to him, and he said: “Not necessarily.”
They both looked at him skeptically.
“Jack might be killed without drawing attention to him,” William said doggedly.
“All right, tell us how,” Waleran said.
“He could be killed in an attack on Kingsbridge,” William said, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the same look of startled respect on both their faces.
Jack walked around the building site with Prior Philip late in the afternoon. The ruins of the chancel had been cleared, and the rubble formed two huge heaps on the north side of the priory close. New scaffolding was up, and the masons were rebuilding the fallen walls. Alongside the infirmary was a large stockpile of timber.
“You’re moving along quickly,” Philip said.
“Not as fast as I’d like,” Jack replied.
They inspected the foundations of the transepts. Forty or fifty laborers were down in the deep holes, shoveling mud into buckets, while others at ground level operated the winches that lifted the buckets out of the holes. Huge rough-cut stone blocks for the foundations were stacked nearby.
Jack took Philip into his own workshop. It was much bigger than Tom’s shed had been. One side was completely open, for better light. Half the ground area was occupied by his tracing floor. He had laid planks over the earth, put a wooden border a couple of inches high around the planks, then poured plaster onto the wood until it filled the frame and threatened to overflow the border. When the plaster set, it was hard enough to walk on, but drawings could be scratched on it with a short length of iron wire sharpened to a point. This was where Jack designed the details. He used compasses, a straightedge and a set square. The scratch marks were white and clear when first made, but they faded to gray quite quickly, which meant that new drawings could be made on top of old ones without confusion. It was an idea he had picked up in France.
Most of the rest of the hut was taken up by the bench on which Jack was working in wood, making the templates that would show the masons how to carve the stones. The light was fading: he would do no more woodwork today. He began to put his tools away.
Philip picked up a template. “What’s this for?”
“The plinth at the base of a pier.”
“You prepare things well in advance.”
“I just can’t wait to start building properly.”
These days all their conversations were terse and factual.
Philip put down the template. “I must go in to compline.” He turned away.
“And I shall go and visit my family,” Jack said acidly.
Philip paused, turned as if he was going to speak, looked sad, and left.
Jack locked his toolbox. That had been a foolish