The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [451]
He was quite sure he had found the explanation; but what was he going to do about it? He needed to strengthen the clerestory so that it could withstand the wind. But how? To build massive buttresses up against the walls would destroy the stunning effect of lightness and grace that he had achieved so successfully.
But if that was what it took to make the building stand up, he would have to do it.
He went down the stairs again. He felt no more cheerful, even though he had finally understood the problem; for it looked as if the solution would destroy his dream. Perhaps I was arrogant, he thought. I was so sure I could build the most beautiful cathedral in the world. Why did I imagine I could do better than anyone else? What made me think I was special? I should have copied another master’s design exactly, and been content.
Philip was waiting for him at the tracing floor. There was a worried frown on the prior’s brow, and the fringe of graying hair around his shaved head was untidy. He looked as if he had been up all night.
“We’ve got to reduce our expenditure,” he said without preamble. “We just haven’t got the money to carry on building at our present rate.”
Jack had been afraid of this. The hurricane had destroyed the harvest throughout most of southern England: it was sure to have an effect on the priory’s finances. Talk of cutbacks always made him anxious. In his heart he was afraid that if building slowed down too much he might not live to see his cathedral completed. But he did not let his fear show. “Winter’s coming,” he said casually. “Work always slows down then anyway. And winter will be early this year.”
“Not early enough,” Philip said grimly. “I want to cut our outgoings in half, immediately.”
“In half!” It sounded impossible.
“The winter layoff begins today.”
This was worse than Jack had anticipated. The summer workers normally left around the beginning of December. They spent the winter months building wooden houses or making plows and carts, either for their families or to earn money. This year their families would not be pleased to see them. Jack said: “Do you know you’re sending them to homes where people are already starving?”
Philip just stared back at him angrily.
“Of course you know it,” Jack said. “Sorry I asked.” Philip said forcefully: “If I don’t do this now, then one Saturday in midwinter the entire work force will stand in line for their pay and I will show them an empty chest.”
Jack shrugged helplessly. “There’s no arguing with that.”
“It’s not all,” Philip warned. “From now on there’s to be no hiring, even to replace people who leave.”
“We haven’t been hiring for months.”
“You hired Alfred.”
“That was different.” Jack was embarrassed. “Anyway, no hiring.”
“And no upgrading.”
Jack nodded. Every now and again an apprentice or a laborer asked to be upgraded to mason or stonecutter. If the other craftsmen judged that his skills were adequate, the request would be granted, and the priory would have to pay him higher wages. Jack said: “Upgrading is the prerogative of the masons’ lodge.”
“I’m not trying to alter that,” Philip said. “I’m asking the masons to postpone all promotions until the famine is over.”
“I’ll put it to them,” Jack said noncommittally. He had a feeling there could be trouble over that.
Philip pressed on. “From now on there’ll be no work on saint’s days.”
There were too many saint’s days. In principle, they were holidays, but whether workers were paid for the holiday was a matter for negotiation. At Kingsbridge the rule was