The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [452]
Jack was feeling uncomfortable about the prospect of explaining these changes to the lodge. He said: “All this would go down a lot better if I could present it to them as a matter for discussion, rather than as something already settled.”
Philip shook his head. “Then they’d think it was open to negotiation, and some of the proposals might be softened. They’d suggest working half the saint’s days, and allowing a limited number of upgrades.”
He was right, of course. “But isn’t that reasonable?” Jack said.
“Of course it’s reasonable,” Philip said irritably. “It’s just that there’s no room for adjustment. I’m already worried that these measures won’t be sufficient—I can’t make any concessions.”
“All right,” Jack said. Philip was clearly in no mood to compromise right now. “Is there anything else?” he said warily.
“Yes. Stop buying supplies. Run down your stocks of stone, iron and timber.”
“We get the timber free!” Jack protested.
“But we have to pay for it to be carted here.”
“True. All right.” Jack went to the window and looked down at the stones and tree trunks stacked in the priory close. It was a reflex action: he already knew how much he had in stock. “That’s not a problem,” he said after a moment. “With the reduced work force, we’ve got enough materials to last us until next summer.”
Philip sighed wearily. “There’s no guarantee we’ll be taking on summer workers next year,” he said. “It depends on the price of wool. You’d better warn them.”
Jack nodded. “It’s as bad as that, is it?”
“It’s worse than I’ve ever known it,” Philip said. “What this country needs is three years of good weather. And a new king.”
“Amen to that,” said Jack.
Philip returned to his house. Jack spent the morning wondering how to handle the changes. There were two ways to build a nave: bay by bay, beginning at the crossing and working west; or course by course, laying the base of the entire nave first and then working up. The second way was faster but required more masons. It was the method Jack had intended to use. Now he reconsidered. Building bay by bay was more suited to a reduced work force. It had another advantage, too: any modifications he introduced into his design to take account of wind resistance could be tested in one or two bays before being used throughout the building.
He also brooded over the long-term effect of the financial crisis. Work might slow down more and more, over the years. Gloomily he saw himself growing old and gray and feeble without achieving his life’s ambition, and eventually being buried in the priory graveyard in the shadow of a still unfinished cathedral.
When the noon bell rang he went to the masons’ lodge. The men were sitting down to their ale and cheese, and he noticed for the first time that many of them had no bread. He asked the masons who normally went home to dinner if they would stay for a moment. “The priory is running short of money,” he said.
“I’ve never known a monastery that didn’t, sooner or later,” said one of the older men.
Jack looked at him. He was called Edward Twonose because he had a wart on his face almost as big as his nose. He was a good stone carver, with a sharp eye for exact curves, and Jack always used him for shafts and drums. Jack said: “You’d have to admit that this place manages its money better than most. But Prior Philip can’t avert storms and bad harvests, and now he needs to reduce his expenditure. I’ll tell you about it before you have your dinners. First of all, we’re not taking in any more supplies of stone or timber.”
The craftsmen from the other lodges were drifting in to listen. One of the old carpenters, Peter, said: “The wood we’ve got won’t last the winter.”
“Yes, it will,” Jack said. “We’ll be building more slowly, because we’ll have fewer craftsmen. The winter layoff starts