The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [456]
For different reasons all three of his listeners hated Prior Philip, and they were immediately gripped by the prospect of striking such a blow at him.
Alfred added: “Several of the masons worked on Saint-Denis.”
Waleran said: “But how can you bring them with you?”
“Does it matter? Let’s just say they prefer me to Jack.”
William thought Alfred was lying about this, and Waleran appeared to think the same, for he tilted back his head and gave Alfred a long look down his pointed nose. However, Alfred had seemed to be telling the truth earlier. Whatever the true reason might be, he seemed convinced that he could bring the Kingsbridge craftsmen with him.
William said: “If they all follow you here, work will come to a complete standstill at Kingsbridge.”
“Yes,” Alfred said. “It will.”
William looked at Waleran and Peter. “We need to talk further about this. He’d better dine with us.”
Waleran nodded agreement and said to Alfred: “Follow us to my house. It’s at the other end of the market square.”
“I know,” said Alfred. “I built it.”
For two days Prior Philip refused to discuss the strike. He was speechless with rage, and whenever he saw Jack he just turned around and walked the other way.
On the second day three cartloads of flour arrived from one of the priory’s outlying mills. The carts were escorted by men-at-arms: flour was as precious as gold nowadays. It was checked in by Brother Jonathan, who was deputy cellarer under old Cuthbert Whitehead. Jack watched Jonathan count the sacks. To Jack there was something oddly familiar about Jonathan’s face, as if he resembled someone Jack knew well. Jonathan was tall and gangling, with light brown hair—nothing like Philip, who was short and slight and black-haired; but in every way other than physically Jonathan took after the man who was his surrogate father: the boy was intense, highprincipled, determined and ambitious. People liked him despite his rather rigid attitude to morality—which was very much how they felt about Philip.
While Philip was refusing to talk, a word with Jonathan would be the next best thing.
Jack watched while Jonathan paid the men-at-arms and the carters. He was quietly efficient, and when the carters asked for more than they were entitled to, as they always did, he refused them calmly but firmly. It occurred to Jack that a monastic education was a good preparation for leadership.
Leadership. Jack’s shortcomings in that area had been revealed rather starkiy. He had let a problem become a crisis by maladroit handling of his men. Every time he thought of that meeting he cursed his ineptitude. He was determined to find a way to put matters right.
As the carters left, grumbling, Jack walked casually by and said to Jonathan: “Philip is terribly angry about the strike.”
For a moment Jonathan looked as if he was about to say something unpleasant—he was clearly fairly angry himself—but finally his face relaxed and he said: “He seems angry, but underneath he’s wounded.”
Jack nodded. “He takes it personally.”
“Yes. He feels the craftsmen have turned on him in his hour of need.”
“I suppose they have, in a way,” Jack said. “But Philip made a major error of judgment in trying to alter working practices by fiat.”
“What else could he do?” Jonathan retorted.
“He could have discussed the crisis with them first. They might even have been able to suggest some economies themselves. But I’m in no position to blame Philip, because I made the same mistake myself.”
That pricked Jonathan’s curiosity. “How?”
“I reported the schedule of cuts to the men as bluntly and tactlessly as Philip announced it to me.”
Jonathan wanted to be outraged, like Philip, and blame the strike on the perfidy of the men; but he was reluctantly seeing the other side of the coin. Jack decided to say no more. He had planted a seed.
He left Jonathan and returned to his tracing floor. The trouble, he reflected as he picked up his drawing implements, was that the town’s peacemaker was Philip. Normally, he was the judge of wrongdoers and the arbiter in disputes. It