The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [475]
A huge iron ball hung by a chain from a wooden scaffold, like a hangman’s noose dangling from a gallows. There was also a rope tied to the ball. This rope ran over a pulley on the upright post of the scaffold and hung down to the ground, where two laborers held it. When the laborers hauled on the rope, the ball was pulled up and back until it touched the pulley, and the chain lay horizontally along the arm of the scaffold.
Most of the population of Shiring was watching.
The men let go of the rope. The iron ball dropped and swung, smashing into the wall of the church. There was a terrific thud, the wall shuddered, and William felt the impact in the ground beneath his feet. He thought how he would like to have Richard clamped to the wall in just the place where the ball would hit. He would be squashed like a fly.
The laborers hauled on the rope again. William realized he was holding his breath as the iron ball stopped at the top of its travel. The men let go; the ball swung; and this time it tore a hole in the stone wall. The crowd applauded.
It was an ingenious mechanism.
William was happy to see work progressing on the site where he would build the new church, but he had more urgent matters on his mind today. He looked around for Bishop Waleran, and spotted him standing with Alfred Builder. William approached them and drew the bishop aside. “Is the man here yet?”
“He may be,” said Waleran. “Come to my house.”
They crossed the market square. Waleran said: “Have you brought your troops?”
“Of course. Two hundred of them. They’re waiting in the woods just outside town.”
They went into the house. William smelled boiled ham and his mouth watered, despite his urgent haste. Most people were being sparing with food at the moment, but with Waleran it seemed to be a matter of principle not to let the famine change his way of life. The bishop never ate much, but he liked everyone to know that he was far too rich and powerful to be affected by mere harvests.
Waleran’s place was a typical narrow-fronted town house, with a hall at the front and a kitchen behind, and a yard at the back with a cesspit, a beehive and a pigsty. William was relieved to see a monk waiting in the hall.
Waleran said: “Good day, Brother Remigius.”
Remigius said: “Good day, my lord bishop. Good day, Lord William.”
William looked eagerly at the monk. He was a nervous man with an arrogant face and prominent blue eyes. His face was vaguely familiar, as one among many tonsured heads at services in Kingsbridge. William had been hearing about him for years, as Waleran’s spy in Prior Philip’s camp, but this was the first time he had spoken to the man. “Have you got some information for me?” he said.
“Possibly,” Remigius replied.
Waleran threw off his fur-trimmed cloak and went to the fire to warm his hands. A servant brought hot elderberry wine in silver goblets. William took some and drank it, waiting impatiently for the servant to leave.
Waleran sipped his wine and gave Remigius a hard look. As the servant went out Waleran said to the monk: “What excuse did you give for leaving the priory?”
“None,” Remigius replied.
Waleran raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not going back,” Remigius said defiantly.
“How so?”
Remigius took a deep breath. “You’re building a cathedral here.”
“It’s just a church.”
“It’s going to be very big. You’re planning to make this the cathedral church, eventually.”
Waleran hesitated, then said: “Suppose, for the sake of argument, that you’re right.”
“The cathedral will have to be run by a chapter, either of monks or of canons.”
“So?”
“I want to be prior.”
That made sense, William thought.
Waleran said tartly: “And you’re so confident of getting the job that you’ve left Kingsbridge without Philip’s permission and with no excuse.”
Remigius looked uncomfortable. William sympathized with him: Waleran in a scornful mood was enough to make anyone fidget. “I hope I’m not overconfident,