The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [522]
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Philip said: “How do you know all this?”
“I was Jack Shareburg’s only friend, and he was the father of my son, Jack Jackson, the master builder of this cathedral.”
There was uproar. Waleran and Peter were both trying to speak at the same time but neither could be heard over the astonished hubbub of the assembled clergymen. They came to see a showdown, Philip thought, but they never expected this.
Eventually Peter made himself heard. “Why would three law-abiding citizens conspire to falsely accuse an innocent stranger?” he said skeptically.
“For gain,” Ellen said. “Waleran Bigod was made an archdeacon. Percy was given the manor of Hamleigh and several other villages, and became a man of property. I don’t know what reward was received by Prior James.”
“I can answer that,” said a new voice.
Philip looked around, startled: the speaker was Remigius. He was well past his seventieth year, white-haired and inclined to ramble when he talked; but now, as he stood up with the help of a walking stick, his eyes were bright and his expression alert. It was rare to hear him speak publicly: since his downfall and return to the monastery he had lived a quiet and humble life. Philip wondered what was coming. Whose side was Remigius going to take? Would he seize a last opportunity to stab his old enemy Philip in the back?
“I can tell you what reward Prior James received,” Remigius said. “The priory was given the villages of Northwold, Southwold and Hundredacre, plus the forest of Oldean.”
Philip was aghast. Could it be true that the old prior had given false testimony, under oath, for the sake of a few villages?
“Prior James was never a good manager,” Remigius went on. “The priory was in difficulty, and he thought the extra income would help us out.” Remigius paused, then said incisively: “It did little good and much harm. The income was useful for a while, but Prior James never recovered his self-respect.”
Listening to Remigius, Philip recalled the stooped, defeated air of the old prior, and at last understood it.
Remigius said: “James had not actually perjured himself, for he swore only that the cup belonged to the priory; but he knew Jack Shareburg was innocent, yet he remained silent. He regretted that silence for the rest of his life.”
He would, Philip thought; it was such a venal sin for a monk. Remigius’s testimony confirmed Ellen’s story—and condemned Waleran.
Remigius was still speaking. “A few of the older ones here today will remember what the priory was like forty years ago: rundown, penniless, decrepit, demoralized. That was because of the weight of guilt hanging over the prior. When he was dying, he finally confessed his sin to me. I wanted—” Remigius broke off. The church was silent, waiting. The old man sighed and resumed. “I wanted to take over his position and repair the damage. But God chose another man for that task.” He paused again, and his old face worked painfully as he struggled to finish. “I should say: God chose a better man.” He sat down abruptly.
Philip was shocked, bemused and grateful. Two old enemies, Ellen and Remigius, had rescued him. The revelation of these ancient secrets made him feel as if he had been living with one eye closed. Bishop Waleran was livid with rage. He must have felt sure he was safe after all these years. He was leaning over Peter, speaking into the archdeacon’s ear, while a buzz of comment rose from the audience.
Peter stood up and shouted: “Silence!” The church went quiet. “This court is closed!” he said.
“Wait a minute!” It was Jack Jackson. “That’s not good enough!” he said passionately. “I want to know why.”
Ignoring Jack, Peter walked toward the door that led into the cloisters, and Waleran followed him.
Jack went after them. “Why did you do it?” he shouted at Waleran. “You lied on oath, and a man died—are you going to walk out of here without another word?”
Waleran looked straight ahead, white-faced, tight-lipped,