The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [526]
Philip smiled. “Knotty theological questions are the least worrying of problems, to me.”
“Why?”
“Because they will all be resolved in the hereafter, and meanwhile they can safely be shelved.”
“Well spoken!” said a new voice, and Philip looked up to see Archbishop Thomas of Canterbury.
He was immediately aware of being in the presence of a remarkable man. Thomas was tall, slender and exceptionally handsome, with a wide forehead, bright eyes, fair skin and dark hair. He was about ten years younger than Philip, around fifty or fifty-one. Despite his misfortunes he had a lively, cheerful expression. He was, Philip saw instantly, a very attractive man; and this partly explained his remarkable rise from humble beginnings.
Philip knelt and kissed his hand.
Thomas said: “I’m so glad to make your acquaintance! I’ve always wanted to visit Kingsbridge—I’ve heard so much about your priory and the marvelous new cathedral.”
Philip was charmed and flattered. He said: “I’ve come to see you because everything we’ve achieved has been put in peril by the king.”
“I want to hear all about it, right away,” Thomas said. “Come into my chamber.” He turned around and swept out.
Philip followed, feeling at once pleased and apprehensive.
Thomas led him into a smaller room. There was a costly leather-and-wood bed covered with fine linen sheets and an embroidered quilt, but Philip also saw a thin mattress rolled up in a corner, and he recalled stories that Thomas never used the luxurious furniture provided by his hosts. Remembering his own comfortable bed in Kingsbridge, Philip suffered a pang of guilt to think that he snored in comfort while the primate of all England slept on the floor.
“Speaking of cathedrals,” said Thomas, “what did you think of Sens?”
“Amazing,” Philip said. “Who’s the master builder?”
“William of Sens. I’m hoping to lure him to Canterbury one day. Sit down. Tell me what’s happening in Kingsbridge.”
Philip told Thomas about Bishop Waleran and Archdeacon Peter. Thomas appeared deeply interested in everything Philip said, and asked several perceptive questions. As well as charm, he had brains. He had needed both, to rise to a position from which he could frustrate the will of one of the strongest kings England had ever had. Underneath his archbishop’s robes, it was rumored, Thomas wore a hair shirt; and beneath that charming exterior, Philip reminded himself, there was a will of iron.
When Philip had finished his story, Thomas looked grave. “This must not be allowed to happen,” he said.
“Indeed,” Philip said. Thomas’s firm tone was encouraging. “Can you stop it?”
“Only if I’m restored to Canterbury.”
That was not the answer Philip had been hoping for. “But can’t you write to the pope, even now?”
“I will,” Thomas said. “Today. The pope will not recognize Peter as bishop of Kingsbridge, I promise you. But we can’t stop him from sitting in the bishop’s palace. And we can’t appoint another man.”
Philip was shocked and demoralized by the decisiveness of Thomas’s negative. All the way here he had nursed the hope that Thomas would do what he had failed to do, and come up with a way to frustrate Waleran’s scheme. But the brilliant Thomas was also stumped. All he could offer was the hope that he would be reinstated at Canterbury. Then, of course, he would have the power to veto episcopal appointments. Philip said dejectedly: “Is there any hope you’ll come back soon?”
“Some hope, if you’re an optimist,” Thomas replied. “The pope has devised a peace treaty which he urges me and Henry to agree to. The terms are acceptable to me: the treaty gives me what I’ve been campaigning for. Henry says it is acceptable to him. I have insisted that he demonstrate his sincerity by giving me the kiss of peace. He refuses.” As he spoke, Thomas’s voice changed. The natural rise and fall of conversation flattened out and became an insistent monotone. All the vivacity went out of his face, and he took on the look of a priest delivering a sermon on self-denial to a heedless congregation. Philip saw in his expression the stubbornness