The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [56]
“Then it’s almost too late!” Philip said.
“Not really. We’ve got about a week. But you’ll have to act quickly.”
Philip realized with a sinking feeling that he had more or less made up his mind to do it. “I don’t know whom to tell,” he said. “One would normally go to the earl, but in this case he’s the culprit. The sheriff is probably on his side. We have to think of someone who is certain to be on our side.”
“The prior of Kingsbridge?”
“My prior is old and tired. The likelihood is that he would do nothing.”
“There must be someone.”
“There’s the bishop.” Philip had never actually spoken to the bishop of Kingsbridge, but he would be sure to receive Philip and listen to him; he would automatically side with Stephen because Stephen was the Church’s choice; and he was powerful enough to do something about it.
Francis said: “Where does the bishop live?”
“It’s a day and a half from here.”
“You’d better leave today.”
“Yes,” Philip said with a heavy heart.
Francis looked remorseful. “I wish it were someone else.”
“So do I,” Philip said feelingly. “So do I.”
Philip called the monks into the little chapel and told them that the king had died. “We must pray for a peaceful succession and a new king who will love the Church more than the late Henry,” he said. But he did not tell them that the key to a peaceful succession had somehow fallen into his own hands. Instead he said: “There is other news that obliges me to visit our mother house at Kingsbridge. I must leave right away.”
The sub-prior would read the services and the cellarer would run the farm, but neither of them was a match for Peter of Wareham, and Philip was afraid that if he stayed away long Peter might make so much trouble that there would be no monastery left when he returned. He had not been able to think up a way of controlling Peter without bruising his self-esteem, and now there was no time left, so he had to do the best he could.
“Earlier today we talked about gluttony,” he said after a pause. “Brother Peter deserves our thanks for reminding us that when God blesses our farm and gives us wealth, it is not so that we should become fat and comfortable, but for his greater glory. It is part of our holy duty to share our riches with the poor. Until now we have neglected this duty, mainly because here in the forest we don’t have anybody to share with. Brother Peter has reminded us that it’s our duty to go out and seek the poor, so that we may bring them relief.”
The monks were surprised: they had imagined that the subject of gluttony had been closed. Peter himself was looking uncertain. He was pleased to be the center of attention again, but he was wary of what Philip might have up his sleeve—quite rightly.
“I have decided,” Philip went on, “that each week we will give to the poor one penny for every monk in our community. If this means we all have to eat a little less, we will rejoice in the prospect of our heavenly reward. More important, we must make sure that our pennies are well spent. When you give a poor man a penny to buy bread for his family, he may go straight to the alehouse and get drunk, then go home and beat his wife, who would therefore have been better off without your charity. Better to give him the bread; better still to give the bread to his children. Giving alms is a holy task that must be done with as much diligence as healing the sick or educating the young. For this reason, many monastic houses appoint an almoner, to be responsible for almsgiving. We will do the same.”
Philip looked around. They were all alert and interested. Peter wore a gratified look, evidently having decided that this was a victory for him. No one had guessed what was coming.
“The almoner’s job is hard work. He will have to walk to the nearest towns and villages, frequently to Winchester. There