The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [74]
Although Philip had spent twenty-two years in monasteries, he had served under long-lived priors, so he had never known an election. It was a unique event in monastic life, for in casting their votes the brothers were not obliged to be obedient—suddenly they were all equal.
Once upon a time, if the legends were true, the monks had been equal in everything. A group of men would decide to turn their backs on the world of fleshly lust and build a sanctuary in the wilderness where they could live lives of worship and self-denial; and they would take over a patch of barren land, clearing the forest and draining the swamp, and they would till the soil and build their church together. In those days they really had been like brothers. The prior was, as his title implied, only the first among equals, and they swore obedience to the Rule of Saint Benedict, not to monastic officials. But all that was now left of that primitive democracy was the election of the prior and the abbot.
Some of the monks were uncomfortable with their power. They wanted to be told how to vote, or they suggested that the decision be referred to a committee of senior monks. Others abused the privilege and became insolent, or demanded favors in return for their support. Most were simply anxious to make the right decision.
In the cloisters that afternoon, Philip spoke to most of them, singly or in little groups, and told them all candidly that he wanted the job and he felt he could do it better than Remigius despite his youth. He answered their questions, most of which were about rations of food and drink. He ended each conversation by saying: “If each of us makes the decision thoughtfully and prayerfully, God will surely bless the outcome.” It was the prudent thing to say and he also believed it.
“We’re winning,” said Milius the kitchener next morning, as Philip and he took their breakfast of horsebread and small beer while the kitchen hands were stoking the fires.
Philip bit off a hunk of the coarse dark bread and took a mouthful of beer to soften it. Milius was a sharp-witted, ebullient young man, a protégé of Cuthbert’s and an admirer of Philip. He had dark straight hair and a small face with neat, regular features. Like Cuthbert, he was happy to serve God in practical ways and miss most of the services. Philip was suspicious of his optimism. “How do you come to that conclusion?” he asked skeptically.
“All of Cuthbert’s side of the monstery support you—the chamberlain, the infirmarer, the novice-master, myself—because we know you’re a good provider, and provisions are the big problem under the present regime. Many of the ordinary monks will vote for you for a similar reason: they think you will manage the priory’s wealth better, and that will result in more comfort and better food.”
Philip frowned. “I wouldn’t like to mislead anyone. My first priority would be to repair the church and smarten up the services. That comes before food.”
“Quite so, and they know that,” Milius said a little hastily. “That’s why the guest-master and one or two others will still vote for Remigius—they prefer a slack regime and a quiet life. The others who support him are all cronies of his who anticipate special privileges when he’s in charge—the sacrist, the circuitor, the treasurer and so on. The cantor is a friend of the sacrist, but I think he could be won over to our side, especially if you promise to appoint a librarian.”
Philip nodded. The cantor was in charge of the music, and felt he should not have to take care of the books on top of his other duties. “It’s a good idea anyway,” Philip said. “We need a librarian to build up our collection of books.”
Milius got off his stool and began to sharpen a kitchen knife. He had too much energy and had to be doing something with his hands, Philip decided. “There are forty-four monks entitled to vote,” Milius