The voice that emerged from the hubbub was that of Pierre Paris, one of the masons who had come from Saint-Denis. After six years in Kingsbridge his English was still imperfect, and his anger made his accent thicker, but he was not discouraged. “You cannot dismiss men on a Tuesday,” he said.
“That’s right,” said Jack Blacksmith. “You have to give them until the end of the week, at least.”
Jack’s stepbrother Alfred chimed in. “I remember when my father was building a house for the earl of Shiring, and Will Hamleigh came and dismissed the whole crew. My father told him he had to give everyone a week’s wages, and held his horse’s head until he handed over the money.”
Thank you for nothing, Alfred, thought Jack. He said doggedly: “You might as well hear the rest. From now on, there’s no work on saint’s days, and no promotions.”
That made them angrier. “Unacceptable,” someone said, and several of the others repeated it: “Unacceptable, unacceptable.”
Jack found that infuriating. “What are you talking about? If the priory hasn’t got the money, you’re not going to get paid. What’s the point of chanting ‘Unacceptable, unacceptable,’ like a class of schoolboys learning Latin?”
Edward Twonose spoke up again. “We’re not a class of schoolboys, we’re a lodge of masons,” he said. “The lodge has the right of promotion, and nobody can take it away.”
“And if there’s no money for the extra pay?” Jack said hotly.
One of the younger masons said: “I don’t believe that.”
It was Dan Bristol, one of the summer workers. He was not a skillful cutter but he could lay stones very accurately and fast. Jack said to him: “How can you say you don’t believe it? What do you know about the priory’s finances?”
“I know what I see,” Dan said. “Are the monks starving? No. Are there candles in the church? Yes. Is there wine in the stores? Yes. Does the prior go barefoot? No. There’s money. He just doesn’t want to give it to us.”
Several people agreed loudly. In fact, he was wrong about at least one item, and that was the wine; but no one would believe Jack now—he had become the representative of the priory. That was not fair: he was not responsible for Philip’s decisions. He said: “Look, I’m only telling you what the prior said to me. I don’t guarantee that it’s true. But if he tells us there’s not enough money, and we don’t believe him, what can we do?”
“We canallstop work,” said Dan. “Immediately.”
“That’s right,” said another voice.
This was getting out of control, Jack realized with a sense of panic. “Wait a moment,” he said. Desperately he searched for something to say that would bring down the temperature. “Let’s go back to work now, and this afternoon I’ll try to persuade Prior Philip to moderate his plans.”
“I don’t think we should work,” Dan said.
Jack could not believe this was happening. He had anticipated many threats to the building of his dream church, but he had not foreseen that the craftsmen would sabotage it. “Why shouldn’t we work?” he said incredulously. “What’s the point?”
Dan said: “As things stand, half of us aren’t even sure we’re going to get paid for the rest of the week.”
“Which is against all custom and practice,” said Pierre Paris. The phrasecustom and practicewas much used in court.
Jack said desperately: “At least work while I’m trying to talk Philip around.”
Edward Twonose said: “If we work, can you guarantee that everyone will be paid for the whole week?”
Jack knew he could offer no such guarantee, with Philip in his present mood. It crossed his mind to say yes anyway, and pay the money himself, if necessary; but he realized immediately that his entire savings would not be enough to cover a week’s wages here. So he said: “I’ll do my level best to persuade him, and I think he’ll agree.”
“Not good enough for me,” said Dan.
“Nor me,” said Pierre.
Dan said: “No guarantee, no work.”
To Jack’s dismay, there was general agreement.
He saw that if he continued to oppose them he would lose what little authority he had left. “The lodge must act as one man,” he said, quoting a much-used form of words. “Are we all in favor of a stoppage?”
There was a chorus of assent.
“So be it,” said Jack dismally. “I’ll tell the prior.”
Bishop Waleran rode into Shiring followed by a small army of attendants. Earl William was waiting for him in the porch of the church on the market square. William frowned in puzzlement: he had been expecting a site meeting, not a state visit. What was the devious bishop up to now?
