“I’ll do that now.” He turned to go.
Philip said: “Jack.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Jack nodded acknowledgment and went out. He walked through the rain without raising his hood. He felt happy.
That afternoon he went to the homes of all the craftsmen and told them there would be a meeting in the morning. Those who were not at home—the unmarried men and the summer workers, mostly—he found in the alehouse. However, they were sober, for the price of ale had gone up along with everything else, and no one could afford to get drunk. The only craftsman he could not find was Alfred, who had not been seen for a couple of days. Eventually he turned up at dusk. He came to the alehouse with an oddly triumphant look on his bovine face. He did not say where he had been, and Jack did not ask him. Jack left him drinking with the other men, and went to have supper with Aliena and the children.
Next morning he started the meeting before Prior Philip came to the lodge. He wanted to lay the groundwork. Once again he had prepared what he had to say very carefully, to be sure he did not damage his case by tactlessness. Once again he tried to handle things as Philip might have.
All he craftsmen were there early. Their livelihoods were at stake. One or two of the younger ones looked red-eyed: Jack guessed the alehouse had stayed open late last night, and some of them had forgotten their poverty for a while. The youngsters and the summer workers were most likely to prove difficult. The older craftsmen took a more long-term view. The small minority of women craftsmen were always cautious and conservative, and would back any kind of settlement.
“Prior Philip is going to ask us to go back to work, and offer us some kind of compromise,” Jack began. “Before he comes, we ought to discuss what we might be prepared to accept, what we will definitely reject, and where we might be willing to negotiate. We must show Philip a united front. I hope you all agree.”
There were a few nods.
He made himself sound slightly angry, and said: “In my view we should absolutely refuse to accept instant dismissal.” He banged his fist on the workbench to emphasize his inflexibility on this point. Several people voiced their agreement loudly. Jack knew this was one demand Philip was certainly not going to make. He wanted the hotheads to get themselves worked up to defend ancient custom and practice on this point, so that when Philip conceded it, the wind would be taken out of their sails.
“Also, we must guard the lodge’s right to make promotions, for only craftsmen can judge whether a man is skilled or not.” Once again he was being disingenuous. He was focusing their attention on the nonfinancial aspect of promotions, in the hope that when they won that point they would be ready to compromise on payments.
“As for working on saint’s days, I’m in two minds. Holidays are normally a matter for negotiation—there’s no standard custom and practice, as far as I know.” He turned to Edward Twonose and said: “What’s your view on that, Edward?”
“Practice varies from site to site,” Edward said. He was pleased to be consulted. Jack nodded, encouraging him to go on. Edward began to recall variant methods of dealing with saint’s days. The meeting was going just the way Jack wanted. An extended discussion of a point that was not very controversial would bore the men and sap their energy for confrontation.
However, Edward’s monologue was interrupted by a voice from the back which said: “This is all irrelevant.”
Jack looked over and saw that the speaker was Dan Bristol, a summer worker. Jack said: “One at a time, please. Let Edward have his say.”
Dan was not so easily deflected. “Never mind about all that,” he said. “What we want is a raise.”
“A raise?” Jack was irritated by this ludicrous remark.
To his surprise, however, Dan was supported. Pierre said: “That’s right, a raise. Look—a four-pound loaf costs a penny. A hen, which used to be eightpence, is now twenty-four! None of us here has had strong beer for weeks, I bet. Everything is going up, but most of us are still getting the wage we were hired at, which is a twelvepence a week. We’ve got families to feed on that.”
Jack’s heart was sinking. He had had everything moving along nicely, but this interruption had ruined his strategy. He restrained himself from opposing Dan and Pierre, however, for he knew he would have more influence if he appeared open-minded. “I agree with you both,” he said, to their evident surprise. “The question is, what chance have we got of persuading Philip to give us a raise at a time when the priory is running out of money?”
Nobody responded to that. Instead, Dan said: “We need twenty-four pence a week to stay alive, and even then we’ll be worse off than we used to be.”
Jack felt dismayed and bewildered: why was the meeting slipping out of his hands? Pierre said: “Twenty-four pence a week,” and several others nodded their heads.
It occurred to Jack that he might not be the only person who had come to the meeting with a prepared strategy. Giving Dan a hard look, he said: “Have you discussed this previously?”
“Yes, last night, in the alehouse,” Dan said defiantly. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Certainly not. But for the benefit of those of us who were not privileged to attend that meeting, would you like to summarize its conclusions?”
“All right.” The men who had not been at the alehouse were looking resentful, but Dan was unrepentant. Just as he opened his mouth, Prior Philip walked in. Jack threw a quick, searching look at Philip. The prior looked happy. He caught Jack’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jack felt jubilant: the monks had accepted the compromise. He opened his mouth to prevent Dan from speaking, but he was an instant too late. “We want twenty-four pence a week for craftsmen,” Dan said loudly. “Twelvepence for laborers and forty-eight pence for master craftsmen.”
Jack looked again at Philip. The pleased look had gone, and his face had once again set in the hard, angry lines of confrontation. “Just a moment,” Jack said. “This is not the view of the lodge. It’s a foolish demand cooked up by a drunken faction in the alehouse.”
“No, it’s not,” said a new voice. It was Alfred. “I think you’ll find most of the craftsmen support the demand for double pay.”
Jack stared at him in fury. “A few months ago you begged me to give you a job,” he said. “Now you’re demanding double pay. I should have let you starve!”
Prior Philip said: “And that’s what will happen to all of you if you don’t see sense!”
