22
Godwyn was preparing Kingsbridge Cathedral for the big wedding. The church had to look its best. In addition to the earl of Monmouth and the earl of Shiring, there would be several barons and hundreds of knights in attendance. Broken flagstones had to be replaced, chipped masonry repaired, crumbling moldings carved anew, walls whitewashed, pillars painted, and everything scrubbed clean.
'And I want the repairs to the south aisle of the chancel finished,' Godwyn said to Elfric as they walked through the church.
'I'm not sure that's possible - '
'It must be done. We can't have scaffolding in the chancel during a wedding of this importance.' He saw Philemon waving urgently at him from the south transept door. 'Excuse me.'
'I haven't got the men!' Elfric called after him.
'You shouldn't be so quick to sack them,' Godwyn said over his shoulder.
Philemon was looking excited. 'Friar Murdo is asking to see the earl,' he said.
'Good!' Petranilla had spoken to the friar last night, and this morning Godwyn had instructed Philemon to lurk near the hospital and watch out for Murdo. He had been expecting an early visit.
He hurried to the hospital, with Philemon in tow. He was relieved to see that Murdo was still waiting in the big room on the ground floor. The fat friar had smartened up his appearance: his face and hands were clean, the fringe of hair around his tonsure was combed, and he had sponged the worst of the stains off his robe. He did not look like a prior, but he almost looked like a monk.
Godwyn ignored him and went up the stairs. Standing guard outside the earl's room he saw Merthin's brother, Ralph, who was one of the earl's squires. Ralph was handsome, except for a broken nose, a recent injury. Squires were always breaking bones. 'Hello, Ralph,' Godwyn said amiably. 'What happened to your nose?'
'I had a fight with a peasant bastard.'
'You should have got it set properly. Did that friar come up here?'
'Yes. They asked him to wait.'
'Who's with the earl?'
'Lady Philippa and the clerk, Father Jerome.'
'Ask if they'll see me.'
'Lady Philippa says the earl must not see anyone.'
Godwyn gave Ralph a man-to-man grin. 'But she's only a woman.'
Ralph grinned back, then opened the door and put his head inside. 'Brother Godwyn, the sacrist?' he said.
There was a pause, and then Lady Philippa stepped out and closed the door behind her. 'I told you no visitors,' she said angrily. 'Earl Roland is not getting the rest he needs.'
Ralph said: 'I know, my lady, but Brother Godwyn wouldn't bother the earl unnecessarily.'
Something in Ralph's tone made Godwyn look at him. Although Ralph's words were mundane, the expression on his face was adoring. Godwyn noticed, then, how voluptuous Philippa was. She wore a dark red dress belted at the waist, and the fine wool clung to her breasts and hips. She looked like a statue representing Temptation, Godwyn thought, and he wished, yet again, that he could find a way to ban women from the priory. It was bad enough if a squire fell in love with a married woman, but for a monk to do the same would be a catastrophe.
'I regret the need to trouble the earl,' Godwyn said. 'But there's a friar waiting downstairs to see him.'
'I know - Murdo. Is his business so urgent?'
'On the contrary. But I need to forewarn the earl what to expect.'
'So you know what the friar is going to say?'
'I believe I do.'
'Well, I think it's best if the two of you see the earl together.'
Godwyn said: 'But - ' then pretended to stifle a protest.
Philippa looked at Ralph. 'Get the friar up here, please.'
Ralph summoned Murdo, and Philippa ushered him and Godwyn into the room. Earl Roland was on the bed, fully dressed as before, but this time he was sitting up, his bandaged head cushioned with feather pillows. 'What's this?' he said with his usual bad temper. 'A meeting of the chapter? What do you monks want?'
Looking at his visage directly for the first time since the bridge collapse, Godwyn was shocked to see that the entire right side of his face was paralyzed: the eyelid drooped, the cheek hardly moved, and the mouth was slack. What made it so startling was that the left side was animated. When Roland spoke, the left side of his forehead frowned, his left eye opened wide and seemed to blaze with authority, and he spoke vehemently out of the left side of his mouth. The doctor in Godwyn was fascinated. He knew that head injuries could have unpredictable effects, but he had never heard of this particular manifestation.
'Don't gawk at me,' the earl said impatiently. 'You look like a pair of cows staring over a hedge. State your business.'
Godwyn pulled himself together. He had to tread carefully over the next few minutes. He knew that Roland would reject Murdo's application to be nominated as prior. All the same, he wanted to plant in Roland's mind the idea of Murdo as a possible alternative to Saul Whitehead. Therefore Godwyn's job was to strengthen Murdo's application. He would do this, paradoxically, by objecting to Murdo, thereby showing Roland that Murdo would owe no allegiance to the monks - for Roland wanted a prior who served him alone. But, on the other hand, Godwyn must not protest too strongly, for he did not want the earl to realize what a truly hopeless candidate Murdo actually was. It was a tortuous path to walk.
Murdo spoke first, in his sonorous pulpit voice. 'My lord, I come to ask you to consider me for the position of prior of Kingsbridge. I believe - '
'Not so loud, for the love of the saints,' Roland protested.
Murdo lowered his voice. 'My lord, I believe that I - '
'Why do you want to be prior?' Roland said, interrupting him again. 'I thought a friar was a monk without a church - by definition.' This point of view was old-fashioned. Friars originally were travelers who held no property, but nowadays some of the fraternal orders were as wealthy as traditional monks. Roland knew this, and was just being provocative.
Murdo gave the standard answer. 'I believe that God accepts both forms of sacrifice.'
'So you're willing to turn your coat.'
'I have come to think that the talents he gave me could be put to better use in a priory, so yes, I would be happy to embrace the rule of St. Benedict.'
'But why should I consider you?'
'I am also an ordained priest.'
'No shortage of those.'
'And I have a following in Kingsbridge and the surrounding countryside such that, if I may be allowed to boast, I must be the most influential man of God in the area.'
Father Jerome spoke for the first time. He was a confident young man with an intelligent face, and Godwyn sensed that he was ambitious. 'It's true,' he said. 'The friar is extraordinarily popular.'
He was not popular with the monks, of course - but neither Roland nor Jerome knew that, and Godwyn was not about to enlighten them.
Nor was Murdo. He bowed his head and said unctuously: 'I thank you from my heart, Father Jerome.'
Godwyn said: 'He is popular with the ignorant multitude.'
'As was our Savior,' Murdo shot back.
'Monks should lead lives of poverty and self-denial,' Godwyn said.
Roland put in: 'The friar's clothes look poor enough. And as for self-denial, it seems to me that Kingsbridge monks eat better than many peasants.'
'Friar Murdo has been seen drunk in taverns!' Godwyn protested.
Murdo said: 'St. Benedict's Rule permits monks to drink wine.'
'Only if they are sick, or laboring in the fields.'
'I preach in the fields.'
Murdo was a formidable opponent in an argument, Godwyn noted. He was glad that he did not actually want to win this one. He turned to Roland. 'All I can say is that as the sacrist here I strongly counsel your lordship against nominating Murdo as prior of Kingsbridge.'
'Noted,' Roland said coldly.
Philippa gave Godwyn a look of mild surprise, and he realized he had yielded a little too easily. But Roland had not noticed: he did not deal in nuances.
Murdo had not finished. 'The prior of Kingsbridge must serve God, of course; but, in all things temporal, he should be guided by the king, and the king's earls and barons.'
That was about as plain as could be, Godwyn thought. Murdo might as well have said: 'I will be your man.' It was an outrageous declaration. The monks would be horrified. It would wipe out any support there might have been among them for Murdo's candidacy.
Godwyn made no comment, but Roland looked inquiringly at him. 'Anything to say to that, sacrist?'
'I'm sure the friar did not mean to say that the priory of Kingsbridge should be in subjection to the earl of Shiring in any matter, temporal or otherwise - did you, Murdo?'
'I have said what I have said,' Murdo replied in his pulpit voice.
'Enough,' said Roland, bored now with the game. 'You're wasting your time, both of you. I shall nominate Saul Whitehead. Off you go.'