The Pillars Of The Earth Page 0,491

would have been a disaster, of course. I made him almoner, so that he had to spend half his time away. I did it just to get rid of him. It was best for the priory and best for him, but I'm sure he still hates me for it, even after thirty-five years." He sighed. "I heard, when you and I visited St-John-in-the-Forest after the great famine, that Peter had gone to Canterbury. And now he's going to sit in judgment on me."

They were in the cloisters. The weather was mild and the sun was warm. Fifty boys in three different classes were learning to read and write in the north walk, and the subdued murmur of their lessons floated across the quadrangle. Philip remembered when the school had consisted of five boys and a senile novice-master. He thought of all he had done here: the building of the cathedral; the transformation of the impoverished, run-down priory into a wealthy, busy, influential institution; the enlargement of the town of Kingsbridge. In the church, more than a hundred monks were singing mass. From where he sat he could see the astonishingly beautiful stained-glass windows in the clerestory. At his back, off the east walk, was a stone-built library containing hundreds of books on theology, astronomy, ethics, mathematics, indeed, every branch of knowledge. In the outside world the priory's lands, managed with enlightened self-interest by monastic officers, fed not just the monks but hundreds of farm workers. Was all that to be taken from him by a lie? Would the prosperous and God-fearing priory be handed over to someone else, a pawn of Bishop Waleran's such as the slimy Archdeacon Baldwin, or a self-righteous fool such as Peter of Wareham, to be run down to penury and depravity as quickly as Philip had built it up? Would the vast flocks of sheep shrink to a handful of scrawny ewes, the farms return to weed-grown inefficiency, the library become dusty with disuse, the beautiful cathedral sink into damp and disrepair? God helped me to achieve so much, he thought; I can't believe he intended it to come to nothing.

Jonathan said: "All the same, Archdeacon Peter can't possibly find you guilty."

"I think he will," Philip said heavily.

"In all conscience, how can he?"

"I think he's been nursing a grievance against me all his life, and this is his chance to prove that I was the sinner and he was the righteous man all along. Somehow Waleran found out about that and made sure Peter was appointed to judge this case."

"But there's no proof!"

"He doesn't need proof. He'll hear the accusation, and the defense; then he'll pray for guidance, and he'll announce his verdict."

"God may guide him aright."

"Peter won't listen to God. He's never been a listener."

"What will happen?"

"I'll be deposed," Philip said grimly. "They may let me continue here as an ordinary monk, to do penance for my sin, but it's not likely. More probably they will expel me from the order, to prevent my having any further influence here."

"What would happen then?"

"There would have to be an election, of course. Unfortunately, royal politics enter into the picture now. King Henry is in dispute with the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, and Archbishop Thomas is in exile in France. Half his archdeacons are with him. The other half, the ones who stayed behind, have sided with the king against their archbishop. Peter obviously belongs to that crowd. Bishop Waleran has also taken the king's side. Waleran will recommend his choice of prior, backed by the Canterbury archdeacons and the king. It will be hard for the monks here to oppose him."

"Who do you think it might be?"

"Waleran has someone in mind, rest assured. It could be Archdeacon Baldwin. It might even be Peter of Wareham."

"We must do something to prevent this!" Jonathan said.

Philip nodded. "But everything is against us. There's nothing we can do to alter the political situation. The only possibility..."

"What?" Jonathan said impatiently.

The case seemed so hopeless that Philip felt there was no point in toying with desperate ideas: it would excite Jonathan's optimism only to disappoint him. "Nothing," Philip said.

"What were you going to say?"

Philip was still working it out. "If there was a way to prove my innocence beyond doubt, it would be impossible for Peter to find me guilty."

"But what would count as proof?"

"Exactly. You can't prove a negative. We would have to find your real father."

Jonathan was instantly enthusiastic. "Yes! That's it! That's what we'll do!"

"Slow down," Philip said.