Page 45 of The Pillars of the Earth

“It could be a long time, then.”

“Yes. And as soon as we’re confident of a majority, you must go back to your cell, and stay away from here until it’s all over.”

Philip was puzzled by this proposal. “Why?”

“Familiarity breeds contempt.” Milius waved the sharpened knife enthusiastically. “Forgive me if I sound disrespectful, but you did ask. At the moment you’ve got an aura. You’re a remote, sanctified figure, especially to us younger monks. You worked a miracle at that little cell, reforming it and making it self-sufficient. You’re a tough disciplinarian but you feed your monks well. You’re a born leader but you can bow your head and accept rebuke like the youngest novice. You know the Scriptures and you make the best cheese in the country.”

“Andyouexaggerate.”

“Not much.”

“I can’t believe people think of me like that—it’s not natural.”

“Indeed it’s not,” Milius acknowledged with another little shrug. “And it won’t last once they get to know you. If you stayed here you’d lose that aura. They’d see you pick your teeth and scratch your arse, they’d hear you snore and fart, they’d find out what you’re like when you’re bad-tempered or your pride is hurt or your head aches. We don’t want them to do that. Let them watch Remigius blunder and bungle from day to day while your image remains shining and perfect in their minds.”

“I don’t like this,” Philip said in a troubled voice. “It has a deceitful feeling to it.”

“There’s nothing dishonest about it,” Milius protested. “It’s a true reflection of how well you would serve God and the monastery if you were prior—and how badly Remigius would rule.”

Philip shook his head. “I refuse to pretend to be an angel. All right, I won’t stay here—I have to go back to the forest anyway. But we must be straightforward with the brothers. We’re asking them to elect a fallible, imperfect man, who will need their help and their prayers.”

“Tell them that!” said Milius enthusiastically. “That’s perfect—they’ll love it.”

He was incorrigible, Philip thought. He changed the subject. “What’s your impression of the waverers—the brothers who haven’t yet made up their minds?”

“They’re conservative,” Milius said without hesitation. “They see Remigius as the older man, the one who will make fewer changes, the predictable one, the man who is effectively in charge at the moment.”

Philip nodded agreement. “And they look at me warily, like a strange dog that may bite.”

The bell rang for chapter. Milius swallowed the last of his beer. “There’ll be some kind of attack on you now, Philip. I can’t forecast what form it will take, but they will be trying to portray you as youthful, inexperienced, headstrong and unreliable. You must appear calm, cautious and judicious, but leave it to me and Cuthbert to defend you.”

Philip began to feel apprehensive. This was a new way of thinking—to weigh his every move and calculate how others would interpret and judge it. A slightly disapproving tone crept into his voice as he said: “Normally, I only think about how God would view my behavior.”

“I know, I know,” Milius said impatiently. “But it’s not a sin to help simpler folk see your actions in the right light.”

Philip frowned. Milius was distressingly plausible.

They left the kitchen and walked through the refectory to the cloisters. Philip was highly anxious. Attack? What did that mean, anattack?Would they tell lies about him? How should he react? If people told lies about him he would be angry. Should he suppress his anger, in order to appear calm and conservative and all the rest? But if he did that, wouldn’t the brothers think the lies were true? He was going to be his normal self, he decided; perhaps just alittlemore grave and dignified.

The chapter house was a small round building attached to the east walk of the cloisters. It was furnished with benches arranged in concentric rings. There was no fire, and it was cold after the kitchen. The light came from tall windows set above eye level, so there was nothing to look at but the other monks around the room.

Philip did just that. Almost the whole monastery was present. They were all ages from seventeen to seventy; tall and short, dark and fair; all dressed in the coarse homespun robe of unbleached wool and shod in leather sandals. The guest-master was there, his round belly and red nose revealing his vices—vices that might be pardonable, Philip thought, if he ever had any guests. There was the chamberlain, who forced the monks to change their robes and shave at Christmas and Whitsun (a bath at the same time was recommended but not compulsory). Leaning against the far wall was the oldest brother, a slight, thoughtful, unflappable old man whose hair was still gray rather than white; a man who spoke rarely but effectively; a man who probably should have been prior if he had not been so self-effacing. There was Brother Simon, with his furtive look and restless hands, a man who confessed to sins of impurity so often that (as Milius whispered to Philip) it seemed likely that he enjoyed the confession, not the sin. There was William Beauvis, behaving himself; Brother Paul, hardly limping at all; Cuthbert Whitehead looking self-possessed; John Small, the diminutive treasurer; and Pierre, the circuitor, the mean-mouthed man who had denied Philip his dinner yesterday. As Philip looked around he realized they were all looking at him, and he dropped his eyes, embarrassed.

Remigius came in with Andrew, the sacrist, and they sat by John Small and Pierre. So, Philip thought, they’re not going to pretend to be anything other than a faction.

Chapter began with a reading about Simeon Stylites, the saint whose feast day it was. He was a hermit who had spent most of his life on top of a pillar, and while there could be no doubt about his capacity for self-denial, Philip had always harbored a secret doubt about the real value of his testimony. Crowds had flocked to see him, but had they come to be spiritually uplifted, or to look at a freak?

After the prayers came the reading of a chapter of Saint Benedict’s book. It was from this reading of a daily chapter that the meeting, and the little building in which it took place, got their names. Remigius stood up to read, and as he paused with the book in front of him, Philip looked intently at his profile, seeing him for the first time through the eyes of a rival. Remigius had a brisk, efficient manner of moving and speaking which gave him an air of competence entirely at variance with his true character. Closer observation revealed clues to what was beneath the facade: his rather prominent blue eyes shifted about rapidly in an anxious way, his weak-looking mouth worked hesitantly two or three times before he spoke, and his hands clenched and opened repeatedly even though he was otherwise still. What authority he had came from arrogance, petulance and a dismissive way with subordinates.

Philip wondered why he had chosen to read the chapter himself. A moment later he understood. “ ‘The first degree of humility is prompt obedience,’ ” Remigius read. He had chosen Chapter Five, which was about obedience, to remind everyone of his seniority and their subordination. It was a tactic of intimidation. Remigius was nothing if not sly. “ ‘They live not as they themselves will, neither do they obey their own desires and pleasures; but following the command and direction of another and abiding in their monasteries, their desire is to be ruled by an abbot,’ ” he read. “ ‘Without doubt such as these carry out the saying of our Lord,Icame not to do my own will, but the will of Him Who sent me.’ ”Remigius was drawing the battle lines in the expected way: in this contest he was to represent established authority.

The chapter was followed by the necrology, and today of course all prayers were for the soul of Prior James. The liveliest part of chapter was kept to the end: discussion of business, confession of faults and accusations of misconduct.

Remigius began by saying: “There was a disturbance during high mass yesterday.”

Philip felt almost relieved. Now he knew how he was going to be attacked. He was not sure that his action yesterday had been right, but he knew why he had done it and he was ready to defend himself.

Remigius went on: “I myself was not present—I was detained in the prior’s house, dealing with urgent business—but the sacrist has told me what occurred.”