Angels in the Architecture (16 page)

‘Ah, good morning
, my friend. And how are you? Hmm? Now you will give me no trouble, will you? Or will you threaten me with that great beak as His Majesty likes to threaten me with his sword? Hmm? Ah, no, not you – my gentle friend. And what of our cathedral, ahh – it is unbelievable. Some sign I must give pause to – what do you think? Is God so vexed?’

The Bishop
’s companion cocked its head slightly, appearing to listen, and perhaps, the Bishop thought, noting new lines and worries upon its master’s face.

It was the priest’s habit to walk and think, pacing by the stream running through his residence
at Stowe, a small hamlet past Torksey from Lincoln. Here he could be more at peace from the great hammering and clamouring of voices and business in the city. He loved the bustle of the ancient Cathedral town, but it was a doing place, and a man of his status likewise needed a thoughtful place, and this was his.

Hugh
of Avalon, who had become Bishop Hugh of Lincoln, was at once a fearsome and extremely kindly man. He had been at Lincoln for four years, arriving to take charge at the behest of Henry II. He had previously administered the monastery at Witham in Somerset, established by Henry as one of several acts of penance following the assassination of Thomas Becket on the steps of Canterbury Cathedral.
Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest
– and four of his knights took him at his word.

Hugh had stood up to the
overbearing King before – refusing to pay taxes to finance Henry’s war in France – and he would do so again. The King’s threats were of little concern to him. It was the King’s soul that was of greater importance, and even more the example he could set to his own people. Not to mention, also, the other great kings of Europe, who would nonetheless continue to war with each other for many more centuries, shamefully often at the behest of clergy with a different view of their role in men’s lives.

The Bishop
was to meet with Henry in a few weeks and wanted to insist on holding Henry to an undertaking to lead a much-promised crusade to secure the Kingdom of Jerusalem, another penance prescribed by the now-dead Holy Father Alexander against the wayward King.

Hugh turned and continued his walking, head down and hands behind his back.
The Swan waddled several steps behind him. Hugh had come to recognise his own Swan among the others that inhabited the gardens and waterways about Stowe, not only because it would emerge to follow him, but had a slightly twisted, possibly once broken foot, which endeared the bird to him even more. He would worry that the bird had enough food, or that perhaps its disability hindered it in some way, and he brought it morsels from his own plate.

Now, along with a
self-indulgent King, Hugh felt the consequences of the recent disaster in Lincoln. A more self-serving man might have seen opportunity to build a monument to his own future glory. Hugh’s concerns were for the symbol of the Church’s strength, and for the many men, young and old, whose lives would now be sacrificed to this greater glory, knowing as he did that such an endeavour was years, generations even, in the reconstruction..

‘You see, my winged companion, how things must be
? And does the King give a whit? Nay, he resides in his beloved France still, with little care for England. And here I am, a Frenchman, caring for his flock.’ Hugh felt his ire multiply. ‘Aargh... there is no patience in me for the injustices of this world. You are lucky my friend that it passes you by, excepting that you must listen to my ranting about it, hmm? And what do you hear of that anyway? Oh I think you are just about keeping me company, are you not; no matter my mood or the circumstances?’

Hugh continued a quicker pace, attempting as he was to rid himself of his own sense of impatience and frustration with the demands of his office.

The swishing of a cassock alerted the Bishop and the swan that they were not just the two of them anymore. The swan backed away a little as a young priest scurried towards Hugh, the Bishop sighing as his reverie about to be disturbed by the world’s intrusion.

‘
My Lord.’ The priest bowed, mid-stride.

‘
Yes, Peter. What is it?’

‘The architects and
masons, Your Grace. There is a delegation come. They have some problems with the reconstruction.’

‘I’ll be there in a moment
then, Peter, thank you.’

‘
Yes, My Lord.’ The young priest bowed again, backing away a few steps and then turned and hurried back to the monastery buildings.

‘You see my friend
there is no rest. Now they shall tell me something in the new design is not possible or else they will want more men, or more money. And how shall I take more men and boys from their homes, or ask Henry for more money, or heaven forbid that I should have to ask Lucius, who can’t even be found in Rome these days – he has so many arguments with the city fathers. Well, we shall see.’

Hugh had not yet been to the
ruined Cathedral himself, but ordered the clearing of debris immediately though, and sending also for the Kingdom’s finest in architects and masons. Until all the debris was cleared, the extent of damage would not be fully revealed, but in the meantime, there were new possibilities for design, and many new techniques in masonry and construction, and Hugh wanted to learn as much as he could to ensure the best of all possible outcomes – in design, function, expense, and in skills and labour needed, some of which might be in short supply..

As Hugh
turned and followed the path young Peter had taken to the abbey, the swan resumed its own path behind him. The bird would wait patiently for Hugh in the monastery’s courtyard and would be lucky perhaps for a few snippets from the monks’ table, particularly from those that desired the Bishop’s favour. And there were always those.

In
Torksey, Father Taylor was seething.

Ungrateful! Ungrateful, that’s what they are! They don’t understand the pressures
from Lincoln. That I must provide for those above as well as below.

The priest paced rapidly
, stomping up and down his hallway. He’d had two groups of villagers come this morning already.

There’s no reason they can’t cope. These men do nothing anyway – sit around is what they do – make their wives and children work for them. One or two from each family had to go, that’s all there was for it.
The Church can’t be without its centrepiece – that’s the way it is. I am not to blame! And now these damned Jews around about, causing trouble, with their secret ways. I won’t have it!

‘A
argh!’ He stormed to the door, heaving it open, and charged down a path to the church.

No man was probably less suited to the priesthood than this one. Ambitious but without much of any requisite talent, or at least not any great amount, nor the presence of mind to feign such, nor indeed the wiliness to secure some other route to advance his career, paying favour to the right men, manipulating others. The priest was too proud to humble himself to his betters and not crafty enough to wield
the Church’s power to create influence. Instead he was a dull weathervane, allowing himself to be blown east, west, north or south by whatever forces. He bowed to Lincoln, and he bowed to the Manor, although begrudgingly to both. He vociferated at his parishioners in turn and thus became an unwitting fuel to resentment and rivalry.

He did not care
for Jews – they were usually cleverer than he – and as he saw it, their conniving dealings always upset someone who thought he’d been got the better of. And they kept themselves apart. It was hard to know what they were up to.

Their biggest crime, as far the priest was concerned, was just
being Jewish. Their race had killed the Lord and was forever tarnished because of it. Although even Taylor knew no individual Jew could really be blamed for the greatest evil of all, but it did seem part of God’s plan that this race should bear the stigma of that, and no matter what their lives now, wherever they lived, the Jews would always be trodden on and reviled. Father Taylor saw no test in that other than for the Jews themselves; it was clearly the nature of things and surely it was God’s intention or otherwise why was it so. As a Christian he had no obligation to them and did not see that any man had particularly. That his ‘parish’ included all of its residents – at least in some wider moral sense – was beyond the man.

Right now
, though, the priest had more than just the Jews on his mind. The sun was beating down hard on these parts and more than just the priest’s own temper was flaring. The Thane had screeched at Father Taylor over what was assumed to be a failed poach and the death of the swan.
Keep your flock in order and I shall have mine secure!
The whisperings over the swan, the quake, the cathedral, and the Jews – anxieties were all around and the angry priest felt no control over events or people.

Father Taylor
paused at the door to the small stone church, closed his eyes momentarily, and drew a deep breath. He knew enough to know that if ever he was to manage the peace, he must first manage his own.

He pulled open the door and went through, bowing deeply and with some considerable pause. Walking to the altar, he knelt and rested his head at the edge of it, one hand holding its rim to steady himself
.

The priest had been angry as long as he’d known life, given easily to moods and
self-doubt. He’d hoped he would rise further in the Church and while such proximity to the Cathedral provided one sense of proximity to greatness, it was not the one he wished for. He was not liked by his parishioners and he knew it. He knew that to love them would have brought some reward but he was unable to find this in himself, overwhelmed as he was by ambition. He prayed for an increase in virtue but even that, he knew, was insincere and would continue to elude him. So he prayed then for sincerity and on occasion he felt an inkling of God’s grace. He searched for this now. Whatever else was waiting for him on this day would just have to wait. He would eventually emerge when some rare solace finally took root once again in his soul, however small, however fragile it may be.

Already though
, more burdens were developing expressly for the tired priest’s shoulders.

‘I will have to go and see this great ruin myself then. I’ve put it off long enough. I cannot bear to see what is left, but I feel now I must.’ Hugh sank into his large chair, in front of drawings and diagrams spread out on a long wooden table before him. ‘
Decisions have to be made and they must be the right ones or it will not do.’ The Bishop’s voice was authoritative, not the sort that many men would attempt to interrupt or dismiss, but it held a kindness as well. And with little sleep the past few days a tiredness was also present that was clear to all.

A dozen men were about the table. Some wore fine clothes denoting both their station and their success, for the one was rarely without the other in these days. Other men wore the finest they had, which was to say a much cruder dress and cloth than the notables among them. These though were master craftsmen who had earned their reputations through many years of toil, and in some cases even innovation, and had risen to a reputation
– both esteemed and sustainable.

‘Thank you
, gentlemen, for travelling all this way. I know there is much to do and I am very grateful. I see you have an understanding of the problems we face. Please return to the city with these plans and carry on with the first stages of the work. I will arrive on your heels and we will see what more is to be done. It seems certain the debris will reveal unexpected concerns and many decisions are yet to be thrashed out among us. I’m grateful for your advice – very grateful indeed.’

Hugh dismissed the group of architects and masons from his room with all
their
Thank you M’Lords
.

‘Prepare things to
leave, Peter,’ he said to the young priest, and Peter took his leave also to ready for the Bishop’s departure to Lincoln.

Hugh had been several hours in the stifling indoors with the group of men. He enjoyed their skill and their particular type of intelligence. They were the best
in England and they had come in an instant from all over the country, with their plans and ideas, debating benefits, systems and designs with each other, mostly for the pleasure of achieving the best result, not simply their own aggrandisement in this future construction. Each knew it took more than just he to complete a project of this size, for it was indeed likely to be the biggest of any building ever in the history of the Kingdom. It had even been mentioned it may be the tallest building in the world.

Hugh knew little of what they discussed in their many technical details, although he intended to improve his education in this regard.
Above all else, the things he must know were the cost and how long it would take. Beyond that he knew only to listen and observe the presentations of each of these men, to assess the validity of any particular recommendations of which there were already many competing ones. Hugh was confident of his rapid assessment of a man’s character and worth by his tone and his demeanour in particular. And he could tell that however it was that such a band of craftsmen came to be in his house now, they were indeed the finest in the land and he felt reassured that he would at least be building a cathedral that would not likely fall again..