“Righto!” the monk called back. He finished cleaning out the sty with a few more passes of his rake, then leaned the tool up against the stable wall and walked towards the newcomers. Godwyn was about to tell him to get a move on when he recognized the blond fringe of Saul.
Godwyn disapproved. A prior should not muck out a pigsty. Ostentatious humility was, after all, ostentation. However, in this case Saul’s meekness might suit Godwyn’s purpose.
He gave Saul a friendly smile. “Hello, brother. I didn’t mean to order the prior to unsaddle my horse.”
“Why not?” said Saul. “Someone must do it, and you’ve been travelling all day.” Saul led the horses into the stable. “The brothers are in the fields,” he called out. “But they’ll be back soon for Evensong.” He re-emerged. “Come into the kitchen.”
They had never been close. Godwyn could not help feeling criticized by Saul’s piety. Saul was never unfriendly, but with quiet determination he simply did things differently. Godwyn had to take care not to become irritated. He felt stressed enough already.
Godwyn and Philemon followed Saul across the farmyard and into a one-storey building with a high roof. Although made of wood, it had a stone fireplace and chimney. They sat gratefully on a rough bench at a scrubbed table. Saul drew two generous cups of ale from a large barrel.
He sat opposite them. Philemon drank thirstily, but Godwyn just sipped. Saul offered no food, and Godwyn guessed they would get nothing more until after Evensong. He felt too tense to eat, anyway.
This was another delicate moment, he reflected anxiously. He had had to protest against Murdo’s nomination in such a way as not to dissuade Roland. Now he had to invite Saul to stand in a way that he could not possibly accept. He knew what he was going to say, but he had to say it right. If he made a false step, Saul would become suspicious, and then anything could happen.
Saul gave him no time for further worry. “What brings you here, brother?” he said.
“Earl Roland has recovered his wits.”
“I thank God.”
“This means we can hold the election for prior.”
“Good. We should not go too long without one.”
“But who should it be?”
Saul sidestepped the question. “Have any names been put forward?”
“Brother Thomas, the matricularius.”
“He’d be a good manager. No one else?”
Godwyn told a half-truth. “Not formally.”
“What about Carlus? When I came to Kingsbridge for Prior Anthony’s funeral, the sub-prior was the leading candidate.”
“He feels he is not capable of the job.”
“Because of his blindness?”
“Perhaps.” Saul did not know about Carlus falling over during the service for St Adolphus’s birthday. Godwyn decided not to tell him. “At any rate, he has thought and prayed about it, and made his decision.”
“Has the earl not made a nomination?”
“He’s thinking about it.” Godwyn hesitated. “That’s why we’re here. The earl is… considering nominating you.” This was not really a lie, Godwyn told himself; just a misleading emphasis.
“I’m honoured.”
Godwyn studied him. “But not completely surprised, perhaps?”
Saul flushed. “Forgive me. The great Philip was in charge here at St John and then became prior of Kingsbridge, and others have followed the same route. That is not to say that I’m worthy as they were, of course. But the thought had crossed my mind, I confess.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. How would you feel about being nominated?”
“How would I feel?” Saul seemed mystified. “Why ask that? If the earl wishes, he will nominate me; and if my brethren want me, they’ll vote for me; and I will consider myself called by God. It makes no difference how I feel about it.”
This was not the answer Godwyn wanted. He needed Saul to make up his own mind. Talk of God’s will was counterproductive. “It’s not quite so simple,” he said. “You don’t have to accept the nomination. That’s why the earl sent me here.”
“It’s not like Roland to ask where he might command.”
Godwyn almost winced. Never forget how shrewd Saul is, he told himself. He backpedalled hastily. “No, indeed. However, if you think you might refuse, he needs to know as soon as possible, so that he can nominate someone else.” That was probably true, though Roland had not said it.
“I didn’t realize it was done this way.”
It was not done this way, Godwyn thought. But he said: “Last time it happened, when Prior Anthony was elected, you and I were both novices, so we didn’t know what went on.”
“True.”
“Do you feel you have the ability to fill the role of prior of Kingsbridge?”
“Certainly not.”
“Ah.” Godwyn pretended disappointment, though he had been relying on Saul’s humility to produce that answer.
“However…”
“What?”
“With God’s help, who knows what might be accomplished?”
“How true.” Godwyn concealed his annoyance. The humble answer had just been a formality. The truth was that Saul thought he could do the job. “Of course, you should reflect and pray about it tonight.”
“I’m sure I’ll think of little else.” They heard distant voices. “The brothers are returning from their work.”
“We can talk again in the morning,” Godwyn said. “If you decide to be a candidate, you must come back to Kingsbridge with us.”
“Very well.”
There was a serious danger of Saul’s accepting, Godwyn feared. But he had one more arrow to shoot. “Something else you might bear in mind in your prayers,” he said. “A nobleman never offers a free gift.”
Saul looked worried. “What do you mean?”
“Earls and barons dispense titles, land, positions, monopolies – but these things always have a price.”
“And in this case?”
“If you are elected, Roland will expect you to make recompense. You are his cousin, anyway; and you’ll owe your position to him. You will be his voice in chapter, making sure the priory’s actions don’t interfere with his interests.”
“Will he make that an explicit condition of the nomination?”
“Explicit? No. But, when you return with me to Kingsbridge, he will question you, and the questions will be designed to reveal your intentions. If you insist that you will be an independent prior, showing no special favour to your cousin and sponsor, he will nominate someone else.”
“I had not thought of that.”
“Of course, you may simply give him the answers he wants to hear and then change your mind after the election.”
“But that would be dishonest.”
“Some would think so.”
“God would think so.”
“That’s something for you to pray about tonight.”
A group of young monks came into the kitchen, muddy from the fields, talking loudly; Saul got up to serve them ale, but the worried look remained on his face. It stayed there when they went into the little church, with its wall painting of the Day of Judgement over the altar, for Evensong. It was still there when at last the evening meal was served and Godwyn’s hunger was assuaged by the delicious cheese the monks made.
Godwyn lay awake that night, although he ached from two days on horseback. He had confronted Saul with an ethical dilemma. Most monks would have been willing to shade their position while talking to Roland, and speak words which promised a degree of subservience to the earl much greater than they really intended. But not Saul. He was driven by moral imperatives. Would he find a way through the dilemma, and accept the nomination? Godwyn did not see how he could.
Saul still wore the worried look when the monks got up, at first light, for the service of Lauds.
After breakfast, he told Godwyn he could not accept the nomination.
Godwyn could not get used to Earl Roland’s face. It was the strangest thing to look at. The earl was now wearing a hat to cover the bandages on his head; but, by making his appearance more normal, the hat emphasized the paralysis of the right side of his face. Roland also seemed even more bad-tempered than usual, and Godwyn guessed he was still suffering severe headaches.