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.Neither do I not really butthen I ve never faced the prospect of a siege before.You have,though: you ve been in one.That s why these petty-mindedcanons should do as you say, instead of whining andmuttering and making things difficult.What good are stalls,if the rest of the church has been burned to the ground?What victory can there be, without suffering and sacrifice?How stupid they are, these canons.The tongue of the wiseuseth knowledge aright, but the mouth of fools poureth outfoolishness. Come on, Guibert! Come on, Cornelius! TheArchdeacon waves a hand at the Chancellor and the Sub-deacon, who are whispering together at the far end of thenave. We need all the help we can get, if we re going to havethis finished before Mass begins. Mass! someone protests. How can we have Mass, ifwe have no stalls? The Archdeacon turns, sharply, but thespeaker has fallen silent.All the canons are avoiding eachother s gaze; they re looking down at their feet, or up at thevaults; they re dusting off their sleeves and plucking splintersout of their knuckles.The Archdeacon wipes his hands on his skirts. There were no stalls at the Holy Supper, he says, frown-ing. Are you all too proud to stand, brethren? We re doingthis for the good of the city.The city must be protected. Our prayers will protect the city much better than ourstalls, somebody says, and there s a murmur of agreement.O ye fools! The Archdeacon takes a deep breath, and putshis hands on his hips. I told you why we need to do this! he exclaims. Don tyou understand? The Viscount wants to build galleries along158the battlements, so he can protect the base of our walls fromenemy sappers.Sweet saints preserve us, haven t you peopleread Sallust? Haven t you read his account of the siege ofZama? I thought you were educated men!Sallust? The siege of Zama? Yet another book I have toread.The canons shift uncomfortably: some of them lookashamed, some annoyed, some completely blank, as if theydon t know what to think.Around them, the carpenters andacolytes are cheerfully carrying off great loads of lumber,their souls as peaceful as watered gardens.Why should theybe unhappy? Most of the acolytes are my age they ve noparticular affection for the stalls they ve had to sit in, dayafter day, through the summer heat and the winter cold.I think they re quite pleased to tear the things down. Father Pagan! Who s that? I know that voice.Everyone turns,everyone looks.There s a small group of men standing inthe shadows of the northern aisle, all in black, all tonsured.One of them is pale and squat, with a big head and no neck.Another is hugely fat, with offal-coloured eyes peeringout from under a fringe of white hair.And the one besidehim is Roland!The Archdeacon s face lights up like a candle.Hesurges forward, arms outstretched, and meets Lord Rolandat the bottom of the stairs that divide the nave from thechoir. You ve come! he crows. Already! Where did you springfrom? We only just arrived. Like an angel into a lion s den.What a relief!159How happy they look.What pleasure they take in eachother s presence.Oh such envy comes to me/Of those whosehappiness I see.But I mustn t sing that.That s a troubadour s song. Anyway, you ve come. The Archdeacon s voice is lowand intense, vibrating through the church like a bell. Iknew you would.You were wise to come. If I hadn t, Lord Roland rejoins, with a little smile, you would only have dragged me here. It isn t safe outside the walls.Not even at SaintMartin s. Pagan You can sleep in my house.You can share my room.You can have Isidore s bed you don t mind, do you,Isidore? Pagan, please.The Abbot.Yes, Father.What about Abbot Seguin? You re beingvery discourteous, ignoring him like this.You re being verydiscourteous to everyone.The Abbot s face is like the Burdenof Babylon, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger: as LordRoland points at him, he folds his arms and says, Youadvised us to come here, Father Pagan
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