The biggest problem would be transport. The quarry was a day’s journey from the building site, and a carter would probably charge fourpence a trip-and he could not carry more than eight or nine of the big stones without breaking his cart or killing his horse. As soon as the quarrymen were settled in, Tom had to explore the area and see whether there were any waterways that could be used to shorten the journey.

They had set off from Kingsbridge at daybreak. As they walked through the forest, the trees arching over the road made Tom think of the piers of the cathedral he would build. The new leaves were just coming out. Tom had always been taught to decorate the cushion capitals on top of the piers with scrolls or zigzags, but now it occurred to him that decorations in the shape of leaves would look rather striking.

They made good time, so that by midafternoon they were in the vicinity of the quarry. To his surprise, Tom heard in the distance the sound of metal clanging on rock, as if someone was working there. Technically the quarry belonged to the earl of Storing, Percy Hamleigh, but the king had given Kingsbridge Priory the right to mine it for the cathedral. Perhaps, Tom speculated, Earl Percy intended to work the quarry for his own benefit at the same time as the priory worked it. The king probably had not specifically prohibited that, but it would cause a lot of inconvenience.

As they drew nearer, Otto, a dark-skinned man with a rough manner, frowned at the sound, but he said nothing. The other men muttered to one another uneasily. Tom ignored them but he walked faster, impatient to find out what was going on.

The road curved through a patch of woodland and ended at the base of a hill. The hill itself was the quarry, and a huge bite had been taken out of its side by past quarry men. Tom’s initial impression was that it would be easy to work: a hill was bound to be better than a pit, for it was always less trouble to lower stones from a height than to lift them out of a hole.

The quarry was being worked, no question of that. There was a lodge at the foot of the hill, a sturdy scaffold reaching twenty feet or more up the scarred hillside, and a stack of stones waiting to be collected. Tom could see at least ten quarrymen. Ominously, there were a couple of hard-faced men-at-arms lounging outside the lodge, throwing stones at a barrel.

“I don’t like the look of this,” said Otto.

Tom did not like it either, but he pretended to be unperturbed. He marched into the quarry as if he owned it, and walked swiftly toward the two men-at-arms. They scrambled to their feet with the startled, faintly guilty air of sentries who have been on guard for too many uneventful days. Tom quickly looked over their weapons: each had a sword and a dagger, and they wore heavy leather jerkins, but they had no armor. Tom himself had a mason’s hammer hanging from his belt. He was in no position to get into a fight. He walked straight at the two men without speaking, then at the last minute turned aside and walked around them, and continued on to the lodge. They looked at one another, unsure what to do: if Tom had been smaller, or had not had a hammer, they might have been quicker to stop him, but now it was too late.

Tom went into the lodge. It was a spacious wood building with a fireplace. Clean tools hung around the walls and there was a big stone in the corner for sharpening them. Two stonecutters stood at a massive wooden bench called a banker, trimming stones with axes. “Greetings, brothers,” Tom said, using the form of address of one craftsman to another. “Who’s the master here?”

“I’m the master quarryman,” said one of them. “I’m Harold of Shiring.”

“I’m the master builder at Kingsbridge Cathedral. My name is Tom.”

“Greetings, Tom Builder. What are you here for?”

Tom studied Harold for a moment before answering. He was a pale, dusty man with small dusty-green eyes, which he narrowed when he spoke, as if he were always blinking away stone dust. He leaned casually on the banker, but he was not as relaxed as he pretended. He was nervous, wary and apprehensive. He knows exactly why I’m here, Tom thought. “I’ve brought my master quarryman to work here, of course.”

The two men-at-arms had followed Tom in, and Otto and his team had come in behind them. Now one or two of Harold’s men also crowded in, curious to see what the fuss was about.

Harold said: “The quarry is owned by the earl. If you want to take stone you’ll have to see him.”

“No, I won’t,” Tom said. “When the king gave the quarry to Earl Percy, he also gave Kingsbridge Priory the right to take stone. We don’t need any further permission.”

“Well, we can’t all work it, can we?”

“Perhaps we can,” said Tom. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your men of employment. There’s a whole hill of rock-enough for two cathedrals and more. We should be able to find a way to manage the quarry so that we can all cut stone here.”

“I can’t agree to that,” said Harold. “I’m employed by the earl.”

“Well, I’m employed by the prior of Kingsbridge, and my men start work here tomorrow morning, whether you like it or not.”

One of the men-at-arms spoke up then. “You won’t be working here tomorrow or any other day.”

Until this moment Tom had been clinging to the idea that although Percy was violating the spirit of the royal edict by mining the quarry himself, if he was pushed he would adhere to the letter of the agreement, and permit the priory to take stone. But this man-at-arms had obviously been instructed to turn the priory’s quarrymen away. That was a different matter. Tom realized, with sinking spirits, that he was not going to get any stone without a fight.

The man-at-arms who had spoken was a short, stocky fellow of about twenty-five years, with a pugnacious expression. He looked stupid but stubborn-the hardest type to reason with. Tom gave him a challenging look and said: “Who are you?”

“I’m a bailiff for the earl of Shiring. He’s told me to guard this quarry, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“And how do you propose to do it?”

“With this sword.” He touched the hilt of the weapon at his belt.

“And what do you think the king will do to you when you’re brought before him for breaking his peace?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“But there are only two of you,” Tom said in a reasonable tone of voice. “We’re seven men and four boys, and we have the king’s permission to work here. If we kill you, we won’t hang.”

Both men-at-arms looked thoughtful, but before Tom could press his advantage, Otto spoke. “Just a minute,” he said to Tom. “I brought my people here to cut stones, not fight.”

Tom’s heart sank. If the quarrymen were not prepared to make a stand, there was no hope. “Don’t be so timid!” he said. “Are you going to let yourselves be deprived of work by a couple of bully-boys?”

Otto looked surly. “I’m not going to fight armed men,” he replied. “I’ve been earning steadily for ten years and I’m not that desperate for work. Besides, I don’t know the rights and wrongs of this-as far as I’m concerned it’s your word against theirs.”

Tom looked at the rest of Otto’s team. Both the stonecutters wore the same obstinate look as Otto. Of course, they would follow his lead: he was their father as well as their master. And Tom could see Otto’s point. Indeed, if he were in Otto’s position he would probably take the same line. He would not get into a brawl with armed men unless he was desperate.

But knowing that Otto was being reasonable gave Tom no comfort; in fact it made him even more frustrated. He decided to give it one more try. “There won’t be any fighting,” he said. “They know the king will hang them if they hurt us. Let’s just make our fire, and settle down for the night, and start work in the morning.”

Mentioning the night was a mistake. One of Otto’s sons said: “How could we sleep, with these murdering villains nearby?”