It was two months since the battle of Lincoln, and in that time all had gone well for Maud. Bishop Henry had welcomed her to Winchester (thereby betraying his brother King Stephen) and had convened a great council of bishops and abbots which had elected her queen; and she was now negotiating with the commune of London to arrange her coronation at Westminster. King David of Scotland,, who happened to be her uncle, was on his way to pay her a formal royal visit, one sovereign to another.

Bishop Henry was strongly supported by Bishop Waleran of Kingsbridge; and, according to Francis, Waleran had persuaded William Hamleigh to switch sides, and pledge allegiance to Maud. Now William had come for his reward.

The four men stood waiting: William with his backer, Bishop Waleran, and Prior Philip with his sponsor, Francis. This was the first time Philip had set eyes on Maud. Her appearance did not reassure him: despite her regal air he thought she looked flighty.

When Maud finished chatting she turned to them with a triumphant look, as if to say: See how unimportant you are, even my lady-in-waiting had priority over you. She looked at Philip steadily for a few moments, until he became embarrassed, then she said: “Well, Francis. Have you brought me your twin?”

Francis said: “My brother, Philip, lady, the prior of Kingsbridge.”

Philip bowed again and said: “Somewhat too old and gray to be a twin, lady.” It was the kind of trivial, self-deprecating remark that courtiers seemed to find amusing, but she gave him a frozen look and ignored it. He decided to abandon any attempt to be charming.

She turned to William. “And Sir William Hamleigh, who fought bravely against my army at the battle of Lincoln, but has now seen the error of his ways.”

William bowed and wisely kept his mouth shut.

She turned back to Philip. “You ask me to grant you a license to hold a market.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Francis said: “The income from the market will all be spent on building the cathedral, lady.”

“On what day of the week do you want to hold your market?” she asked.

“Sunday.”

She raised her plucked eyebrows. “You holy men are generally opposed to Sunday markets. Don’t they keep people from church?”

“Not in our case,” Philip said. “People come to labor on the building and attend a service, and they do their buying and selling as well.”

“So you’re already holding this market?” she said sharply.

Philip realized he had blundered. He felt like kicking himself.

Francis rescued him. “No, lady, they are not holding the market at present,” he said. “It began informally, but Prior Philip ordered it to cease until he was granted a license.”

That was the truth, but not the whole truth. However, Maud seemed to accept it. Philip silently prayed for forgiveness for Francis.

Maud said: “Is there no other market in the area?”

William spoke up. “Yes, there is, at Shiring; and the Kingsbridge market has been taking business away.”

Philip said: “But Shiring is twenty miles from Kingsbridge!”

Francis said: “My lady, the rule is that markets must be at least fourteen miles apart. By that criterion Kingsbridge and Shiring do not compete.”

She nodded, apparently willing to accept Francis’s ruling on a point of law. So far, thought Philip, it’s going our way.

Maud said: “You also ask for the right to take stone from the earl of Shiring’s quarry.”

“We have had that right for many years, but William lately threw out our quarrymen, killing five-”

“Who gave you the right to take stone?” she interrupted.

“King Stephen-”

“The usurper!”

Francis hastily said: “My lady, Prior Philip naturally accepts that all edicts of the pretender Stephen are invalid unless ratified by you.”

Philip accepted no such thing but he saw that it would be unwise to say so.

William blurted out: “I closed the quarry in retaliation for his illegal market!”

It was amazing, Philip thought, how a clear case of injustice could come to seem evenly balanced when argued at the court.

Maud said: “This entire squabble came about because Stephen’s original ruling was foolish.”

Bishop Waleran spoke for the first time. “There, lady, I heartily agree with you,” he said oilily.

“It was asking for trouble, to give the quarry to one person but let another mine it,” she said. “The quarry must belong to one or the other.”

That was true, Philip thought. And if she were to follow the spirit of Stephen’s original ruling, it would belong to Kingsbridge.

She went on: “My decision is that it shall belong to my noble ally, Sir William.”

Philip’s heart sank. The cathedral building could not have come on so well without free access to that quarry. It would have to slow right down while Philip tried to find the money to buy stone. And all because of the whim of this capricious woman! It made him fume.

William said: “Thank you, lady.”

Maud said: “However, Kingsbridge shall have market rights as at Shiring.”

Philip’s spirits rose again. The market would not quite pay for the stone but it was a big help. It meant he would be scraping around for money again, just as he had at the beginning, but he could carry on.

Maud had given each one a part of what he wanted. Perhaps she was not so empty-headed after all.

Francis said: “Market rights as at Shiring, lady?”

“That’s what I said.”

Philip was not sure why Francis had repeated it. It was common for licenses to refer to the rights enjoyed by another town: it was evenhanded and saved writing. Philip would have to check exactly what Shiring’s charter said. There might be restrictions, or extra privileges.

Maud said: “So you have both got something. William gets the quarry and Prior Philip gets the market. And in return, each of you will pay me one hundred pounds. That is all.” She turned away.

Philip was flabbergasted. A hundred pounds! The priory did not have a hundred pennies at the moment. How was he to raise this money? The market would take years to earn a hundred pounds. It was a devastating blow that would set the building program back permanently. He stood staring at Maud, but she was apparently deep in conversation with her lady-in-waiting again. Francis nudged him. Philip opened his mouth to speak. Francis held a finger to his lips. Philip said: “But…” Francis shook his head urgently.

Philip knew Francis was right. He let his shoulders slump in defeat. Helplessly, he turned away and walked out of the royal presence.

Francis was impressed when Philip showed him around Kingsbridge Priory. “I was here ten years ago, and it was a dump,” he said irreverently. “You’ve really brought it to life.”

He was very taken with the writing room, which Tom had finished while Philip was in Lincoln. A small building next to the chapter house, it had large windows, a fireplace with a chimney, a row of writing desks, and a big oak cupboard for the books. Four of the brothers were at work there already, standing at the high desks, writing on parchment sheets with quill pens. Three were copying: one the Psalms of David, one Saint Matthew’s Gospel, and one the Rule of Saint Benedict. In addition, Brother Timothy was writing a history of England, although as he had begun with the creation of the world Philip was afraid the old boy might never finish it. The writing room was small-Philip had not wanted to divert much stone from the cathedral-but it was a warm, dry, well-lit place, just what was needed. “The priory has disgracefully few books, and as they’re iniquitously expensive to buy, this is the only way to build our collection,” Philip explained.

In the undercroft was a workshop where an old monk was teaching two youngsters how to stretch the skin of a sheep for parchment, how to make ink, and how to bind the sheets into a book. Francis said: “You’ll be able to sell books, too.”