Most of the population of Shiring was watching.

The men let go of the rope. The iron ball dropped and swung, smashing into the wall of the church. There was a terrific thud, the wall shuddered, and William felt the impact in the ground beneath his feet. He thought how he would like to have Richard clamped to the wall in just the place where the ball would hit. He would be squashed like a fly.

The laborers hauled on the rope again. William realized he was holding his breath as the iron ball stopped at the top of its travel. The men let go; the ball swung; and this time it tore a hole in the stone wall. The crowd applauded.

It was an ingenious mechanism.

William was happy to see work progressing on the site where he would build the new church, but he had more urgent matters on his mind today. He looked around for Bishop Waleran, and spotted him standing with Alfred Builder. William approached them and drew the bishop aside. “Is the man here yet?”

“He may be,” said Waleran. “Come to my house.”

They crossed the market square. Waleran said: “Have you brought your troops?”

“Of course. Two hundred of them. They’re waiting in the woods just outside town.”

They went into the house. William smelled boiled ham and his mouth watered, despite his urgent haste. Most people were being sparing with food at the moment, but with Waleran it seemed to be a matter of principle not to let the famine change his way of life. The bishop never ate much, but he liked everyone to know that he was far too rich and powerful to be affected by mere harvests.

Waleran’s place was a typical narrow-fronted town house, with a hall at the front and a kitchen behind, and a yard at the back with a cesspit, a beehive and a pigsty. William was relieved to see a monk waiting in the hall.

Waleran said: “Good day, Brother Remigius.”

Remigius said: “Good day, my lord bishop. Good day, Lord William.”

William looked eagerly at the monk. He was a nervous man with an arrogant face and prominent blue eyes. His face was vaguely familiar, as one among many tonsured heads at services in Kingsbridge. William had been hearing about him for years, as Waleran’s spy in Prior Philip’s camp, but this was the first time he had spoken to the man. “Have you got some information for me?” he said.

“Possibly,” Remigius replied.

Waleran threw off his fur-trimmed cloak and went to the fire to warm his hands. A servant brought hot elderberry wine in silver goblets. William took some and drank it, waiting impatiently for the servant to leave.

Waleran sipped his wine and gave Remigius a hard look. As the servant went out Waleran said to the monk: “What excuse did you give for leaving the priory?”

“None,” Remigius replied.

Waleran raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not going back,” Remigius said defiantly.

“How so?”

Remigius took a deep breath. “You’re building a cathedral here.”

“It’s just a church.”

“It’s going to be very big. You’re planning to make this the cathedral church, eventually.”

Waleran hesitated, then said: “Suppose, for the sake of argument, that you’re right.”

“The cathedral will have to be run by a chapter, either of monks or of canons.”

“So?”

“I want to be prior.”

That made sense, William thought.

Waleran said tartly: “And you’re so confident of getting the job that you’ve left Kingsbridge without Philip’s permission and with no excuse.”

Remigius looked uncomfortable. William sympathized with him: Waleran in a scornful mood was enough to make anyone fidget. “I hope I’m not overconfident,” Remigius said.

“Presumably you can lead us to Richard.”

“Yes.”

William interrupted excitedly: “Good man! Where is he?”

Remigius remained silent and looked at Waleran.

William said: “Come on, Waleran, give him the job, for God’s sake!”

Still Waleran hesitated. William knew he hated to feel coerced. At last Waleran said: “All right. You shall be prior.”

William said: “Now, where’s Richard?”

Remigius continued to look at Waleran. “From today?”

“From today.”

Remigius now turned to William. “A monastery isn’t just a church and a dormitory. It needs lands, farms, churches paying tithes,”

“Tell me where Richard is, and I’ll give you five villages with their parish churches, just to start you off,” William said.

“The foundation will need a proper charter.”

Waleran said: “You shall have it, never fear.”

William said: “Come on, man, I’ve got an army waiting outside town. Where’s Richard’s hideout?”

“It’s a place called Sally’s Quarry, just off the Winchester road.”

“I know it!” William had to restrain himself from giving a whoop of triumph. “It’s a disused quarry. Nobody goes there anymore.”

“I remember,” said Waleran. “It hasn’t been worked for years. It’s a good hideout-you wouldn’t know it was there unless you actually walked into it.”

“But it’s also a trap,” William said with savage glee. “The worked-out walls are sheer on three sides. Nobody will escape. I won’t be taking any prisoners, either.” His excitement rose as he pictured the scene. “I’ll slaughter them all. It will be like killing chickens in a hen house.”

The two men of God were looking at him oddly. “Feeling a little squeamish, Brother Remigius?” William said scornfully. “Does the thought of a massacre turn the stomach of my lord bishop?” He was right both times, he could tell by their faces. They were great schemers, these religious men, but when it came to bloodshed they still had to rely on men of action. “I know you’ll be praying for me,” he said sarcastically; and he left.

His horse was tied up outside, a black stallion that had replaced-but did not equal-the war-horse Richard had stolen. He mounted and rode out of town. He suppressed his excitement and tried to think coolly about tactics.

He wondered how many outlaws would be at Sally’s Quarry. They had mounted raids with more than a hundred men at a time. There would be at least two hundred of them, perhaps as many as five hundred. William’s force could be outnumbered, so he would need to make the most of his advantages. One was surprise. Another was weaponry: most of the outlaws had clubs, hammers or at best axes, and none had armor. But the most important advantage was that William’s men were on horseback. The outlaws had few horses and it was not likely that many of them would be saddled ready just at the moment William attacked. To give himself a further edge he decided to send a few bowmen up the sides of the hill to shoot down into the quarry for a few moments before the main assault.

The most important thing was to prevent any of the outlaws from escaping, at least until he was sure that Richard was captured or dead. He decided to assign a handful of trustworthy men to hang back behind the main assault and sweep up any wily ones who tried to slip out.

Walter was waiting with the knights and men-at-arms where William had left them a couple of hours earlier. They were eager and morale was high: they anticipated an easy victory. A short while later they were trotting along the Winchester road.

Walter rode alongside William, not speaking. One of Walter’s greatest assets was his ability to remain silent. William found that most people talked to him constantly, even when there was nothing to say, probably out of nervousness. Walter respected William, but was not nervous of him: they had been together too long.

William felt a familiar mixture of eager anticipation and mortal fear. This was the one thing in the world he did well, and every time he did it he risked his life. But this raid was special. Today he had a chance to destroy the man who had been a thorn in his flesh for fifteen years.

Toward noon they stopped in a village large enough to have an alehouse. William bought the men bread and beer and they watered the horses. Before moving on he briefed the men.