“No.”

“And Tom is dead, So we only have your word for it that Tom said this to you. Your story cannot be verified.”

“How much verification do you want?” she said spiritedly. “Jack saw the abandoned baby. Francis picked it up. Jack and I met Tom and Alfred and Martha. Francis took the baby to the priory. Tom and I spied on the priory. How many witnesses would satisfy you?”

“I don’t believe you,” Waleran said.

“You don’t believe me?” Ellen said, and suddenly Philip could see she was angry, deeply and passionately angry. “You don’t believe me? You, Waleran Bigod, whom I know to be a perjurer?”

What on earth was coming now? Philip had a premonition of cataclysm. Waleran had blanched. There’s something more here, Philip thought; something Waleran is afraid of. He felt an excited fluttering in his belly. Waleran had a vulnerable look all of a sudden.

Philip said to Ellen: “How do you know the bishop to be a perjurer?”

“Forty-seven years ago, in this very priory, there was a prisoner called Jack Shareburg,” Ellen said.

Waleran interrupted her. “This court isn’t interested in events that took place so long ago.”

Philip said: “Yes it is. The accusation against me refers to an alleged act of fornication thirty-five years ago, my lord bishop. You have demanded that I prove my innocence. The court will now expect no less of you.” He turned to Ellen. “Continue.”

“No one knew why he was a prisoner, least of all himself; but the time came when he was set free, and given a jeweled cup, perhaps as recompense for the years he had been unjustly confined. He didn’t want a jeweled cup, of course: he had no use for it, and it was too precious to be sold at a market. He left it behind, in the old cathedral here at Kingsbridge. Soon afterward he was arrested-by Waleran Bigod, who was then a plain country priest, humble but ambitious-and the cup mysteriously reappeared in Jack’s bag. Jack Shareburg was falsely accused of stealing the cup. He was convicted on the oaths of three people: Waleran Bigod, Percy Hamleigh, and Prior James of Kingsbridge. And he was hanged.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Philip said: “How do you know all this?”

“I was Jack Shareburg’s only friend, and he was the father of my son, Jack Jackson, the master builder of this cathedral.”

There was uproar. Waleran and Peter were both trying to speak at the same time but neither could be heard over the astonished hubbub of the assembled clergymen. They came to see a showdown, Philip thought, but they never expected this.

Eventually Peter made himself heard. “Why would three law-abiding citizens conspire to falsely accuse an innocent stranger?” he said skeptically.

“For gain,” Ellen said. “Waleran Bigod was made an archdeacon. Percy was given the manor of Hamleigh and several other villages, and became a man of property. I don’t know what reward was received by Prior James.”

“I can answer that,” said a new voice.

Philip looked around, startled: the speaker was Remigius. He was well past his seventieth year, white-haired and inclined to ramble when he talked; but now, as he stood up with the help of a walking stick, his eyes were bright and his expression alert. It was rare to hear him speak publicly: since his downfall and return to the monastery he had lived a quiet and humble life. Philip wondered what was coming. Whose side was Remigius going to take? Would he seize a last opportunity to stab his old enemy Philip in the back?

“I can tell you what reward Prior James received,” Remigius said. “The priory was given the villages of Northwold, Southwold and Hundredacre, plus the forest of Oldean.”

Philip was aghast. Could it be true that the old prior had given false testimony, under oath, for the sake of a few villages?

“Prior James was never a good manager,” Remigius went on. “The priory was in difficulty, and he thought the extra income would help us out.” Remigius paused, then said incisively: “It did little good and much harm. The income was useful for a while, but Prior James never recovered his self-respect.”

Listening to Remigius, Philip recalled the stooped, defeated air of the old prior, and at last understood it.

Remigius said: “James had not actually perjured himself, for he swore only that the cup belonged to the priory; but he knew Jack Shareburg was innocent, yet he remained silent. He regretted that silence for the rest of his life.”

He would, Philip thought; it was such a venal sin for a monk. Remigius’s testimony confirmed Ellen’s story-and condemned Waleran.

Remigius was still speaking. “A few of the older ones here today will remember what the priory was like forty years ago: rundown, penniless, decrepit, demoralized. That was because of the weight of guilt hanging over the prior. When he was dying, he finally confessed his sin to me. I wanted-” Remigius broke off. The church was silent, waiting. The old man sighed and resumed. “I wanted to take over his position and repair the damage. But God chose another man for that task.” He paused again, and his old face worked painfully as he struggled to finish. “I should say: God chose a better man.” He sat down abruptly.

Philip was shocked, bemused and grateful. Two old enemies, Ellen and Remigius, had rescued him. The revelation of these ancient secrets made him feel as if he had been living with one eye closed. Bishop Waleran was livid with rage. He must have felt sure he was safe after all these years. He was leaning over Peter, speaking into the archdeacon’s ear, while a buzz of comment rose from the audience.

Peter stood up and shouted: “Silence!” The church went quiet. “This court is closed!” he said.

“Wait a minute!” It was Jack Jackson. “That’s not good enough!” he said passionately. “I want to know why.”

Ignoring Jack, Peter walked toward the door that led into the cloisters, and Waleran followed him.

Jack went after them. “Why did you do it?” he shouted at Waleran. “You lied on oath, and a man died-are you going to walk out of here without another word?”

Waleran looked straight ahead, white-faced, tight-lipped, his expression a mask of suppressed rage. As he went through the door Jack yelled: “Answer me, you lying corrupt worthless coward! Why did you kill my father?”

Waleran walked out of the church and the door slammed behind him.

Chapter 18

I

THE LETTER FROM KING HENRY arrived while the monks were in chapter.

Jack had built a big new chapter house to accommodate the one hundred and fifty monks-the largest number in a single monastery in all England. The round building had a stone vaulted ceiling and tiers of steps for the monks to sit on. Monastic officers sat on stone benches around the walls, a little above the level of the rest; and Philip and Jonathan had carved stone thrones against the wall opposite the door.

A young monk was reading the seventh chapter of the Rule of Saint Benedict. “The sixth step of humility is reached when a monk is content with all that is mean and vile…” Philip realized he did not know the name of the monk who was reading. Was that because he was getting old, or because the monastery was so big? “The seventh step of humility is reached when a man not only confesses with his tongue that he is most lowly and inferior to others, but in his inmost heart believes so.” Philip knew he had not yet reached that stage of humility. He had achieved a great deal in his sixty-two years, and he had achieved it through courage and determination and the use of his brain; and he needed to remind himself constantly that the real reason for his success was that he had enjoyed the help of God, without which all his efforts would have come to nothing.

Beside him, Jonathan shifted restlessly. Jonathan had even more trouble with the virtue of humility than Philip did. Arrogance was the vice of good leaders. Jonathan was ready to take over the priory now, and he was impatient. He had been talking to Aliena, and he was eager to try out her farming techniques, such as plowing with horses, and planting spring crops of peas and oats on part of the fallow land. I was just the same about raising sheep for wool, thirty-five years ago, Philip thought.