“Wait a moment.” Regan stopped him. “It’s not agreed.”

“But I’ve given you everything you want.”

“We might yet get the whole earldom, no division.”

“And you might get nothing at all.”

Regan hesitated. “How do you propose to handle this, if we do agree?”

Philip had thought of that. He looked at Percy. “Could you get to see the king tonight?”

Percy looked anxious, but he said: “If I had a good reason-yes.”

“Go to him and tell him we’ve reached an agreement. Ask him to announce it as his decision tomorrow morning. Assure him that you and I will declare ourselves satisfied with it.”

“What if he asks whether the bishops have agreed to it?”

“Say there hasn’t been time to put it to them. Remind him that it is the prior, not the bishop, who has to build the cathedral. Imply that if I am satisfied the bishops must be too.”

“But what if the bishops complain when the deal is announced?”

“How can they?” Philip said. “They’re pretending to ask for the earldom solely in order to finance the cathedral. Waleran can hardly protest on the grounds that he will now be unable to divert funds to other purposes.”

Regan gave a short cackle. Philip’s cunning appealed to her. “It’s a good plan,” she said.

“There’s an important condition,” Philip said, and he looked her in the eye. “The king must announce that my share goes to the priory. If he doesn’t make that clear, I’ll ask him to. If he says anything else-the diocese, the sacrist, the archbishop, anything-I’ll repudiate the whole deal. I don’t want you to be in any doubt about that.”

“I understand,” said Regan, a little tetchily.

Her irritation made Philip suspect that she had been toying with the idea of presenting to the king a slightly different version of the agreement. He was glad he had made the point firmly.

He got up to leave, but he wanted to set the seal on their pact somehow. “We are agreed, then,” he said, with just the hint of a question in his voice. “We have a solemn pact.” He looked at them both.

Regan gave a slight nod, and Percy said: “We have a pact.”

Philip’s heart beat faster. “Good,” he said tightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the castle.” He kept his face expressionless as he left the room, but when he reached the dark street he relaxed his control and permitted himself a broad, triumphant grin.

Philip fell into a troubled, anxious sleep after supper. He got up at midnight for matins, then lay awake on his straw mattress, wondering what would happen tomorrow. He felt King Stephen ought to consent to the proposal. It solved the king’s problem: it gave him an earl and a cathedral. He was not so sure that Waleran would take it lying down, despite what he had said to Lady Regan. Waleran might find an excuse to object to the arrangement. He might, if he thought fast enough, protest that the deal did not provide the money to build the impressive, prestigious, richly decorated cathedral he wanted. The king might be persuaded to think again.

A different hazard occurred to Philip shortly before dawn: Regan might double-cross him. She could do a deal with Waleran. Suppose she offered the bishop the same compromise? Waleran would have the stone and timber he needed for his castle. This possibility agitated Philip and he turned restlessly in his bed. He wished he could have gone to the king himself, but the king probably would not have received him-and anyway, Waleran might have learned of it and become suspicious. No, there was no action he could have taken to guard against the risk of a double-cross. All he could do now was pray.

He did that until dawn.

He took breakfast with the monks. He found that their white bread did not keep the stomach full as long as horsebread; but even so he could not eat much of it today. He went early to the castle, although he knew the king would not be receiving people at that hour. He entered the hall and sat on one of the stone wall-seats to wait.

The room slowly filled up with petitioners and courtiers. Some of them were very brightly dressed, with yellow and blue and pink tunics and lush fur trimmings on their cloaks. The famous Domesday Book was kept somewhere in this castle, Philip recalled. It was probably in the hall above, where the king had received Philip and the two bishops: Philip had not noticed it, but he had been too tense to notice much. The royal treasury was here, too, but that was presumably on the top floor, in a vault off the king’s bedroom. Once again Philip found himself somewhat awestruck by his surroundings, but he had resolved not to be intimidated any longer. These people in their fine robes, knights and lords and merchants and bishops, were just men. Most of them could not write much more than their own names. Furthermore, they were all here to get something for themselves, but he, Philip, was here on behalf of God. His mission, and his dirty brown robe, put him above the other petitioners, not below them.

That thought gave him courage.

A ripple of tension ran through the room as a priest appeared on the stairs leading to the upper hall. Everyone hoped that meant the king was receiving. The priest exchanged a few murmured words with one of the armed guards, then disappeared back up the stairs. The guard picked out a knight from the crowd. The knight left his sword with the guards and went up the stairs.

Philip thought what an odd life the king’s clergymen must lead. The king had to have clergy, of course, not just to say mass, but to do the vast amount of reading and writing involved in governing the kingdom. There was nobody else to do it, other than clergy: those few laymen who were literate could not read or write fast enough. But there was nothing very holy about the life of the king’s clergy. Philip’s own brother, Francis, had chosen that life, and worked for Robert of Gloucester. I must ask him what it’s like, Philip thought, if I ever see him again.

Soon after the first petitioner went up the stairs, the Hamleighs came in.

Philip resisted the impulse to go to them straightaway: he did not want the world to know they were in collusion, not yet. He stared at them intently, studying their expressions, trying to read their thoughts. He decided that William looked hopeful, Percy seemed anxious, and Regan was as taut as a bowstring. After a few moments, Philip stood up and crossed the room, as casually as he could manage. He greeted them politely, then said to Percy: “Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He said he would think about it overnight.”

“But why?” Philip said. He was disappointed and cross. “What is there to think about?”

Percy shrugged. “Ask him.”

Philip was exasperated. “Well, how did he seem-pleased, or what?”

Regan answered. “My guess is that he liked the idea of being released from his dilemma but felt suspicious that it all sounded too easy.”

That made sense, but Philip was still annoyed that King Stephen had not seized the opportunity with both hands. “We’d better not talk any longer,” he said after a moment. “We don’t want the bishops to guess that we’re colluding against them-not before the king makes his announcement.” He nodded politely and moved away.

He returned to his stone seat. He tried to pass the time by thinking about what he would do if his plan worked. How soon could work start on the new cathedral? It depended on how quickly he could get some cash out of his new property. There would be quite a lot of sheep: he would have fleeces to sell in the summer. Some of the hill farms would be rented, and most rents fell due soon after harvesttime. By the autumn there might be enough money to hire a forester and a master quarryman and begin stockpiling timber and stone. At the same time, laborers could start to dig the foundations, under the supervision of Tom Builder. They might be ready to start stonework sometime next year.