It was a fine dream.

Courtiers went up and down the stairs with alarming rapidity: King Stephen was working fast today. Philip began to worry that the king might finish his day’s work and go hunting before the bishops arrived.

At last they came. Philip got to his feet slowly as they walked in. Waleran looked tense, but Henry just looked bored. To Henry this was a minor matter: he owed support to his fellow bishop, but the outcome would make little difference to him. For Waleran, however, the outcome was crucial to his plan to build a castle-and a castle was only a step in Waleran’s upward progress on the ladder of power.

Philip was not sure how to treat them. They had tried to trick him, and he wanted to rail at them, to tell them that he had discovered their treachery; but that would alert them that something was up, and he wanted them all unsuspecting, so that the compromise would be endorsed by the king before they could gather their wits. So he concealed his feelings and smiled politely. He need not have bothered: they ignored him completely.

It was not long before the guards called them. Henry and Waleran went up the stairs first, followed by Philip. The Hamleighs brought up the rear. Philip’s heart was in his mouth.

King Stephen was standing in front of the fire. Today he seemed to have a more brisk and businesslike air. That was good: he would be impatient of any quibbling by the bishops. Bishop Henry went and stood beside his brother at the fire, and the others all stood in a line in the middle of the room. Philip felt a pain in his hands, and realized he was pressing his fingernails into his palms. He forced his fingers to relax.

The king spoke to Bishop Henry in a low voice that no one else could hear. Henry frowned and said something equally inaudible. They talked for a few moments, then Stephen held up a hand to silence his brother. He looked at Philip.

Philip reminded himself that the king had spoken kindly to him last time, joshing him about being nervous and saying he liked a monk to dress like a monk.

There were no pleasantries today, however. The king coughed and began. “My loyal subject, Percy Hamleigh, today becomes the earl of Shiring.”

From the corner of his eye, Philip saw Waleran start forward, as if to protest; but Bishop Henry stopped him with a quick, forbidding gesture.

The king went on: “Of the former earl’s possessions, Percy shall have the castle, all the land that is tenanted to knights, plus all other arable land and low-lying pasture.”

Philip could hardly contain his excitement. It looked as if the king had accepted the deal! He stole another look at Waleran, whose face was a picture of frustration.

Percy knelt in front of the king and held his hands together in an attitude of prayer. The king placed his hands over Percy’s. “I make you, Percy, earl of Shiring, to have and enjoy the lands and revenues aforesaid.”

Percy said: “I swear by all that is holy to be your liege man and to fight for you against any other.”

Stephen released Percy’s hands, and Percy stood up.

Stephen turned to the rest of them. “All other farmlands belonging to the former earl, I give”-he paused for a moment, looking from Philip to Waleran and back again-“I give to the priory of Kingsbridge, for the building of the new cathedral.”

Philip suppressed a whoop of joy-he had won! He could not stop himself from beaming with pleasure at the king. He looked at Waleran. Waleran was shocked to the core. He was making no pretense of equanimity: his mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and he was staring at the king with frank incredulity. His gaze swiveled to Philip. Waleran knew he had failed, somehow, and that Philip was the beneficiary of his failure; but he could not imagine how it had happened.

King Stephen said: “Kingsbridge Priory shall also have the right to take stone from the earl’s quarry and timber from his forest, without limit, for the building of the new cathedral.”

Philip’s throat went dry. That was not the deal! The quarry and the forest were supposed to belong to the priory, and Percy was only to have hunting rights. Regan had altered the terms after all. Now Percy was to own the property and the priory merely had the right to take timber and stone. Philip had only a few seconds to decide whether to repudiate the whole deal. The king was saying: “In the event of a disagreement, the sheriff of Shiring shall adjudicate, but the parties have the right to appeal to me as a last resort.” Philip was thinking: Regan has behaved outrageously, but what difference does it make? The deal still gives me most of what I wanted. Then the king said: “I believe this arrangement had already been approved by both sides here.” And there was no time left.

Percy said: “Yes, lord king.”

Waleran opened his mouth to deny that he had approved the compromise, but Philip got in first. “Yes, lord king,” he said.

Bishop Henry and Bishop Waleran both turned their heads to Philip and stared at him. Their expressions showed utter astonishment as they realized that Philip, the youthful prior who did not even know enough to wear a clean habit to the king’s court, had negotiated a deal with the king behind their backs. After a moment, Henry’s face relaxed into amusement, like one who is beaten at nine-men’s morris by a nimble-wilted child; but Waleran’s gaze became malevolent. Philip felt he could read Waleran’s mind. Waleran was realizing that he had made the cardinal error of underestimating his opponent, and he was humiliated. For Philip, this moment made up for everything: the treachery, the humiliation, the slights. Philip lifted his chin, risking committing the sin of pride, and gave Waleran a look that said: You’ll have to try harder than that to outwit Philip of Gwynedd.

The king said: “Let the former earl, Bartholomew, be told of my decision.”

Bartholomew was in a dungeon somewhere nearby, Philip presumed. He remembered those children, living with their servant in the ruined castle, and he felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what would happen to them now.

The king dismissed everyone except Bishop Henry. Philip crossed the room floating on air. He reached the top of the staircase at the same time as Waleran, and stopped to let Waleran go first. Waleran shot him a look of poisonous fury. When he spoke his voice was like bile, and despite Philip’s elation, Waleran’s words chilled him to the bone. The mask of hatred opened its mouth, and Waleran hissed: “I swear by all that’s holy, you’ll never build your church.” Then he pulled his black robes around his shoulders and went down the stairs.

Philip realized he had made an enemy for life.

III

William Hamleigh could hardly contain his excitement when Earlscastle came into sight.

It was the afternoon of the day after the king had made his decision. William and Walter had ridden for most of two days but William did not feel tired. He felt as if his heart was swelling up in his chest and blocking his throat. He was about to see Aliena again.

He had once hoped to marry her because she was the daughter of an earl, and she had rejected him, three times. He winced as he remembered her scorn. She had made him feel like a nobody, a peasant; she had acted as if the Hamleighs were a family of no account. But the tables had turned. It was her family that was of no account, now. He was the son of an earl, and she was nothing. She had no title, no position, no land, no wealth. He was going to take possession of the castle, and he was going to throw her out, and then she would have no home either. It was almost too good to be true.

He slowed his horse as they approached the castle. He did not want Aliena to have any warning of his arrival: he wanted her to have a sudden, horrible, devastating shock.