Epic Historial Collection (85 page)

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.”

“Oh, yes—the writing room will pay for itself many times over.”

They left the building and walked through the cloisters. It was the study hour. Most of the monks were reading. A few were meditating, an activity that was suspiciously similar to dozing, as Francis remarked skeptically. In the northwest corner were twenty schoolboys reciting Latin verbs. Philip stopped and pointed. “See the little boy at the end of the bench?”

Francis said: “Writing on a slate, with his tongue sticking out?”

“That's the baby you found in the forest.”

“But he's so big!”

“Five and a half years old, and precocious.”

Francis shook his head in wonderment. “Time goes by so fast. How is he?”

“He's spoiled by the monks, but he'll survive. You and I did.”

“Who are the other pupils?”

“Either novice monks, or the sons of merchants and local gentry learning to write and figure.”

They left the cloisters and passed on to the building site. The eastern limb of the new cathedral was now more than half built. The great double row of mighty columns was forty feet high, and all the arches in between had been completed. Above the arcade, the tribune gallery was taking shape. Either side of the arcade, the lower walls of the aisle had been built, with their out-jutting buttresses. As they walked around, Philip saw that the masons were constructing the half-arches that would connect the tops of those buttresses with the top of the tribune gallery, allowing the buttresses to take the weight of the roof.

Francis was almost awestruck. “You've done all this, Philip,” he said. “The writing room, the school, the new church, even all these new houses in the town—it's all come about because you made it happen.”

Philip was touched. No one had ever said that to him. If asked, he would say that God had blessed his efforts. But in his heart of hearts he knew that what Francis said was true: this thriving, busy town was his creation. Recognition gave him a warm glow, especially coming as it did from his sophisticated, cynical younger brother.

Tom Builder saw them and came over. “You've made marvelous progress,” Philip said to him.

“Yes, but look at that.” Tom pointed to the northeast corner of the priory close, where stone from the quarry was stockpiled. There were normally hundreds of stones stacked in rows, but now there were only about twenty-five scattered on the ground. “Unfortunately, our marvelous progress means we've used up our stock of stone.”

Philip's elation evaporated. Everything he had achieved here was at risk, because of Maud's harsh ruling.

They walked along the north side of the site, where the most skilled masons were working at their benches, carving the stones into shape with hammers and chisels. Philip stopped behind one craftsman and studied his work. It was a capital, the large, jutting-out stone that always stood on top of a column. Using a light hammer and a small chisel, the mason was carving a pattern of leaves on the capital. The leaves were deeply undercut and the work was delicate. To Philip's surprise, he saw that the craftsman was young Jack, Tom's stepson. “I thought Jack was still a learner,” he said.

“He is.” Tom moved on, and when they were out of earshot he said: “The boy is remarkable. There are men here who have been carving stone since before he was born, and none of them can match his work.” He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. “And he isn't even my own son!”

Tom's real son, Alfred, was a master mason and had his own gang of apprentices and laborers, but Philip knew that Alfred and his gang did not do the delicate work. Philip wondered how Tom felt about that in his heart.

Tom's mind had returned to the problem of paying for the market license. “Surely the market will bring in a lot of money,” he said.

“Yes, but not enough. It should raise about fifty pounds a year at the start.”

Tom nodded gloomily. “That will just about pay for the stone.”

“We could manage if I didn't have to pay Maud a hundred pounds.”

“What about the wool?”

The wool that was piling up in Philip's barns would be sold at the Shiring Fleece Fair in a few weeks' time, and would fetch about a hundred pounds. “That's what I'm going to use to pay Maud. But then I'll have nothing left for the craftsmen's wages for the next twelve months.”

“Can't you borrow?”

“I already have. The Jews won't lend me any more. I asked, while I was in Winchester. They won't lend you money if they don't think you can pay it back.”

“What about Aliena?”

Philip was startled. He had never thought of borrowing from her. She had even more wool in her barns. After the fleece fair she might have two hundred pounds. “But she needs the money to make her living. And Christians can't charge interest. If she lent her money to me she would have nothing to trade with. Although…” Even as he spoke, he was turning over a new idea. He remembered that Aliena had wanted to buy his entire wool production for the year. Perhaps they could work something out…. “I think I'll talk to her anyway,” he said. “Is she at home at the moment?”

“I think so—I saw her this morning.”

“Come, Francis—you're about to meet a remarkable young woman.” They left Tom and hurried out of the close into the town. Aliena had two houses side by side up against the west wall of the priory. She lived in one and used the other as a barn. She was very wealthy. There had to be a way she could help the priory pay Maud's extortionate fee for the market license. A vague idea was taking shape in Philip's mind.

Aliena was in the barn, supervising the unloading of an ox cart stacked high with sacks of wool. She wore a brocade pelisse, like the one the Empress Maud had worn, and her hair was done up in a white linen coif. She looked authoritative, as always, and the two men unloading the cart obeyed her instructions without question. Everyone respected her, although—strangely—she had no close friends. She greeted Philip warmly. “When we heard about the battle of Lincoln we were afraid you might have been killed!” she said. There was real concern in her eyes, and Philip was moved to think that people had been worried about him. He introduced her to Francis.

“Did you get justice at Winchester?” Aliena asked.

“Not exactly,” Philip replied. “The Empress Maud granted us a market but denied us the quarry. The one more or less compensates for the other. But she charged me a hundred pounds for the market license.”

Aliena was shocked. “That's terrible! Did you tell her the income from the market goes to the cathedral building?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But where will you find a hundred pounds?”

“I thought you might be able to help.”

“Me?” Aliena was taken aback.

“In a few weeks' time, after you've sold your wool to the Flemish, you'll have two hundred pounds or more.”

Aliena looked troubled. “And I'd give it to you, gladly, but I need it to buy more wool next year.”

“Remember you wanted to buy my wool?”

“Yes, but it's too late now. I wanted to buy it early in the season. Besides, you can sell it yourself soon.”

“I was thinking,” Philip said. “Could I sell you
next
year's wool?”

She frowned. “But you haven't got it.”

“Could I sell it to you before I've got it?”

“I don't see how.”

“Simple. You give me the money now. I give you the wool next year.”