The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [179]
“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.