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By Root 2128 0

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.

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