The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [261]
“The trouble is, there are really no grounds for refusing to let Kingsbridge have a market.”
“Yes, there are!” said William indignantly. “It takes trade away from the market at Shiring.”
“Shiring is a full day’s journey from Kingsbridge.”
“People will walk a long way.”
Waleran shrugged again. William realized he shrugged when he disagreed. Waleran said: “Tradition says a man will spend a third of a day walking to the market, a third of a day at the market, and a third of a day walking home. Therefore, a market serves the people within a third of a day’s journey, which is reckoned to be seven miles. If two markets are more than fourteen miles apart, their catchment areas do not overlap. Shiring is twenty miles from Kingsbridge. According to the rule, Kingsbridge is entitled to a market, and the king should grant it.”
“The king does what he likes,” William blustered, but he was bothered. He had not known about this rule. It put Prior Philip in a stronger position.
Waleran said: “Anyway, we won’t be dealing with the king, we’ll be dealing with the sheriff.” He frowned. “The sheriff could just order the priory to desist from holding an unlicensed market.”
“That’s a waste of time,” William said contemptuously.
“Who takes any notice of an order that isn’t backed up by a threat?”
“Philip might.”
William did not believe that. “Why would he?”
A mocking smile played around Waleran’s bloodless lips. “I’m not sure I can explain it to you,” he said. “Philip believes that the law should be king.”
“Stupid idea,” said William impatiently. “The king is king.”
“I said you wouldn’t understand.”
Waleran’s knowing air infuriated William. He got up and went to the window. Looking out, he could see, at the top of the nearby hill, the earthworks where Waleran had started to build a castle four years ago. Waleran had hoped to pay for it out of the income from the Shiring earldom. Philip had frustrated his plans, and now the grass had grown back over the mounds of earth, and brambles filled the dry ditch. William recalled that Waleran had hoped to build with stone from the earl of Shiring’s quarry. Now Philip had the quarry. William mused: “If I had my quarry back, I could use it as a surety, and borrow money to raise an army.”
“Then why don’t you take it back?” said Waleran.
William shook his head. “I tried, once.”
“And Philip outmaneuvered you. But there are no monks there now. You could send a squad of men to evict the stonecutters.”
“And how would I stop Philip from moving back in, the way he did last time?”
“Build a high fence around the quarry and leave a permanent guard.”
It was possible, William thought eagerly. And it would solve his problem at a stroke. But what was Waleran’s motive in suggesting it? Mother had warned him to beware of the unscrupulous bishop. “The only thing you need to know about Waleran Bigod,” she had said, “is that everything he does is carefully calculated. Nothing spontaneous, nothing careless, nothing casual, nothing superfluous. Above all, nothing generous.” But Waleran hated Philip, and had sworn to prevent him from building his cathedral. That was motive enough.
William looked thoughtfully at Waleran. His career was in a stall. He had become bishop very young, but Kingsbridge was an insignificant and impoverished diocese and Waleran had surely intended it to be a stepping-stone to higher things. However, it was the prior, not the bishop, who was winning wealth and fame. Waleran was withering in Philip’s shadow much as William was. They both had reason to want to destroy him.
William decided, yet again, to overcome his loathing of Waleran for the sake of his own long-term interests.
“All right,” he said. “This could work. But suppose Philip then complains to the king?”
Waleran said: “You’ll say you did it as a reprisal for Philip’s unlicensed market.”
William nodded. “Any excuse will do, so long as I go back to the war with a big enough army.”
Waleran’s eyes glinted with malice. “I have a feeling Philip