Tom studied Harold for a moment before answering. He was a pale, dusty man with small dusty-green eyes, which he narrowed when he spoke, as if he were always blinking away stone dust. He leaned casually on the banker, but he was not as relaxed as he pretended. He was nervous, wary and apprehensive. He knows exactly why I’m here, Tom thought. “I’ve brought my master quarryman to work here, of course.”
The two men-at-arms had followed Tom in, and Otto and his team had come in behind them. Now one or two of Harold’s men also crowded in, curious to see what the fuss was about.
Harold said: “The quarry is owned by the earl. If you want to take stone you’ll have to see him.”
“No, I won’t,” Tom said. “When the king gave the quarry to Earl Percy, he also gave Kingsbridge Priory the right to take stone. We don’t need any further permission.”
“Well, we can’t all work it, can we?”
“Perhaps we can,” said Tom. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your men of employment. There’s a whole hill of rock—enough for two cathedrals and more. We should be able to find a way to manage the quarry so that we can all cut stone here.”
“I can’t agree to that,” said Harold. “I’m employed by the earl.”
“Well, I’m employed by the prior of Kingsbridge, and my men start work here tomorrow morning, whether you like it or not.”
One of the men-at-arms spoke up then. “You won’t be working here tomorrow or any other day.”
Until this moment Tom had been clinging to the idea that although Percy was violating the spirit of the royal edict by mining the quarry himself, if he was pushed he would adhere to the letter of the agreement, and permit the priory to take stone. But this man-at-arms had obviously been instructed to turn the priory’s quarrymen away. That was a different matter. Tom realized, with sinking spirits, that he was not going to get any stone without a fight.
The man-at-arms who had spoken was a short, stocky fellow of about twenty-five years, with a pugnacious expression. He looked stupid but stubborn—the hardest type to reason with. Tom gave him a challenging look and said: “Who are you?”
“I’m a bailiff for the earl of Shiring. He’s told me to guard this quarry, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“And how do you propose to do it?”
“With this sword.” He touched the hilt of the weapon at his belt.
“And what do you think the king will do to you when you’re brought before him for breaking his peace?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“But there are only two of you,” Tom said in a reasonable tone of voice. “We’re seven men and four boys, and we have the king’s permission to work here. If we kill you, we won’t hang.”
Both men-at-arms looked thoughtful, but before Tom could press his advantage, Otto spoke. “Just a minute,” he said to Tom. “I brought my people here to cut stones, not fight.”
Tom’s heart sank. If the quarrymen were not prepared to make a stand, there was no hope. “Don’t be so timid!” he said. “Are you going to let yourselves be deprived of work by a couple of bully-boys?”
Otto looked surly. “I’m not going to fight armed men,” he replied. “I’ve been earning steadily for ten years and I’m not that desperate for work. Besides,Idon’t know the rights and wrongs of this—as far as I’m concerned it’s your word against theirs.”
Tom looked at the rest of Otto’s team. Both the stonecutters wore the same obstinate look as Otto. Of course, they would follow his lead: he was their father as well as their master. And Tom could see Otto’s point. Indeed, if he were in Otto’s position he would probably take the same line. He would not get into a brawl with armed men unless he was desperate.
But knowing that Otto was being reasonable gave Tom no comfort; in fact it made him even more frustrated. He decided to give it one more try. “There won’t be any fighting,” he said. “They know the king will hang them if they hurt us. Let’s just make our fire, and settle down for the night, and start work in the morning.”
Mentioning the night was a mistake. One of Otto’s sons said: “How could we sleep, with these murdering villains nearby?”
The others murmured agreement.
“We’ll set watches,” Tom said desperately.
Otto shook his head decisively. “We’re leaving tonight. Now.”
Tom looked around at the men and saw that he was defeated. He had set out this morning with such high hopes, and he could hardly believe that his plans had been frustrated by these petty thugs. It was too galling for words. He could not resist a bitter parting shot. “You’re going against the king, and that’s a dangerous business,” he said to Harold. “You tell the earl of Shiring that. And tell him that I’m Tom Builder of Kingsbridge, and if I ever get my hands around his fat neck I might just squeeze it until he chokes.”
Johnny Eightpence made a miniature monk’s robe for little Jonathan, complete with wide sleeves and a hood. The tiny figure looked so fetching in it that he melted everyone’s heart, but it was not very practical: the hood kept falling forward, obscuring his vision, and when he crawled the robe got in the way of his knees.
In the middle of the afternoon, when Jonathan had had his nap (and the monks had had theirs), Prior Philip came across the baby, with Johnny Eightpence, in what had been the nave of the church, and was now the novices’ playground. This was the time of day when the novices were allowed to let off steam, and Johnny was watching them play tag while Jonathan investigated the network of pegs and cord with which Tom Builder had laid out the ground plan of the east end of the new cathedral.
Philip stood beside Johnny for a few moments in companionable silence, watching the youngsters race around. Philip was very fond of Johnny, who made up for his lack of brains by having an extraordinarily good heart.
