Philip had recently been to Winchester, and had heard there of the king’s movements. “He’s gone to Normandy,” he said.
Milius quickly said: “It will take a long time to catch up with him.”
“The pursuit of justice always requires patience,” Remigius intoned pompously.
“But every day we spend pursuing justice, we’re not building our new cathedral,” Milius replied. His tone of voice showed that he was exasperated by Remigius’s ready acceptance of a delay to the building program. Philip shared that feeling. Milius went on: “And that’s not our only problem. Once we’ve found the king, we have to persuade him to hear us. That can take weeks. Then he may give Percy the chance to defend himself—more delay. ...”
“How could Percy possibly defend himself?” Remigius said testily.
Milius replied: “I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll think of something.”
“But in the end the king is bound to stand by his word.”
A new voice was heard, saying: “Don’t be so sure.” Everyone turned to look. The speaker was Brother Timothy, the oldest monk in the priory. A small, modest man, he spoke rarely, but when he did he was worth listening to. Philip occasionally thought Timothy should have been prior. He normally sat through chapter looking half asleep, but now he was leaning forward, his eyes bright with conviction. “A king is a creature of the moment,” he went on. “He’s constantly under threat, from rebels within his own kingdom and from neighboring monarchs. He needs allies. Earl Percy is a powerful man with a lot of knights. If the king needs Percy at the moment when we present our petition, we will be refused, quite regardless of the justice of our case. The king is not perfect. There is only one true judge, and that is God.” He sat back, leaning against the wall and half closing his eyes, as if he were not in the least interested in how his speech was received. Philip concealed a smile: Timothy had precisely formulated Philip’s own misgivings about going to the king for justice.
Remigius was reluctant to give up the prospect of a long, exciting trip to France and a sojourn at the royal court; but at the same time he could not contradict Timothy’s logic. “What else can we do, then?” he said.
Philip was not sure. The sheriff would not be able to intervene in this case: Percy was too powerful to be controlled by a mere sheriff. And the bishop could not be relied upon either. It was frustrating. But Philip was not willing to sit back and accept defeat. He would take over that quarry if he had to do it himself. ...
Now there was an idea.
“Just a minute,” he said.
It would involve all the able-bodied brothers in the monastery ... it would have to be carefully organized, like a military operation without weapons ... they would need food for two days. ...
“I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth a try,” he said. “Listen.”
He told them his plan.
They set out almost immediately: thirty monks, ten novices, Otto Blackface and his team of quarrymen, Tom Builder and Alfred, two horses and a cart. When darkness fell they lit lanterns to show them the road. At midnight they stopped to rest and eat the picnic the kitchen had hastily prepared: chicken, white bread and red wine. Philip had always believed that hard work should be rewarded by good food. When they marched on, they sang the service they should have been performing back at the priory.
At some point during the darkest hour, Tom Builder, who was leading the way, held up a hand to stop them. He said to Philip: “Only a mile more to the quarry.”
“Good,” said Philip. He turned to the monks. “Take off your clogs and sandals, and put on the felt boots.” He took off his own sandals and pulled on a pair of the soft felt boots that peasants wore in winter.
He singled out two novices. “Edward and Philemon, stay here with the horses and the cart. Keep quiet, and wait until full daylight; then join us. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Father,” they said together.
“All right, the rest of you,” Philip said. “Follow Tom Builder, now, incomplete silence,please.”
They all walked on.
There was a light west wind blowing, and the rustling of the trees covered the sound of fifty men breathing and fifty pairs of felt boots shuffling. Philip began to feel tense. His plan seemed a little crazy now that he was about to put it into operation. He said a silent prayer for success.
The road curved to the left, and then the flickering lanterns dimly showed a wooden lodge, a stack of part-finished stone blocks, some ladders and scaffolding, and in the background a dark hillside disfigured by the white scars of quarrying. Philip suddenly wondered whether the men asleep in the lodge had dogs. If they did, Philip would lose the element of surprise, and the whole scheme would be jeopardized. But it was too late to back out now.
The whole crowd shuffled past the lodge. Philip held his breath, expecting at any moment to hear a cacophony of barking. But there were no dogs.
He brought his people to a halt around the base of the scaffolding. He was proud of them for being so quiet. It was difficult for people to stay silent even in church. Perhaps they were too frightened to make a noise.
Tom Builder and Otto Blackface began silently to place the quarrymen around the site. They divided them into two groups. One group gathered near the rock face at ground level. The others mounted the scaffolding. When they were all in position, Philip directed the monks, with gestures, to stand or sit around the workmen. He himself stayed apart from the rest, at a point halfway between the lodge and the rock face.
Their timing was perfect. Dawn came a few moments after Philip made his final dispositions. He took a candle from inside his cloak and lit it from a lantern, then he faced the monks and lifted the candle. It was a prearranged signal. Each of the forty monks and novices took out a candle and lit it from one of the three lanterns. The effect was dramatic. Day broke over a quarry occupied by silent, ghostly figures each holding a small, flickering light.
Philip turned again to face the lodge. As yet there was no sign of life. He settled down to wait. Monks were good at that. Standing still for hours was part of their everyday life. The workmen were not so used to it, however, and they began to get impatient after a while, shuffling their feet and murmuring to one another in low voices; but it did not matter now.
Either the muttering or the strengthening daylight woke the inhabitants of the lodge. Philip heard someone cough and spit, then there was a scraping noise as of a bar being lifted from behind a door. He held up his hand for dead silence.
