The door of the lodge swung open. Philip kept his hand in the air. A man came out rubbing his eyes. Philip knew him, from Tom’s description, to be Harold of Shiring, the master quarryman. Harold did not see anything unusual at first. He leaned against the doorpost and coughed again, the deep, bubbling cough of a man who has too much stone dust in his lungs. Philip dropped his hand. Somewhere behind him, the cantor hit a note, and immediately all the monks began to sing. The quarry was flooded with eerie harmonies.
The effect on Harold was devastating. His head jerked up as if it had been pulled by a string. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw the spectral choir that had appeared, as if by magic, in his quarry. A cry of fear escaped from his open mouth, He staggered back through the door of the lodge.
Philip permitted himself a satisfied smile. It was a good start.
However, the supernatural dread would not last very long. He lifted his hand again and waved it without turning around. In response to his signal the quarrymen started to work and the clang of iron on rock punctuated the music of the choir.
Two or three faces peeped fearfully from the doorway. The men soon realized they were looking at ordinary, corporeal monks and workmen, not visions or spirits, and they stepped out of the lodge for a better view. Two men-at-arms came out, buckling their sword belts, and stood staring. This was the crucial moment for Philip: what would the men-at-arms do?
The sight of them, big and bearded and dirty, with their chainlink belts, their swords and daggers, and their heavy leather jerkins, brought back to Philip a vivid, crystal-clear memory of the two soldiers who had burst into his home when he was six years old and killed his mother and father. He was stabbed, suddenly and unexpectedly, by grief for the parents he hardly remembered. He stared with loathing at Earl Percy’s men, not seeing them but seeing instead an ugly man with a bent nose and a dark man with blood in his beard; and he was filled with rage and disgust and a fierce determination that such mindless, godless ruffians should be defeated.
For a while they did nothing. Gradually all the earl’s quarrymen came out of the lodge. Philip counted them: there were twelve workmen plus the men-at-arms.
The sun peeped over the horizon.
The Kingsbridge quarrymen were already digging out stones. If the men-at-arms wanted to stop them, they would have to lay hands on the monks who surrounded and protected the workers. Philip had gambled that the men-at-arms would hesitate to do violence to praying monks.
So far he was right: they were hesitating.
The two novices who had been left behind now arrived, leading the horses and the cart. They looked around fearfully. Philip indicated with a gesture where they should pull up. Then he turned, met Tom Builder’s eye, and nodded.
Several stones had been cut by this time, and now Tom directed some of the younger monks to pick up the stones and carry them to the cart. The earl’s men watched this new development with interest. The stones were too heavy to be lifted by one man, so they had to be lowered from the scaffolding by ropes, then carried across the ground on stretchers. As the first stone was manhandled into the cart, the men-at-arms went into a huddle with Harold. Another stone was put into the cart. The two men-at-arms separated from the crowd around the lodge and walked over to the cart. One of the novices, Philemon, climbed into the cart and sat on the stones, looking defiant. Brave lad! thought Philip, but he was afraid.
The men approached the cart. The four monks who had carried the two stones stood in front of it, forming a barrier. Philip tensed. The men stopped and stood face to face with the monks. They both put their hands to the hilts of their swords. The singing stopped as everyone watched with bated breath.
Surely, Philip thought, they won’t be able to bring themselves to put defenseless monks to the sword. Then he thought how easy it would be for them, big strong men who were accustomed to the slaughter of the battlefield, to run their sharp swords through these people from whom they had nothing to fear, not even retaliation. Then again, they must consider the divine punishment they would risk by murdering men of God. Even thugs such as these must know that eventually they would stand at the Day of Judgment. Were they afraid of the eternal fire? Perhaps; but they were also afraid of their employer, Earl Percy. Philip guessed that the thought uppermost in their minds must be whether he would consider they had an adequate excuse for their failure to keep the Kingsbridge men out of the quarry. He watched them, hesitating in front of a handful of young monks, hands on their swords, and imagined them weighing the danger of failing Percy against the wrath of God.
The two men looked at one another. One shook his head. The other shrugged. Together, they walked out of the quarry.
The cantor hit a new note and the monks burst into a triumphant hymn. A shout of victory went up from the quarrymen. Philip sagged with relief. For a moment it had looked dreadfully dangerous. He could not help beaming with pleasure. The quarry was his.
He blew out his candle and went over to the cart. He embraced each of the four monks who had faced the men-at-arms, and the two novices who had brought the cart. “I’m proud of you,” he said warmly. “And I believe God is too.”
The monks and the quarrymen were all shaking hands and congratulating one another. Otto Blackface came over to Philip and said: “That was well done, Father Philip. You’re a brave man, if I may say so.”
“God protected us,” Philip said. His eye fell on the earl’s quarry men, standing in a disconsolate group around the door of their lodge. He did not want to make enemies of them, for while they were at a loose end there would always be a danger that Percy would use them to make further trouble. Philip decided to speak to them.
He took Otto’s arm and led him over to the lodge. “God’s will has been done here today,” he said to Harold. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“We’re out of work,” Harold said. “That’s a hard feeling.”
Philip suddenly saw a way to get Harold’s men on his side. Impulsively he said: “You can be back in work today, if you want. Work for me. I’ll hire your whole team. You won’t even have to move out of your lodge.”
Harold was surprised at this turn of events. He looked startled, then recovered his composure and said: “At what wages?”
“Standard rates,” Philip replied promptly. “Twopence a day for craftsmen, a penny a day for laborers, fourpence for yourself, and you pay your own apprentices.”
Harold turned away and looked at his colleagues. Philip drew Otto away to let them discuss the proposal in private. Philip could not really afford twelve more men, and if they accepted his offer he would have to postpone further the day when he could hire masons. That meant he would be cutting stone faster than he could use it. He would build up a stockpile, but it would be bad for his flow of cash. However, having all Percy’s quarrymen on the priory payroll would be a good defensive move. If Percy wanted to try again to work the quarry himself, he would first have to hire a team of quarrymen; which might be difficult, once the news of today’s events got around. And if at some future date Percy should try another stratagem to close the quarry, Philip would have a stockpile of stone.
Harold appeared to be arguing with his men. After a few moments he left them and approached Philip again. “Who’s to be in charge, if we work for you?” he said. “Me, or your own master quarry man?”
“Otto here is in charge,” Philip said without hesitation. Harold certainly could not be in charge, in case his loyalty should be won back by Percy. And there could not be two masters, for that would lead to disputes. “You can still run your own team,” Philip said to Harold. “But Otto will be over you.”
Harold looked disappointed and returned to his men. The discussion continued. Tom Builder joined Philip and Otto. “Your plan worked, Father,” he said with a broad grin. “We repossessed the quarry without shedding a drop of blood. You’re amazing.”
Philip was inclined to agree, and realized he was guilty of the sin of pride. “It was God who worked the miracle,” he said, reminding himself as well as Tom.
Otto said: “Father Philip has offered to hire Harold and his men to work with me.”
