With Waleran was a stranger on a chestnut gelding. The man was tall and rangy, with heavy black eyebrows and a large curved nose. He wore a scornful expression that seemed permanent. He rode beside Waleran, as if they were equals, but he was not wearing the clothes of a bishop.
When they dismounted, Waleran introduced the stranger. “Earl William, this is Peter of Wareham, who is an archdeacon in the service of the archbishop of Canterbury.”
No explanation of what Peter is doing here, William thought. Waleran is definitely up to something.
The archdeacon bowed and said: “Your bishop has told me of your generosity to Holy Mother Church, Lord William.”
Before William could reply, Waleran pointed to the parish church. “This building will be pulled down to make room for the new church, Archdeacon,” he said.
“Have you appointed a master mason yet?” Peter asked.
William wondered why an archdeacon from Canterbury was so interested in the parish church of Shiring. But perhaps he was just being polite.
“No, I haven’t found a master yet,” Waleran said. “There are plenty of builders looking for work, but I can’t get anyone from Paris. It seems the whole world wants to build churches like Saint-Denis, and the masons who know the style are in heavy demand.”
“It could be important,” said Peter.
“There’s a builder who may be able to help waiting to see us later.”
Once again William was a little puzzled. Why did Peter think it was important to build in the style of Saint-Denis?
Waleran said: “The new church will be much bigger, of course. It will protrude a good deal farther into the square here.”
William did not like the proprietorial air Waleran was assuming. Now he interjected: “I can’t have the church encroaching on the market square.”
Waleran looked irritated, as if William had spoken out of turn. “Whyever not?” he said.
“Every inch of the square makes money on market days.”
Waleran looked as if he was disposed to argue, but Peter said with a smile: “We mustn’t block the silver fountain!”
“That’s right,” William said. He was paying for this church. Happily, the fourth bad harvest had made little difference to his income. Smaller peasants paid rent in kind, and many of them had given William his sack of grain and brace of geese even though they were living on acorn soup. Furthermore, that sack of grain was worth ten times what it had fetched five years ago, and the increase in the price more than compensated for the tenants who had defaulted and the serfs who had starved to death. He still had the resources to finance the new building.
They walked around to the back of the church. Here was an area of housing that generated minimal income. William said: “We can build out at this end, and knock down all these houses.”
“But most of them are clerical residences,” Waleran objected.
“We’ll find other houses for the clergymen.”
Waleran looked dissatisfied, but said no more on that subject.
On the north side of the church a broad-shouldered man of about thirty years bowed to them. By his dress William judged him to be a craftsman. Archdeacon Baldwin, the bishop’s close colleague, said: “This is the man I told you about, my lord bishop. His name is Alfred of Kingsbridge.”
At first glance the man was not very prepossessing: he was rather ox-like, big and strong and dumb. But on closer examination there was a cunning look about his face, rather like a fox or a sly dog.
Archdeacon Baldwin said: “Alfred is the son of Tom Builder, the first master at Kingsbridge; and was himself master for a while, until he was usurped by his stepbrother.”
The son of Tom Builder. This was the man who had married Aliena, William realized. But he had never consummated the marriage. William looked at him with keen interest. He would never have guessed this man to be impotent. He appeared healthy and normal. But Aliena could have a strange effect on a man.
Archdeacon Peter was saying: “Have you worked in Paris, and learned the style of Saint-Denis?”
“No—”
“But we must have a church built in the new style.”
“At present I’m working at Kingsbridge, where my brother is master. He brought the new style back from Paris and I’ve learned it from him.”
William wondered how Bishop Waleran had managed to suborn Alfred without arousing suspicion; then he remembered that the Kingsbridge sub-prior, Remigius, was a tool of Waleran. Remigius must have made the initial approach.
