“And so,” Cuthbert said at last, “it seemed that our only chance was to try to verify the bishop’s intentions; and fortunately Philip “felt able to presume upon his acquaintanceship with yourself; so we sent you the message.”

Philip said impatiently: “And now will you tell us what we want to know?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you.” Waleran put down his wine untasted. “The bishop would like his son to be prior of Kingsbridge.”

Philip’s heart sank. “So Remigius told the truth.”

Waleran went on: “However, the bishop is not willing to risk a quarrel with the monks.”

Philip frowned. This was more or less what Remigius had forecast-but something was not quite right. Philip said to Waleran: “You didn’t come all this way just to tell us that.”

Waleran shot a look of respect at Philip, and Philip knew he had guessed right. “No,” Waleran said. “The bishop has asked me to test the mood of the monastery. And he has empowered me to make a nomination on his behalf. Indeed, I have with me the bishop’s seal, so that I can write a letter of nomination, to make the matter formal and binding. I have his full authority, you see.”

Philip took a moment to digest that. Waleran was empowered to make a nomination and seal it with the bishop’s seal. That meant the bishop had put the whole matter in Waleran’s hands. He now spoke with the bishop’s authority.

Philip took a deep breath and said: “Do you accept what Cuthbert has told you-that if Osbert were to be nominated, it would cause the quarrel the bishop wants to avoid?”

“Yes, I understand that,” said Waleran.

“Then you won’t nominate Osbert.”

“No.”

Philip felt wound up tight enough to snap. The monks would be so glad to escape the threat of Osbert that they would gratefully vote for whoever Waleran might nominate.

Waleran now had the power to choose the new prior.

Philip said: “Then whom will you nominate?”

Waleran said: “You… or Remigius.”

“Remigius’s ability to run the priory-”

“I know his abilities, and yours,” Waleran interrupted, once again holding up a thin white hand to stop Philip. “I know which of you would make the best prior.” He paused. “But there is another matter.”

What now? wondered Philip. What else was there to consider, other than who would make the best prior? He looked at the others. Milius was also mystified, but old Cuthbert had a slight smile, as if he knew what was coming.

Waleran said: “Like you, I’m anxious that important posts in the Church should go to energetic and capable men, regardless of age, rather than being handed out as rewards for long service to senior men whose holiness may be greater than their administrative ability.”

“Of course,” Philip said impatiently. He did not see the relevance of this lecture.

“We should work together to this end-you three, and me.”

Milius said: “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“I do,” said Cuthbert.

Waleran gave Cuthbert a thin smile, then returned his attention to Philip. “Let me be plain,” he said. “The bishop himself is old. One day he will die, and then we will need a new bishop, just as today we need a new prior. The monks of Kingsbridge have the right to elect the new bishop, for the bishop of Kingsbridge is also the abbot of the priory.”

Philip frowned. All this was irrelevant. They were electing a prior, not a bishop.

But Waleran went on. “Of course, the monks will not be completely free to choose whom they like to be bishop, for the archbishop and the king will have their views; but in the end it is the monks who legitimize the appointment. And when that time comes, you three will have a powerful influence on the decision.”

Cuthbert was nodding as if his guess had turned out to be right, and now Philip, too, had an inkling of what was coming.

Waleran finished: “You want me to make you prior of Kingsbridge. I want you to make me bishop.”

So that was it!

Philip stared in silence at Waleran. It was very simple. The archdeacon wanted to make a deal.

Philip was shocked. It was not quite the same as buying and selling a clerical office, which was known as the sin of simony; but it had an unpleasantly commercial feeling about it.

He tried to think objectively about the proposal. It would mean that Philip would become prior. His heart beat faster at the thought. He was reluctant to quibble with anything that would give him the priory.

It would mean that Waleran would probably become bishop at some point. Would he be a good bishop? He would certainly be competent. He appeared to have no serious vices. He had a rather worldly, practical approach to the service of God, but then so did Philip. Philip sensed that Waleran had a ruthless edge that he himself lacked, but he also sensed that it was based on a genuine determination to protect and nurture the interests of the Church.

Who else might be a candidate, when the bishop eventually died? Probably Osbert. It was not unknown for religious offices to be passed from father to son, despite the official requirement of clerical celibacy. Osbert, of course, would be even more of a liability to the Church as bishop than he would be as prior. It would be worth supporting a much worse candidate than Waleran just to keep Osbert out.

Would anyone else be in the running? It was impossible to guess. It might be years yet before the bishop died.

Cuthbert said to Waleran: “We couldn’t guarantee to get you elected.”

“I know,” said Waleran. “I’m asking only for your nomination. Appropriately, that’s exactly what I have to offer you in return-a nomination.”

Cuthbert nodded. “I’ll agree to that,” he said solemnly.

“So will I,” said Milius.

The archdeacon and the two monks looked at Philip. He hesitated, torn. This was not the way to choose a bishop, he knew; but the priory was within his grasp. It could not be right to barter one holy office for another, like horse traders-but if he refused, the result might be that Remigius became prior and Osbert became bishop!

However, the rational arguments now seemed academic. The desire to be prior was like an irresistible force within him, and he could not refuse, regardless of the pros and cons. He recalled the prayer he had sent up yesterday, telling God that he intended to fight for the job. He raised his eyes now, and sent up another: If you don’t want this to happen, then still my tongue, and paralyze my mouth, and stop my breath in my throat, and prevent me from speaking.

Then he looked at Waleran and said: “I accept.”

The prior’s bed was huge, three times the width of any bed Philip had ever slept in. The wooden base stood half the height of a man, and there was a feather mattress on top of that. It had curtains all around to keep out drafts, and on the curtains biblical scenes had been embroidered by the patient hands of a pious woman. Philip examined it with some misgivings. It seemed to him enough of an extravagance that the prior should have a bedroom all to himself-Philip had never in his life had his own bedroom, and tonight would be the first time he had ever slept alone. The bed was too much. He considered having a straw mattress brought over from the dormitory, and moving the bed into the infirmary, where it would ease an ailing monk’s old bones. But of course the bed was not just for Philip. When the priory had an especially distinguished guest, a bishop or a great lord or even a king, then the guest would have this bedroom and the prior would shift as best he could somewhere else. So Philip could not really get rid of it.

“You’ll sleep soundly tonight,” said Waleran Bigod, not without a hint of envy.

“I suppose I shall,” Philip said dubiously.

Everything had happened very quickly. Waleran had written a letter to the priory, right there in the kitchen, ordering the monks to hold an immediate election and nominating Philip. He had signed the letter with the bishop’s name and sealed it with the bishop’s seal. Then the four of them had gone into chapter.