Ken Follett - World Without End

“He’s wiped out my work,” Merthin said to Edmund.

“What’s your explanation, man?” Edmund demanded.

Elfric could not ignore his father-in-law. “There’s nothing to explain,” he said. “A tracing floor has to be renewed at intervals.”

“But you’ve covered over important designs!”

“Have I? The prior has not commissioned this boy to make any drawings, and the boy has not asked permission to use the tracing floor.”

Edmund was never slow to anger, and Elfric’s cool insolence was getting under his skin. “Don’t act stupid,” he said. “I asked Merthin to prepare drawings for the new bridge.”

“I’m sorry, but only the prior has authority to do that.”

“Damn it, the guild is providing the money.”

“A loan, to be repaid.”

“It still gives us the right to a say on the design.”

“Does it? You’ll have to speak to the prior about that. I don’t think he’ll be impressed by your choice of an inexperienced apprentice as your designer, though.”

Merthin was looking at the drawings Elfric had scratched in the new plaster. “I suppose this is your bridge design,” he said.

“Prior Godwyn has commissioned me to build it,” Elfric said.

Edmund was shocked. “Without asking us?”

Elfric said resentfully: “What’s the matter – don’t you want the work to go to your own daughter’s husband?”

“Round arches,” Merthin said, still studying Elfric’s drawing. “And narrow openings. How many piers will you have?”

Elfric was reluctant to answer, but Edmund was staring expectantly at him. “Seven,” he said.

“The wooden bridge only had five!” Merthin said. “Why are they so thick, and the openings so narrow?”

“To bear the weight of a stone-paved roadway.”

“You don’t need thick piers for that. Look at this cathedral – its columns bear the entire weight of the roof, but they’re slim and widely spaced.”

Elfric sneered. “No one’s going to drive a cart across the roof of a church.”

“That’s true, but-” Merthin stopped. The rain on the cathedral’s vast expanse of roof probably weighed more than an ox-cart loaded with stone, but why should he explain this to Elfric? It was not his role to educate an incompetent builder. Elfric’s design was poor, but Merthin did not want to improve it, he wanted to replace it with his own, so he shut up.

Edmund also realized he was wasting his breath. “This decision is not going to be made by you two,” he said, and he stomped off.

John Constable’s baby daughter was christened in the cathedral by Prior Godwyn. This honour was granted because he was an important employee of the priory. All the leading townspeople attended. Although John was neither wealthy nor well connected – his father had worked in the priory stables – Petranilla said that respectable people should take care to show friendship towards him and support for him. Caris thought they condescended to John because they needed him to protect their property.

It was raining again, and the people grouped around the font were wetter than the infant who was sprinkled with holy water. Strange feelings stirred in Caris as she looked at the tiny, helpless child. Since lying with Merthin she had simply refused to let herself think about pregnancy but, all the same, she felt a warm surge of protective emotion when she saw the baby.

She was named Jesca, after Abraham’s niece.

Caris’s cousin Godwyn had never been comfortable with babies and, as soon as the brief rite was over, he turned to leave. But Petranilla grabbed the sleeve of his Benedictine robe. “What about this bridge?” she said.

She spoke in a low voice, but Caris heard, and made up her mind to listen to the rest.

Godwyn said: “I’ve asked Elfric to prepare drawings and estimates.”

“Good. We should keep it in the family.”

“Elfric is the priory’s builder.”

“Other people may want to horn in.”

“I shall decide who builds the bridge.”

Caris was annoyed enough to intervene. “How dare you?” she said to Petranilla.

“I was not speaking to you,” her aunt said.

Caris ignored that. “Why should Merthin’s design not be considered?”

“Because he isn’t family.”

“He practically lives with us!”

“But you’re not married to him. If you were, it might be different.”

Caris knew she was at a disadvantage there, so she shifted her ground. “You’ve always been prejudiced against Merthin,” she said. “But everyone knows he’s a better builder than Elfric.”

Her sister Alice heard that and joined in the argument. “Elfric taught Merthin everything, and now Merthin pretends he knows better!”

That was dishonest, Caris knew, and she felt angry. “Who built the ferry?” she said, raising her voice. “Who repaired the roof of St Mark’s?”

“Merthin was working with Elfric when he built the ferry. And no one asked Elfric about St Mark’s.”

“Because they knew he wouldn’t be able to solve the problem!”

Godwyn interrupted. “Please!” he said, with his hands raised in front of himself protectively. “I know you’re my family, but I’m the prior and this is the cathedral. I can’t be harangued by womenfolk in public.”

Edmund joined the circle. “Just what I was going to say. Keep your voices down.”

Alice said accusingly: “You should be supporting your son-in-law.”

It occurred to Caris that Alice was getting more like Petranilla. Although she was only twenty-one, and Petranilla was more than twice that age, Alice had the same purse-mouthed look of disapproval. She was also becoming more stout, her bosom filling out the front of her dress like wind in a sail.

Edmund looked sternly at Alice. “This decision will not be made on the basis of family relationships,” he said. “The fact that Elfric is married to my daughter won’t help his bridge stay upright.”

He had strong views on this subject, Caris knew. He believed you should always do business with the most reliable supplier, always hire the best man for the job, regardless of friendship or family ties. Any man who needs to surround himself with loyal acolytes doesn’t really believe in himself, he would say – and if he doesn’t believe in himself, why should I?

Petranilla said: “So how will the choice be made?” She gave him a shrewd look. “You’ve obviously got a plan.”

“The priory and the guild will consider Elfric’s design and Merthin’s – and any others that may be put forward,” Edmund said decisively. “All designs must be drawn and costed. The costing must be independently checked by other builders.”

Alice muttered: “I’ve never heard of such goings-on. It’s like an archery contest. Elfric is the priory’s builder, he should do the job.”

Her father ignored her. “Finally, the designers will be questioned by the leading citizens of the town at a meeting of the parish guild. And then -” he looked at Godwyn, who was pretending not to be bewildered by the way the decision process had been taken out of his hands – “and then Prior Godwyn will make his choice.”

The meeting took place in the guild hall on the main street. It had a stone undercroft below and a timber superstructure, topped by a tiled roof and two stone chimneys. In the basement were the large kitchen that prepared food for the banquets, a jail and an office for the constable. The main floor was as spacious as a church, a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. At one end was a chapel. Because it was so wide, and because timbers long enough to span a thirty-foot roof were rare and expensive, the main room was divided by a row of wooden pillars supporting the joists.