The Pillars of the Earth (70 page)

Henry dismounted with a smooth, agile movement, and the rest of his party followed suit. Philip called a couple of monks to stable the horses. Henry was the same age as Philip, approximately, but his florid complexion and well-covered frame made him look older. “Well, Father Philip,” he said. “I came to verify reports that you were not capable of getting a new cathedral built here at Kingsbridge.” He paused, looked around at the hundreds of workers, then returned his gaze to Philip. “It seems I was misinformed.”

Philip’s heart missed a beat. Henry could hardly make it plainer: Philip had won.

Philip turned to Bishop Waleran. Waleran’s face was a mask of suppressed fury. He knew he had been defeated again. Philip knelt, bowing his head to hide the look of triumphant delight on his face, and kissed Waleran’s hand.

Tom was enjoying building the wall. It was so long since he had done this that he had forgotten the deep tranquillity that came from laying one stone upon another in perfect straight lines and watching the structure grow.

When the volunteers started to arrive by the hundred, and he realized that Philip’s scheme was going to work, he enjoyed it all the more. These stones would be part of Tom’s cathedral; and this wall that was now only a foot high would eventually reach for the sky. Tom felt he was at the beginning of the rest of his life.

He knew when Bishop Henry arrived. Like a stone dropped into a pond, the bishop sent a ripple through the mass of laborers, as people stopped work for a moment to look up at the richly dressed figures picking their dainty way through the mud. Tom continued to lay stones. The bishop must be bowled over by the sight of a thousand volunteers cheerfully and enthusiastically laboring to build their new cathedral. Now Tom needed to make an equally good impression. He was never at ease with well-dressed people, but he needed to appear competent and wise, calm and self-assured, the kind of man to whom you would gratefully entrust the worrisome complexities of a vast and costly building project.

He kept a lookout for the visitors and put down his trowel as the party approached him. Prior Philip led Bishop Henry up to Tom, and Tom knelt and kissed the bishop’s hand. Philip said: “Tom is our builder, sent to us by God on the day the old church burned down.”

Tom knelt again to Bishop Waleran, then looked at the rest of the party. He reminded himself that he was the master builder, and should not be overly subservient. He recognized Percy Hamleigh, for whom he had once built half a house. “My Lord Percy,” he said with a small bow. He spotted Percy’s hideous wife. “My Lady Regan.” Then his eye fell on the son. He remembered how William had almost run Martha down on his great war-horse; and how William had tried to buy Ellen in the forest. That young man was a nasty piece of work. But Tom made his face a polite mask. “And young Lord William. Greetings.”

Bishop Henry was looking keenly at Tom. “Have you drawn your plans, Tom Builder?”

“Yes, my lord bishop. Would you like to see them?”

“Most certainly.”

“Perhaps you will step this way.”

Henry nodded, and Tom led the way to his shed, a few yards away. He stepped inside the little wooden building and brought out the ground plan, drawn in plaster on a large wooden frame four feet long. He leaned it against the wall of the shed and stepped back.

This was a delicate moment. Most people could not read a plan, but bishops and lords hated to admit it, so it was necessary to explain the concept to them in a way that did not reveal their ignorance to the rest of the world. Some bishops did understand it, of course, and then they were insulted when a mere builder presumed to instruct them.

Nervously, Tom pointed at the plan and said: “This is the wall I’m building.”

“Yes, the eastern facade, obviously,” said Henry. That answered the question: he could read a plan perfectly well. “Why aren’t the transepts aisled?”

“For economy,” Tom answered promptly. “However, we won’t start building them for another five years, and if the monastery continues to prosper as it has done in the first year under Prior Philip, it may well be that by then we will be able to afford aisled transepts.” He had praised Philip and answered the question at the same time, and he felt rather clever.

Henry nodded approval. “Sensible to plan modestly and leave room for expansion. Show me the elevation.”

Tom got out the elevation. He made no comment on it, now that he knew Henry was able to understand what he was looking at. This was confirmed when Henry said: “The proportions are pleasing.”

“Thank you,” Tom said. The bishop seemed pleased with everything. Tom added: “It’s a modest cathedral, but it will be lighter and more beautiful than the old one.”

“And how long will it take to complete?”

“Fifteen years, if the work is uninterrupted.”

“Which it never is. However. Can you show us what it will
look
like—I mean, to someone standing outside?”

Tom understood him. “You want to see a sketch.”

“Yes.”

“Certainly.” Tom returned to his wall, with the bishop’s party in tow. He knelt over his mortarboard and spread the mortar in a uniform layer, smoothing the surface. Then, with the point of his trowel, he drew a sketch of the west end of the church in the mortar. He knew he was good at this. The bishop, his party, and all the monks and volunteer workers nearby watched in fascination. Drawing always seemed a miracle to people who could not do it. In a few moments Tom had created a line drawing of the west facade, with its three arched doorways, its big window, and its flanking turrets. It was a simple trick, but it never failed to impress.

“Remarkable,” said Bishop Henry when the drawing was done. “May God’s blessing be added to your skill.”

Tom smiled. That amounted to a powerful endorsement of his appointment.

Prior Philip said: “My lord bishop, will you take some refreshment before you conduct the service?”

“Gladly.”

Tom was relieved. His test was over and he had passed it.

“Perhaps you would step into the prior’s house, just across here,” Philip said to the bishop. The party began to move off. Philip squeezed Tom’s arm and said in a murmur of restrained jubilation: “We’ve done it!”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the dignitaries left him. He felt pleased and proud. Yes, he thought, we’ve done it. Bishop Henry was more than impressed: he was flabbergasted, despite his composure. Obviously Waleran had primed him to expect a scene of lethargy and inactivity, so the reality had been even more striking. In the end Waleran’s malice had worked against him and heightened the triumph of Philip and Tom.

Just as he was basking in the glow of an honest victory, he heard a familiar voice. “Hello, Tom Builder.”

He turned around and saw Ellen.

It was Tom’s turn to be flabbergasted. The cathedral crisis had so filled his mind that he had not thought about her all day. He gazed at her happily. She looked just the same as the day she had walked away: slender, brown-skinned, with dark hair that moved like waves on a beach, and those deep-set luminous golden eyes. She smiled at him with that full-lipped mouth that always made him think of kissing.

He was seized by an urge to take her in his arms but he fought it down. With some difficulty he managed to say: “Hello, Ellen.”

A young man beside her said: “Hello, Tom.”

Tom looked at him curiously.

Ellen said: “Don’t you remember Jack?”

“Jack!” he said, startled. The lad had changed. He was a little taller than his mother now, and he had the bony physique that made grandmothers say that a boy had outgrown his strength. He still had bright red hair, white skin and blue eyes, but his features had resolved into more attractive proportions, and one day he might even be handsome.

Tom looked back at Ellen. For a moment he just enjoyed staring at her. He wanted to say
I’ve missed you, I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you
,
and he almost did, but then he lost his nerve, and instead he said: “Well, where have you been?”

“We’ve been living where we always lived, in the forest,” she said.

“And what made you come back today, of all days?”

“We heard about the appeal for volunteers, and we were curious to know how you were getting along. And I haven’t forgotten that I promised to come back one day.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Tom said. “I’ve been longing to see you.”

She looked guarded. “Oh?”

This was the moment for which he had been waiting and planning for a year, and now that it had come he was scared. Until now he had been able to live in hope, but if she turned him down today he would know he had lost her forever. He was frightened to begin. The silence dragged out. He took a deep breath. “Listen,” he said. “I want you to come back to me. Now, please don’t say anything until you’ve heard what I have to say—please?”

“All right,” she said neutrally.

“Philip is a very good prior. The monastery is getting wealthier all the time, thanks to his good management. My job here is secure. We won’t have to tramp the roads again, ever, I promise.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“I know, but I want to tell you everything.”

“All right.”

“I’ve built a house in the village, with two rooms and a chimney, and I can make it bigger. We wouldn’t have to live in the priory.”

“But Philip owns the village.”

“Philip is indebted to me right now.” Tom waved an arm to indicate the scene all around. “He knows he couldn’t have done this without me. If I ask him to forgive you for what you did, and to regard your year of exile as penance enough, he’ll agree. He couldn’t deny me that, today of all days.”

“What about the boys?” she said. “Am I supposed to watch Alfred spill Jack’s blood every time he feels irritable?”

“I think I’ve got the answer to that, really,” Tom said. “Alfred is a mason now. I’ll take Jack as my apprentice. That way, Alfred won’t be resentful of Jack’s idleness. And you can teach Alfred to read and write, so that the two boys will be equal—both workingmen, both literate.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” she said.

“Yes.”

He waited for her reaction. He was no good at being persuasive. All he could do was set out the situation. If only he could have drawn her a sketch! He felt he had dealt with every possible objection. She must agree now! But still she hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said.

His self-control broke. “Oh, Ellen, don’t say that.” He was afraid of crying in front of all these people, and he was so choked up that he could hardly speak. “I love you so much, please don’t go away again,” he begged. “The only thing that’s kept me going is the hope that you’d come back. I just can’t bear to live without you. Don’t close the gates of paradise. Can’t you see that I love you with all my heart?”

Her manner changed instantly. “Why didn’t you say so, then?” she whispered, and she came to him. He wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, too, you silly fool,” she said.

He felt weak with joy. She
does
love me, she
does
,
he thought. He hugged her hard, then he looked at her face. “Will you marry me, Ellen?”

There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling too. “Yes, Tom, I’ll marry you,” she said. She lifted her face.

He pulled her to him and kissed her mouth. He had dreamed of this for a year. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the delightful touch of her full lips on his. Her mouth was slightly open and her lips were moist. The kiss was so delicious that for a moment he forgot himself. Then someone nearby said: “Don’t swallow her, man!”

He pulled away from her and said: “We’re in a church!”

“I don’t care,” she said merrily, and she kissed him again.

Prior Philip had outwitted them again, William thought bitterly as he sat in the prior’s house, drinking Philip’s watery wine and eating sweetmeats from the priory kitchen. It had taken William a while to appreciate the brilliance and completeness of Philip’s victory. There had been nothing wrong with Bishop Waleran’s original assessment of the situation: it was true that Philip was short of money and would have great difficulty building a cathedral at Kingsbridge. But despite that, the wily monk had made dogged progress, hired a master builder, started the building and then, out of nothing, conjured a vast work force to bamboozle Bishop Henry. And Henry had been duly impressed, all the more so because Waleran had painted such a bleak picture in advance.

That damned monk knew he had won, too. He could not keep the triumphant smile off his face. Now he was deep in conversation with Bishop Henry, talking animatedly about breeds of sheep and the price of wool, and Henry was listening carefully, almost respectfully, meanwhile rudely ignoring William’s mother and father, who were far more important than a mere prior.

Philip was going to regret this day. Nobody was allowed to best the Hamleighs and get away with it. They had not reached the position they enjoyed today by allowing monks to get the better of them. Bartholomew of Shiring had insulted them and had died in a traitor’s jail. Philip would fare no better.

Tom Builder was another man who was going to regret crossing the Hamleighs. William had not forgotten how Tom had defied him at Durstead, holding his horse’s head and forcing him to pay the workmen. Today Tom had disrespectfully called him “young Lord William.” He was obviously hand in glove with Philip now, building cathedrals, not manor houses. He would learn that it was better to take your chances with the Hamleighs than to join forces with their enemies.

William sat quietly fuming until Bishop Henry got to his feet and said he was ready to hold the service. Prior Philip gestured to a novice, who went running from the room, and a few moments later a bell began to ring.

They all left the house, Bishop Henry first, Bishop Waleran second, then Prior Philip, then the lay people. All the monks were waiting outside, and they fell into line behind Philip, forming a procession. The Hamleighs had to bring up the rear.

The volunteers filled the entire western half of the priory close, sitting on walls and roofs. Henry mounted a platform in the middle of the building site. The monks formed up in rows behind him, where the quire of the new cathedral would be. The Hamleighs and the other lay members of the bishop’s entourage made their way to what would become the nave.