Jack saw the problem immediately. He had put a decorative pinnacle at the end of a valley between two sloping roofs, but he had left the design to a master mason, and the mason had not made provision for rainwater from the roof to pass through or under the pinnacle. The mason would have to alter it. He told the master roofer to pass this instruction on to the mason, then he returned to his tracing floor.

He was astonished to find Alfred waiting for him there.

He had not spoken to Alfred for ten years. He had seen him at a distance, now and again, in Shiring or Winchester. Aliena had not so much as caught sight of him for nine years, even though they were still married, according to the Church. Martha went to visit him at his house in Shiring about once a year. She always brought back the same report: he was prospering, building houses for the burgers of Shiring; he lived alone; he was the same as ever.

But Alfred did not appear prosperous now. Jack thought he looked tired and defeated. Alfred had always been big and strong, but now he had a lean look: his face was thinner, and the hand with which he pushed the hair out of his eyes was bony where it had once been beefy.

He said: “Hello, Jack.”

His expression was aggressive but his tone of voice was ingratiating-an unattractive mixture.

“Hello, Alfred,” Jack said warily. “Last time I saw you, you were wearing a silk tunic and running to fat.”

“That was three years ago-before the first of the bad harvests.”

“So it was.” Three bad harvests in a row had caused a famine. Serfs had starved, many tenant farmers were destitute, and presumably the burghers of Shiring could no longer afford splendid new stone houses. Alfred was feeling the pinch. Jack said: “What brings you to Kingsbridge after all this time?”

“I heard about your transepts and came to look.” His tone was one of grudging admiration. “Where did you learn to build like this?”

“Paris,” Jack said shortly. He did not want to discuss that period of his life with Alfred, who had been the cause of his exile.

“Well.” Alfred looked awkward, then said with elaborate indifference: “I’d be willing to work here, just to pick up some of these new tricks.”

Jack was flabbergasted. Did Alfred really have the nerve to ask him for a job? Playing for time, he said: “What about your gang?”

“I’m on my own now,” Alfred said, still trying to be casual. “There wasn’t enough work for a gang.”

“We’re not hiring, anyway,” Jack said, equally casually. “We’ve got a full complement.”

“But you can always use a good mason, can’t you?”

Jack heard a faint pleading note and realized that Alfred was desperate. He decided to be honest. “After the life we’ve had, Alfred, I’m the last person you should come to for help.”

“You are the last,” Alfred said candidly. “I’ve tried everywhere. Nobody’s hiring. It’s the famine.”

Jack thought of all the times Alfred had mistreated him, tormented him, and beaten him. Alfred had driven him into the monastery and then had driven him away, from his home and family. He had no reason to help Alfred: indeed, he had cause to gloat over Alfred’s misfortune. He said: “I wouldn’t take you on even if I was needing men.”

“I thought you might,” Alfred said with bullheaded persistence. “After all, my father taught you everything you know. It’s because of him that you’re a master builder. Won’t you help me for his sake?”

For Tom. Suddenly Jack felt a twinge of conscience. In his own way, Tom had tried to be a good stepfather. He had not been gentle or understanding, but he had treated his own children much the same as Jack, and he had been patient and generous in passing on his knowledge and skills. He had also made Jack’s mother happy, most of the time. And after all, Jack thought, here I am, a successful and prosperous master builder, well on the way to achieving my ambition of building the most beautiful cathedral in the world, and there’s Alfred, poor and hungry and out of work. Isn’t that revenge enough?

No, it’s not, he thought.

Then he relented.

“All right,” he said. “For Tom’s sake, you’re hired.”

“Thank you,” Alfred said. His expression was unreadable. “Shall I start right away?”

Jack nodded. “We’re laying foundations in the nave. Just join in.”

Alfred held out his hand. Jack hesitated momentarily, then shook it. Alfred’s grip was as strong as ever.

Alfred disappeared. Jack stood staring down at his drawing of a nave plinth. It was life-size, so that when it was finished a master carpenter could make a wooden template directly from the drawing. The template would then be used by the masons to mark the stones for carving.

Had he made the right decision? He recalled that Alfred’s vault had collapsed. However, he would not use Alfred on difficult work such as vaulting or arches: straightforward walls and floors were his métier.

While Jack was still pondering, the noon bell rang for dinner. He put down his sharpened-wire drawing instrument and went down the turret staircase to ground level.”

The married masons went home to dinner and the single ones ate in the lodge. On some building sites dinner was provided, as a way of preventing afternoon lateness, absenteeism and drunkenness; but monks’ fare was often Spartan and most building workers preferred to provide their own. Jack was living in Tom Builder’s old house with Martha, his stepsister, who acted as his housekeeper. Martha also minded Tommy and Jack’s second child, a girl whom they had named Sally, while Aliena was busy. Martha usually made dinner for Jack and the children, and Aliena sometimes joined them.

He left the priory close and walked briskly home. On the way a thought struck him. Would Alfred expect to move back into the house with Martha? She was his natural sister, after all. Jack had not thought of that when he gave Alfred the job.

It was a foolish fear, he decided a moment later. The days when Alfred could bully him were long past. He was the master builder of Kingsbridge, and if he said Alfred could not move into the house, then Alfred would not move into the house.

He half expected to find Alfred at the kitchen table, and was relieved to find he was not. Aliena was watching the children eat, while Martha stirred a pot on the fire. The smell of lamb stew was mouth-watering.

He kissed Aliena’s forehead briefly. She was thirty-three years old now, but she looked as she had ten years ago: her hair was still a rich dark-brown mass of curls, and she had the same generous mouth and fine, dark eyes. Only when she was naked did she show the physical effects of time and childbirth: her marvelous deep breasts were lower, her hips were broader, and her belly had never reverted to its original taut flatness.

Jack looked affectionately at the two offspring of Aliena’s body: nine-year-old Tommy, a healthy red-haired boy, big for his age, shoveling lamb stew into his mouth as if he had not eaten for a week; and Sally, age seven, with dark curls like her mother’s, smiling happily and showing a gap between her front teeth just like the one Martha had had when Jack first saw her seventeen years ago. Tommy went to the school in the priory every morning to learn to read and write, but the monks would not take girls, so Aliena was teaching Sally.

Jack sat down, and Martha took the pot off the fire and set it on the table. Martha was a strange girl. She was past twenty years old, but she showed no interest in getting married. She had always been attached to Jack, and now she seemed perfectly content to be his housekeeper.

Jack presided over the oddest household in the county, without a doubt. He and Aliena were two of the leading citizens of the town: he the master builder at the cathedral and she the largest manufacturer of cloth outside Winchester. Everyone treated them as man and wife, yet they were forbidden to spend nights together, and they lived in separate houses, Aliena with her brother and Jack with his stepsister. Every Sunday afternoon, and on every holiday, they would disappear, and everyone knew what they were doing except, of course, Prior Philip. Meanwhile, Jack’s mother lived in a cave in the forest because she was supposed to be a witch.