Was there a wary look in his eyes now, as he vowed to be loving and faithful to her all the rest of his life? He’s got reason enough to doubt me, she thought. I married Alfred, and what greater betrayal could there be than that? But then I made up for it, by searching half of Christendom to find Jack.

Such disappointments, betrayals and reconciliations were the stuff of married life, but she and Jack had gone through them before the wedding. Now, at least, she felt confident that she knew him. Nothing was likely to surprise her. It was a funny way to do things, but it might be better than making your vows first and getting to know your spouse afterward. The priests would not agree, of course; indeed, Philip would be apoplectic if he knew what was going through her mind; but then again, priests knew less about love than anyone.

She made her vows, repeating the words after Philip, thinking to herself how beautiful was the promise With my body I worship you. Philip would never understand that.

Jack put a ring on her finger. I’ve been waiting for this all my life, she thought. They looked into one another’s eyes. Something had changed in him, she could tell. She realized that until this moment he had never really been sure of her. Now he looked deeply content.

“I love you,” he said. “I always will.”

That was his vow. The rest was religion, but now he had made his own promise; and Aliena realized that she, too, had been unsure of him until now. In a moment they would walk forward into the crossing for the mass; and after that they would accept the congratulations and good wishes of the townspeople, and take them home and give them food and ale and make merry; but this small instant was just for them. Jack’s look said You and me, together, always; and Aliena thought At last.

It felt very peaceful.

PART SIX

Chapter 17

KINGSBRIDGE WAS STILL GROWING. It had long ago overflowed its original walls, which now enclosed fewer than half the houses. About five years ago the guild had built a new wall, taking in the suburbs that had grown up outside the old town; and now there were more suburbs outside the new wall. The meadow on the other side of the river, where the townspeople had traditionally held Lammas Day and Midsummer Eve festivities, was now a small village, called Newport.

On a cold Easter Sunday, Sheriff William Hamleigh rode through Newport and crossed the stone bridge that led into what was now called the old town of Kingsbridge. Today the newly completed Kingsbridge Cathedral would be consecrated. He passed through the formidable city gate and went up the main street, which had recently been paved. The dwellings on either side were all stone houses with shops in the undercrofts and living quarters above. Kingsbridge was bigger, busier and wealthier than Shiring had ever been, William thought bitterly.

He reached the top of the street and turned into the priory close; and there, before his eyes, was the reason for the rise of Kingsbridge and the decline of Shiring: the cathedral.

It was breathtaking.

The immensely tall nave was supported by a row of graceful flying buttresses. The west end had three huge porticos, like giants’ doorways, and rows of tall, slender, pointed windows above, flanked by slim towers. The concept had been heralded in the transepts, finished eighteen years ago, but this was the astonishing consummation of the idea. There had never been a building like this anywhere in England.

The market still took place here every Sunday, and the green in front of the church door was packed with stalls. William dismounted and left Walter to take care of the horses. He limped across the green to the church: he was fifty-four years old, and heavy, and he suffered constant pain from gout in his legs and feet. Because of the pain he was more or less permanently angry.

The church was even more impressive inside. The nave followed the style of the transepts, but the master builder had refined his design, making the columns even more slender and the windows larger. But there was yet another innovation. William had heard people talk of the colored glass made by craftsmen Jack Jackson had brought over from Paris. He had wondered why there was such a fuss about it, for he imagined that a colored window would be just like a tapestry or a painting. Now he saw what they meant. The light from outside shone through the colored glass, making it glow, and the effect was quite magical. The church was full of people craning their necks to stare up at the windows. The pictures showed Bible stories, Heaven and Hell, saints and prophets, disciples, and some of the Kingsbridge citizens who had presumably paid for the windows in which they appeared-a baker carrying his tray of loaves, a tanner and his hides, a mason with his compasses and level. I bet Philip made a fat profit out of those windows, William thought sourly.

The church was packed for the Easter service. The market was spreading into the interior of the building, as always happened, and walking up the nave William was offered cold beer, hot gingerbread and a quick fuck up against the wall for threepence. The clergy were forever trying to ban peddlers from churches but it was an impossible task. William exchanged greetings with the more important citizens of the county. But despite the social and commercial distractions William found his eye and his thoughts constantly drawn upward by the sweeping lines of the arcade. The arches and the windows, the piers with their clustered shafts, and the ribs and segments of the vaulted ceiling all seemed to point toward heaven in an inescapable reminder of what the building was for.

The floor was paved, the pillars were painted, and every window was glazed: Kingsbridge and its priory were rich, and the cathedral proclaimed their prosperity. In the small chapels of the transepts were gold candlesticks and jeweled crosses. The citizens also displayed their wealth, with richly colored tunics, silver brooches and buckles, and gold rings.

His eye fell on Aliena.

As always, his heart missed a beat. She was as beautiful as ever, although she had to be over fifty years old now. She still had a mass of curly hair, but it was cut shorter, and seemed to be a lighter shade of brown, as if it had faded a little. She had attractive crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She was a little wider than she used to be, but she was no less desirable. She wore a blue cloak with a red silk lining, and red leather shoes. There was a deferential crowd around her. Although she was not even a countess, merely the sister of an earl, her brother had settled in the Holy Land, and everyone treated her as the earl. She carried herself like a queen.

The sight of her brewed hatred like bile in William’s belly. He had ruined her father, raped her, taken her castle, burned her wool and exiled her brother, but every time he thought he had crushed her she came back again, rising from defeat to new heights of power and wealth. Now William was aging and gouty and fat and he realized that he had spent his life in the power of a terrible enchantment.

Beside her was a tall red-haired man whom William at first took for Jack. However, on closer examination the man was obviously too young, and William realized it must be the son of Jack. The boy was dressed as a knight, and carried a sword. Jack himself stood next to his son, an inch or two shorter, his red hair receding at the temples. He was younger than Aliena, of course, by about five years, if William’s memory was right, but he, too, had lines around his eyes. He was talking animatedly to a young woman who was surely his daughter. She resembled Aliena, and was just as pretty, but her abundant hair was pulled severely back and plaited, and she was quite plainly dressed. If there was a voluptuous body under that earth-brown tunic she did not want anyone to know it.