For Tom, the raging fire that was destroying Kingsbridge Cathedral was a beacon of hope.

He looked across the green at the huge flames that leaped high in the air from the ruins of the church, and all he could think was: This means work!

The thought had been hiding in the back of his mind, ever since he had emerged, bleary-eyed, from the guesthouse, and seen the faint red glow in the church windows. All the time he had been hurrying the monks out of danger, and rushing into the burning church to find Prior Philip, and carrying the saint’s coffin out, his heart had been bursting with shameless, happy optimism.

Now that he had a moment to reflect, it occurred to him that he ought not to be happy about the burning of a church; but then, he thought, no one had been hurt, and the priory’s treasure had been saved, and the church was old and crumbling anyway; so why not rejoice?

The young monks came back across the green, carrying the heavy book cupboard. All I have to do now, Tom thought, is make sure that I get the job of rebuilding this church. And the time to speak to Prior Philip about it is now.

However, Philip was not with the monks carrying the book cupboard. They reached the guesthouse and lowered the cupboard to the ground. “Where’s your prior?” Tom said to them.

The eldest of them looked back in surprise. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was behind us.”

Perhaps he had stayed back to watch the blaze, Tom thought; but perhaps he was in trouble.

Without further ado Tom ran across the green and around the back of the kitchen. He hoped Philip was all right, not just because Philip seemed such a good man, but because he was Jonathan’s protector. Without Philip there was no knowing what might happen to the baby.

Tom found Philip in the passage between the refectory and the dormitory. To his relief, the prior was sitting upright, looking dazed but unhurt. Tom helped him to his feet.

“Something hit my head,” Philip said groggily.

Tom looked past him. The south transept had fallen into the cloisters. “You’re fortunate to be alive,” Tom said. “God must have a purpose for you.”

Philip shook his head to clear it. “I passed out for a moment. I’m all right now. Where are the books?”

“They took them to the guesthouse.”

“Let’s go back there.”

Tom took Philip’s arm as they walked. The prior was not badly hurt but he was upset, Tom could see.

By the time they got back to the guesthouse, the fire in the church was past its peak, and the flames were dying down a little; but nevertheless Tom could see people’s faces quite clearly, and -he realized with a little shock that it was daybreak.

Philip started organizing things again. He told Milius Kitchener to make porridge for everyone and authorized Cuthbert Whitehead to open a barrel of strong wine to warm them up in the meantime. He ordered the fire lit in the guesthouse, and the older monks went in out of the cold. It started to rain, wind-driven sheets of water, freezing cold, and the flames in the ruined church faded fast.

When everyone was busy again, Prior Philip walked away from the guesthouse, on his own, and headed for the church. Tom saw him and followed. This was his chance. If he could handle this right he could work here for years.

Philip stood staring at what had been the west end of the church, shaking his head sadly at the wreckage, looking as if it were his life that was in ruins. Tom stood beside him in silence. After a while Philip moved on, walking along the north side of the nave, through the graveyard. Tom walked with him, surveying the damage.

The north wall of the nave was still standing, but the north transept and part of the north wall of the chancel had fallen. The church still had an east end. They turned around the end and looked at the south side. Most of the south wall had come down and the south transept had collapsed into the cloisters. The chapter house was still standing.

They walked to the archway that led into the east walk of the cloisters. There they were halted by the pile of rubble. It looked a mess, but Tom’s trained eye could see that the cloister walks themselves were not badly damaged, just buried under the fallen ruins. He climbed over the broken stones until he could see into the church. Just behind the altar there was a semi-concealed staircase that led down into the crypt. The crypt itself was beneath the quire. Tom peered in, studying the stone floor over the crypt for signs of cracking. He could see none. There was a good chance the crypt had survived intact. He would not tell Philip yet: he would save the news for a crucial moment.

Philip had walked on, around the back of the dormitory. Tom hurried to catch him. They found the dormitory unmarked; Going on, they found the other monastic buildings more or less unharmed: the refectory, the kitchen, the bakehouse and the brewery. Philip might have taken some consolation in that, but his expression remained glum.

They ended up where they had started, in front of the ruined west end, having completed a full circuit of the priory close without speaking a word. Philip sighed heavily and broke the silence. “The devil did this,” he said.

Tom thought: This is my moment. He took a deep breath and said: “It might be God’s work.”

Philip looked up at him in surprise. “How so?”

Tom said carefully: “No one has been hurt. The books, the treasure and the bones of the saint were saved. Only the church has been destroyed. Perhaps God wanted a new church.”

Philip smiled skeptically. “And I suppose God wanted you to build it.” He was not too stunned to see that Tom’s line of thought might be self-interested.

Tom stood his ground. “It may be so,” he said stubbornly. “It was not the devil who sent a master builder here on the night the church burned down.”

Philip looked away. “Well, there will be a new church, but I don’t know when. And what am I to do meanwhile? How can the life of the monastery go on? All we’re here for is worship and study.”

Philip was deep in despair. This was the moment for Tom to offer him new hope. “My boy and I could have the cloisters cleared and ready for use in a week,” he said, making his voice sound more confident than he felt.

Philip was surprised. “Could you?” Then his expression changed once more, and he looked defeated again. “But what will we use for a church?”

“What about the crypt? You can hold services there, couldn’t you?”

“Yes-it would do very well.”

“I’m sure the crypt is not badly damaged,” Tom said. It was almost true: he was almost sure.

Philip was looking at him as if he were the angel of mercy.

“It won’t take long to clear a path through the debris from the cloisters to the crypt stairs,” Tom went on. “Most of the church on that side has been completely destroyed, which is fortunate, oddly enough, because it means there’s no further danger from falling masonry. I’d have to survey the walls that are still standing, and it might be necessary to shore some of them up. Then they should be checked every day for cracks, and even so you ought not to enter the church in a gale.” All of this was important, but Tom could see that Philip was not taking it in. What Philip wanted from Torn now was positive news, something to lift his spirits. And the way to get hired was to give him what he wanted. Tom changed his tone. “With some of your younger monks laboring for me, I could fix things up so that you’re able to resume normal monastic life, after a fashion, within two weeks.”

Philip was staring at him. “Two weeks?”

“Give me food and lodging for my family, and you can pay my wages when you have the money.”

“You could give me back my priory in two weeks?” Philip repeated incredulously.

Tom was not sure he could, but if it took three no one would die of it. “Two weeks,” he said firmly. “After that, we can knock down the remaining walls-that’s a skilled job, mind you, if it’s to be done safely-then clear the rubble, stacking the stones for reuse. Meanwhile we can plan the new cathedral.” Tom held his breath. He had done his best. Surely Philip would hire him now!