He reached the prior’s house. It was a small stone building on one level. The door stood open, although it was a cold day. He hesitated for a moment. Calm, competent, knowledgeable, expert, he said to himself. A master of every aspect of modern building. Just the man you’d cheerfully trust.

He stepped inside. There was only one room. At one end was a big bed with luxurious hangings; at the other a small altar with a crucifix and a candlestick. Prior Philip stood by a window, reading from a vellum sheet with a worried frown. He looked up and smiled at Tom. “What’s that you’ve got?”

“Drawings, Father,” Tom said, making his voice deep and reassuring. “For a new cathedral. May I show you?”

Philip looked surprised but intrigued. “By all means.”

There was a large lectern in a corner. Tom brought it into the light by the window and put his plaster frame on its angled rest. Philip looked at the drawing. Tom watched Philip’s face. He could tell that Philip had never seen an elevation drawing, a floor plan or a section through a building. The prior’s face wore a puzzled frown.

Tom began to explain. He pointed to the elevation. “You’re standing in the center of the nave, looking at the wall,” he said. “Here are the pillars of the arcade. They’re joined by arches. Through the archways you can see the windows in the aisle. Above the arcade is the tribune gallery, and above that, the clerestory windows.”

Philip’s expression cleared as he understood. He was a quick learner. He looked at the floor plan, and Tom could see he was equally puzzled by that.

Tom said: “When we walk around the site, and mark where the walls will be built, and where the pillars meet the ground, and the positions of the doors and buttresses, we will have a plan like this, and it will tell us where to place our pegs and strings.”

Enlightenment dawned on Philip’s face again. It was no bad thing, Tom thought, that Philip had trouble understanding the drawings: it gave Tom a chance to be confident and expert. Finally Philip looked at the section. Tom explained: “Here is the nave, in the middle, with a timber ceiling. Behind the nave is the tower. Here are the aisles, on either side of the nave. At the outer edges of the aisles are the buttresses.”

“It looks splendid,” Philip said. Tom could tell that the section drawing particularly impressed him, with the inside of the church open to view, as if the west end had been swung aside like a cupboard door to reveal the interior.

Philip looked at the floor plan again. “Are there only six bays to the nave?”

“Yes, and four to the chancel.”

“Isn’t that rather small?”

“Can you afford to build it bigger?”

“I can’t afford to build it at all,” Philip said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how much this would cost.”

“I know exactly how much it would cost,” Tom said. He saw surprise on Philip’s face: Philip had not realized Tom could do figure work. He had spent many hours calculating the cost of his design to the last penny. However, he gave Philip a round figure. “It would be no more than three thousand pounds.”

Philip laughed hollowly. “I’ve spent the last few weeks working out the annual income of the priory.” He waved the sheet of vellum that he had been reading so anxiously when Tom walked in. “Here’s the answer. Three hundred pounds a year. And we spend every penny.”

Tom was not surprised. It was obvious that the priory had been badly managed in the past. He had faith that Philip would reform its finances. “You’ll find the money, Father,” he said. “With God’s help,” he added piously.

Philip returned his attention to the drawings, looking unconvinced. “How long would this take to build?”

“That depends on how many people you employ,” Tom said. “If you hire thirty masons, with enough laborers, apprentices, carpenters and smiths to service them, it might take fifteen years: one year for the foundations, four years for the chancel, four years for the transepts, and six years for the nave.”

Once again Philip looked impressed. “I wish my monastic officials had your ability to think ahead and calculate,” he said. He studied the drawings wistfully. “So I need to find two hundred pounds a year. It doesn’t sound so bad when you put it that way.” He looked thoughtful. Tom felt excited: Philip was beginning to think of this as a workable project, not just an abstract design. “Suppose I could afford more-could we build faster?”

“Up to a point,” Tom replied guardedly. He did not want Philip to become overoptimistic: that might lead to disillusionment. “You could employ sixty masons, and build the whole church at once, instead of working from east to west; and that might take eight or ten years. Any more than sixty, on a building this size, and they would start getting in one another’s way, and slow the work down.”

Philip nodded: he appeared to understand that without difficulty. “Still, even with just thirty masons, I could have the east end completed after five years.”

“Yes, and you could use it for services, and set up a new shrine for the bones of Saint Adolphus.”

“Indeed.” Philip was really excited now. “I had been thinking it would be decades before we could have a new church.” He looked shrewdly at Tom. “Have you ever built a cathedral before?”

“No, though I’ve designed and built smaller churches. But I worked on Exeter Cathedral, for several years, finishing up as deputy master builder.”

“You want to build this cathedral yourself, don’t you?”

Tom hesitated. It was as well to be candid with Philip: the man had no patience for prevarication. “Yes, Father. I want you to appoint me master builder,” he said as calmly as he could.

“Why?”

Tom had not expected that question. There were so many reasons. Because I’ve seen it done badly, and I know I could do it well, he thought. Because there is nothing more satisfying, to a master craftsman, than to exercise his skill, except perhaps to make love to a beautiful woman. Because something like this gives meaning to a man’s life. Which answer did Philip want? The prior would probably like him to say something pious. Recklessly, he decided to tell the real truth. “Because it will be beautiful,” he said.

Philip looked at him strangely. Tom could not tell whether he was angry, or something else. “Because it will be beautiful,” Philip repeated. Tom began to feel that was a silly reason, and decided to say something more, but he could not decide what. Then he realized that Philip was not skeptical at all-he was moved. Tom’s words had touched his heart. Finally Philip nodded, as if agreeing after some reflection. “Yes. And what could be better than to make something beautiful for God?” he said.

Tom remained silent. Philip had not said Yes, you shall be master builder. Tom waited.

Philip seemed to reach a decision. “I’m going with Bishop Waleran to see the king in Winchester in three days’ time,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what the bishop plans, but I’m sure we will be asking King Stephen to help us pay for a new cathedral church for Kingsbridge.”

“Let’s hope he grants your wish,” Tom said.

“He owes us a favor,” Philip said with an enigmatic smile. “He ought to help us.”

“And if he does?” Tom said.

“I think God sent you to me with a purpose, Tom Builder,” said Philip. “If King Stephen gives us the money, you can build the church.”

It was Tom’s turn to be moved. He hardly knew what to say. He had been granted his life’s wish-but conditionally. Everything depended on Philip’s getting help from the king. He nodded, accepting the promise and the risk. “Thank you, Father,” he said.

The bell rang for vespers. Tom picked up his board.

“Do you need that?” Philip said.

Tom realized it would be a good idea to leave it here. It would be a constant reminder to Philip. “No, I don’t need it,” he said. “I have it all in my head.”