Pillars of the Earth, book 2 24 страница

“I’ve drawn both bridges with pointed arches, like the cathedral,” Merthin said. “They will be beautiful.”

“Show me.”

They left the riverside and walked uphill through the town to the priory. The cathedral dripped with rain under a layer of low cloud like smoke from a damp fire. Merthin was looking forward to seeing his drawings again – he had not been to the loft for a week or so – and to explaining them to Edmund. He had thought a great deal about the way the current had undermined the old bridge, and how he could protect the new one from the same fate.

He led Edmund through the north porch and up the spiral staircase. His wet shoes slipped on the worn stone steps. Edmund energetically hauled his withered leg up behind him.

Several lamps were burning in the mason’s loft. At first Merthin was pleased, for that meant they would be able to see his drawings more clearly. Then he saw Elfric working on the tracing floor.

He felt momentarily frustrated. The enmity between himself and his former master was as great as ever. Elfric had failed to prevent townspeople from employing Merthin, but he continued to block Merthin’s application to join the carpenters’ guild – leaving Merthin in an anomalous position, illegitimate but accepted. Elfric’s attitude was pointless, but spiteful.

Elfric’s presence here would put a damper on Merthin’s conversation with Edmund. He told himself not to be so sensitive. Why should it not be Elfric who was made uncomfortable?

He held the door for Edmund, and together they crossed the room to the tracing floor. Then he suffered a shock.

Elfric was bent over the tracing floor, drawing with a pair of compasses – on a fresh layer of plaster. He had re-covered the floor, totally obliterating Merthin’s drawings.

Merthin said incredulously: “What have you done?”

Elfric looked contemptuously at him and went on with his drawing, saying nothing.

“He’s wiped out my work,” Merthin said to Edmund.

“What’s your explanation, man?” Edmund demanded.

Elfric could not ignore his father-in-law. “There’s nothing to explain,” he said. “A tracing floor has to be renewed at intervals.”

“But you’ve covered over important designs!”

“Have I? The prior has not commissioned this boy to make any drawings, and the boy has not asked permission to use the tracing floor.”

Edmund was never slow to anger, and Elfric’s cool insolence was getting under his skin. “Don’t act stupid,” he said. “I asked Merthin to prepare drawings for the new bridge.”

“I’m sorry, but only the prior has authority to do that.”

“Damn it, the guild is providing the money.”

“A loan, to be repaid.”

“It still gives us the right to a say on the design.”

“Does it? You’ll have to speak to the prior about that. I don’t think he’ll be impressed by your choice of an inexperienced apprentice as your designer, though.”

Merthin was looking at the drawings Elfric had scratched in the new plaster. “I suppose this is your bridge design,” he said.

“Prior Godwyn has commissioned me to build it,” Elfric said.

Edmund was shocked. “Without asking us?”

Elfric said resentfully: “What’s the matter – don’t you want the work to go to your own daughter’s husband?”

“Round arches,” Merthin said, still studying Elfric’s drawing. “And narrow openings. How many piers will you have?”

Elfric was reluctant to answer, but Edmund was staring expectantly at him. “Seven,” he said.

“The wooden bridge only had five!” Merthin said. “Why are they so thick, and the openings so narrow?”

“To bear the weight of a stone-paved roadway.”

“You don’t need thick piers for that. Look at this cathedral – its columns bear the entire weight of the roof, but they’re slim and widely spaced.”

Elfric sneered. “No one’s going to drive a cart across the roof of a church.”

“That’s true, but-” Merthin stopped. The rain on the cathedral’s vast expanse of roof probably weighed more than an ox-cart loaded with stone, but why should he explain this to Elfric? It was not his role to educate an incompetent builder. Elfric’s design was poor, but Merthin did not want to improve it, he wanted to replace it with his own, so he shut up.

Edmund also realized he was wasting his breath. “This decision is not going to be made by you two,” he said, and he stomped off.

*

John Constable’s baby daughter was christened in the cathedral by Prior Godwyn. This honour was granted because he was an important employee of the priory. All the leading townspeople attended. Although John was neither wealthy nor well connected – his father had worked in the priory stables – Petranilla said that respectable people should take care to show friendship towards him and support for him. Caris thought they condescended to John because they needed him to protect their property.

It was raining again, and the people grouped around the font were wetter than the infant who was sprinkled with holy water. Strange feelings stirred in Caris as she looked at the tiny, helpless child. Since lying with Merthin she had simply refused to let herself think about pregnancy but, all the same, she felt a warm surge of protective emotion when she saw the baby.

She was named Jesca, after Abraham’s niece.

Caris’s cousin Godwyn had never been comfortable with babies and, as soon as the brief rite was over, he turned to leave. But Petranilla grabbed the sleeve of his Benedictine robe. “What about this bridge?” she said.

She spoke in a low voice, but Caris heard, and made up her mind to listen to the rest.

Godwyn said: “I’ve asked Elfric to prepare drawings and estimates.”

“Good. We should keep it in the family.”

“Elfric is the priory’s builder.”

“Other people may want to horn in.”

“I shall decide who builds the bridge.”

Caris was annoyed enough to intervene. “How dare you?” she said to Petranilla.

“I was not speaking to you,” her aunt said.

Caris ignored that. “Why should Merthin’s design not be considered?”

“Because he isn’t family.”

“He practically lives with us!”

“But you’re not married to him. If you were, it might be different.”

Caris knew she was at a disadvantage there, so she shifted her ground. “You’ve always been prejudiced against Merthin,” she said. “But everyone knows he’s a better builder than Elfric.”

Her sister Alice heard that and joined in the argument. “Elfric taught Merthin everything, and now Merthin pretends he knows better!”

That was dishonest, Caris knew, and she felt angry. “Who built the ferry?” she said, raising her voice. “Who repaired the roof of St Mark’s?”

“Merthin was working with Elfric when he built the ferry. And no one asked Elfric about St Mark’s.”

“Because they knew he wouldn’t be able to solve the problem!”

Godwyn interrupted. “Please!” he said, with his hands raised in front of himself protectively. “I know you’re my family, but I’m the prior and this is the cathedral. I can’t be harangued by womenfolk in public.”

Edmund joined the circle. “Just what I was going to say. Keep your voices down.”

Alice said accusingly: “You should be supporting your son-in-law.”

It occurred to Caris that Alice was getting more like Petranilla. Although she was only twenty-one, and Petranilla was more than twice that age, Alice had the same purse-mouthed look of disapproval. She was also becoming more stout, her bosom filling out the front of her dress like wind in a sail.

Edmund looked sternly at Alice. “This decision will not be made on the basis of family relationships,” he said. “The fact that Elfric is married to my daughter won’t help his bridge stay upright.”

He had strong views on this subject, Caris knew. He believed you should always do business with the most reliable supplier, always hire the best man for the job, regardless of friendship or family ties. Any man who needs to surround himself with loyal acolytes doesn’t really believe in himself, he would say – and if he doesn’t believe in himself, why should I?

Petranilla said: “So how will the choice be made?” She gave him a shrewd look. “You’ve obviously got a plan.”

“The priory and the guild will consider Elfric’s design and Merthin’s – and any others that may be put forward,” Edmund said decisively. “All designs must be drawn and costed. The costing must be independently checked by other builders.”

Alice muttered: “I’ve never heard of such goings-on. It’s like an archery contest. Elfric is the priory’s builder, he should do the job.”

Her father ignored her. “Finally, the designers will be questioned by the leading citizens of the town at a meeting of the parish guild. And then -” he looked at Godwyn, who was pretending not to be bewildered by the way the decision process had been taken out of his hands – “and then Prior Godwyn will make his choice.”

*

The meeting took place in the guild hall on the main street. It had a stone undercroft below and a timber superstructure, topped by a tiled roof and two stone chimneys. In the basement were the large kitchen that prepared food for the banquets, a jail and an office for the constable. The main floor was as spacious as a church, a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. At one end was a chapel. Because it was so wide, and because timbers long enough to span a thirty-foot roof were rare and expensive, the main room was divided by a row of wooden pillars supporting the joists.

It appeared an unpretentious building, made of the materials used in the humblest dwellings, glorifying nobody. But, as Edmund often said, the money made by the people here paid for the limestone-and-stained-glass majesty of the cathedral. And the guild hall was comfortable in its unostentatious way. There were tapestries on the walls and glass in the windows, and two huge fireplaces kept it warm in winter. When business was booming, the food served here was fit for royalty.

The parish guild had been formed hundreds of years ago, when Kingsbridge was a small town. A few merchants had got together to raise money to buy ornaments for the cathedral. But when wealthy men eat and drink in a group they inevitably discuss their common concerns, and fund-raising soon became secondary to politics. From the start the guild was dominated by wool merchants, which was why a huge pair of scales and a standard weight for a woolsack – 364 pounds – stood at one end of the hall. As Kingsbridge grew, other guilds had been formed, representing crafts – carpenters, masons, brewers, goldsmiths – but their leading members also belonged to the parish guild, which retained its primacy. It was a less powerful version of the guild merchant that ruled most English towns, but was prohibited here by the town’s landlord, Kingsbridge Priory.

Merthin had never attended a meeting or banquet here, but he had been inside several times on more mundane business. He liked to crane back his neck and study the complex geometry of the roof timbers, a lesson in how the weight of a broad expanse of roof could be funnelled down to a few slender wooden pillars. Most of the elements made sense, but one or two pieces of wood seemed to him to be superfluous, or even detrimental, transferring weight to weaker zones. That was because no one really knew what made buildings stand up. Builders went by instinct and experience, and sometimes got it wrong.

This evening Merthin was in a state of high anxiety, too nervous to really appreciate the woodwork. The guild was about to pass judgement on his bridge design. It was far superior to Elfric’s – but would they see that?

Elfric had had the benefit of the tracing floor. Merthin might have asked Godwyn for permission to use it, but he had been afraid of further sabotage by Elfric, so he had devised an alternative. He had stretched a large piece of parchment across a wooden frame, and had drawn his design on the skin with a pen and ink. Tonight this might work to his advantage, for he had brought his design with him to the guild hall, so that members would have it in front of them, whereas Elfric’s would only be in their memories.

He placed his framed drawing at the front of the hall on a three-legged stand he had devised for the purpose. Everyone came and looked at it as they arrived, although they had all seen it at least once over the last few days. They had also climbed the spiral staircase to the loft and looked at Elfric’s drawings. Merthin thought most people preferred his design, but some were wary of backing a youngster against an experienced man. Many had kept their opinions to themselves.

The noise level rose as the hall filled up with men and a few women. They dressed up for the guild, as they did for church, the men in expensive wool coats despite the mild summer weather, the women in elaborate headdresses. Although everyone paid lip service to the untrustworthiness and general inferiority of women, in practice several of the town’s wealthiest and most important citizens were female. There was Mother Cecilia, sitting now at the front with her personal assistant, the nun known as Old Julie. Caris was here – everyone acknowledged that she was Edmund’s right hand. Merthin experienced a jolt of desire as she sat on the bench next to him, her thigh warm against his own. Anyone carrying on a trade in the town had to belong to a guild – outsiders could do business only on market days. Even monks and priests were compelled to join if they wanted to trade, which they often did. When a man died, it was common for his widow to continue his enterprise. Betty Baxter was the town’s most prosperous baker; Sarah Taverner kept the Holly Bush inn. It would have been difficult and cruel to prevent such women earning a living. Much easier to include them in the guild.

Edmund normally chaired these meetings, sitting on a big wooden throne on a raised platform at the front. Today, however, there were two chairs on the platform. Edmund sat in one and, when Prior Godwyn arrived, Edmund invited him to take the other. Godwyn was accompanied by all the senior monks, and Merthin was pleased to see Thomas among them. Philemon was also in the entourage, lanky and awkward, and Merthin wondered briefly what on earth Godwyn had brought him for.

Godwyn was looking pained. Opening the proceedings, Edmund was careful to acknowledge that the prior was in charge of the bridge, and the choice of design was ultimately his. But everyone knew that, in fact, Edmund had taken the decision out of Godwyn’s hands by calling this meeting. Provided there was a clear consensus tonight, Godwyn would have great difficulty in going against the expressed will of the merchants in a matter of commerce rather than religion. Edmund asked Godwyn to begin with a prayer, and Godwyn obliged, but he knew he had been outmanoeuvred, and that was why he looked as if there was a bad smell.

Edmund stood up and said: “These two designs have been costed by Elfric and Merthin, who have used the same methods of calculation.”

Elfric interjected: “Of course we have – he learned them from me.” There was a ripple of laughter from the older men.

It was true. There were formulae for calculating costs per square foot of wall, per cubic yard of infill, per foot of a roof span, and for more intricate work such as arches and vaulting. All builders used the same methods, though with their individual variations. The bridge calculations had been complex, but easier than for a building such as a church.

Edmund went on: “Each man has checked the other’s calculations, so there is no room for dispute.”

Edward Butcher called out: “Yes – all builders overcharge by the same amount!” That got a big laugh. Edward was popular with the men for his quick wit, and with the women for his good looks and brown bedroom eyes. He was not so popular with his wife, who knew about his infidelities, and had recently attacked him with one of his own heavy knives: he still had a bandage on his left arm.

“Elfric’s bridge will cost two hundred and eighty-five pounds,” Edmund said as the laughter died away. “Merthin’s comes out at three hundred and seven. The difference is twenty-two pounds, as most of you will have worked out faster than me.” There was a quiet chuckle at that: Edmund was often teased for having his daughter do his arithmetic for him. He still used the old Latin numerals, because he could not get used to the new Arabic digits that made calculation so much easier.

A new voice said: “Twenty-two pounds is a lot of money.” It was Bill Watkin, the builder who had refused to hire Merthin, looking like one of the monks with his bald dome.

Dick Brewer said: “Yes, but Merthin’s bridge is twice as wide. It ought to cost twice as much – but it doesn’t, because it’s a cleverer design.” Dick was fond of his own product, ale, and in consequence had a protruding round belly like a pregnant woman.

Bill rejoined: “How many days a year do we need a bridge wide enough for two carts?”

“Every market day and all of Fleece Fair week.”

“Not so,” said Bill. “It’s only for an hour in the morning and another in the afternoon.”

“I’ve waited two hours with a cartload of barley before now.”

“You should have the sense to bring your barley in on quiet days.”

“I bring barley in every day.” Dick was the largest brewer in the county. He owned a huge copper kettle that held five hundred gallons, in consequence of which his tavern was called the Copper.

Edmund interrupted this spat. “There are other problems caused by delays on the bridge,” he said. “Some traders go to Shiring, where there’s no bridge and no queue. Others do their business while waiting in line, then go home without ever entering the town, and save themselves the bridge toll and the market taxes. It’s forestalling, and it’s illegal, but we’ve never succeeded in stopping it. And then there’s the question of how people think of Kingsbridge. Right now we’re the town whose bridge collapsed. If we’re going to attract back all the business we’re losing, we need to change that. I’d like us to become known as the town with the best bridge in England.”

Edmund was hugely influential, and Merthin began to scent victory.

Betty Baxter, an enormously fat woman in her forties, stood up and pointed to something on Merthin’s drawing. “What’s this, here in the middle of the bridge parapet, over the pier?” she said. “There’s a little pointed bit that sticks out over the water, like a viewing platform. What is it for, fishing?” The others laughed.

“It’s a pedestrian refuge,” Merthin answered. “If you’re walking over the bridge, and suddenly the earl of Shiring rides across with twenty mounted knights, you can step out of their way.”

Edward Butcher said: “I hope it’s big enough to fit Betty in.”

Everyone laughed, but Betty persisted with her questioning. “Why is the pier underneath it pointed like that all the way down to the water? Elfric’s piers aren’t pointed.”

“To deflect debris. Look at any river bridge – you’ll see the piers are chipped and cracked. What do you think causes that damage? It must be the large pieces of wood – tree trunks, or timbers from demolished buildings – that you see floating downstream and crashing into piers.”

“Or Ian Boatman when he’s drunk,” said Edward.

“Boats or debris, they will cause less damage to my pointed piers. Elfric’s will suffer the full impact.”

Elfric said: “My walls are too strong to be knocked down by bits of wood.”

“On the contrary,” said Merthin. “Your arches are narrower than mine, therefore the water will be drawn through them faster, and the debris will strike the piers with greater force, causing more damage.”

He could see from Elfric’s face that the older man had not even thought of that. But the audience were not builders – how could they judge what was right?

Around the base of each pier, Merthin had drawn a pile of rough stones, known to builders as riprap. This would prevent the current undermining his piers the way it had those of the old wooden bridge. But no one asked him about the riprap, so he did not explain it.

Betty had more questions. “Why is your bridge so long? Elfric’s begins at the water’s edge. Yours starts several yards inland. Isn’t that unnecessary expense?”

“My bridge is ramped at both ends,” Merthin explained. “That’s so that you step off the bridge on to dry land, instead of a swamp. No more ox-carts getting bogged down on the beach and blocking the bridge for an hour.”

“Cheaper to put down a paved road,” said Elfric.

Elfric was beginning to sound desperate. Then Bill Watkin stood up. “I’m having trouble deciding who’s right and who’s wrong,” he said. “When these two argue, it’s difficult to make up your mind. And I’m a builder – it must be worse for those who aren’t.” There was a murmur of agreement. Bill went on: “So I think we should look at the men, not the designs.”

Merthin had been afraid of this. He listened with increasing despair.

“Which of the two do you know best?” said Bill. “Which can you rely on? Elfric has been a builder in this town, man and boy, for twenty years. We can look at houses he’s put up and see they’re still standing. We can see the repairs he’s done on the cathedral. On the other hand, here’s Merthin – a clever lad, we know, but a bit of a tearaway, and never finished his apprenticeship. There’s not a lot to indicate that he’s capable of taking charge of the largest building project Kingsbridge has seen since the construction of the cathedral. I know which one I trust.” He sat down.

Several men voiced their approval. They would not judge the designs – they would decide on personalities. It was maddeningly unfair.

Then Brother Thomas spoke up. “Has anyone in Kingsbridge ever been involved in a project that involved building below water level?”

Merthin knew the answer was No. He felt a surge of hope. This could rescue it for him.

Thomas went on: “I would like to know how both men would handle that problem.”

Merthin was ready with his solution – but he was afraid that if he spoke first Elfric would simply echo him. He compressed his lips, hoping that Thomas – who usually helped him – would get the message.

Thomas caught Merthin’s eye, and said: “Elfric, what would you do?”

“The answer is simpler than you think,” Elfric said. “You just have to drop loose rubble into the river at the point where your pier will stand. The rubble rests on the river bottom. You put more and more in until the pile is visible above water level. Then you build your pier on that foundation.”

As Merthin had expected, Elfric had come up with the crudest solution to the problem. Now Merthin said: “There are two snags with Elfric’s method. One is that a pile of rubble is no more stable under water than on land. Over time, it will shift and drop, and when that happens the bridge will subside. If you want a bridge to last only a few years, fine. But I think we should build for the long term.”

He heard a quiet rumble of concurrence.

“The second problem is the shape of the pile. It will naturally slope outwards below the water line, restricting the passage of boats, especially when the river is low. And Elfric’s arches are already narrow.”

Elfric said irritably: “What would you do instead?”

Merthin suppressed a smile. That was what he had wanted to hear – Elfric admitting that he did not know a better answer. “I’ll tell you,” he said. And I’ll show everyone that I know better than the idiot who chopped my door to pieces, he thought. He looked around. They were all listening. Their decision hung on what he would say next.

He took a deep breath. “First, I would take a pointed wooden stake and piledrive it into the river bed. Then I would bang in another next to it, touching; then another. In that way I would build a ring of stakes around the place in the river where I want to put my pier.”

“A ring of stakes?” Elfric jeered. “That will never keep the water out.”

Brother Thomas, who had asked the question, said: “Listen to him, please. He listened to you.”

Merthin said: “Next, I would build a second ring inside the first, with a gap between them of half a foot.” He sensed that he had his audience’s attention now.

“It still won’t be waterproof,” said Elfric.

Edmund said: “Shut up, Elfric, this is interesting.”

Merthin went on: “Then I would pour a clay mortar into the gap between the two rings. The mixture would displace the water, being heavier. And it would plug any chinks between the wood stakes, making the ring watertight. This is called a coffer dam.”

The room was quiet.

“Finally, I would remove the water from inside by bucket, exposing the river bed, and build a mortared stone foundation.”

Elfric was dumbstruck. Both Edmund and Godwyn were staring at Merthin.

Thomas said: “Thank you both. Speaking for myself, that makes the decision an easy one.”

“Yes,” said Edmund. “I rather think it does.”

*

Caris was surprised that Godwyn had wanted Elfric to design the bridge. She understood that Elfric would seem a safer choice – but Godwyn was a reformer, not a conservative, and she had expected him to be enthusiastic about Merthin’s clever, radical design. Instead he had timidly favoured the cautious option.

Fortunately, Edmund had been able to outmanoeuvre Godwyn, and now Kingsbridge would have a well-built, beautiful bridge that would allow two carts to cross at the same time. But Godwyn’s eagerness to appoint the unimaginative sycophant rather than the bold man of talent was an ominous sign for the future.

And Godwyn had never been a good loser. When he was a boy Petranilla had taught him to play chess, letting him win to encourage him, and he had challenged his uncle Edmund; but after being beaten twice he had sulked and refused to play again. He was in the same mood after the meeting in the guild hall, she could tell. It was probably not that he was particularly attracted to Elfric’s design. But he undoubtedly resented having the decision taken out of his hands. Next day, when she and her father went to the prior’s house, she anticipated trouble.

Godwyn greeted them coolly and did not offer any refreshment. As always, Edmund pretended not to notice slights. “I want Merthin to start work on the bridge immediately,” he said as he sat down at the table in the hall. “I have pledges of money for the full amount of Merthin’s budget-”

“From whom?” Godwyn interrupted.

“The town’s wealthiest traders.”

Godwyn continued to look inquiringly at Edmund.

Edmund shrugged and said: “Fifty pounds from Betty Baxter, eighty from Dick Brewer, seventy from myself, and ten pounds each from eleven others.”

“I didn’t know our citizens possessed such riches,” Godwyn said. He seemed both awestruck and envious. “God has been kind.”

Edmund added: “Kind enough to reward people for a lifetime’s hard work and worry.”

“No doubt.”

“Which is why I need to give them reassurances about the return of their money. When the bridge is built, the tolls will come to the parish guild, which will use them to repay loans – but who will collect the pennies as the passengers cross the bridge? I think it has to be a servant of the guild.”

“I never agreed to this,” Godwyn said.

“I know, that’s why I’m raising it now.”

“I mean, I never agreed to pay the tolls to the parish guild.”

“What?”

Caris stared at Godwyn, flabbergasted. Of course he had agreed to it – what was he talking about? He had spoken to her as well as to Edmund and assured them that Brother Thomas-

“Oh,” she said. “You promised that Thomas would build the bridge, if he was elected prior. Then, when Thomas withdrew and you became the candidate, we assumed…”

“You assumed,” Godwyn said. A smirk of triumph played about his lips.

Edmund could barely contain himself. “This is not square dealing, Godwyn!” he said in a choked voice. “You knew what the understanding was!”

“I knew no such thing, and you should call me Father Prior.”

Edmund’s voice got louder. “Then we’re back where we were with Prior Anthony three months ago! Except that now, instead of an inadequate bridge, we have no bridge at all. Don’t imagine it will be built at no cost to you. Citizens may lend their life savings to the priory, on the security of income from the bridge tolls, but they will not give their money away… Father Prior.”

“Then they must manage without a bridge. I have only just become prior – how can I start by alienating a right that has belonged to my priory for hundreds of years?”

“But it’s only temporary!” Edmund exploded. “And if you don’t do this no one will gain any money from bridge tolls because there will be no cursed bridge!”

Caris was furious, but she bit her tongue and tried to figure out what Godwyn was up to. He was getting his revenge for last night, but did he really mean it? “What do you want?” she said to him.

Edmund looked surprised by the question, but he said nothing: the reason he brought Caris with him to meetings was that she often saw things he missed, and asked questions he had not thought of.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04