“I don’t know what you mean,” Godwyn replied.
“You’ve pulled a surprise,” she said. “You’ve caught us wrong-footed. Very well. We admit we made an assumption that may have been unwarranted. But what’s your purpose? Just to make us feel stupid?”
“You asked for this meeting, not I.”
Edmund burst out: “What kind of way is that to talk to your uncle and your cousin?”
“Just a minute, Papa,” Caris said. Godwyn did have a secret agenda, she felt sure, but he did not want to admit it. All right, she thought, I’ll have to guess it. “Give me a minute to think,” she said. Godwyn still wanted the bridge – he had to, nothing else made sense. The business about alienating the priory’s ancient rights was rhetoric, the kind of pompous prating that all students were taught at Oxford. Did he want Edmund to break down and agree to Elfric’s design? She did not think so. Godwyn clearly resented the way Edmund had appealed over his head to the citizenry, but he must see that Merthin was offering twice as much bridge for almost the same money. So what else could it be?
Perhaps he just wanted a better deal.
He had looked hard at the priory’s finances, she guessed. Having railed comfortably against Anthony’s inefficiency for many years he was now confronted with the reality of having to do the job better himself. Perhaps it was not going to be as easy as he had imagined. Perhaps he was not as clever about money and management as he had thought. In desperation, he wanted the bridge and the money from tolls. But how did he think that could happen?
She said: “What could we offer you that would make you change your mind?”
“Build the bridge without keeping the tolls,” he said instantly.
So that was his agenda. You always were a bit sneaky, Godwyn, she thought.
A flash of inspiration struck her, and she said: “How much money are we talking about?”
Godwyn looked suspicious. “Why do you want to know that?”
Edmund said: “We can work it out. Not counting citizens, who don’t pay the toll, about a hundred people cross the bridge every market day, and carts pay two pence. It’s much less now, with the ferry, of course.”
Caris said: “Say a hundred and twenty pennies a week, or ten shillings, which comes to twenty-six pounds a year.”
Edmund said: “Then, during Fleece Fair week, about a thousand on the first day, and another two hundred each subsequent day.”
“That’s two thousand two hundred, plus carts, call it two thousand four hundred pennies, which is ten pounds. Total, thirty-six pounds a year.” Caris looked at Godwyn. “Is that about right?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged grudgingly.
“So, what you want from us is thirty-six pounds a year.”
“Yes.”
“Impossible!” said Edmund.
“Not necessarily,” Caris said. “Suppose the priory were to grant the parish guild a lease on the bridge.” Thinking on her feet, she added: “Plus an acre of ground at either end, and the island in the middle – for thirty-six pounds a year, in perpetuity.” Once the bridge was built, that land would be priceless, she knew. “Would that give you what you want, Father Prior?”
“Yes.”
Godwyn clearly thought he was getting thirty-six pounds a year for something worthless. He had no idea how much rent could be charged for a plot of land at the end of a bridge. The worst negotiator in the world is a man who believes he’s clever, Caris thought.
Edmund said: “But how would the guild recoup the cost of construction?”
“With Merthin’s design, the number of people and carts crossing should rise. Theoretically it could double. Everything over thirty-six pounds is the guild’s. Then we could put up buildings either side to service travellers – taverns, stables, cook shops. They should be profitable – we could charge a good rent.”
“I don’t know,” said Edmund. “It seems very risky to me.”
For a moment, Caris felt furious with her father. She had come up with a brilliant solution, and he seemed to be finding unnecessary fault with it. Then she realized he was faking. She could see the light of enthusiasm in his eyes, not quite concealed. He loved the idea, but he did not want Godwyn to know how keen he was. He was hiding his feelings, for fear the prior would try to negotiate a better bargain. It was a ploy father and daughter had used before, when bargaining over wool.
Having figured out what he was up to, Caris played along, pretending to share his misgivings. “I know it’s hazardous,” she said gloomily. “We could lose everything. But what alternative do we have? We’ve got our backs to the wall. If we don’t build the bridge we’ll go out of business.”
Edmund shook his head dubiously. “All the same, I can’t agree to this on behalf of the guild. I’ll have to talk to the people who are putting up the money. I can’t say what their reply will be.” He looked Godwyn in the eye. “But I’ll do my best to persuade them, if this is your best offer.”
Godwyn had not actually made an offer, Caris reflected; but he had forgotten that. “It is,” he said firmly.
Got you, Caris thought triumphantly.
*
“You’re really very shrewd,” Merthin said.
He was lying between Caris’s legs, his head on her thigh, toying with her pubic hair. They had just made love for the second time ever, and he had found it even more joyous than the first. As they dozed in the pleasant daydream of satisfied lovers, she had told him about her negotiation with Godwyn. He was impressed.
Caris said: “The best of it is, he thinks he’s driven a hard bargain. In fact, a perpetual lease on the bridge and the land around it is priceless.”
“All the same, it’s a bit dismaying if he’s going to be no better at managing the priory’s money than your uncle Anthony was.”
They were in the forest, in a clearing hidden by brambles and shaded by a stand of tall beech trees, where a stream ran over rocks to form a pool. It had probably been used by lovers for hundreds of years. They had stripped naked and bathed in the pool before making love on the grassy bank. Anyone travelling clandestinely through the woods would skirt the thicket, so they were not likely to be discovered, unless by children picking blackberries – which was how Caris had originally discovered the glade, she told Merthin.
Now he said idly: “Why did you ask for that island?”
“I’m not sure. It’s obviously not as valuable as the land at either end of the bridge, and it’s no good for cultivation, but it could still be developed. The truth is, I guessed he wouldn’t object, so I just threw it in.”
“Will you take over your father’s wool business one day?”
“No.”
“So definite? Why?”
“It’s too easy for the king to tax the wool trade. He has just imposed an extra duty of a pound per sack of wool – that’s on top of the existing tax of two-thirds of a pound. The price of wool is now so high that the Italians are looking for wool from other countries, such as Spain. The business is too much at the mercy of the monarch.”
“Still, it’s a living. What else would you do?” Merthin was edging the conversation towards marriage, a subject she never raised.
“I don’t know.” She smiled. “When I was ten, I wanted to be a doctor. I thought that if I had known about medicine I could have saved my mother’s life. They all laughed at me. I didn’t realize only men could be physicians.”
“You could be a wise woman, like Mattie.”
“That would shock the family. Imagine what Petranilla would say! Mother Cecilia thinks it’s my destiny to be a nun.”
He laughed. “If she could see you now!” He kissed the soft inside of her thigh.
“She’d probably want to do what you’re doing,” Caris said. “You know what people say about nuns.”
“Why would she think you wanted to join the convent?”
“It’s because of what we did after the bridge collapsed. I helped her take care of the injured. She said I had a natural gift for it.”
“You have. Even I could see it.”
“I just did what Cecilia said.”
“But people seemed to feel better as soon as you spoke to them. And then you always listened to what they had to say before telling them what they should do.”
She stroked his cheek. “I couldn’t be a nun. I’m too fond of you.”
Her triangle of hair was reddish-brown with golden lights. “You’ve got a little mole,” he said. “Right here, on the left, beside the cleft.”
“I know. It’s been there since I was a little girl. I used to think it was ugly. I was so pleased when my hair grew, because I thought that meant my husband wouldn’t see it. I never imagined anyone would look as closely as you.”
“Friar Murdo would call you a witch – you’d better not let him see it.”
“Not if he were the last man on earth.”
“This is the blemish that saves you from blasphemy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“In the Arab world, every work of art has a tiny flaw, so that it doesn’t sacrilegiously compete with the perfection of God.”
“How do you know that?”
“One of the Florentines told me. Listen, do you think the parish guild will want the island?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to own it.”
“Four acres of rock and rabbits. Why?”
“I’d build a dock and a builder’s yard. Stone and timber coming by river could be delivered directly to my dock. When the bridge is finished, I’d build a house on the island.”
“Nice idea. But they wouldn’t give it to you free.”
“How about as part payment for building the bridge? I could take, say, half wages for two years.”
“You charge four pence a day… so the price of the island would be just over five pounds. I should think the guild would be pleased to get that much for barren land.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I think you could build houses there and rent them, as soon as the bridge is finished and people can travel to and from the island easily.”
“Yes,” said Merthin thoughtfully. “I’d better talk to your father about it.”
Returning to Earlscastle at the end of a day’s hunting, when all the men in Earl Roland’s entourage were in a good mood, Ralph Fitzgerald was happy.
They crossed the drawbridge like an invading army, knights and squires and dogs. Rain was falling in a light drizzle, coolly welcome to the men and animals, who were hot and tired and content. They had taken several summer-fat hinds that would make good eating, plus a big old stag, too tough for anything but dog meat, killed for its magnificent antlers.
They dismounted in the outer compound, within the lower circle of the figure-eight moat. Ralph unsaddled Griff, murmured a few words of thanks in his ear, fed him a carrot and handed him to a groom to be rubbed down. Kitchen boys dragged away the bloody carcasses of the deer. The men were noisily recalling the day’s incidents, boasting and jeering and laughing, remembering remarkable jumps and dangerous falls and hair’s-breadth escapes. Ralph’s nostrils filled with a smell he loved, a mixture of sweating horses, wet dogs, leather and blood.
Ralph found himself next to Lord William of Caster, the earl’s elder son. “A great day’s sport,” he said.
“Tremendous,” William agreed. He pulled off his cap and scratched his balding head. “I’m sorry to lose old Bruno, though.”
Bruno, the leader of the dog pack, had gone in for the kill a few moments too early. When the stag was too exhausted to run any farther and turned to face the hounds, its heaving shoulders covered with blood, Bruno had leaped for its throat – but, with a last burst of defiance, the deer had dipped its head and swung its muscular neck and impaled the soft belly of the dog on the points of its antlers. The effort finished the beast off, and a moment later the other dogs were tearing it apart; but, as it thrashed its life away, Bruno’s guts unravelled across the antlers like a tangled rope, and William had had to put him out of his misery, slashing his throat with a long dagger. “He was a brave dog,” Ralph said, and put a hand on William’s shoulder in commiseration.
“Like a lion,” William agreed.
On the spur of the moment, Ralph decided to speak about his prospects. There would never be a better moment. He had been Roland’s man for seven years; he was brave and strong; and he had saved his lord’s life after the bridge collapsed – yet he had been given no promotion, and was still a squire. What more could be asked of him?
Yesterday he had met his brother, by chance, at a tavern on the road from Kingsbridge to Shiring. Merthin, on his way to the priory’s quarry, had been full of news. He was going to build the most beautiful bridge in England. He would be rich and famous. Their parents were thrilled. It had made Ralph feel even more frustrated.
Now, speaking to Lord William, he could not think of a neat way to introduce the subject that was on his mind, so he just plunged in. “It’s three months since I saved your father’s life at Kingsbridge.”
“Several people claim that honour,” William said. The harsh look that came over his face reminded Ralph strongly of Roland.
“I pulled him out of the water.”
“And Matthew Barber mended his head, and the nuns changed his bandages, and the monks prayed for him. God saved his life, though.”
“Amen,” Ralph said. “All the same, I was hoping for some sign of favour.”
“My father’s a hard man to please.”
William’s brother, Richard, was standing nearby, red-faced and sweating, and he overheard the remark. “That’s as true as the Bible,” he said.
“Don’t complain,” William said. “Our father’s hardness made us strong.”
“As I recall, it made us miserable.”
William turned away, probably not wanting to argue the point in front of an underling.
When the horses were stabled, the men drifted across the compound, past the kitchens and barracks and chapel, to a second drawbridge that led to a small inner compound, the top loop of the figure eight. Here the earl lived in a traditional keep, with ground-floor storerooms, a great hall above, and a small upper storey for the earl’s private bedchamber. A colony of rooks inhabited the high trees around the keep, and strutted on the battlements like sergeants, cawing their dissatisfaction. Roland was in the great hall, having changed out of his dirty hunting clothes into a purple robe. Ralph stood near the earl, determined to raise the question of his promotion at the first opportunity.
Roland was arguing good-naturedly with William’s wife, Lady Philippa – one of the few people who could contradict him and get away with it. They were talking about the castle. “I don’t think it’s changed for a hundred years,” Philippa said.
“That’s because it’s such a good design,” Roland said, speaking out of the left side of his mouth. “The enemy expends most of his strength getting into the lower compound, then he faces a whole new battle to reach the keep.”
“Exactly!” said Philippa. “It was built for defence, not comfort. But when was the last time a castle in this part of England came under attack? Not in my lifetime.”
“Nor in mine.” He grinned with the mobile half of his face. “Probably because our defences are so strong.”
“There was a bishop who scattered acorns on the road wherever he travelled, to protect him from lions,” Philippe said. “When they told him there were no lions in all England, he said: ‘It’s more effective than I thought.’ ”
Roland laughed.
Philippa added: “Most noble families nowadays live in more comfortable homes.”
Ralph did not care for luxury, but he cared for Philippa. He gazed at her voluptuous figure as she talked, unaware of him. He imagined her lying beneath him, twisting her naked body, crying out in pleasure, or pain, or both. If he were a knight he could have a woman like that.
“You should knock down this old keep and build a modern house,” she was saying to her father-in-law. “One with big windows and lots of fireplaces. You could have the hall at ground level, with the family apartments at one end, so that we could all have somewhere private to sleep when we come to visit you; and the kitchens at the other end, so that the food is still hot when it reaches the table.”
Suddenly Ralph realized he could make a contribution to this conversation. “I know who could design such a house for you,” he said.
They turned to him in surprise. What would a squire know of house design? “Who?” said Philippa.
“My brother, Merthin.”
She looked thoughtful. “The funny-faced boy who tells me to buy green silk to match my eyes?”
“He meant no disrespect.”
“I’m not sure what he meant. Is he a builder?”
“He’s the best,” Ralph said proudly. “He devised the new ferry at Kingsbridge, then he figured out how to repair the roof of St Mark’s when no one else could, and now he’s been commissioned to build the most beautiful bridge in England.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” she said.
“What bridge?” said Roland.
“The new one at Kingsbridge. It will have pointed arches, like a church, and be wide enough for two carts!”
“I’ve heard nothing of this,” Roland said.
Ralph realized the earl was displeased. What had annoyed him? “The bridge must be rebuilt, mustn’t it?” Ralph said.
“I’m not so sure,” Roland replied. “Nowadays there’s hardly enough business for two markets as close together as Kingsbridge and Shiring. But, if we must accept the Kingsbridge market, that doesn’t mean we have to countenance a blatant attempt by the priory to steal customers from Shiring.” Bishop Richard had come in, and now Roland rounded on him. “You didn’t tell me about the new bridge at Kingsbridge.”
“Because I don’t know about it,” Richard answered.
“You ought to, you’re the bishop.”
Richard flushed at the reproof. “The bishop of Kingsbridge has lived in or near Shiring ever since the civil war between King Stephen and the Empress Maud, two centuries ago. The monks prefer it that way, and so do most bishops.”
“That doesn’t prevent you keeping your ear to the ground. You should have some idea of what’s happening there.”
“Since I don’t, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me what you’ve learned.”
That kind of cool insolence passed over Roland’s head. “It’s going to be wide enough for two carts. It will take business away from my market at Shiring.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Why not? You’re the abbot, ex officio. The monks are supposed to do what you say.”
“They don’t, though.”
“Perhaps they will if we take away their builder. Ralph, can you persuade your brother to give up the project?”
“I can try.”
“Offer him a better prospect. Tell him I want him to build a new palace for me here at Earlscastle.”
Ralph was excited to get a special commission from the earl, but he was daunted too. He had never been able to talk Merthin into anything – it was always the other way around. “All right,” he said.
“Will they be able to go ahead without him?”
“He got the job because no one else in Kingsbridge knew how to build under water.”
Richard said: “He’s not the only man in England who can design a bridge, obviously.”
William said: “Still, taking away their builder would surely delay them. They probably couldn’t start for another year.”
“Then it’s worth doing,” Roland said decisively. A look of hatred came over the animated half of his face, and he added: “That arrogant prior has to be put in his place.”
*
Things had changed in the life of Gerald and Maud, Ralph discovered. His mother wore a new green dress to church, and his father had leather shoes. Back at home there was a goose stuffed with apples roasting over the fire, filling the little house with a mouth-watering smell, and a loaf of wheat bread, the most expensive kind, standing on the table.
The money came from Merthin, Ralph soon learned. “He gets paid four pence a day every day he works on St Mark’s,” Maud said proudly. “And he’s building a new house for Dick Brewer. That’s as well as getting ready to build the new bridge.”
Merthin received a lower wage for working on the bridge, he explained while his father carved the goose, because he had been given Leper Island in part payment. The last remaining leper, old and bedridden, had been moved to a small house in the monks’ orchard on the far side of the river.
Ralph found that his mother’s evident happiness left a sour taste in his mouth. He had believed, since he was a boy, that the destiny of the family lay in his hands. He had been sent away, at the age of fourteen, to join the household of the earl of Shiring, and he had known even then that it was up to him to wipe out his father’s humiliation by becoming a knight, perhaps a baron, even an earl. Merthin, by contrast, had been apprenticed to a carpenter, and set on a road that could only lead farther down the social hill. Builders were never made knights.
It was some consolation that their father was unimpressed by Merthin’s success. He showed signs of impatience when Maud talked about building projects. “My elder son seems to have inherited the blood of Jack Builder, my only low-born ancestor,” he said, and his tone was amazed rather than proud. “But, Ralph, tell us how you’re getting on at the court of Earl Roland.”
Unfortunately, Ralph had so far mysteriously failed to rise in the nobility, whereas Merthin was buying his parents new clothes and expensive dinners. Ralph knew he should just be grateful that one of them had won success, and that even if his parents remained humble they could at least be comfortable. But, though his mind told him to rejoice, his heart seethed with resentment.
And now he had to persuade his brother to give up the bridge. The trouble with Merthin was that he would never see anything simply. He was not like the knights and squires with whom Ralph had spent the last seven years. They were fighting men. In their world loyalties were clear, bravery was the virtue, and the issue was life or death. There was never much need for deep thought. But Menhin thought about everything. He could not play a game of chequers without suggesting a change in the rules.
He was explaining to their parents why he had accepted four acres of barren rock in part payment for his work on the bridge. “Everyone thinks the land is worthless because it’s an island,” he said. “What they don’t realize is that when the bridge is built the island will become part of the city. Townspeople will walk across the bridge just as they walk along the main street. And four acres of city land is very valuable. If I build houses on it, the rents will be worth a fortune.”
Gerald said: “You’ve a few years to wait before then.”
“I’m getting some income from it already. Jake Chepstow is renting half an acre to use as a timber yard. He’s bringing logs from Wales.”
“Why from Wales?” Gerald asked. “The New Forest is nearer – their wood should be cheaper.”
“It should be, but the earl of Shaftesbury charges a toll or a tax at every river ford and bridge in his territory.”
It was a familiar gripe. Many lords found ways to tax goods that passed through their territories.
As they started to eat, Ralph said to Merthin: “I bring you news of another opportunity. The earl wants to build a new palace at Earlscastle.”
Merthin looked suspicious. “He sent you to ask me to design it?”
“I suggested you. Lady Philippa was berating him about how old-fashioned the keep is, and I said I knew the right person to talk to.”
Maud was thrilled. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
Merthin remained sceptical. “And the earl said he wanted me?”
“Yes.”
“Amazing. A few months ago I couldn’t get a job. Now I’ve got too much to do. And Earlscastle is two days away. I don’t see how I could build a palace there and a bridge here at the same time.”
“Oh, you’ll have to give up the bridge,” Ralph said.
“What?”
“Work for the earl has to take precedence over everything else, naturally.”
“I’m not sure that’s right.”
“Take it from me.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did.”
Their father joined in. “This is a marvellous opportunity, Merthin,” he said. “To build a palace for an earl!”
“Of course it is,” Merthin replied. “But a bridge for this town is at least as important.”
“Don’t be stupid,” his father said.
“I do my best not to be,” Merthin said sarcastically.
“The earl of Shiring is one of the great men of the land. The prior of Kingsbridge is a nobody, by comparison.”
Ralph cut a slice of goose thigh and put it in his mouth, but he could hardly swallow. He had been afraid of this. Merthin was going to be difficult. He would not take orders from their father, either. He had never been obedient, even as a child.
Ralph felt desperate. “Listen,” he said. “The earl doesn’t want the new bridge to be built. He thinks it will take business away from Shiring.”
“Aha,” said Gerald. “You don’t want to go up against the earl, Merthin.”
“Is that what’s behind this, Ralph?” Merthin asked. “Is Roland offering me this job just to prevent the building of the bridge?”
“Not just for that reason.”
“But it’s a condition. If I want to build his palace, I must abandon the bridge.”
Gerald said with exasperation: “You don’t have a choice, Merthin! The earl doesn’t request, he commands.”
Ralph could have told him that an argument based on authority was not the way to persuade Merthin.
Merthin said: “I don’t think he can command the prior of Kingsbridge, who has commissioned me to build this bridge.”
“But he can command you.”
“Can he? He’s not my lord.”
“Don’t be foolish, son. You can’t win a fight with an earl.”
“I don’t think Roland’s quarrel is with me, Father. This is between the earl and the prior. Roland wants to use me, as a hunter uses a dog, but I think I’d do better to stay out of the fight.”
“I think you should do what the earl says. Don’t forget, he’s your kinsman, too.”
Merthin tried a different argument. “Has it occurred to you what a betrayal this would be of Prior Godwyn?”
Gerald made a disgusted noise. “What loyalty do we owe the priory? It was the monks who forced us into penury.”
“And your neighbours? The people of Kingsbridge, among whom you’ve lived for ten years? They need the bridge – it’s their lifeline.”
“We are of the nobility,” his father said. “We’re not required to take into account the needs of mere merchants.”
Merthin nodded. “You may feel that way, but as a mere carpenter I can’t share your view.”
“This isn’t just about you!” Ralph burst out. He had to come clean, he realized. “The earl has given me a mission. If I succeed, he may make me a knight, or at least a minor lord. If I fail, I could remain a squire.”
Maud said: “It’s very important that we all try to please the earl.”
Merthin looked troubled. He was always willing to go head-to-head with their father, but he did not like to argue with Mother. “I’ve agreed to build the bridge,” he said. “The town is counting on me. I can’t give it up.”
“Of course you can,” Maud said.
“I don’t want to get a reputation for unreliability.”
“Everyone would understand if you gave the earl precedence.”
“They might understand, but they wouldn’t respect me for it.”
“You should put your family first.”
“I fought for this bridge, Mother,” Merthin said stubbornly. “I made a beautiful design, and I persuaded the whole town to have faith in me. No one else can build it – not the way it should be done.”
“If you defy the earl, it will affect Ralph’s whole life!” she said. “Don’t you see that?”
“His whole life shouldn’t depend on something like this.”
“But it does. Are you willing to sacrifice your brother, just for the sake of a bridge?”
Merthin said: “I suppose it’s a bit like my asking him to save men’s lives by not going to war.”
Gerald said: “Come, now, you can’t compare a carpenter to a soldier.”
That was tactless, Ralph thought. It showed Gerald’s preference for the younger son. Merthin felt the sting, Ralph could tell. His brother’s faced reddened and he bit his lip as if to restrain himself from a combative reply.
After a pause, Merthin spoke in a quiet voice that Ralph knew to be a sign that he had made up his mind irrevocably. “I didn’t ask to be a carpenter,” he said. “Like Ralph, I wanted to be a knight. A foolish aspiration for me, I know that now. All the same, it was your decision that I should be what I am. As things have turned out, I’m good at it. I’m going to make a success of what you forced me into. One day I’d like to build the tallest building in England. This is what you made me – so you’d better learn to live with it.”
*
Before Ralph went back to Earlscastle with the bad news, he racked his brains for a way to turn defeat into victory. If he could not talk his brother into abandoning the bridge, was there some other way he could get the project cancelled or delayed?
There was no point talking to Prior Godwyn or Edmund Wooler, he was sure. They would be more committed to the bridge even than Merthin, and anyway they would not be persuaded by a mere squire. What could the earl do? He might send a troop of knights to kill the construction workers, but that could cause more problems than it solved.
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