“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to leave Kingsbridge.”

He was angry. “Why not? Anywhere else, we can live as man and wife, and nobody will care. We could even get married in a church.”

She touched his face. “I love you too much to take you away from Kingsbridge Cathedral.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Jack, I love you for offering. The fact that you’re ready to give up your life’s work to live with me is… it almost breaks my heart that you should love me so much. But I don’t want to be the woman who took you away from the work you loved. I’m not willing to go with you that way. It will cast a shadow over our entire lives. You may forgive me for it, but I never will.”

Jack looked sad. “I know better than to fight you once you’ve decided. But what will we do?”

“We’ll try again for the annulment. We’ll live apart.”

He looked miserable.

She finished: “And we’ll come here every Sunday and break our promise.”

He pressed up against her, and she could feel him becoming aroused again. “Every Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“You might get pregnant again.”

“We’ll take that chance. And I’m going to start manufacturing cloth, as I used to. I’ve bought Philip’s unsold wool again, and I’m going to organize the townspeople to spin and weave it. Then I’ll felt it in the fulling mill.”

“How did you pay Philip?” Jack said in surprise.

“I haven’t, yet. I’m going to pay him in bales of cloth, when it’s made.”

Jack nodded. He said bitterly: “He agreed to that because he wants you to stay here so that I’ll stay.”

Aliena nodded. “But he’ll still get cheap cloth out of it.”

“Damn Philip. He always gets what he wants.”

Aliena saw that she had won. She kissed him and said: “I love you.”

He kissed her back, running his hands all over her body, greedily feeling her secret places. Then he stopped and said: “But I want to be with you every night, not just on Sundays.”

She kissed his ear. “One day we will,” she breathed. “I promise you.”

He moved behind her, drifting in the water, and pulled her to him, so that his legs were underneath her. She parted her thighs and floated down gently into his lap. He stroked her full breasts with his hands and played with her swollen nipples. Finally he penetrated her, and she shuddered with pleasure.

They made love slowly and gently in the cool pond, with the rush of the waterfall in their ears. Jack put his arms around her bump, and his knowing hands touched her between her legs, pressing and stroking as he went in and out. They had never done this before, made love this way, so that he could caress her most sensitive places at the same time, and it was sharply different, a more intense pleasure, different the way a stabbing pain is different from a dull ache; but perhaps that was because she felt so sad. After a while she abandoned herself to the sensation. Its intensity built up so quickly that the climax took her by surprise, almost frightening her, and she was racked by spasms of pleasure so convulsive that she screamed.

He stayed inside her, hard, unsatisfied, while she caught her breath. He was still, no longer thrusting, but she realized he had not reached a climax. After a while she began to move again, encouragingly, but he did not respond. She turned her head and kissed him over her shoulder. The water on his face was warm. He was weeping.

PART FIVE

Chapter 14

I

AFTER SEVEN YEARS Jack had finished the transepts-the two arms of the cross-shaped church-and they were everything he had hoped for. He had improved on the ideas of Saint-Denis, making everything taller and narrower-windows, arches, and the vault itself. The clustered shafts of the piers rose gracefully through the gallery and became the ribs of the vault, curving over to meet in the middle of the ceiling, and the tall pointed windows flooded the interior with light. The moldings were fine and delicate, and the carved decoration was a riot of stone foliage.

And there were cracks in the clerestory.

He stood in the high clerestory passage, staring out across the chasm of the north transept, brooding on a bright spring morning. He was shocked and baffled. By all the wisdom of the masons the structure was strong; but a crack showed a weakness. His vault was higher than any other he had ever seen, but not by that much. He had not made the mistake of Alfred, and put a stone vault on a structure that was not built to take the weight: his walls had been designed for a stone vault. Yet cracks had appeared in his clerestory in roughly the same place where Alfred’s had failed. Alfred had miscalculated but Jack was sure he had not done the same thing. Some new factor was operating in Jack’s building and he did not know what it was.

It was not dangerous, not in the short term. The cracks had been filled with mortar and they had not yet reappeared. The building was safe. But it was weak; and for Jack the weakness spoiled it. He wanted his church to last until the Day of Judgment.

He left the clerestory and went down the turret staircase to the gallery, where he had made his tracing floor, in the corner where there was a good light from one of the windows in the north porch. He began to draw the plinth of a nave pier. He drew a diamond, then a square inside the diamond, then a circle inside the square. The main shafts of the pier would spring from the four points of the diamond and rise up the column, eventually branching off north, south, east and west to become arches or ribs. Subsidiary shafts, springing from the corners of the square, would rise to become vaulting ribs, going diagonally across the nave vault on one side and the aisle vault on the other. The circle in the middle represented the core of the pier.

All Jack’s designs were based on simple geometrical shapes and some not-so-simple proportions, such as the ratio of the square root of two to the square root of three. Jack had learned how to figure square roots in Toledo, but most masons could not calculate them, and instead used simple geometric constructions. They knew that if a circle was drawn around the four corners of a square, the diameter of the circle was bigger than the side of the square in the ratio of the square root of two to one. That ratio, root-two to one, was the most ancient of the masons’ formulas, for in a simple building it was the ratio of the outside width to the inside width, and therefore gave the thickness of the wall.

Jack’s task was much complicated by the religious significance of various numbers. Prior Philip was planning to re-dedicate the church to the Virgin Mary, because the Weeping Madonna worked more miracles than the tomb of Saint Adophus; and in consequence they wanted Jack to use the numbers nine and seven, which were Mary’s numbers. He had designed the nave with nine bays and the new chancel, to be built when all else was finished, with seven. The interlocked blind arcading in the side aisles would have seven arches per bay, and the west facade would have nine lancet windows. Jack had no opinion about the theological significance of numbers but he felt instinctively that if the same numbers were used fairly consistently it was bound to add to the harmony of the finished building.

Before he could finish his drawing of the plinth he was interrupted by the master roofer, who had hit a problem and wanted Jack to solve it.

Jack followed the man up the turret staircase, past the clerestory, and into the roof space. They walked across the rounded domes that were the top side of the ribbed vault. Above them, the roofers were unrolling great sheets of lead and nailing them to the rafters, starting at the bottom and working up so that the upper sheets would overlap the lower and keep the rain out.