“Let’s think this through before we rejoice,” she said. “Godwyn will make a rule saying cloth can’t be taken out of Kingsbridge to be fulled. Lots of towns have laws like that.”

“Very hard for him to enforce such a rule without the cooperation of a guild. And, if he does, you can get around it. Most of the cloth is being woven in the villages anyway, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t bring it into the city. Send it from the weavers to Wigleigh. Dye it there, full it in the new mill, then take it to London. Godwyn will have no jurisdiction.”

“How long would it take to build a mill?”

Merthin considered. “The timber building can be put up in a couple of days. The machinery will be wooden, too, but it will take longer, as it has to be precisely measured. Getting the men and materials there will take the most time. I could have it finished a week after Christmas.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

Elizabeth rolled the dice and moved her last counter into the home position on the board. “I win!” she said. “That’s three out of three. Pay up.”

Merthin handed her a silver penny. Only two people ever beat him at tabula: Elizabeth and Caris. He did not mind losing. He was grateful for a worthy opponent.

He sat back and sipped his pear wine. It was a cold Saturday afternoon in January, and already dark. Elizabeth’s mother was asleep in a chair near the fire, snoring gently with her mouth open. She worked at the Bell, but she was always at home when Merthin visited her daughter. He preferred it that way. It meant he never had to decide whether to kiss Elizabeth or not. It was a question he did not want to confront. He would have liked to kiss her, of course. He remembered the touch of her cool lips and the firmness of her flat breasts. But it would mean admitting that his love affair with Caris was over for ever, and he was not yet ready for that.

“How is the new mill at Wigleigh?” Elizabeth asked.

“Finished, and rolling,” Merthin said proudly. “Caris has been fulling cloth there for a week.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Herself?”

“No, that was a figure of speech. As a matter of fact, Mark Webber is running the mill, though he is training some of the village men to take over.”

“It will be good for Mark if he becomes Caris’s second-in-command. He’s been poor all his life – this is a big opportunity.”

“Caris’s new enterprise will be good for us all. It will mean I can finish the bridge.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Elizabeth said in a level voice. “But what does Godwyn have to say?”

“Nothing. I’m not sure he knows about it yet.”

“He will, though.”

“I don’t believe there’s anything he can do.”

“He’s a prideful man. If you’ve outwitted him, he’ll never forgive you.”

“I can live with that.”

“And what about the bridge?”

“Despite all the problems, the work is only a couple of weeks behind schedule. I’ve had to spend money to catch up, but we will be able to use the bridge – with a temporary wooden roadbed – for the next Fleece Fair.”

“You and Caris between you have saved the town.”

“Not yet – but we will.”

There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth’s mother woke up with a start. “Now who could that be?” she said. “It’s dark out.”

It was one of Edmund’s apprentice boys. “Master Merthin is wanted at the parish guild meeting,” he said.

“What for?” Merthin asked him.

“Master Edmund said to tell you, you’re wanted at the parish guild meeting,” the boy said. He had obviously learned the message off by heart and knew nothing more.

“Something about the bridge, I expect,” Merthin said to Elizabeth. “They’re worried about the cost.” He picked up his cloak. “Thank you for the wine – and the game.”

“I’ll play you any time you like,” she said.

He walked beside the apprentice to the guild hall on the high street. The guild was holding a business meeting, not a banquet. The twenty or so most important people in Kingsbridge were sitting at a long trestle table, some drinking ale or wine, talking in low voices. Merthin sensed tension and anger, and he became apprehensive.

Edmund was at the head of the table. Prior Godwyn sat next to him. The prior was not a member of the guild: his presence suggested that Merthin’s surmise had been right, and the meeting was about the bridge. However, Thomas the matricularius was not present, although Philemon was. That was odd.

Merthin had recently had a small dispute with Godwyn. His contract had been for a year at two pence a day plus the lease on Leper Island. It was due for renewal, and Godwyn had proposed to continue paying him two pence a day. Merthin had insisted on four pence, and in the end Godwyn had conceded the point. Had he complained about this to the guild?

Edmund spoke with characteristic abruptness. “We’ve called you here because Prior Godwyn wishes to dismiss you as master builder in charge of the bridge.”

Merthin felt as if he had been punched in the face. He was not expecting anything like this. “What?” he said. “But Godwyn appointed me!”

Godwyn said: “And therefore I have the right to dismiss you.”

“But why?”

“The work is behind schedule and over budget.”

“It’s behind schedule because the earl closed the quarry – and it’s over budget because I had to spend money to catch up.”

“Excuses.”

“Am I inventing the death of a carter?”

Godwyn shot back: “Killed by your own brother!”

“What has that to do with anything?”

Godwyn ignored the question. “A man who is accused of rape!” he added.

“You can’t dismiss a master builder because of his brother’s behaviour.”

“Who are you to say what I can do?”

“I’m the builder of your bridge!” Then it occurred to Merthin that much of his work as master builder was complete. He had designed all the most complicated parts, and made wooden templates to guide the stonemasons. He had built the coffer dams, which no one else knew how to do. And he had constructed the floating cranes and hoists needed to move the heavy stones into position in midstream. Any builder could now finish the job, he realized with dismay.

“There is no guarantee of renewal of your contract,” Godwyn said.

It was true. Merthin looked around the room for support. No one would meet his eye. They had already argued this out with Godwyn, he deduced. Despair overwhelmed him. Why had this happened? It was not because the bridge was behind schedule and over budget – the delay was not Merthin’s fault, and anyway he was catching up. What was the real reason? As soon as he had asked the question, the answer came into his mind. “This is because of the fulling mill at Wigleigh!” he said.

Godwyn said primly: “The two things are not necessarily connected.”

Edmund said quietly but distinctly: “Lying monk.”

Philemon spoke for the first time. “Take care, alderman!” he said.

Edmund was undeterred. “Merthin and Caris outwitted you, didn’t they, Godwyn? Their mill at Wigleigh is entirely legitimate. You brought defeat on yourself by your greed and obstinacy. And this is your revenge.”

Edmund was right. No one was as capable a builder as Merthin. Godwyn must know that, but clearly he did not care. “Who will you hire instead of me?” Merthin asked. Then he answered the question himself. “Elfric, I suppose.”

“That has to be decided.”

Edmund said: “Another lie.”

Philemon spoke again, his voice more shrill. “You can be brought before the ecclesiastical court for talk like that!”

Merthin wondered if this might be no more than a move in the game, a way for Godwyn to renegotiate his contract. He said to Edmund: “Is the parish guild in agreement with the prior on this?”

Godwyn said: “It is not for them to agree or disagree!”