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.