a delicate moment. Most people could not read a plan, but bishops and lords hated to admit it, so it was necessary to explain the concept to them in a way that did not reveal their ignorance to the rest of the world. Some bishops did understand it, of course, and then they were insulted when a mere builder presumed to instruct them.
Nervously, Tom pointed at the plan and said: "This is the wall I'm building."
"Yes, the eastern facade, obviously," said Henry. That answered the question: he could read a plan perfectly well. "Why aren't the transepts aisled?"
"For economy," Tom answered promptly. "However, we won't start building them for another five years, and if the monastery continues to prosper as it has done in the first year under Prior Philip, it may well be that by then we will be able to afford aisled transepts." He had praised Philip and answered the question at the same time, and he felt rather clever.
Henry nodded approval. "Sensible to plan modestly and leave room for expansion. Show me the elevation."
Tom got out the elevation. He made no comment on it, now that he knew Henry was able to understand what he was looking at. This was confirmed when Henry said: "The proportions are pleasing."
"Thank you," Tom said. The bishop seemed pleased with everything. Tom added: "It's a modest cathedral, but it will be lighter and more beautiful than the old one."
"And how long will it take to complete?"
"Fifteen years, if the work is uninterrupted."
"Which it never is. However. Can you show us what it will look like-I mean, to someone standing outside?"
Tom understood him. "You want to see a sketch."
"Yes."
"Certainly." Tom returned to his wall, with the bishop's party in tow. He knelt over his mortarboard and spread the mortar in a uniform layer, smoothing the surface. Then, with the point of his trowel, he drew a sketch of the west end of the church in the mortar. He knew he was good at this. The bishop, his party, and all the monks and volunteer workers nearby watched in fascination. Drawing always seemed a miracle to people who could not do it. In a few moments Tom had created a line drawing of the west facade, with its three arched doorways, its big window, and its flanking turrets. It was a simple trick, but it never failed to impress.
"Remarkable," said Bishop Henry when the drawing was done. "May God's blessing be added to your skill."
Tom smiled. That amounted to a powerful endorsement of his appointment.
Prior Philip said: "My lord bishop, will you take some refreshment before you conduct the service?"
"Gladly."
Tom was relieved. His test was over and he had passed it.
"Perhaps you would step into the prior's house, just across here," Philip said to the bishop. The party began to move off. Philip squeezed Tom's arm and said in a murmur of restrained jubilation: "We've done it!"
Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the dignitaries left him. He felt pleased and proud. Yes, he thought, we've done it. Bishop Henry was more than impressed: he was flabbergasted, despite his composure. Obviously Waleran had primed him to expect a scene of lethargy and inactivity, so the reality had been even more striking. In the end Waleran's malice had worked against him and heightened the triumph of Philip and Tom.
Just as he was basking in the glow of an honest victory, he heard a familiar voice. "Hello, Tom Builder."
He turned around and saw Ellen.
It was Tom's turn to be flabbergasted. The cathedral crisis had so filled his mind that he had not thought about her all day. He gazed at her happily. She looked just the same as the day she had walked away: slender, brown-skinned, with dark hair that moved like waves on a beach, and those deep-set luminous golden eyes. She smiled at him with that full-lipped mouth that always made him think of kissing.
He was seized by an urge to take her in his arms but he fought it down. With some difficulty he managed to say: "Hello, Ellen."
A young man beside her said: "Hello, Tom."
Tom looked at him curiously.
Ellen said: "Don't you remember Jack?"
"Jack!" he said, startled. The lad had changed. He was a little taller than his mother now, and he had the bony physique that made grandmothers say that a boy had outgrown his strength. He still had bright red hair, white skin and blue eyes, but his features had resolved into more attractive proportions, and one day he