The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [342]
Philip wrote to the abbots of all the major Benedictine monasteries in England and France, asking them if they could recommend a master builder to replace Tom. A prior in Philip’s position would normally consult his bishop about this, for bishops traveled widely and were likely to hear of good builders, but Bishop Waleran would not help Philip. The fact that the two of them were permanently at odds made Philip’s job lonelier than it should have been.
While Philip waited for replies from the abbots, the craftsmen looked instinctively to Alfred for leadership. Alfred was Tom’s son, he was a master mason, and he had for some time been operating his own semi-autonomous team on the site. He did not have Tom’s brain, unfortunately, but he was literate and authoritative, and he slipped gradually into the gap left by the death of his father.
There seemed to be a lot more problems and queries about the building than there had been in Tom’s time, and Alfred always seemed to come up with a question when Jack was nowhere to be found. No doubt that was natural: everyone in Kingsbridge knew the stepbrothers hated one another. However, the upshot was that Philip found himself once again bothered by endless questions of detail.
But as the weeks went by Alfred gained in confidence, until one day he came to Philip and said: “Wouldn’t you rather have the cathedral vaulted?”
Tom’s design called for a wooden ceiling over the center of the church, and vaulted stone ceilings over the narrower side aisles. “Yes, I would,” Philip said. “But we decided on a wooden ceiling to save money.”
Alfred nodded. “The trouble is, a wooden ceiling can burn. A stone vault is fireproof.”
Philip studied him for a moment, wondering whether he had underestimated Alfred. Philip would not have expected Alfred to propose a variation on his father’s design: that was more the kind of thing Jack would do. But the idea of a fireproof church was very striking, especially since the whole town had burned down.
Thinking along the same lines, Alfred said: “The only building left standing in the town after the fire was the new parish church.”
And the new parish church—built by Alfred—had a stone vault, Philip thought. But a snag occurred to him. “Would the existing walls take the extra weight of a stone roof?”
“We’d have to reinforce the buttresses. They’d stick out a bit more, that’s all.”
He had really thought this out, Philip realized. “What about the cost?”
“It will cost more in the long run, of course, and the whole church will take three or four extra years to complete. But it won’t make any difference to your annual outlay.”
Philip liked the idea more and more. “But will it mean we have to wait another year before we can use the chancel for services?”
“No. Stone or wood, we can’t start on the ceiling until next spring, because the clerestory must harden before we put any weight on it. The wood ceiling is quicker to build, by a few months; but either way, the chancel will be roofed by the end of next year.”
Philip considered. It was a matter of balancing the advantage of a fireproof roof against the disadvantage of another four years of building—and another four years of cost. The extra cost seemed a long way in the future, and the gain in safety was immediate. “I think I’ll discuss it with the brothers in chapter,” he said. “But it sounds like a good idea to me.”
Alfred thanked him and went out, and after he had gone Philip sat staring at the door, wondering whether he really needed to search for a new master builder after all.
Kingsbridge made a brave show on Lammas Day. In the morning, every household in the town made a loaf—the harvest was just in, so flour was cheap and plentiful. Those who did not have an oven of their own baked their loaf at a neighbor’s house, or in the vast ovens belonging to the priory and the town’s two bakers, Peggy Baxter and Jackatte-Noven. By midday the air