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The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [543]

By Root 2018 0
the service of sext in the chancel was a low murmur like the rushing of a distant waterfall. They had cold lamb chops with fresh wheat bread and a stone jug of golden beer. Jack had spent the morning sketching the layout of the new chancel which he would begin building next year. Sally was looking at his drawing while she tore into a chop with her pretty white teeth. In a moment she would say something critical about it, he knew. He glanced at Aliena. She too had read Sally’s face and knew what was coming. They exchanged a knowing parental look, and smiled.

“Why do you want the east end to be rounded?” Sally said.

“I based it on the design of Saint-Denis,” Jack said.

“But is there any advantage?”

“Yes. You can keep the pilgrims moving.”

“So you just have this row of little windows.”

Jack had thought windows would come up soon, for Sally was a glazier. “Little windows?” he said, pretending to be indignant. “Those windows are huge! When I first put windows that size into this church the people thought the whole building would fall down for lack of structural support.”

“If the chancel were square-ended, you would have an enormous flat wall,” Sally persisted. “You could put in really big windows.”

She had a point, Jack thought. With the round-ended layout the entire chancel had to have the same continuous elevation, divided into the traditional three layers of arcade, gallery and clerestory, all the way around. A square end offered the chance to change the design. “There might be another way to keep the pilgrims moving,” he said thoughtfully.

“And the rising sun would shine through the big windows,” Sally said.

Jack could imagine it. “There could be a row of tall lancets, like spears in a rack.”

Sally said: “Or one big round window like a rose.”

That was a stunning idea. To someone standing in the nave, looking down the length of the church toward the east, the round window would seem like a huge sun exploding into innumerable shards of gorgeous color. Jack could just see it. “I wonder what theme the monks would want.”

“The Law and the Prophets,” Sally said.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You sly vixen, you’ve already discussed this idea with Prior Jonathan, haven’t you?”

She looked guilty, but she was saved from answering by the arrival of Peter Chisel, a young stone carver. He was a shy, awkward man with fair hair that fell over his eyes, but his carvings were beautiful, and Jack was glad to have him. “What can I do for you, Peter?” he said.

“Actually, I was looking for Sally,” Peter said.

“Well, you’ve found her.”

Sally was getting to her feet, brushing bread crumbs off the front of her tunic. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and then she and Peter went through the low doorway and down the spiral staircase.

Jack and Aliena looked at one another.

“Was she blushing?” Jack said.

“I hope so,” said Aliena. “My goodness, it’s about time she fell for someone. She’s twenty-six years old!”

“Well, well. I’d given up hope. I thought she was planning to be an old maid.”

Aliena shook her head. “Not Sally. She’s as lusty as anyone. She’s just choosy.”

“Is she?” Jack said. “The girls of the county aren’t queueing up to marry Peter Chisel.”

“The girls of the county fall for big handsome men like Tommy, who can cut a dash on horseback and have their cloaks lined with red silk. Sally’s different. She wants someone clever and sensitive. Peter is just right for her.”

Jack nodded. He had never thought of it that way but he felt intuitively that Aliena was right. “She’s like her grandmother,” he said. “My mother fell in love with an oddity.”

“Sally’s like your mother, and Tommy is like my father,” Aliena said.

Jack smiled at her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her hair was streaked with gray, and the skin of her throat was not as marble-smooth as it used to be, but as she got older, and lost the roundness of motherhood, the fine bones of her lovely face became more prominent, and she took on a spare, almost structural beauty. Jack reached out and traced the line of her jaw. “Like my flying buttresses,” he said.

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