His face changed quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What did Alfred do?”
“When he saw the baby, he threw me out.”
Jack looked angry. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“He’s a pig, all the same.”
“I’m glad he threw us out. It was because of that that I came looking for you. And now I’ve found you. I’m so happy I don’t know what to do.”
“You were very brave,” Jack said. “I still can’t take it in. You followed me all that way!”
“I’d do it all again,” she said fervently.
He kissed her again. A voice said in French: “If you insist on behaving lewdly in church, please remain in the nave.”
It was a young monk. Jack said: “I’m sorry, Father.” He took Aliena’s arm. They went down the steps and across the south transept. Jack said: “I was a monk for a while—I know how hard it is for them to look at happy lovers kissing.”
Happy lovers, Aliena thought. That’s what we are.
They walked the length of the church and stepped out into the busy market square. Aliena could hardly believe that she was standing in the sunshine with Jack by her side. It was almost too much happiness to bear.
“Well,” he said, “what shall we do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, smiling.
“Let’s get a loaf of bread and a flask of wine, and ride out into the fields to eat our dinner.”
“It sounds like paradise.”
They went to the baker and the vintner, and then they got a wedge of cheese from a dairywoman in the marketplace. In no time at all they were riding out of the village into the fields. Aliena had to keep looking at Jack to make sure he really was there, riding along beside her, breathing and smiling.
He said: “How is Alfred managing the building site?”
“Oh! I haven’t told you!” Aliena had forgotten how long he had been away. “There was a terrible disaster. The roof fell in.”
“What!” Jack’s loud exclamation startled his horse, and it did a skittish little dance. He calmed it. “How did that happen?”
“Nobody knows. They had three bays vaulted in time for Whitsunday, and then it all fell down during the service. It was dreadful—seventy-nine people were killed.”
“That’s terrible.” Jack was shaken. “How did Prior Philip take it?”
“Badly. He’s given up building altogether. He seems to have lost all his energy. He does nothing nowadays.”
Jack found it hard to imagine Philip in that state—he had always seemed so full of enthusiasm and determination. “So what happened to the craftsmen?”
“They all drifted away. Alfred lives in Shiring now, and builds houses.”
“Kingsbridge must be half empty.”
“It’s turning back into a village, like it used to be.”
“I wonder what Alfred did wrong?” Jack said half to himself. “That stone vault was never in Tom’s original plans; but Alfred made the buttresses bigger to take the weight, so it should have been all right.”
He was sobered by the news, and they rode on in silence. A mile or so out of Saint-Denis they tied up the horses in the shade of an elm tree and sat down in a corner of a field of green wheat, beside a little brook, to eat their dinner. Jack took a draft of the wine and smacked his lips. “England has nothing to compare with French wine,” he said. He broke the loaf and gave Aliena some.
Aliena shyly undid the laced front of her dress and gave her nipple to the baby. She caught Jack looking at her and flushed. She cleared her throat and spoke to cover her embarrassment. “Do you know what you’d like to call him?” she said awkwardly. “Jack, perhaps?”
