Around the base of each pier, Merthin had drawn a pile of rough stones, known to builders as riprap. This would prevent the current undermining his piers the way it had those of the old wooden bridge. But no one asked him about the riprap, so he did not explain it.
Betty had more questions. “Why is your bridge so long? Elfric’s begins at the water’s edge. Yours starts several yards inland. Isn’t that unnecessary expense?”
“My bridge is ramped at both ends,” Merthin explained. “That’s so that you step off the bridge on to dry land, instead of a swamp. No more ox-carts getting bogged down on the beach and blocking the bridge for an hour.”
“Cheaper to put down a paved road,” said Elfric.
Elfric was beginning to sound desperate. Then Bill Watkin stood up. “I’m having trouble deciding who’s right and who’s wrong,” he said. “When these two argue, it’s difficult to make up your mind. And I’m a builder – it must be worse for those who aren’t.” There was a murmur of agreement. Bill went on: “So I think we should look at the men, not the designs.”
Merthin had been afraid of this. He listened with increasing despair.
“Which of the two do you know best?” said Bill. “Which can you rely on? Elfric has been a builder in this town, man and boy, for twenty years. We can look at houses he’s put up and see they’re still standing. We can see the repairs he’s done on the cathedral. On the other hand, here’s Merthin – a clever lad, we know, but a bit of a tearaway, and never finished his apprenticeship. There’s not a lot to indicate that he’s capable of taking charge of the largest building project Kingsbridge has seen since the construction of the cathedral. I know which one I trust.” He sat down.
Several men voiced their approval. They would not judge the designs – they would decide on personalities. It was maddeningly unfair.
Then Brother Thomas spoke up. “Has anyone in Kingsbridge ever been involved in a project that involved building below water level?”
Merthin knew the answer was No. He felt a surge of hope. This could rescue it for him.
Thomas went on: “I would like to know how both men would handle that problem.”
Merthin was ready with his solution – but he was afraid that if he spoke first Elfric would simply echo him. He compressed his lips, hoping that Thomas – who usually helped him – would get the message.
Thomas caught Merthin’s eye, and said: “Elfric, what would you do?”
“The answer is simpler than you think,” Elfric said. “You just have to drop loose rubble into the river at the point where your pier will stand. The rubble rests on the river bottom. You put more and more in until the pile is visible above water level. Then you build your pier on that foundation.”
As Merthin had expected, Elfric had come up with the crudest solution to the problem. Now Merthin said: “There are two snags with Elfric’s method. One is that a pile of rubble is no more stable under water than on land. Over time, it will shift and drop, and when that happens the bridge will subside. If you want a bridge to last only a few years, fine. But I think we should build for the long term.”
He heard a quiet rumble of concurrence.
“The second problem is the shape of the pile. It will naturally slope outwards below the water line, restricting the passage of boats, especially when the river is low. And Elfric’s arches are already narrow.”
Elfric said irritably: “What would you do instead?”
Merthin suppressed a smile. That was what he had wanted to hear – Elfric admitting that he did not know a better answer. “I’ll tell you,” he said. And I’ll show everyone that I know better than the idiot who chopped my door to pieces, he thought. He looked around. They were all listening. Their decision hung on what he would say next.
He took a deep breath. “First, I would take a pointed wooden stake and piledrive it into the river bed. Then I would bang in another next to it, touching; then another. In that way I would build a ring of stakes around the place in the river where I want to put my pier.”
“A ring of stakes?” Elfric jeered. “That will never keep the water out.”
Brother Thomas, who had asked the question, said: “Listen to him, please. He listened to you.”
Merthin said: “Next, I would build a second ring inside the first, with a gap between them of half a foot.” He sensed that he had his audience’s attention now.
“It still won’t be waterproof,” said Elfric.
Edmund said: “Shut up, Elfric, this is interesting.”
Merthin went on: “Then I would pour a clay mortar into the gap between the two rings. The mixture would displace the water, being heavier. And it would plug any chinks between the wood stakes, making the ring watertight. This is called a coffer dam.”
The room was quiet.
“Finally, I would remove the water from inside by bucket, exposing the river bed, and build a mortared stone foundation.”
Elfric was dumbstruck. Both Edmund and Godwyn were staring at Merthin.
Thomas said: “Thank you both. Speaking for myself, that makes the decision an easy one.”
“Yes,” said Edmund. “I rather think it does.”
Caris was surprised that Godwyn had wanted Elfric to design the bridge. She understood that Elfric would seem a safer choice – but Godwyn was a reformer, not a conservative, and she had expected him to be enthusiastic about Merthin’s clever, radical design. Instead he had timidly favoured the cautious option.
Fortunately, Edmund had been able to outmanoeuvre Godwyn, and now Kingsbridge would have a well-built, beautiful bridge that would allow two carts to cross at the same time. But Godwyn’s eagerness to appoint the unimaginative sycophant rather than the bold man of talent was an ominous sign for the future.
And Godwyn had never been a good loser. When he was a boy Petranilla had taught him to play chess, letting him win to encourage him, and he had challenged his uncle Edmund; but after being beaten twice he had sulked and refused to play again. He was in the same mood after the meeting in the guild hall, she could tell. It was probably not that he was particularly attracted to Elfric’s design. But he undoubtedly resented having the decision taken out of his hands. Next day, when she and her father went to the prior’s house, she anticipated trouble.
Godwyn greeted them coolly and did not offer any refreshment. As always, Edmund pretended not to notice slights. “I want Merthin to start work on the bridge immediately,” he said as he sat down at the table in the hall. “I have pledges of money for the full amount of Merthin’s budget-”
“From whom?” Godwyn interrupted.
“The town’s wealthiest traders.”
Godwyn continued to look inquiringly at Edmund.
Edmund shrugged and said: “Fifty pounds from Betty Baxter, eighty from Dick Brewer, seventy from myself, and ten pounds each from eleven others.”
“I didn’t know our citizens possessed such riches,” Godwyn said. He seemed both awestruck and envious. “God has been kind.”
Edmund added: “Kind enough to reward people for a lifetime’s hard work and worry.”
“No doubt.”
“Which is why I need to give them reassurances about the return of their money. When the bridge is built, the tolls will come to the parish guild, which will use them to repay loans – but who will collect the pennies as the passengers cross the bridge? I think it has to be a servant of the guild.”
“I never agreed to this,” Godwyn said.
“I know, that’s why I’m raising it now.”
“I mean, I never agreed to pay the tolls to the parish guild.”
“What?”
Caris stared at Godwyn, flabbergasted. Of course he had agreed to it – what was he talking about? He had spoken to her as well as to Edmund and assured them that Brother Thomas-