Hard on his heels, Alfred stuck out a foot and tripped him. Jack fell headlong. I’m going to die, he thought as he rolled over; Alfred will kill me now. He fetched up under a ladder that was leaning against the scaffolding high up on the building. Alfred bore down on him. Jack felt like a cornered rabbit. The ladder saved him. As Alfred ducked behind it, Jack dodged around to the front and catapulted himself up the rungs. He went up the ladder like a rat up a gutter.

He felt the ladder shake as Alfred came up behind him. Normally he could outrun Alfred, but he was still dazed and winded. He reached the top and lurched onto the scaffolding. He stumbled and fell against the wall. The stonework had been laid that morning and the mortar was still wet. As Jack careered into it, a whole section of the wall shifted, and three or four stones slipped sideways and fell over the side. Jack thought he was going with them. He teetered at the edge, and as he looked down he saw the big stones tumbling over and over as they fell eighty feet and landed on the roofs of the lean-to lodges at the foot of the wall. He righted himself and hoped no one was in the lodges. Alfred came up over the top of the ladder and advanced toward him on the flimsy scaffolding.

Alfred was red and panting, and his eyes were full of hate. Jack had no doubt that in this state Alfred could kill. If he gets hold of me, Jack thought, he’ll throw me over the side. As Alfred advanced, Jack retreated. He trod in something soft and realized it was a pile of mortar. Inspired, he stooped quickly, picked up a handful, and threw it accurately into Alfred’s eyes.

Blinded, Alfred stopped advancing and shook his head, trying to get rid of the mortar. At last Jack had a chance to escape. He ran to the far end of the scaffolding platform, intending to descend, run out of the priory close, and spend the rest of the day hiding in the forest. But to his horror there was no ladder at the other end of the platform. He could not climb down the scaffolding, for it did not reach to the ground-it was built on joists stuck into putlog holes in the wall. He was trapped.

He looked back. Alfred had got his eyesight back and was coming toward him.

There was one other way down.

At the unfinished end of the wall, where the chancel would join on to the transept, each course of masonry was half a stone’s length shorter than the one below, creating a steep flight of narrow steps, which was sometimes used by the more daring laborers as an alternative way up to the platform. With his heart in his mouth Jack got on top of the wall and walked along, carefully but quickly, trying not to see how far he would fall if he slipped. He reached the top of the stepped section, paused at the edge, and looked down. He felt faintly sick. He glanced back over his shoulder: Alfred was on the wall behind him. He went down.

Jack could not understand why Alfred was so unafraid: he had never been brave. It was as if hatred had dulled his sense of danger. As they ran down the dizzily steep steps, Alfred was gaining on Jack. They were still more than twelve feet off the ground when Jack realized Alfred was very nearly on him. In desperation he jumped off the side of the wall onto the thatched roof of the carpenters’ lodge. He bounced off the roof onto the ground, but he landed badly, twisting his ankle, and he fell to the ground.

He staggered upright. The seconds he lost by falling had enabled Alfred to reach the ground and run to the lodge. For a split second Jack stood with his back to the wall, and Alfred paused, waiting to see which way he would jump. Jack suffered a moment of terrified indecision; then, inspired, he stepped to one side and backed into the lodge.

It was empty of craftsmen, for they were all standing around Enid’s barrel. On the benches were the hammers and saws and chisels of the carpenters, and the pieces of wood they had been working on. In the middle of the floor was a large piece of new falsework, to be used in building an arch; and at the back, up against the church wall, was a blazing fire, fed by shavings and off-cuts from the carpenters’ raw material.

There was no way out.

Jack turned to face Alfred. He was cornered. For a moment he was paralyzed with fright. Then his fear gave way to anger. I don’t care if I get killed, he thought, so long as I make Alfred bleed before I die. He did not wait for Alfred to hit him. He lowered his head and charged. He was too maddened even to use his fists. He simply ran into Alfred full tilt.

It was the last thing Alfred expected. Jack’s forehead smashed into his mouth. Jack was two or three inches shorter and a lot lighter, but all the same his charge threw Alfred back. As Jack recovered his balance he saw blood on Alfred’s lips, and he was satisfied.

For a moment Alfred was too surprised to react. In that instant, Jack’s eye lit on a big wooden sledgehammer leaning against a bench. As Alfred recovered his wits and came at Jack, Jack lifted the hammer and swung it wildly. Alfred dodged back and the hammer missed him. Suddenly Jack had the upper hand. Encouraged, he went after Alfred, already relishing the sensation of solid wood crunching Alfred’s bones. This time he put all his strength into the blow. Once again it missed Alfred; but it connected with the pole supporting the roof of the lodge.

The lodge was not solidly constructed. Nobody lived in it. Its only function was to enable the carpenters to work in the rain. When Jack hit the pole with the hammer, the pole moved. The walls were flimsy hurdles of interwoven twigs, and gave no support at all. The thatched roof sagged. Alfred looked up fearfully. Jack hefted the hammer. Alfred backed through the door. Jack swung at him again. Alfred dodged back, tripped over a low stack of timber, and sat down heavily. Jack raised the hammer high for the coup de grâce. His arms were seized in a strong grasp. He looked around and saw Prior Philip, with a face like thunder. Philip wrenched the hammer from Jack’s grip.

Behind the prior, the roof of the lodge fell in. Jack and Philip looked. As it fell into the fire, the dry thatch caught alight instantly, and a moment later there was a fierce blaze.

Tom appeared and pointed at the three workmen nearest to him. “You, you and you-bring that water butt from outside the smithy.” He turned to three others. “Peter, Rolf, Daniel, fetch buckets. You apprentices, shovel earth over the flames-all of you, and quick about it!”

For the next few minutes everyone concentrated on the fire, and Alfred and Jack were forgotten. Jack got out of the way and stood watching, feeling stunned and helpless. Alfred stood some distance away. Was I really about to smash Alfred’s head with a hammer? Jack thought incredulously. The whole thing seemed unreal. He was still in a state of dazed shock when the combination of water and earth put out the flames.

Prior Philip stood looking at the mess, breathing hard after his exertions. “Look at that,” he said to Tom. He was furious. “A lodge wrecked. Carpenters’ work ruined. A barrel of lime wasted and a whole section of new masonry destroyed.”

Jack realized that Tom was in trouble: it was his job to keep order on the site and Philip blamed him for the damage. The fact that the culprits were Tom’s sons made it even worse.

Tom put his hand on Philip’s arm and spoke softly. “The lodge will deal with it,” he said.

Philip was not to be mollified. “I will deal with it,” he snapped. “I’m the prior and you all work for me.”

“Then allow the masons to deliberate before you make any decisions,” Tom said in a quiet and reasonable voice. “We may come up with a proposal that will recommend itself to you. If not, you’re still free to do what you will.”

Philip was visibly reluctant to let the initiative pass from his hands, but tradition was on Tom’s side: the masons disciplined themselves. After a pause Philip said: “Very well. But whatever you decide, I will not have both your sons working on this site. One of them must go.” Still fuming, he strode away.