“More than we know what to do with. But do you know how to build a bridge?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. The hard part will be making the pillars secure in the riverbed.”

“It must be possible, because bridges exist!”

“Yes. You have to fix the foot of the pillar into a large box of stones on the riverbed. The box has to have sharp corners pointing upstream and downstream and be firmly fixed on the riverbed, so that the current can’t dislodge it.”

“How do you know such things?”

“By looking at existing structures.”

“But you’ve already thought about this.”

“I have time to think. There’s no wife to talk to me.”

“We must do this!” Aldred said excitedly. Then he thought of a snag. “But I can’t pay you.”

“You’ve never paid me for anything. But I’m still taking lessons.”

“How long would the bridge take?”

“Give me a couple of strong young monks as laborers and I think I can probably do it in six months to a year.”

“Before next Whitsunday?”

“Yes,” said Edgar.

The hundred court took place on the following Saturday. It almost turned into a riot.

The pilgrims were not the only people who had been inconvenienced by Dreng’s disappearance. Sam the shepherd had attempted to cross the river with hoggets, year-old sheep, to sell at Shiring; but he had been obliged to turn around and drive the flock home. Several more inhabitants on the far side of the river had been unable to take their produce to market. Others who liked to come to Dreng’s Ferry just on special holy days had returned home dissatisfied. Everyone felt they had been let down by someone they were entitled to rely upon. The head men of the villages berated Dreng.

“Am I a prisoner here?” Dreng protested. “Am I forbidden to leave?”

Aldred was sitting outside the church on the big wooden stool, presiding over the court. He said to Dreng: “Where did you go, anyway?”

“What business is that of yours?” Dreng said. There were shouts of protest, and he backed down. “All right, all right, I went to Mudeford Crossing with three barrels of ale to sell.”

“On the very day when you knew there would be hundreds of ferry passengers?”

“No one told me.”

Several people shouted: “Liar!”

They were right: it was impossible that the alehouse keeper should be ignorant of the special Whitsunday service.

Aldred said: “When you go to Shiring you normally leave your family in charge of the ferry and tavern.”

“I needed the boat to transport the ale, and I needed the women to help me manhandle the barrels. I’ve got a bad back.”

Several people groaned mockingly: they had all heard about Dreng’s bad back.

Edgar said: “You’ve got a daughter and two strong sons-in-law. They could have opened the alehouse.”

“There’s no point in opening the alehouse if there’s no ferry.”

“They could have borrowed my raft. Except that the raft disappeared at the same time as you did. Wasn’t that strange?”