Wat's enthusiasm found hearty echo in the house. Roger, indeed, ever
self-absorbed and eagerly bent upon his own advancement, muttered
something that such shows were fit only for fools and jackanapes, but he
dared say nothing of the sort aloud, when even Master Gervase himself
was like a boy in his delight over the occasion. Great consultations
took place between the different guilds. These guilds had flourished in
Exeter from a very early period, and were founded and preserved on
strong religious lines. Chief and earliest among them were the merchant
guilds. Craft guilds grew up later, not, as in other countries, opposed
to the merchants, but under their authority, formed merely to promote
and regulate matters belonging to their own crafts. Master and wardens
met regularly in the common hall, and every full craftsman worth twenty
shillings might be a brother. Generally there was a distinctive dress,
or, at any rate, hood. The guilds took care that their members bore
good characters, and there were heavy penalties for bad words, or what
was called "misquoting." No one might work without leave of the
wardens. No one might undersell a craft brother. The guilds arranged
that all goods received a fair price, and that they were of the best
quality. An excellent technical education was provided, and the tools
that were used were closely inspected. Women might have part in the
guilds, widows being allowed to carry on their business under their
protection. There were also craft courts to which all complaints were
brought, and it will be easily understood how much guilds had to do with
the local government of a town.
It was now necessary to organise a banquet to be given to the king, and
a day of feasting and rejoicing for the poor, and Gervase was very busy
over the arrangements. Frost and snow still continued, but flags and
gay hangings were profusely used, and nothing could have been more
picturesque than the narrow streets with their beautiful black-timbered
houses, snow on the steep roofs, and all manner of bright colours
hanging from windows and carved balconies. The only thing there was
doubt about was the sun, but after an hour or two of hesitation in the
morning, it broke out in full brilliancy, giving the final touch to a
gay pageant of moving colour, of which we in England now have little
conception.
Rougemont Castle, of course, put on its gayest face, but the chief
preparations were at the East Gate, to which the road from Bristol led
direct, passing by St Sidwell's Church. Here the king would enter, and
here in Crollditch, the present Southernhay, where the Lammas fair was
annually held, the apprentices intended to muster, and to see as much as
they could, the greater number of the burgesses being within the gate,
so as to welcome the king to the city. If it had not been for Wat,
Hugh's chance of seeing would have been small, for as the king and his
knights rode up, the bigger apprentices closed tumultuously nearer,
shouting with all the force of their lungs, and the lesser boys were
pushed back without mercy. But Wat was a faithful friend. He held fast
by Hugh, and used his own strong limbs to good effect. Opposite to them
was a crowd of the poorest of the city.
"Keep thy legs, gammer--good folk, press not so closely! Here they
come!"
"Alack, alack, I can see nothing!"
"There is the king on a black horse!"
"Nay, that is my Lord of Albemarle."
"Ay, there's the king!"
"Where? Where?"
"He rides a white horse, with the bishop by his side."
"The saints preserve him! How he towers above them all! A proper man,
indeed!"
The sight was very striking as the gallant cavalcade swept slowly into
the grim shadows of the East Gate, with its walls stretching away on
either side, and out into the keen sunshine beyond, where
representatives from the guilds, the mayor, bailiffs, and councilmen
were drawn up with every mark of pageantry. Loud shouts broke from the
crowd, many cries of blessing were raised, and some appeals for
"Justice, my Lord King!" were heard. All the way down the High Street
the narrow way was so thronged with citizens that Edward and his train
could scarcely make way, and there was time enough for Wat and Hugh to
rush down a side way and get round to their master's house before the
king reached it. Joan was in the balcony with her mother craning her
little neck to see the show, and beckoning to Hugh, but the boy had a
design in his head; rushing up to catch Agrippa, and, when he had got
him, determinedly squeezing his way to the front. In this he might not
have succeeded but for the good nature of my Lord of Devon's jester, who
was a favourite in the town, and now in his motley suit had taken up his
position before Master Gervase's house. He pathetically implored the
crowd to make room for his grandfather, and the roar of laughter which
followed when this turned out to be the monkey secured Agrippa's
position.
Hugh's heart beat fast as he saw the men-at-arms clearing the way with
no little difficulty.
"Hold thou on to my sleeve," whispered the good-humoured jester, "and
we'll not budge."
He was as good as his word, and as the king passed with a smile on his
grave face, for he was touched by the fervour of his welcome, Hugh and
his monkey were so close that Edward's eye fell upon him. He was
certain that he was recognised, for the king's smile deepened, and he
said something to the bishop, who raised himself in his stirrups to get
sight of the boy. Nor was this all. The monkey attracted the attention
of the _suite_, and a knight suddenly reined up his horse and bent down.
"Why, thou art the little varlet that was at Stourbridge Fair! I mind
me now thy father spoke of Exeter. How goes it with him? Has he a
choice bit of his work that I can take back to my lady? What, dead!
Nay, that is sad, but he looked scarce like to live. Thou mayest come
to the bishop's palace, where we lie, and ask for my squire, John
Wakefield, if thou wilt."
He nodded and rode on, and Hugh was besieged by inquiries of who he was,
and what had led him to speak.
"Sir Thomas de Trafford," repeated the jester. "A fair name and an
honourable. Prithee forget not a poor cousin, if there be preferment to
be had. I would almost renounce my cap and bells to be dubbed a
knight."
But Joan overhead was clamouring for Hugh, and Prothasy's curiosity was
getting past bearing. She had never quite believed the boy's story of
the gold noble, but all had seen the king's amused smile of recognition,
and now she questioned Hugh sharply, while he was longing to be off with
Wat, who was in the thick of the crowd which had closed up on the heels
of the men-at-arms, and was following the king down the High Street, for
to pleasure them he rode as far as the Carfax or conduit, the central
point of the city, which stood at the junction of North and South
Street, where much business was transacted, before going to the quarters
prepared for him in the bishop's palace. Hugh got away at last, but he
was in the rear of things, and could get no nearer than the tail of the
procession, every now and then catching the gleam of armour in the
distance as some corner was turned, while the people were cheering and
pushing with all their might, and gathering the largesse freely
distributed.
Gervase came home in high good humour, for the king had received the
guild officers very cordially, and promised a hearing for the next day,
the townspeople having certain matters to plead against the clergy with
reference to the walls of the close--a very fruitful source of dispute.
"'Tis a pity though, goodman, that the king is lodged in the palace
where the bishop will have his ear," said Franklyn.
"Pish!" answered Elyas. "Little thou knowest of Edward if thou thinkest
him to be so easily turned! He will look into the affair and judge
according to right. No favour beyond that need bishop nor mayor look
for. But there is no doubt that the ecclesiastics are pushing their
privileges as to right of way too far, and I wish there were as good a
chance of getting Countess Weir removed, and restoring the navigation of
the river."
"Father," said Joan solemnly, "I saw the king, and I kissed him my
hand."
"Didst thou so, my popinjay? And I warrant that pleased him. He hath a
Joan of his own, what thinkest thou of that?"
"Little, like me? Father, there was a beautiful shining knight that
spoke to Hugh and Agrippa, and Hugh is to go to the palace to-morrow."
So Gervase had to hear this story. He looked grave over it, for he knew
what were the boy's secret longings, and Stephen had told him of Sir
Thomas de Trafford's offer, and how it had fallen in with them. And
though Hugh was his sworn apprentice, and could not be removed, yet the
king, who had a high respect and liking for Sir Thomas, might ask for
his release as a personal favour which the stone-cutter could not
refuse. Elyas felt, moreover, that the boy's first days of
apprenticeship had not been of a kind to lead him to care overmuch for
his craft. Franklyn had succeeded in making them full of
discouragement, and though of late Hugh had worked steadily and well, he
had been given no opportunity of getting on, and might well be out of
heart. Elyas felt very doubtful as to the result of this visit, and was
grieved not only because his promise to Stephen had been to do his
utmost to teach him his craft, but because he really loved the boy. In
those days apprentices were not treated as "hands," they were actual
members of the family. Roger was too self-absorbed to have won his
master's affection, and Wat, though he had excellent qualities, was for
ever vexing Prothasy, and committing some clumsy awkwardness. Elyas was
sure that Hugh had that in him which by-and-by would make his work
excellent, and had set his heart upon bringing it out. Was all this
hope to end?
Hugh himself was not without thoughts on the subject. The sight of the
king, the half smile with which he had been recognised, had stirred up
his old desires into ardent longing. Once again nothing in the world
seemed so grand as to have the power of fighting, and, if needs were,
dying for him. The grave earnest face, saddened by troubles which would
have overwhelmed a weaker soul, fired the boy's enthusiasm, where others
complained of want of geniality. Then Sir Thomas de Trafford's notice
had crimsoned him with pleasure and brought back Dame Edith's sweet
face, with which it must be owned Prothasy's could not compare. He was
sick of mouldings and ratings, and though the Cathedral always raised a
longing in him to be one of the great brotherhood of workers who were
making it glorious, he felt at times a dreary conviction that the day
would never come, and then the old longing to fling down hammer and
chisel grew strong, and he thought that had his father but been there he
would surely have yielded to his longing.
Wat was even more excited than he on the matter of this visit, begging
hard to be allowed to go with him as far as the palace, and quite
content with the prospect of a chance of seeing a squire, or a
man-at-arms, or perhaps one of the pages who swaggered about with much
contempt for sober citizens. With this hope he stayed outside the
palace gate, where a crowd was collected to see the king.
Hugh's heart beat fast, but he went boldly in and asked for John
Wakefield. A sturdy, fatherly-looking squire came out, who smiled when
he saw so young a visitor, and reported that the knight was in the
garden where he had gone to look at the towers of the Cathedral. In
parts of the garden the snow lay deep, and the pages had been amusing
themselves this morning with building a snow man in one corner, but now
were gone off to attend the king, and only Sir Thomas and a chaplain
paced the walks. Hugh waited until they turned towards him.
"Who's this?" said the knight stopping. "Beshrew me, but it is the
monkey boy, as my little Nell persists in calling him! Knowest thou
aught of him, holy father?"
"Naught, gentle sir, more than that by his dress he should be
apprenticed to the Masons' Guild--yes, and I have seen him in the
Cathedral with Master Gervase."
Beckoned to come nearer, Hugh made his reverence and stood bare-headed,
while Sir Thomas questioned him upon what had befallen them: the
shipwreck, his father's death, and his present position.
"And thou wouldst sooner chip stones than be in my household? By my
faith it seems a strange choice!"
Poor Hugh! It was all he could do to keep the tears back from his eyes.
"I would rather be in your household, sir, than anywhere in the world,"
he said in a choked voice.
"Sayest thou so?" returned Sir Thomas loudly. "Then, wherefore not?
Thy master would do me a favour, I make no doubt, and cancel thy bond,
and it would pleasure my little Nell if I took thee and the monkey back
with me, though I know not how Wolf would behave. Speak up, without
fear, and tell me if thou art willing."
Willing! Every longing in his heart leapt up and cried out to be
satisfied. Willing! What would he not give for such a life! It danced
up and down before him decked in brightest colours, while on the other
side he seemed to hear Franklyn's ceaseless rebukes, and to feel all the
weariness of unsuccessful toil. Willing!
But then at that moment his eye fell upon the towers of the Cathedral,
and from the building, faint but sweet, there came the sound of young
voices chanting the praises of the Lord. And with the sound rushed upon
him the remembrance of his father's words, of the promise he had made,
of all the wood-carver's hopes, and fears, and longings! Could he
disappoint him? He covered his face with his hands and sobbed out,
"Noble sir, I would, I would, but I can not!"
"Wherefore?"
"My father--he would have me a carver."
Sir Thomas was silent, but perhaps thinking to pleasure him, the
chaplain pushed the matter.
"But thou mayest choose for thyself now that thy father is dead."
"Nay, holy sir," said Hugh, keeping his head down, "but I promised."
"Nevertheless--" began the chaplain, when the knight interrupted.
"Prithee no more, father; a promise is a sacred thing, and the urchin is
in the right. Keep covenant is ever the king's word. What was thy
promise, boy?"
"That I would learn the craft, and he hoped that in time I might work
there," pointing to the Cathedral. "But William Franklyn says I never
shall."
"Pay no heed to his croaking," said Sir Thomas heartily. "Work there,
ay, that shalt thou, and when I ride here again with the king, thou
shalt show me what thou hast done."
He kept the boy longer, speaking kindly, and sending him away at length
with the gift of a mark, as he said, to buy a remembrance of Mistress
Nell. And when he had gone he turned to the chaplain.
"That was a struggle gallantly got through," he said. "I would I could
be sure mine own Edgar would keep as loyally to my words when I am gone.
But the boy prince's example and influence are of the worst."
And Hugh?
He had done what was right, but right doing does not always bring
immediate satisfaction--very often it is the other way, and we think
with regret upon what we have given up, and something within us suggests
that we have been too hasty, and that there were ways by which we might
have done what was almost right and yet had what we wanted. If Master
Gervase could have been brought to consent, knowing all Stephen
Bassett's wishes, why, then, surely Hugh might have gone his way,
feeling that he had tried to follow his father's road, and only given up
when he found he could not get on. And yet twist it as he would, this
reasoning would not come fair and smooth, and there was always something
which he had to pass over in a hurry. Sir Thomas, too, had said he was
right.
Wat pounced upon him before he had gone far, evidently expecting that he
would have a great deal to tell--perhaps have seen the king in his
crown. At any other time Hugh might have held his peace, but just now
there was a hungry longing in his heart, so that he poured all out to
Wat--Sir Thomas's offer and his own refusal. It must be owned that he
was disappointed that Wat took it as a matter of course, while agreeing
that it would have been very fine to have ridden away from Exeter in the
king's train.
"Then with Agrippa in thy arms thou might'st have passed for the
jester."
"Gramercy for thy fancy," said Hugh offended.
"That would become thee better."
"Ay, it would be rare," answered Wat with a sigh. "I am such an oaf at
this stone-cutting that sometimes I could wish myself at the bottom of
the sea."
"What made thee take to the craft?"
"To pleasure my old mother. She is a cousin of Franklyn's, and thought
I was a made man when she had stinted herself sufficiently to pay the
premium. But I shall never be more than a mason," added Wat dolefully.
"Now thou hast it in thee."
"I know not. Franklyn has never a good word for aught I do."
"Never heed old Franklyn. He is as sour as a crab, because he wanted
the master to take his little jackanapes of a nephew as prentice. He
would like to keep thee back, but do thou hold on and all will come
right. Why, even I can see what thy work is like, and so does he, and
so does the master, only the master will do nothing to touch Franklyn's
authority, and so he holds his peace."
"But you think he knows?" asked Hugh eagerly.
"Think? How should he not know? He can measure us all better than
Franklyn, and he knows, too, that I am more fitted for a life in the
greenwood than to be chopping away with mallet and chisel."
It was very unusual for Wat to talk with so much shrewdness and common
sense. Usually he was addle-pated enough, caring little for ratings,
and plunging into trouble with the most good-natured tactlessness, so
that friends and foes alike showered abuse upon him. Hugh had taken it
for granted that he would be the same wherever he was, never realising
that his present life was especially distasteful to him, and yet that he
accepted it without gainsaying. It gave his words now a weight which
was quite unusual, for he seemed never to suppose it possible that Hugh
could go against his promise to his father, while he quite acknowledged
that the other life would have been delightful. All seemed to arrange
itself simply into two sides, right and wrong, so that Hugh began to
wonder how he could ever have doubted when it was so clear to Wat.
In the house he found Joan shrieking because her father could not take
her forth, and he was glad enough to make her over to Hugh, telling him
that the king was to ride down the High Street to see the new bridge
before returning to the banquet at the Guildhall, and warning him to
take care not to allow Joan to be over-much entangled in the crowd.
Then he put his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked into his face.
"What said the knight to thee?"
"He offered, if thou wouldst consent, sir, to take me back with him, and
to bring me up in his household."
"As I expected," said Elyas, gravely. "And that would content thee?"
"It is what I ever longed for," said poor Hugh.
There was a pause. Gervase seemed to find it difficult to put the next
question.
"Does the knight come here then to see me?"
"Nay," said the boy wearily, "it were no use, goodman. I told him that
I was bound by my promise to my father."
"Ay, didst thou so? And what said he?"
"There was a holy father there who would have urged me, but the knight
stopped him, and said a promise was binding, and that the king's word
was ever `Keep covenant.'"
Gervase's eyes glistened. "It was well, it was well. Hadst thou been
set upon it, Hugh, I had not withstood thee, but I should have grieved.
No blessing comes from self-seeking. And hast thou," he added more
cheerily, "hast thou forgotten the corbels thou hast to do for the
bishop?"
His words put fresh heart into the boy, and he felt that even had he
followed his own longings it would have cost him much to leave Master
Gervase. Then Joan ran in, warmly and daintily dressed, gathering up
her little skirts to show Hugh her new long pointed shoes, all her tears
forgotten, and her mind running upon the king and his knights. Her
mother, though sharp with Hugh, would trust her little maid anywhere
with him, and the two set forth down the narrow streets where was a
throng of villeins, of country people who had poured in for miles round,
of guild-brothers in their distinctive dresses, of monks from the
monasteries of Saint Nicholas and Saint James, grey and black friars,
Kalendar sisters, while mingling with these graver dresses were the more
brilliantly clad retainers of the nobles who had accompanied or come to
meet the king, most gorgeous among whom were those of the household of
Dame Alicia de Mohun, who had journeyed in great state from Tor Mohun,
near Torbay, and the trappings of whose palfrey caused the citizens much
amazement. As many minstrels, dancing girls, and jongleurs had
collected as if it had been fair time, and the bakers who sold bread by
the Carfax were so pressed upon that they were forced to gather up their
goods and remove them hastily.
Joan did not find it as delightful as she expected. Not all Hugh's
efforts could keep the crowd from pressing upon her, and he looked
anxiously about for some safer means of letting her see the show. He
spied at last a projection from one of the houses where he thought she
might stand, and from whence she could look over the shoulders of the
crowd, and there with much difficulty and pushing he managed to place
her, standing himself so that he could both shield and hold her. There
was no chance of seeing anything himself, for he was hedged in by a
moving crowd, and more than one looked rather angrily upon him for
having secured this standing-point before they had discovered its
advantages. But Joan was mightily pleased. She was out of the press,
and could see all that was to be seen, upon which she chattered volubly
to her faithful guard below.
They had long to wait, but there was enough amusement for her not to
weary, and when at last she became a little silent and Hugh wondered
whether she would be content much longer, a cry of "The king!" was
raised, and heads were eagerly stretched to see him turn out from Broad
Gate. Down came the gay train, larger than that of the day before,
owing to the many nobles and knights, Champernownes, Chudleighs,
Fulfords, Pomeroys, Courtenays, and others, who had come into the city,
and very noble they looked turning down the steep hill between the old
houses.
But Hugh could neither see nor think of them, he was in so much dread
that Joan would be swept or dragged off her standing place. The people
were wild to have sight of the king, and those who were behind looked
covetously at the projection. One or two pressed violently by Hugh,
muttering that children were best left at home, and at last, as the
cavalcade drew nearer and the excitement heightened, a wizened little
man pushed the girl off and would have clambered into the place if a
stronger fellow had not collared him and climbed there himself. Joan
meanwhile was in danger of being trampled under foot, though Hugh fought
and kicked with all the vigour in the world, shielding her at the cost
of many hard blows on himself from those who were bent only upon pushing
forward without heeding what was in their way. Joan, however, was not
one to be maltreated without protest, and the instant she realised what
had happened, she uttered a series of piercing shrieks, which caused the
king and his train to look in her direction. Edward pulled up, and two
or three of the men-at-arms, hastily parting the crowd, disclosed Joan
clinging to Hugh, uttering woeful cries and prayers to be taken home.
One of them would have raised her in his arms, but this was fresh
terror, and whispering to Hugh, "Bring her thyself," he pushed them
gently along towards the royal party.
"Is the child hurt?" asked Edward hastily, and then recognising Hugh,
who was red with shame at his own plight, and to have Joan hanging round
his neck, the king smiled, and beckoned to him. Hugh bent on his knee
as well as he could for Joan, and answered the king's brief questions
clearly. Someone had pulled the little maid down, and she was afraid of
being trampled upon, and Joan, convinced now that she was in safety,
relaxed her hold and gazed from one to the other with eyes full of
innocent awe.
"She is a fair little maiden," said Edward, kindly, "and thou art a
brave prentice. Ever keep on the side of the weak. Now, my lords," he
added, "as the matter is not serious, we will ride to the bridge."
The people cheered lustily as he passed on, and Hugh and Joan were the
hero and heroine of the hour.
"What said he? What said he?"
"Blessings on him, he hath a kindly heart! There's many a proud baron
would have paid no heed to a babe's cries, but I warrant me he thinks of
his lady."
"Where's the churl that pushed her off? A good ducking should he have."
But, fearing this turn of the tide, the man had slunk away, and Joan,
pleased as she was with the admiring epithets bestowed upon her, desired
to be taken home, and made a discovery which moved her to tears, in the
fact that the long toes of her new shoes, subjects of much pride, were
hopelessly-ruined.
She reached the house weeping, and her mother, flying out, rated Hugh
soundly before hearing anything of what had happened, whereupon Joan
flung her arms round his neck, said that Hugh was good, the king had
said so, and the people were naughty. Prothasy listening in amazement
could scarce believe her ears, making Hugh tell his story over and over
again, and pouring it out to Elyas when he came back from the banquet.
"The king called her a fair maiden, what thinkest thou of that,
goodman?" she asked proudly.
"And Hugh a brave prentice, what thinkest thou of that, goodwife?"
returned her husband, with a smile.