Time passed on, weeks, months, years: slowly, though happily, for the
children; ever faster and faster for the elders. Joan was still the
only child, the darling of the house, but with a sweet, frank nature
which was proof against spoiling. Roger had long finished his seven
years' apprenticeship, and now worked by the day as journeyman; even Wat
was close on the end of his term, but nobody seemed to think he could
ever be anything except Prentice Wat, whom everybody laughed at and
everybody liked, even better than they knew. Nevertheless, by dint of
hard belabouring of brains, and a most impatient patience, for he was
ever rating him for his dulness, and yet never giving up the teaching,
Hugh had managed to hammer more out of Wat than had been supposed
possible in the beginning of things. It was very hard to get him to
take in an idea, but once in his head, he sometimes showed an aptitude
for working it out which surprised the others, and caused Hugh
delightful moments of triumph.
As for Hugh himself, his progress was astonishing. If he still lacked
something of the technical skill of Franklyn, there was no one, except
Gervase himself, who could come near his power of design. The boy had
an intense love of nature, nothing was lost upon him. When he was in
the fields or woods, he would note the exquisite curve of branches, the
uncurling of ferns, the spring of grass or rushes, and was for ever
trying to reproduce them. By this means his eye and hand were trained
in the very best school, and his designs had an extraordinary beauty and
freedom of line, devoid of all stiffness and conventionality. He could
never be induced to delight in the grinning masks and monsters which
were the joy of Wat's soul, but when any delicate and dainty work was
called for, it was always Hugh who was set to do it.
His pride and delight in the Cathedral was scarcely less than the
bishop's. Bishop Bitton was steadily carrying out his work in the
choir, so as to complete the design of his predecessors. The choir was
now entirely rebuilt, and united to the Lady Chapel, left standing at
the end. The beautiful vaulting of the roof was in course of
construction, and pushed on with all the speed that good work would
allow. For one characteristic of the work of those days was that it was
of the best. There was no competition, which we are accustomed to look
upon as an actual necessity, but in place of this the guilds, which
controlled labour and held it in their own hands, exercised a very
strict oversight upon materials and execution, so that nothing which was
bad or indifferent was allowed to pass; there was no possibility of
underselling, nor of the workman being underpaid.
The bishop had by no means forgotten his idea about the corbels. As the
beautiful clustered shafts of the columns--of soft grey unpolished
Purbeck marble--were raised to support the arches, above each one was
built in the long shapeless block, waiting to be some day carved into
shape. Gervase, also, was fired into enthusiasm when he spoke of them,
and if Gervase, then yet more Hugh. Much of his handiwork was already
to be found in the Cathedral, but this was of more importance, and there
was even talk of the guild admitting into their number a skilled workman
from France, famous for his skill in stone carving.
One day, in the June of 1302, master and apprentice were standing in the
choir, Hugh having just come down from work on the triforium.
"I find my eye ever running over those blocks," said Elyas with a smile,
"and picturing them as they might look, finished. To-day, at any rate,
I have brought one question to an end."
"What, goodman?"
"I shall be offered my choice of which to work upon myself."
"Ay?" said Hugh eagerly.
"I shall choose that," he said, pointing to one about half-way between
the entrance of the choir and the spot where it was designed that the
bishop's seat should be. "There is something friendly and inviting in
that pillar, it fits in with my design. Thou, Hugh, must take whichever
they offer thee."
"If they will accept me at all!"
"I think so," said Elyas gravely. "'Tis true thy lack of years is
against thee, but there is no other hindrance, and I believe they will
trust me in the matter. How old art thou now, Hugh?"
"Just seventeen, sir."
"Already? But, yes, it must be so. It is all but six years since I
stumbled upon thee in the street, a little fellow, no older than our
Joan is now. Much has happened in the kingdom since then, but here the
time has flown peacefully."
Much, indeed, had happened to weight the last years of the reign of the
great king. The second war in Scotland was over; Edward had married
again, the Princess Margaret of France being his chosen wife.
Parliaments had by his efforts become more frequent and more important,
and the parliament of Lincoln, in 1301, marked an era in representative
government, when one hundred and thirty seven cities and boroughs sent
up representatives. Archbishop Winchelsey was still trying to enforce
the papal supremacy, which Edward ever resisted, and certain disaffected
nobles joined the archbishop. The king dealt with the two principal
conspirators, Norfolk and Hereford, both firmly and leniently.
Winchelsey he would not himself judge, but his ambassador placed the
matter in the hands of the pontiff, who immediately cited the archbishop
to Rome, to answer for his conduct. William Thorn, a monk of
Canterbury, thus describes the next scene: "When the archbishop knew
that he was thus cited, he went to the king to ask for permission to
cross the sea. And when the king heard of his coming, he ordered the
doors of his presence chamber to be thrown open, that all who wished
might enter, and hear the words which he should address to him. And
having heard the archbishop, he thus replied to him:--`The permission to
cross the sea which you ask of us we willingly grant you--but permission
to return grant we none:--bearing in mind your treachery, and the
treason which at our parliament at Lincoln you plotted against us;--
whereof a letter under your seal is witness, and plainly testifies
against you. We leave it to the pope to avenge our wrongs; and as you
have deserved, so shall he recompense you. But from our favour and
mercy, which you ask, we utterly exclude you; because merciless you have
yourself been, and therefore deserve not to obtain mercy.' And so we
part with Winchelsey." [_The Greatest of all the Plantagenets_.]
At Exeter, however, as Gervase said, the time had passed peaceably. Two
burgesses had indeed with much pain and trouble journeyed all the way to
Lincoln, and came back with marvellous stories of the magnificence of
the barons, the crowds of retainers, the quantity of provisions
supplied, and the deliciousness of sea-wolves, now tasted for the first
time.
And, greatly to Hugh's delight, it appeared that Sir Thomas de Trafford,
being there with his lady and children, applied to one of the Exeter
burgesses for news of Hugh, and sent word he was glad to hear that he
was a good lad, and doing credit to his craft. And Dame Edith
despatched him a token, a rosary from the Holy Land, and the two sisters
a gift of a mark to Agrippa, to buy him cakes.
On poor Agrippa the years had, perhaps, told the most hardly. He
suffered much from the cold winters, and had lost a good deal of his
activity. But on the whole he had a very happy life, with no fear of
ill-usage from boy or man, for he was as well-known to all the citizens
as any other dweller in the High Street, and was held to be under the
special protection of the guild of which Elyas was warden.
That June in which Gervase and Hugh talked in the Cathedral found Wat in
low spirits. He had been out of his apprenticeship for nearly a year,
but this was the first midsummer that had fallen since he had been
promoted to what might be called man's estate, which promised to require
more sacrifices to its dignity than he was at all willing to make. On
one point he had besought Master Gervase so piteously that the master
had yielded, and allowed him to remain in the house. Another
apprentice, one Hal Crocker, had been admitted, and of him Wat was
absurdly jealous, so that Hugh sometimes had to interfere, though Hal
was a malapert boy, very well able to take care of himself.
But Midsummer Eve had ever been a time of high revel for the prentices.
"And this year the bonfires will be bigger than ever," cried Wat in a
tragic voice. "Alack, why couldn't the master keep me on as a
prentice?"
"What an oaf thou art!"
"I care not for being an oaf, but I hate to be a journeyman, and have no
merriment."
Poor Wat! He did not so much mind giving up what Hugh liked best in all
the day, the wreathing the doorways with fennel, green birch, and
lilies, but to lose the joy of collecting the brushwood and piling it in
great heaps, with much rivalry among the lads as to which was the
highest and best built--this was indeed doleful. The meadows were
thronged with crowds, among which he wandered disconsolate, giving sly
help when he could do so without loss of dignity, until to his great joy
he espied Gervase himself dragging a great bush to one of the heaps,
upon which, with a shout of delight, Wat flung himself into a thorny
thicket, and emerged with as much as his arms could clasp.
Meanwhile other things besides fuel were being brought into the field by
goodwives and serving maids. Round each bonfire were placed tables on
which supper was bountifully spread, and when it grew dusk and the fires
were lighted, all passers-by were invited to eat, besides the friends of
the providers. The whole scene was extremely gay and brilliant, and
between crackling of green things and chatter of many voices, the noise
was prodigious. Wat was by this time as happy as a king, running here
and there as freely as ever in prentice days, helping the smaller boys,
seeing that there was no lack of provisions, and inexhaustible in his
good humour.
Several of Master Gervase's friends were seated at his tables, and among
them one Master Tirell, a member of the Goldsmiths' Guild, with his wife
and daughters. Hugh had noticed one of these as a very fair and dainty
little damsel in a pale blue kirtle, who seemed somewhat shy and
frightened, and kept very close to her mother's side. The merriment,
indeed, grew somewhat boisterous as the darkness crept on, and the
bonfires were constantly fed with fresh fuel, and certain of the younger
of the prentices amused themselves by dragging out burning brands, and
pursuing each other with shrieks of excitement about the meadows.
Foremost among these was Hal Crocker, who managed more than once to slip
by Wat before the elder lad could seize him, and whose wild spirits led
him to fling about the burning sticks which he pulled out, to the danger
of the bystanders. Suddenly, after one of these wild rushes there was a
cry of terror. Thomasin Tirell, the fair-haired girl already mentioned,
started up and ran wildly forwards, stretching out her hands, and
screaming for help. Almost before the others could realise what had
happened, Wat had sprung towards her, thrown her on the grass, and
pressed out the fire with his hands. She was scarcely hurt at all,
though sorely frightened, bursting into sobs and hiding her face on her
mother's shoulder as soon as she was on her feet again, and trembling
like a terrified bird. Her mother soothed her, while Master Tirell
heartily thanked Wat, and Gervase looked angrily round in search of the
culprit.
"Beshrew me, but it was bravely done, and thou art a gallant lad," said
Master Tirell, a portly, red-faced man; "St Loys shall have a silver
chain for this, for the poor silly maid might have been in a sorry
plight had she run much farther, and the fire been fanned into flame.
Shake hands--what, are thy hands so burned? See here, goodwife, here is
room for thy leechcraft."
It was in vain that Wat protested, he was forced to display his hands,
at which Thomasin gazed, horror-struck, with tears running over her blue
eyes, and hands clasped on her breast. In fact, Wat was suddenly
elevated into quite a new position, that of a hero, for the citizens
pressed to the spot from all sides and heaped praises upon him.
"'Twas nothing!" he kept saying awkwardly, turning redder and redder at
each congratulation, and looking from side to side for a loophole of
escape. Then, as Hugh came rushing up with an eager "What is
it?"--"That mischievous loon Hal! If I can but lay hands on him!"
"Hath he set anyone on fire?"
"Ay, young Mistress Tirell. Nay, mistress, prithee think not of it--my
hands will be well to-morrow--'tis nothing, Mistress Thomasin--Hugh,"
(aside), "get me out of this, for I never felt such a fool!"
But there was no escape for Wat. Hal, having been caught, and received
summary punishment from his master, was sent home, and the party sat
down again, some to go on with Prothasy's good things, and Thomasin to
recover a little from her condition. Nothing would serve but that Wat
must sit down, too, between Thomasin and her elder sister, Alice, and
there he was more confused than ever by faltered thanks, and grateful
glances of the blue eyes.
"How was it?" asked Alice, whispering across him.
"Alack, I know not!" said the other girl, shuddering. "I felt something
hot under my elbow, and looked down, and there was a line of flame
darting up, and then I screamed, and then--" to Wat--"you came."
"I was too rough," stammered Wat, "but then I always am a bear."
"A bear! Nay, it was to save my life."
"It was all past in a minute," said Alice.
"But thy hands. I hope mother has bound them up skilfully. Is the pain
great?"
"Prithee speak not of it again!" cried Wat in desperation.
It was curious, however, how content he was to remain in his present
position, which Hugh fancied must be terribly irksome to him, Wat always
finding it most difficult to sit still when anything active was going
on. It made him fear that he might be more hurt than they knew. But
the bonfires were in full blaze, and every great crackle and leap of
flame caused Thomasin to tremble, so that Wat's presence and protection
were very grateful to her. And to him it was a new experience to be
appealed to and looked up to as if he were a man; he found it
exceedingly pleasant, he had never believed it could be so pleasant
before. Mistress Tirell would have him go home with them, having an
ointment which she thought excellent for burns, and though Thomasin
could not endure to look upon the dressing, Wat thought her interest and
sympathy showed the kindest heart in the world. In fact, it seemed to
him that no one ever had been so sweet, and when he got back late, he
was very angry that Hugh should be too sleepy to listen to his
outpourings of admiration.
As for Hal, he had to keep out of his way all day, Wat scarce being able
to withhold his hands from him, while to Hugh he talked perpetually of
what had happened, and put numberless questions as to what he thought
about it all.
"She was a silly maiden," said Hugh, bluntly, "to shriek and run like a
frightened hare."
"Much thou knowest!" cried the indignant Wat. "Thou wouldst have had
her sit and be burned, forsooth!"
"Well, 'tis no matter of mine. Thou hast thy hands burned so thou canst
not work, and had to sit up like the master himself--poor Wat! I was
sorry for thee!"
"It was not so bad," said Wat, meditatively. "When thou art a grown
man, thou wilt not care so much for all that foolish boy's play. I
shall have no more of it."
Hugh burst into a laugh, as he shaped the graceful curve of a vine
tendril.
"What has come to thee? Who was mad yesterday at having to play Master
Sobersides?"
"I shall play the fool no more, I tell thee. What age, think you, might
Mistress Thomasin be?"
"Nay, I scarce looked at her."
"I am going soon to the house to have my hands dressed."
"What need for that when the goodwife here could do it?"
"I could scarce be such a churl as to refuse when I was bidden," said
Wat, hotly.
Hugh stared at him, not understanding the change from the Wat who fled
the company of his elders, caring for none but hare-brained prentices;
and as the days went by he grew more and more puzzled. Wat's hands
seemed long in getting well, at any rate they required to be frequently
inspected by Mistress Tirell, and it was remarkable that he could talk
of naught but his new friends. He had always preferred the carving of
curious and grotesque creatures, leaving all finer and more graceful
work to Hugh. But now he implored Hugh to let him have the fashioning
of a small kneeling angel.
"Thou!" cried the other, amazed. "What has put that into thy head? It
is not the work that thou carest for."
"I have a mind for it when my hands are well. Prithee, Hugh!"
"Nay, thou wilt stick some grinning face on the poor angel's shoulders."
"Not I. I am going to try to shape something like Mistress Thomasin--
well, why dost thou laugh?"
"What has come to thee, Wat? Since that day in the meadows it has been
naught but Thomasin, Thomasin! Now I think of it, perhaps the fairies
bewitched thee, since it was Midsummer Eve!" Perhaps Master Gervase
guessed more clearly than Hugh what was the magic that had wrought this
change, for though he laughed a good deal, he kept Wat occupied after
the first three or four days were past, and Prothasy undertook to do all
that was now necessary for the hurt hands. It was remarkable that under
her care they seemed to improve more rapidly than at one time appeared
probable, so that it was not very long before Wat was able to handle his
chisel again, though from the great sighs he emitted Hugh was afraid the
pain might be more than he allowed.
But now were no more pranks or junketings for Wat, no more liberties
permitted from the prentices whose merry company he had hitherto
preferred. He had suddenly awakened to a dignified sense of his
position as journeyman, and Roger himself did not maintain it more
gravely. Most remarkable, however, was the change in his appearance.
It had always been an affront to Prothasy that Wat would never keep his
clothes tidy or clean, she vowed he was a disgrace to their house, and
that no others in the town made such a poor appearance. But now--now
times indeed were changed! Now was Wat going off to the draper's to
purchase fine cloth, and taking it himself to the Tailors' Guild, and
most mighty particular was he about the cut of his sleeves. And as for
his shoes, he ran to outrageous lengths in the toes--he who had always
inveighed against the oafs who were not content with modest points! On
the first Sunday on which Wat, thus attired, set forth, carrying a posy
of lilies in his hand, and walking with such an air of conscious
manliness as quite impressed those who met him, Hugh and Joan, with
Agrippa, watching from the balcony, saw him turn up to St Martin's
Gate, and both burst out laughing.
"What has come to Wat?" cried Hugh. "Didst see his posy?"
"That is for Thomasin," Joan answered, nodding her pretty little head,
"for I heard him ask mother what flowers maidens loved, and mother
laughed, and said 'twas so long since she was a girl, she had forgotten,
but if it was meant for Thomasin he had best ask Mistress Tirell. And I
know Thomasin loves lilies. I wonder why Wat likes Thomasin so much? I
like Alice better. But he is for ever talking about her yellow hair and
her blue eyes, and wanting to hear if I have seen her pass. Look, Hugh,
what a fierce-looking man!"
"That is he they call Henry of Doune, and Sir Adam Fortescue is stopping
his horse to speak with him. And here comes Peter the shereman, and Nat
the cordwainer. They say that. Earl Hugh has been quarrelling with the
mayor again, and threatening to stop all the fishing in the Exe. Thy
father is very wroth; he says the city bears it too tamely, and should
complain to the king."
"Hugh, tell me about thy corbel. Hast thou thought it out?"
"I am always thinking. I see such beautiful lines and curves in my
dreams that I am quite happy--till I wake."
"Father says in two or three months there will be a beginning, and I
don't know what to wish," continued Joan. "I want both of you to do the
best."
"There is no fear. I cannot match with the master."
"There is no other that can match with thee then!" cried Joan, fondling
Agrippa. "He first and thou second--that is what it must be."
Hugh shook his head.
"Franklyn and Roger."
"They can work but they cannot design like thee," returned Joan,
eagerly. "Roger will be mad to be the best, but--unless he steals a
design--there is no chance of that. Oh, thou foolish Hugh, to make me
tell thee this over and over again when thou knowest it better than I
do!"