All through the autumn and early winter Hugh's thoughts were busy about
the corbel work. He might have been impatient that it was not begun
before, but that he knew the delay to have been gained for himself by
Elyas, who had met with some opposition from certain canons of the
Cathedral. They objected that it was unwise to put a work of such
importance into the hands of a young apprentice. Every month gained,
therefore, was in his favour, and the bishop remained his friend. The
rough blocks were already in their places, ready for ordinary workmen to
"boss them out," and by the end of February, which had been a wet and
cheerless month, this was done.
Gervase was very much in the Cathedral superintending; Prothasy
complained that she never saw him, and even Joan failed to coax him out.
He was like a boy in his longing to begin, saying, and justly, that he
was for ever over-seeing and correcting, and got little opportunity of
letting his own powers have play. To Hugh, more freely than to any, he
talked of his design, discussing its details with him; but one day Wat,
looking uncomfortable, pulled Hugh after him as he went down the street.
"Talk a little less loudly with the master of what his _surs_ is to be
like," he said.
"Why?"
"Because there are those who would give their ears to have some notions
in their thick brains, and would filch other folks' without scruple."
"Roger?"
"Ay, Roger is ever conveniently near when there is aught to be heard,
and he is mad because the men say thy work is sure to be the best--after
the master's. So beware, for the master thinks all as honourable as
himself. What's this?"
For by this time they had got near the conduit and the market, and a
crowd of people were coming along hooting and jeering some object,
which, as they approached, turned out to be a man seated on a horse with
his face to the tail, and a loaf hanging round his neck.
"Why, 'tis Edmund the baker!" cried Wat in great excitement. "Look how
white he is--as white as his own meal! This comes of adulterating his
bread, and now he will be put in the pillory, and his oven destroyed.
Which wilt thou go to see, Hugh?"
"Neither. And what will Mistress Thomasin say of thy caring to see a
man pilloried?"
"Oh, Mistress Thomasin, she is too dainty and fine! Her sister is more
to my mind. Come!"
But Hugh would not. He left Wat, and walked down the High Street, and
across the bridge with its houses and its chapel, and out into the
country. A high wind was driving grey clouds swiftly across the sky,
and now and then a dash of rain came in his face. The year was forward,
and already buds were swelling, and the country showing the first signs
of spring. Though so many years had passed Hugh could never walk in
this direction without remembering his first coming to Exeter. How glad
his father would be to know how it was with him! He was in the last
year of his apprenticeship, and receiving wages of ten shillings a
month, no small sum in those days. That he had got on in his craft and
satisfied his master Hugh was aware, and now before him opened such an
honourable task as a lad of his age could not have hoped for; what
Stephen had longed for was about to come to pass, and Hugh knew that it
was possible for him to bring fame and honour to his father's name.
With such thoughts, too, necessarily was joined very deep gratitude to
Master Gervase. He had never faltered in his kindness; had Hugh been
his own son he could not have trained him more carefully, or taught him
more freely, with no grudging thoughts of possible rivalship. He had
given the boy of his best, and Hugh's heart swelled as he recognised it,
wondering whether it would ever be in his power to do something by way
of return. Poor Hugh! He little thought how soon the occasion would
come!
Then, as ever, he fell to studying the beautiful spring of branch and
twig, and shaped and twisted them in his own mind, and saw them fair and
perfect in the corbel, as artists see their works before they begin to
carry them out, as yet unmarred by failure. Some of these models he
bore home to study at leisure, and in the doorway met Elyas.
"I was looking for thee. John Hamlyn and I have had our commission to
begin, and we are to hear about thee in two or three days. Have no
fear. The bishop and I are strong enough to carry the matter; beshrew
me, am I not the one to judge who is the best workman?"
"I may get the block ready for you, sir?" said Hugh eagerly.
"That may'st thou not, for I have already spoken to Ned Parsons, and he
is there at this moment. Why, thou silly lad, disappointed? Thinkest
thou that seeing thee set to do the rough labour will dispose them to
choose thee for the better? Nay, nay, leave it to me, and do thou
perfect thy design, remembering that it is a great and holy work to
which thou art admitted. And hark ye, Hugh, spare no time in the
design, and be not over-bold. Take something simple, such as ivy with
the berries. Do that well, and it may be a second will fall to thy
share."
No need to bid him be industrious. Hugh flung himself into it with such
intensity of purpose that for the next day or two he could hardly eat or
sleep. Wat, whose fate was also in the balance, took it with the utmost
philosophy, said he should do his best, hoped that would turn out better
than he expected, and snored peacefully the moment he was in his bed.
Roger, who was certain to have the work, was as absorbed as Hugh, but
silent withal. His nature was moody and suspicious, he gave no
confidence, and Wat was not far wrong when he said that he was on the
watch for what he could gather as to the designs of the others. Hugh
generally drew his fancies on a bit of board with a stick sharpened and
burnt. Usually he rubbed them out as soon as he had them to his fancy,
but once or twice he had left them about, and was little aware how Roger
had made them his own, or what exact copies were stowed away in a box.
It was a week after Hugh's walk outside the walls that he saw Elyas come
into the yard with Master William Pontington, the canon of St Peter's,
who a few years before had bought Poltimore of Lord Montacute. Hugh's
heart beat so fast that his hand was scarcely so firm as usual, and he
chipped the feather of a bird's wing. For something in Gervase's face
told him that he brought news. Wat was working in the Cathedral.
Presently the master and the canon came and stood behind Hugh. Hugh's
hand trembled no more; he cut with astonishing freedom and power,
feeling himself to be in a manner on his trial. Yet the silence seemed
to him to last almost beyond endurance. He could not see the proud look
on his master's face, nor watch the change of expression from cold
indifference to eager interest on that of the canon. His own work never
reached his hopes or his intentions, and he was far more quick to see
its faults than its beauties. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Enough, goodman," said a voice, "I give in. Since I have seen this
young springald of thine at work, I own thou hadst a right to praise him
as thou hast done. Give him a corbel and let him fall to at it as if it
were this capital he is carving now, for the bird and her nest are as
cunning a piece of workmanship as I have ever beheld."
"Thank his reverence, Hugh," said Gervase gleefully.
But Hugh turned red and then white, and could scarce stammer out the
words.
"Ay, ay," said the canon good-humouredly, "no need for more; and I am
glad thy heart is so set upon it, because now thy heart will go into thy
hand, and, to tell thee the truth, that is what I feared might be
wanting in such a young worker. Is that truly all thine own design?"
"The other men would be more like to come to Hugh than Hugh to go to
them, holy sir," put in Elyas.
The canon, indeed, could scarcely believe his eyes. He made the young
man show more of his carving, heard something of his father's skill, to
all of which he had hitherto turned a deaf ear, and departed, ready to
do battle for Hugh against any who spoke a disparaging word.
"There goes thy most persistent opponent," said Elyas, coming back and
rubbing his hands in glee; "'twas all I could do to bring him here, and
he grumbled the whole way about putting work into inexperienced hands,
and I know not what! Now to-morrow, Hugh, Ned Parsons will have
finished his blocking out for me, and I will set him to thine. I shall
give thee the first pillar in the choir on the opposite side to mine
own. It is not so well in view as some of the others, but that should
make no difference in its fairness. And here is Joan to be told the
news."
Joan shook her wise little head over it, and opined that now Hugh would
be worse than ever in neither eating nor sleeping. But it was not so.
He was very quiet all that day, and when work was over he and Joan set
off for the Cathedral that he might look upon his pillar--with what
longing eyes!--and picture it again and again to himself as it should
be.
"And there is father's--shaped," said Joan; "how long and slender it
looks! I do hope that his will be the most beautiful of all, because he
is older, and because you have all learnt from him, and because--he is
father and there is no one like him!"
"No fear!" said Hugh. "I have seen his designs. Not one of us can
overpass him."
"Mother is not easy about him, either," said Joan, who had sat down and
clasped her hands round her knees. "He has pains in his head and
dizziness, and he will not have the leech because he says he talks so
foolishly about Mars and Venus, and father says he does not believe the
planets have aught to do with us. Dost thou think they have?"
"I know not," said Hugh unheeding. "Joan, hast thou heard where Roger's
is to be?"
"On the same side with father's, and Wat opposite, and Franklyn between
thee and Wat. Tell me once again how thine ivy is to curl."
From one cause or another there was a slight delay in the preparation of
Hugh's block. Something hindered Ned Parsons, or he was slower in his
work, or kept Mid-Lent too jovially; at any rate there was a check which
seemed very terrible to Hugh, and Roger and Wat were both at work before
him. Wat intended to carry out a bold design of leaf and fruit, but he
vowed that something grotesque there must be, and if he might not put
Agrippa there, he should have a neighbour's dog which had shown a great
liking for him. It must be owned that Wat was of a somewhat fickle
disposition, his fancy for angels and lily-bearing maidens was over, and
Mistress Thomasin was betrothed to a rich burgess. It seemed likely
that he would lose his heart and find it again many a time before the
final losing took place.
Meanwhile it was evident to more than the wife that something was amiss
with Elyas. He was at work on his corbel, but heavy-headed and
depressed, finding the carving for which he had longed a labour, and not
really making good progress. Of this he was fully conscious, so
conscious indeed, that a fear evidently oppressed him that his hand
might have lost its power, and he spoke of it anxiously to Hugh.
"I wot not why it is," he said, wearily passing his hand across his
face, "but though I know what I have to do, I fail in the doing. Come
with me to-day, Hugh, and see for thyself."
And, indeed, Hugh, when he had mounted the ladder and raised the cloth
concealing the carving, was fain to acknowledge that it was as Gervase
said. Instead of the firm and powerful strokes which marked his work in
all stages, there was a manifest feebleness, hesitation, and blurring
which filled Hugh with dismay. It was only the beginning; nothing was
there which might not be set right, but what if indeed his skill was
failing? He could hardly bear to meet the questioning in Gervase's
eyes.
"Master--it--it--"
"Speak out--speak freely," said Elyas hoarsely. "It is bad work?"
"It is not as thy work. Thou art ill, and thy hand feeble; wait a
little, and let the sickness pass."
The other shook his head.
"Nay, I dread to wait. Something, some fear of the morrow drives me on.
Hugh, this on which I have set my heart--is it to be snatched from me?
I see it before me, fair and beautiful, a joy for generations to come.
I can do it. I have never failed before, how can I fail now? And yet,
and yet--"
He covered his face with his hands. Hugh, inexpressibly moved, laid his
hand on his arm.
"Sir, dear sir, it is only a passing malady. In a few days you will
look back and smile at your fears. Come home and let Mistress Prothasy
make you a cooling drink."
But Elyas was obstinately determined to work while he could. Haunted by
a fear of disabling sickness, unable to believe that the next stroke he
made would not show all his old vigour, he toiled, struggled, and went
home more disheartened than ever. Yet there were no absolute marks of
illness about him, and Prothasy was neither fanciful nor over-anxious,
and the next day thought him better. Work over, Hugh went up to his
room to perfect his designs, for presently he was to begin. With his
board and burnt stick he traced in full the ivy clusters upon which he
had decided, carrying out all the smallest details, so that he might
have it well in his mind before he put his tool to the stone.
Satisfied he was not, but yet it seemed to him that the lines were
fairly good, and it was broad and simple, such as Gervase had suggested.
He had finished and was holding it at arm's length to search for
shortcomings when he was startled by a cry, and the next moment heard
Joan's voice calling wildly, "Hugh, Hugh!"
Hugh dashed the board on the ground, and rushed towards the cry. He
found Prothasy kneeling on the ground, holding her husband's head in her
lap, while Joan, with a terror-struck face, was unfastening his vest as
well as her trembling little hands would allow.
"The leech!" was all Prothasy could say, and Hugh was out of the door
the same moment, flying down the street in pursuit of the first
apothecary he could find, so that they were back before Prothasy had
dared to hope. It appeared that Elyas had but just come in from the
Cathedral, when, without warning, he dropped on the ground, cutting his
head against a sharp projection. He remained unconscious for many
hours, and the leech looked grave, the more so when it was found that
all one side was affected, so that his arm and leg were useless.
A heavy sadness hung over the house, even Hal hushing his malapert
tongue. The warden was greatly beloved by all; they were, moreover,
extremely proud of his genius, and now--was that strong right hand to
lie helpless! As the news spread some of the families near sent their
serfs to ask tidings; the good bishop came himself, full of grief.
"Truly, goodwife," he said to Prothasy, "this blow falls heavy on us
all. I know not what we can do without him, he has been the very spring
of our work, ever cheerful, ever ready, seeing to everything; in good
sooth we have had in him a support on which we have leaned more heavily
than we knew."
Prothasy stood up, white and cold, and apparently unmoved. Very few
were aware of the tempest which raged in her heart; bitter remorse for
many sharp words, passionate love, sickening anxiety. She had often
been jealous of the work which seemed to absorb Elyas, and many a time
had flouted him for some kind action of which she was secretly proud,
and against which she would not have said a word had she not known well
that he would not be shaken from it. And the worst was, that so strong
had grown the habit, that she was conscious now, in the midst of what
was little short of torture, that were he to recover from his sickness
it would be the same thing again. Joan little knew with what a weary
longing her mother looked at her--to be a child again, to have no chain
of habit binding her round and round, to be free!
For a few days the works in the Cathedral were stopped. The bishop
ordered this as a mark of respect to Gervase, the most self-denying mark
he could pay. There were many things to carry out in the yard, and
Franklyn, looking wretched, and perhaps, like Prothasy, bearing a burden
of self-reproach, kept strict rule, and would permit no idling. Hugh,
however, could be little there. After Gervase recovered his
consciousness it was plain enough that he liked Hugh to be with him.
They sometimes thought, from the wistful look in his eyes, that he
wanted to say something, but as yet his speech was unintelligible. Wat
was of no use in the sick-room; it was always impossible for him not to
make more noise than two or three others put together, even when he was
walking on tip-toe, and painfully holding his breath. But in the house
he was invaluable, thought nothing a trouble, would run here and there,
fetch the apothecary or the leech, or walk miles on any errands they
could devise. When three or four days had passed, and hope had
strengthened, Hugh found him one day belabouring Hal Crocker for having
ventured to tease Agrippa. Hal took advantage of the newcomer to
wriggle himself off and escape, making a face at Wat as he did so.
"That is the most incorrigible varlet in the town," said Wat, looking
after him wrathfully. "Now, is aught wanted?"
"No. He is sleeping."
"He will soon be himself again," said the other, joyfully, "and thou
wilt set to work."
They were both young and both hopeful.
"Ay, so I think," returned Hugh. "And thou, too?"
"Mine will not do the master much credit, though I have got a fancy for
my dog. When we are all gone and forgotten, there will Spot be, gazing
down on a fresh generation of citizens. Think of that, Hugh! What will
they be like, I wonder? New faces and new fashions. Come up the street
with me. The itinerant justices came this morning, and I want to know
what they have done to the forestaller whom they caught half-way to
Brampford Speke, meeting the people on their way to market Roger said he
was to have two years in gaol."
"Wat?"
"Ay."
"I wanted to ask thee. Thou rememberest the day the master was taken?"
"Ay."
"I was in our room, and had just drawn out my design on the board."
"Ay, thy head was full of thy old _surs_. Well?"
"When I heard them cry I ran down and flung it on the ground, and it is
gone."
"Gone! Oh, that thief Roger!"
"Thou thinkest so?"
"Thinkest? Who else? It was not I--nor Agrippa. Hast thou asked?"
"Ay, and he was very wroth."
Wat doubled his fists and made several significant movements.
"That is what he has been trying for--to get at thy designs, thine or
the master's. How couldst thou be such an oaf?"
"Who could think of it then?"
"He could, at any rate. He would think how to push himself to the front
if he had to do it over all our dead bodies. Say good-bye to thy
design, friend Hugh!"
"Nay, I'll not bear it," cried the young man, angrily; "if he use my
design I'll proclaim it through the town. And he works fast, and will
get the advantage of me, because the master will not spare me while he
is so ill. Out on him, what can I do?"
"Change thy design," advised Wat, sagely. "To whom canst thou complain
with the goodman ill? Franklyn ever favours Roger."
There was truth enough in the words to make Hugh very angry with the
feeling of having been treacherously dealt with, and of having no means
of righting himself. When, the next day, Roger went off to the
Cathedral, rightly or wrongly Wat and Hugh fancied there was an air of
triumph about him, which was infuriating. Hugh could not be spared, but
Wat vowed he would make out by one means or another what he was
intending to carve. He began by coming up to him as he stood at the
foot of the ladder choosing his chisel, and asking what was his subject.
It took Wat rather aback when Roger stared full in his face and
answered, "Ivy."
"Ivy! What, the same as Hugh?"
"I know naught of Hugh."
"That thou didst then. Thou hast heard him speak of it a dozen times."
"I have better things to do than to listen to idle prentice talk."
"The master can witness that thou heardest."
"Let him--when he can!" said Roger, with a hard laugh.
"Now, out on thee for a false loon!" cried Wat.
He might have said more but that two of the chapter were close at hand,
and he flung himself away with a heart full of rage, and betook himself
to his own corbel, on which he vented a good deal of force which he
would gladly have employed in pommelling Roger. And this having a
calming effect, he came to the conclusion that it would be best for Hugh
to take no notice of the older man's perfidy. There was no proof that
Roger had stolen the design, there was nothing except honour to prevent
his using the same foliage, and with Gervase ill, an accusation might
meet with little attention, and perhaps harm Hugh more than Roger.
Wat groaned, and dug in his tool with a violence which it cost him no
little trouble to repair.
Perhaps Hugh was helped to patience by the circumstances of Gervase's
illness. There was something so infinitely sad in this sudden check at
the time when all the master's hopes seemed to be on the point of
touching fulfilment, that such a disappointment as Hugh's must be
comparatively trifling. He was young, he could wait. Besides, he would
not count it as a disappointment, it was only a delay. Elyas was
already better, and probably in another week he would be free. And
meanwhile, if his design had been filched, he would work out another--
that he could do while in Gervase's room, and his hopes rose high. He
had chosen the ivy because the master had counselled simple forms, but
he felt as if now, with this taken from him, he was free to try a higher
flight, and he fell hopefully to work with all the glad consciousness of
power.
Elyas was better, but his speech remained much affected, and as his
strength returned, there were an evident restlessness and anxiety which
were alarming. It became, indeed, clear that something weighed on his
mind, and the leech showed more common sense than was usual with him
when he pronounced that, unless the trouble could be removed, it might
go hardly with his patient. Everybody, frightened out of their wits by
this prediction, tried their best to find out what was amiss. Prothasy
tried--with a patience which no one had seen in her before. Joan
tried--laying her pretty head fondly upon the poor useless right hand.
Hugh tried--and sometimes they fancied that his efforts came nearest to
the hidden trouble, though never quite reaching it. Hugh spoke of the
Cathedral works, of how Franklyn, Roger, Wat, and two other men had
begun, of how glad all would be when Elyas himself was able to be there
again. And then, fancying that perhaps he feared lest another should
touch his corbel, he told him that the bishop himself had said it should
wait for him even were all the others finished.
A feeble--so feeble as to be almost imperceptible--shake of the head
made Hugh impress this the more strongly, and then followed a painful
effort to make them understand something, of which they could not gather
the right meaning. It was terrible to Prothasy--almost more, indeed,
than she could bear.
The bishop heard of this drawback, for the warden's anxiety and distress
had the worst effect upon his strength, and they began very much to fear
that if they were not removed they might lead to another attack more
serious than the last. He came himself to see Gervase with the hope of
fathoming the trouble; and at any rate his visit gave pleasure, for the
sick man's eyes brightened as the bishop stood in the doorway and
uttered the words of peace. They could even make out a murmur of "This
is kind."
Bishop Bitton sat on the stool which Prothasy put for him, and set
himself to chat about all that was going on in the Cathedral. Then he
said--
"We think there is something on thy mind, goodman, which thou canst not
explain, and which retards thy recovery. It may be that I can arrive at
it, but do not try to speak. Here lies thy left hand. When thou
wouldst say Ay, lift thy forefinger so, and for Nay, keep thy hand
still. Now, first, is there something thou wouldst say?"
The finger was raised.
The good bishop nodded, proud of his ingenuity.
"Hath it aught to do with thy spiritual condition?"
No sign.
"Or thy worldly matters? Nay. Thy wife? Thy child? Any of thy
relations? Nay, to all. Then we will come to municipal matters. Doth
anything there weigh on thee? Still nay. Thy guild?"
The bishop persisted in a string of questions which brought no response,
before arriving at the subject of the Cathedral, which in his own mind
he doubted not was where the trouble lay. Indeed, his first question as
to whether it were not so, brought the lifted finger, and a hopeful
gleam in the eyes. Only Prothasy was in the room, Hugh having gone down
to the yard.
But, try as he might, the bishop found his task very difficult. They
narrowed the matter at last to the corbel, but Elyas got restless and
irritable with making efforts to speak and explain himself, and the
bishop laid his hand finally upon his arm, saying kindly--
"Have patience. We shall reach it in time. Thou dost but fever thyself
with vain struggles. Hearken. I have assured thee that we will wait
months, ay, years if thou wilt, till God gives back thy strength. Is
that what thou desirest?"
No sign.
"Nay?" repeated the bishop, in some surprise. He paused, and then bent
forward. "Wouldst thou then have another take the work? Ay? And carry
out thy designs? Ay, again. Goodman, were that not a pity? A little
patience and thy strength may come back, the leech says--"
But his words died away before the look which the sick man turned on
him. He looked away to collect himself.
"If it must be so," he said at length, hesitatingly. "Goodwife, you
understand it as I do? It is no doing of ours."
"Nay, my lord, it is clearly his wish," said Prothasy firmly.
"And now," Bishop Bitton continued, "we must know to whom thou wouldst
confide it. The other warden, John Hamlyn, ranks next to thee." But it
was evident that Gervase would have none of John Hamlyn.
"Walter Bennet?"
No.
"Well, it is natural thou wouldst keep it in thine own yard. William
Franklyn, thy head man?"
Still no.
The bishop pondered; named two other skilled workmen, and received no
assent.
"Thou thinkest well of thy Roger? Nay, again!--Wat?--who remains,
goodman? Thy prentice Hugh is too young."
But to the good bishop's amazement Elyas, looking eagerly at him,
raised, not the finger only, but the whole hand.
"Hugh! Thou wouldst choose Hugh! Bethink thee that he is but a
prentice, and when we gave him the work it was thought that thou wouldst
advise and help him."
Still there could be no doubt that this was the master's desire; Hugh
and none but Hugh was to carry out his design, and carve his corbel.
The bishop shook his head doubtfully, but he could not gainsay Elyas;
there was so much relief apparent in his face, and his lips moved as if
in thankfulness.
"It shall be as thou wilt," he said gravely.
He told Prothasy that she must use her judgment and send Hugh to his
work when Elyas could spare him, and went away, doubtful, it must be
owned, of his own wisdom in handing over one of the most prominent of
the corbels to the youngest of the carvers.