buthe carried on the designs of his predecessor with enthusiastic loyalty,and completed the eastern end of the choir. It was this on which heconstantly desired to consult Gervase.
"The work goes on well," he said cheerfully, rubbing his hands. "Youhave caught the true spirit. We shall never see our glorious Churchfinished, goodman, yet it is something to feel that we shall have leftbehind us something towards it. _Quam dilecta tabernacula tua, Dominevirtutum_! I like the lightness of that stonework, and mine eye isnever weary of following the noble lines of vaulting. Only I shall notrest until something has been designed to unite it with the pillars.There is a blank look which offends me."
"I see it, too, my lord. Is it not the very place for a richly carved_surs_ (corbel)?"
"Ay, that is it, that is it! A corbel which should spring from thepillar, and follow the line of the arch. We must reflect on this,Master Gervase, and they shall be of finest cutting, and each varyingfrom the other. But we may not think of this yet awhile, for trulythere is enough on hand to call for all thy skill and industry. Howfair it looks, with the winter sunshine striking on the fair stonework!_Non nobis, Domine_!"
One or two of the canons had by this time closed up, and began to speakof what had been done.
"When the western end is brought to equal the eastern," said one ofthem, William Pontington by name, "there will be no church in our landmore fair. What will the king say?"
"The king is not in the best of humours with his clergy," said thechaunter or precentor, a little dried-up man, with a sour face. "Whatthink you, my lord, of the archbishop's mandate?"
The good bishop looked uneasy. Winchilsey, Archbishop of Canterbury,was a turbulent and ambitious prelate, and the king, though sincerelyreligious, was forced to be ever on the watch against encroachments madeby Pope Boniface, and supported by the archbishop, which threatened theroyal supremacy. The strongest attempt of all had just been put forthin a bull from the pope, "forbidding the clergy to grant to laymen anypart of the revenues of their benefices without the permission of theHoly See." Now as the kings of England had ever the right of taxing theclergy with the rest of their subjects, as the possessions of the Churchwere enormous, and papal taxation of the whole kingdom far exceeded thetaxation by the State, so that in a few years the pope is said to havereceived money from England equal to nine millions of our present money,Edward promptly resisted this fresh and unheard-of claim. He did so bya simple and effectual counter-stroke. It was announced at Westminsterthat whatever complaint was brought to the court by the archbishops,bishops, or clergy, "no justice should be done them," and thiswithdrawal of State protection speedily led the clergy to offer theirsubmission to the king, in spite of the anger of pope and archbishop.
But the dissension had placed them on the horns of a dilemma, and BishopBitton had no liking for speech on the subject. He muttered somethingin answer to the precentor's injudicious question, and turned to Hugh,who was standing a short way from the group.
"There is thy penny for thee," said the bishop, beckoning to him, "andnow tell me, sir apprentice, whether thou art a good lad, and learningthy craft fairly and truly, so that in time thou mayest have thy sharein this great work of ours?"
Hugh coloured crimson, and looked down, and Elyas came to his rescue.
"He hath not been with me yet three months, my lord, so please you, andhalf that time hath been ill; but he is the child of the wood-carver ofwhom I spoke, and, if he is industrious, I have good hope he will credithis father."
"And what part wilt thou choose for thy share?" asked the bishop, with awave of his gloved hand towards roof and walls.
"The corbels, my lord," answered Hugh, boldly. Bitton looked delighted.
"So thou hast caught our words, and wilt bespeak the work thyself?Well, I shall not forget. Learn with all thy might, and, who knows,some day thy carving may help to decorate this our Church of StPeter's?"
After this, when the bishop caught sight of Hugh, he never failed tospeak to him and ask how his learning fared. And hearing from Elyasthat the boy could read and write, he arranged that on Sundays he shouldcome to the Kalendarhay, where one of the Kalendar brothers instructedhim.
When Twelfth-Night was over, Hugh went back to the yard, where work wasexpected to go on vigorously after the feasting and mirth of thatseason, which was loud and boisterous. On the eve the town was full ofminstrels, who carried huge bowls of wassail--ale, sugar, nutmegs, androasted apples--to the houses of the well-to-do inhabitants, and Wat, asit may be conceived, had his full share in these doings. In the countrythere was a curious pagan ceremony kept up in Devonshire on this night,for at the farms the farmer and his men would carry a great pitcher ofcider into the orchard, and choosing the best bearing tree, walksolemnly round it, and drink its health three times.
Master Gervase grew somewhat red and shamefaced when his wife remindedhim that he had often been the pitcher-bearer on his father's farm.
"It was there I first saw thee," she said, "and my mother pointed theeout, and said thou wast as strong as Edulf."
"Who was Edulf?" asked Hugh of Wat, under his breath.
"The strongest man that ever lived. He came to Exeter in a rage, andbroke the iron gate with his two hands," expounded Wat, stuffing a largepiece of pasty into his mouth.
"The strongest man that ever lived was Samson," said Hugh, dogmatically.
"Samson! Nobody ever heard of him, and I tell thee Edulf was thestrongest."
The quarrel might have grown, but that Franklyn growled at them to hushtheir unmannerly prating; and Joan announced in her clear, decided voicethat Agrippa should have his special Twelfth-night spice-cake. For inspite of her mother's loud remonstrances, the monkey had been taken intoJoan's heart of hearts, and, it was certain, was secure from anysentence of banishment.
Franklyn had been a good deal shocked by Hugh's flight and illness, but,as was natural, the impression passed away as the little apprenticeregained his health, and Elyas saw that he was not inclined to changehis treatment. For the reasons already given, the master had no thoughtof interfering, it was for the boy now to prove what stuff he had inhim. It was a sort of ordeal through which he had to pass; an ordealwhich might develop patience, resolution, and the humility of a trueartist, and though Gervase told himself that he would be on the watch,ready with words of encouragement when they were needed, he held backfrom more. Hugh had the same rough, uninteresting work to toil upon--indeed the stone had been set aside for his return; the same carefulexplanations of how to handle his tools and make his strokes, which hetook to be a reflection on his father's teaching; the same lack ofpraise. But now he brought to it a more cheerful spirit, hope wasastir; he felt sure that the master was watching his efforts, and thatit rested with himself and his own perseverance to make his way. It wasnot easy. Often he grew hot and angry; often he was tempted intocareless work; but he would not give up trying, and upon the whole heldon very fairly.
Then, in spite of his awkwardnesses and a dense stupidity about hiswork, Wat was a good-natured companion, ready to take any trouble and tocarry any blame. He had been so often told by Franklyn that he wouldnever rise to more than a mason, that he had grown to accept the verdictagainst which Hugh was always trying to make him rebel.
"He knows best," he would say, hammering loosely at the stone.
"What an oaf thou art, Wat! It all rests with thyself. Franklyn shouldnever make me a mason."
"Because--there, I have chipped it!" scratching his head in dismay.
"And small wonder! Give me thy tool, which thou holdest as the goodwifeholds her knife--so!"
"If I thought it were any use--" began the disconsolate Wat.
"Try and see."
"And thou thinkest I might catch the trick of it?"
"Try. There, now go on. Thou knowest as well as any how to hold thetools."
So far as impatience and calling of names went Hugh was a hardertaskmaster than Franklyn, but he put more energy into his teaching, anddragged
the reluctant Wat along by sheer force of will, the result beingthat, though he got no praise for himself, some fell to his pupil, whichreally pleased him as much as if it had been the other way.
Wat was the great purveyor of news; no one knew how he picked up hisinformation, but nothing happened in the city but it somehow reached hisears before it was half an hour old. He knew of all the quarrelsbetween the bishop and chapter and the mayor and his twenty-fourcouncillors or aldermen, and how two of the canons fell upon two of thebailiffs and pommelled them vigorously, before even the mayor's wife hadbeen informed of the scandal. He it was who reported the falling outbetween Sir Baldwin de Fulford and his wife, because she wanted anextravagantly fine chaplet of gold, the cost of which displeased him.It seemed that there were great
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