by Toni Mount
‘Aye, master.’
‘I asked Rose to whip some egg whites for us after we broke our fast. Fetch them from the kitchen, if you will, lass?’
‘You take a deal of time with your ’prentice, Master Seb,’ Ralf said as Kate scuttled off to the kitchen.
‘How else will she learn our craft?’
‘Master Linton never had the patience for it. He had a few ’prentices over the years but they never stayed long. None did their full term and learned little from him. What they did learn was mostly what I showed them how to do. Mind you, Master Linton might have given the youngsters little instruction but he was free enough with the rod. Many a beating did he give out.’
‘And what did you teach them, Ralf?’ I asked.
‘Well, though I says it myself, I know all about mixing the stuff you call gesso – I just call it a plaster because it needs to be as smooth but runny as a medicinal plaster. And gold leaf – I’ve always been good with that fine, tricky leaf.’
‘’Tis as well to know. If I fall any further behind with this commission, I may have to call upon your skills. Ah, Kate, you have the eggs. Now see this watery portion at the bottom of the bowl?’
‘Shall I throw that away?’
‘Indeed not! That be the part we require. Pour it on the mixture… carefully now. Keep it to the midst of the marble slab. Now mix it with the palette knife. Try to avoid spilling it over the edges… aye… well done.’
‘It’s very lumpy.’
‘Aye. ’Tis too dry. We need a little rainwater.’
‘There’s scented water in the bucket for hand-washing…’
‘Rainwater be preferable, Kate.’
‘Why?’
‘In truth, lass, I know not but ’tis the way I was taught and, since the method has not failed me yet, I will hold to it.’
‘I’ll fetch some from the butt, then. It’s a good thing we’ve had so much rain of late.’
‘And you’re honest too,’ Ralf said, continuing our conversation in Kate’s absence. ‘Master Linton would never admit he didn’t know something. His answer to young Kate’s question “Why?” would’ve been “Because I tell you so!” No patience had he.’
I thought upon Ralf’s comments as I awaited the lass’s return. If Guy Linton was such an impatient, surly fellow, who could say how many enemies he had made down the years? Apprentices denied their full term of indenture. Disgruntled fathers who had paid him to train their sons only to have them learn little and suffer too many beatings. If the man had many enemies, Bailiff Turner’s task would be the harder.
‘How much water shall I use, master?’
‘Add a few drops at a time. It will not do to make it too thin. It would run all over the underdrawing.’
‘What if I add too much?’
‘That would be a sorry thing. We would have to add more of each of the dry ingredients to achieve the correct consistency.’
‘Like making bread dough.’
‘Aye. Not unlike that. But then there would be more gesso than I can use afore it sets hard’
‘Couldn’t we save some for the morrow?’
‘Nay. Once the glair and water be added, it must be swiftly used. You have the mixture correct, I think, but keep turning it with the palette knife until it be silken-smooth and without any bubbles. If you leave bubbles, they will burst as the gesso sets and leave little pits. The surface must be as perfect as we can make it.’
I watched as Kate worked the paste, blending and smoothing.
‘Will that do, master? My arm’s aching.’
‘Aye. That be sufficient, lass. Bring the clean bowl and scrape it in. Do not waste any, leaving it upon the marble. Now I may do my part whilst you rest your arm. Come watch me; see how to apply the gesso to the vellum. I use a quill pen. Not a brush. I pour a drop or two only… just a little in the centre of the shape to be filled, then use the pen to guide it into every corner. I must act in haste, else it will begin to set. There! I have done St George’s halo. Next, the shield. This being a larger ground, I need more gesso and it will take longer to set. But, e’en so, I waste no time. Just push the paste to the point of the shield… thus… and ’tis done.’
‘Why don’t you use a brush, master?’
‘However thoroughly I might wash the brush after use, the least trace of gesso remaining would set hard and ruin the brush. Quills come more cheaply and be easier to clean.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We set the page aside to allow the gesso to dry and harden overnight. No more may be done to it until the morrow, when I shall show you how to smooth and level the surface and apply the leaf, trim and burnish it. In the meanwhile, I have other miniatures to do, laying out the underdrawings and denoting the pigments to be used. Why do you not go fetch ale for us all, lass? The chalk dust in the air makes my throat dry indeed and everyone else’s also, no doubt. Then you may aid Rose in the shop. I be certain she will be grateful for that, having much to do elsewhere.’
I settled at my desk, pen in hand, ink pot opened, ready to begin a drawing of men training their destriers for battle. This was but an excuse to draw horses – a subject much to my liking – but was an aspect of war dealt with in the book. As Vegetius wrote: busy occupations in deeds of arms profits more to keeping knights in good health than physicians or medicines. That must likely apply to their horses also and why should I not indulge my fancies once in a while? The full-page miniature allowed for five horses, each in a quite different pose: one being saddled, another at the trot on a long rein; a third with its rider charging at the quintain; the fourth being shod by a farrier and the fifth rearing up, tumbling its rider from its back. For this last, I composed a story in my head as I outlined it, as to why its rider deserved to be unhorsed and humiliated. It made me smile to think upon the beast taking its revenge for some act of mistreatment.
Afore I knew, Rose called us to dinner. I must cease allowing my imagination to conjure such foolish tales. They achieved naught but wasted time. I should work more swiftly if I kept my thoughts upon the task in hand. However, during the meal, I found myself wondering again if Guy had been murdered as an act of revenge? If so, then the same perpetrator likely also had a grudge against Philip Hartnell. I must enquire of Thaddeus, how his investigation was progressing – if it was.
‘Seb!’
‘Aye?’
‘I pray you, pass the salt,’ Adam said in a tone suggesting he had asked more than once.
‘Forgive me. My thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘And where was that? The pages of Vegetius?’ Adam suggested.
‘Drawing horses,’ Kate offered.
‘Thinking of a pretty wench, maybe?’ Ralf asked, knowing me not.
I shook my head.
‘None of those. I be considering these two murders of late, wondering what the victims had in common. There be something we have overlooked but I know not what.’
‘I wouldn’t worry your head about it, Master Seb,’ Ralf said. ‘Guy Linton’s not worth the headache it’ll cause. Besides, ’tis the bailiff’s work, not yours.’
‘My cousin oftentimes helps the bailiff solve crimes,’ Adam told him, then went on to tell Ralf all about our search for a missing child, not so long since, and our misadventures across the river. There was a deal of embellishment, embroidery and exaggeration, all of which had the old man wide-eyed with wonder.
‘Don’t believe everything Adam relates,’ I warned him. ‘’Twas more about mud and lost boots than deeds of valour.’ I passed Rose my empty bowl for washing, realising as I did so that I could not recall having eaten the contents nor what they were. ‘Come, we must return to our work, although I should visit Giles Honeywell to purchase the brushes I need to replace those that were ruined. I shall require them in the morn.’
As we went to the workshop, my ears were yet sh
arp enough to hear what Ralf whispered to Adam behind his hand: ‘Your kinsman’s a hard taskmaster but at least he drives none harder than he drives himself.’ At which Adam chuckled and answered: ‘’Tis but for your sake, to make a good show. Mostly, he’s as idle as the next fellow.’
I did not much like my cousin’s disparaging remark and hoped it was made in jest. I ne’er considered myself a lazy man but might I seem that way to others? I opened my purse to make certain I had sufficient coin to buy the items I required. There was sufficient.
‘I be going to Paul’s, to Giles Honeywell for new brushes,’ I said.
‘Pity you can’t have the ones from Linton’s workshop,’ Ralf said. ‘He always bought naught but the best of everything, yet I never saw him use them. Don’t know how he could afford such expense; we didn’t make much profit. In truth, I reckon he ran up debts everywhere. I know he hadn’t paid the apothecary for inks for months because the fellow came in person to demand payment only a few days before Linton was… aye, well… And I know he owed money to that miserable vintner he was painting the portrait for and seeing he didn’t much like wine, it can’t have been that he was paying for. If you ask me, there was more going on betwixt them two… I never took to that man.’
‘Indeed. No matter. I shall return in haste.’
St Paul’s Cathedral
I strode directly to Honeywell’s stall in the cathedral nave, intending to waste not a moment in idle talk, certain Giles would serve my needs.
‘Good day, Master Honeywell.’
‘And good day to you, Master Foxley. How’s business? Are you well? And that little lad of yours…’ Giles was ever a one for gossiping.
‘All as it should be, I thank you. But I be falling behind with my work and I require three squirrel-hair brushes of differing sizes, if you please?’
‘But you bought all my best ones not so long since. What do you do with them? Eat them?’ He laughed.
‘They were all ruined by a, er, stray chicken.’
Giles laughed louder.
‘You hear that, Hal?’ he said to the fellow on the neighbouring stall – likewise a stationer though he dealt more with the necessaries of book-binding than illumination. ‘Brushes got eaten by a chicken. How did that happen, then?’
‘Please. Just show me your selection of brushes.’
‘I’ve only got badger or horse-hair. I haven’t had time to re-stock the squirrel since you bought the last lot. I could get some in a week or so.’
‘Nay. I have need of them directly.’
‘Sorry, Master Foxley. Hal! Do you have any squirrel brushes to sell?’
‘Nope,’ said his neighbour. ‘Try Joanna Crabtree, down by the font. She sometimes has squirrel. If not, her goodman makes brushes. You could order some special.’
‘My thanks. I shall enquire of her.’
It took an hour of vexation afore I managed to purchase what I needed.
Joanna Crabtree had plenty of brushes but none suited my exact requirements. The shafts felt heavy in my hand and would make the fine details of painting difficult to achieve. Of course, I might trim the brush-heads to shape and shorten the shafts to reduce their weight but they would yet be unwieldy tools. I did not want to make do but would have the best for the king’s commission.
Eventually, I found a weasel-faced little fellow in the south transept, a pedlar with but two brushes for sale from his pack. Had I not been desperate, I should not have asked to look closer at his wares. Yet, as happenstance would have it, the brushes were beautifully made and perfectly balanced for me. Brought from and made for the illuminators at Lincoln Cathedral, he told me, and the price he asked was far cheaper than at any stationers’ stalls. A bargain, indeed. So much so, I told the fellow to keep the ha’penny change he offered.
‘Next time you visit Lincoln,’ I said, ‘Any good brushes you can buy, fetch them back for me and I shall pay you well. You can find me at the sign of the Fox’s Head in Paternoster Row.’
Content with my new brushes, I hastened home, knowing much precious time had been lost.
The Sun in Splendour Tavern
Having paid Ralf his first day’s wages, he insisted that Adam and I join him at the tavern, to share a jug at his expense, to celebrate his change in fortune, working with us and biding ’neath our roof.
I was not much of a mind to do so, certain the Norfolk men would have a good deal to say to each other and few words for me, as at the Boar’s Head yestereve. But Ralf insisted and it seemed churlish to refuse. Yet I proved correct. The pair was soon bent over their cups, heads together, chuckling over jests peculiar to their home shire – merry jests beyond a Londoner’s comprehension. Thus it was that I fell into conversation with – of all people – John, our very own Adonis of Farringdon Ward, he with whom Adam had nigh come to blows, recently.
The handsome fellow approached me as I sat back, leaning against the wall, sipping my ale and, quite plainly, uninvolved in the conversation at the other end of the board.
‘Good even to you, Master Foxley. I see this stool is vacant. May I sit?’ At least he had manners enough to ask and, since the tavern was somewhat crowded, I could hardly deny him the empty seat.
‘As you will.’
‘I’m glad of the chance to speak with you, Master Foxley.’
I did not much approve his free usage of my name when I did but know him as John. Neither could I imagine what matter he might possibly wish to discuss with me. Fortunately, he had a full cup of ale in his hand, so I did not feel obliged to share our jug with him. As it was, Adam and Ralf had nigh drained it to the dregs in any case.
‘Concerning what? Your name be John. I know naught else of you.’
‘Ah, how discourteous of me. John Rykener, at your service, good master.’
The name chimed with some distant memory but I could not own it for the present.
‘You know my name, Master Rykener. How come?’
‘I am no man’s master. All call me John… when the occasion suits.’ He smiled, showing even white teeth. ‘I know of you from your kinsman, Adam, and other sources. Adam told me you were aiding Bailiff Turner in investigating the death of the cutler, Philip Hartnell. I have information that may be of value to you.’
‘Of value? Do you mean to say that you require payment for it? In which case, I recommend you take this valuable information to Bailiff Turner at Guildhall. I have little to do with such matters and less interest. Tell the bailiff…’ I rose to leave but John held my arm in a graceful but firm grip.
‘The bailiff and I are acquainted but not in any amicable wise – if you take my meaning.’
‘You have fallen foul of the law at some time, then.’
He shrugged.
‘In a way. ’Tis enough to say I do not want to take my knowledge of Philip Hartnell’s affairs to him but I would tell you, if you will listen. And I didn’t mean to suggest that my information came at a price but rather that it could be of value in bringing Philip’s killers to justice.’
I sipped my ale, thinking the while.
‘Very well. Tell me what you know and I will inform Bailiff Turner of it, if I see it as relevant. Master Hartnell was a friend of yours?’
‘More a good customer than a friend. But he told me much of his affairs.’
‘And what manner of craft or service do you provide that a customer should reveal his business to you?’
‘A very personal service. Intimate, in fact. You’d be surprised at the things folk tell you as you lie together, sweaty and satisfied, afterwards.’
‘What!’ I almost toppled off my stool, aghast at this revelation. ‘B-but you… you be a man! How could you and Hartnell…’
John laughed so loudly heads turned.
‘Keep your voice down, Master Foxley.’
‘’Tis you that laughed aloud.’
‘Aye. The look upon your face… how could I not laugh? This is London. Everything on earth goes on in this city… every vice, every crime man can invent. Besides, I never said I lay with Philip as a man. He preferred me as a lady, Eleanor.’
‘Eleanor! I remember now. You accosted me in Southwark at Eastertide, you disreputable… rascal.’ I had difficulty finding a word to describe this creature that could be man or woman upon a whim. I brought to mind the lovely-seeming creature in Bankside. Aye, with gorgeous hair and faultless complexion… ’Twas the same who sat here now.
‘You recall me, at last. It took you a deal of time and there was I thinking I was a memorable sort.’ He drained his cup and beckoned the tapster to refill it. ‘But forget that now. Do you wish to learn of Philip’s affairs or not?’
‘Not if they involve such… such goings-on.’
‘I swear I’ll not mention that side of our business but he was deeply indebted. Did you know that?’
‘I know he pawned his silver candlesticks.’
‘Tush. Trading pennies. No. Philip owed hundreds of marks to the Italian bankers in Lombard Street. They were demanding payment and he feared them so. And how did he pay them? He borrowed more money elsewhere from folk even more dubious than the Italians. All he did was spread his debts yet wider across the city, owing larger amounts to more people. It didn’t surprise me, Master Foxley, to hear one of his creditors grew tired of waiting for repayment.’
I sat silent, thinking a while. It seemed to make sense in some ways and yet…
‘Why would a creditor kill him? If the man had no money to pay, pawned what he owned of any value, how was a creditor hoping to collect his due, if the debtor could no longer earn any coin? His estate could pay off some after his death but, if what you say be true, there be little possibility of it covering all his debts.’ I was about to tell him how the victim was tortured but did not do so. That was not yet common knowledge and I kept my tongue in check. ‘Do you know the names of those he borrowed from, perchance?’