Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

And as he waited there, he saw Juliana’s gaze pass along the men at this side of the Cathedral, saw her notice him, look him over appraisingly. With a thrill of amusement Sir Thomas realised that her look was as blatant as a whore’s. Her husband didn’t look up: he was praying, Sir Thomas saw as he returned her smile. Karvinel was bending his head and murmuring quietly, crossing himself regularly.

‘As you should,’ Sir Thomas whispered to himself. ‘After you murdered Hamond.’

Brother Stephen watched the two Secondaries return to their places in the stalls. Adam stood facing him, while Jolinde was in the row immediately before him, and Stephen could look down upon his tonsured head.

The service was not as beautiful as that of the night before. The midnight ceremony, the Angel’s Mass of Christmas Eve, was intended to reinforce the notion that the light of salvation appeared at the darkest moment in the depths of winter, and because it was held by candlelight many people came to witness it, but fewer attended this, the Shepherd’s Mass. It was difficult to persuade people to go to any service at dawn, but today only the most determined and committed would come – especially if they had been up late the night before to attend the Angel’s Mass.

He sensed that the choir was lightening and glanced up, past the altar. Although there was a massive wooden partition to separate the nave from the new choir and high altar which were still being built, there were slats in the screen to allow the light to enter. In years to come he would be able to look up from his stall and behold the sunlight streaming in through the coloured glass panels of the new eastern window. He longed for that day. It would be a wonderful sight. Once he had seen it, he could die happily, for then he would know that his most important work, that of ensuring that the Cathedral could afford to pay for this rebuilding, would be almost done.

So many years of effort. Stephen sighed inwardly as he thought about it. The man with the vision had been the first Bishop Walter – Bishop Bronescombe. It was said that he had had the idea while attending the consecration of Salisbury Cathedral. That was in 1258, more than sixty years ago, and so far only the new choir’s external works had been finished. There was still at least another five or six years’ work in fittings: the reredos , the new Bishop’s throne, the pulpitum and the sedilia . Until they were all completed, the choir would remain out here in the ancient Norman nave, often singing in the dark, all waiting for the time when they could migrate beyond the wooden fence that kept them from the new building. And then all the services could be held in there, while this, the oldest remaining part of the church itself, could be razed to the ground – well, to the window sills, anyway – before being built up, layer on layer, in the new style. It would be at least another sixty years before the project was complete.

But Stephen would have succeeded in completing his task if the works could progress during and after his life. It was his duty to ensure that the funds were there.

Of course, Bishop Walter Stapledon was a good financial bulwark against the problems which invariably occurred. He took as much interest in the rebuilding as Stephen himself, walking about under the gantries and scaffoldings with the eye of a man used to overseeing such works. Stapledon had already contributed much of his own money to building a school in Exeter and a college in Oxford, for he was firmly convinced of the importance of education. He believed that all his priests should receive constant training, and he was committed to finding the best scholars from all over Devon and giving them the benefit of a true education. To Stephen’s knowledge, Walter Stapledon was the most widely travelled Bishop the Chapter had ever possessed, constantly on the move and dropping in on all the parishes within his See. He took such matters seriously, for how could a Bishop be sure that the poor souls within that See were being properly guided if he didn’t know the strengths of his priests?

And while travelling over his See, he found boys who could be of benefit to the Cathedral or used in churches. If they had the ability to learn, they could be moulded to be useful. Bishop Stapledon had found many like that. Adam was one such, as were Luke and Henry. All of them had been found and saved from lives of irredeemable poverty, educated to the limits of their abilities and trained to sing and praise God.

Luke, of course, had to be recommended to the Bishop, but Stephen couldn’t regret his actions. At the time he was convinced it was best for the boy and for the Cathedral; but he was less convinced of Adam. The boy helped about the place, it was true, but he had an unpleasant streak in his nature. Not really suitable material for the Cathedral. He was capable of making and distributing candles, delivering loaves within the Close, sweeping floors or cleaning metalwork, but he was a sad failure when it came to Latin, to writing or counting. The best that could be said of him was that he had found his niche. He would certainly never advance, whatever the Dean wished.

The Dean stood. Stephen idly considered the importance of Mass. In a normal day a priest was allowed to say only one Mass. All others were given by different priests. There were few exceptions to this rule. On Good Friday no Masses were permitted, because of the Agony of the Crucifixion, so on Easter Day two Masses were allowed, as they were on special occasions such as marriages or funerals. On Christmas Day three Masses were needed.

Funerals. Stephen thought again about the death of the Secondary. It was a shame that a man so young should have his life ended, but the fellow shouldn’t have tried to commit theft. Stephen would have to consider raising the matter in Chapter. The Secondary had committed the heinous crime of theft from the Cathedral; he couldn’t be given a funeral within these sacred grounds. Although many would argue that he deserved kindness, that he should be buried like any other cleric, that there was no proof of his guilt, Stephen had no such qualms.

Peter Golloc had deserved to die, the liar!

Nicholas Karvinel went home with his wife as soon as the service was over. They must prepare for the feast at Vincent le Berwe’s, making themselves look presentable, clean and grateful , Nick thought savagely.

Gratitude was to be his lot in future, so far as Vincent was concerned. The latter obviously thought that Nick would be thankful for whatever morsels fell from his plate. If there was something that he could give to his poor friend, Vincent’s smug attitude seemed to imply, then he would be glad to help. It was like receiving charity, and all the more frustrating and humiliating because Nicholas couldn’t complain to anyone about it.

At his door he handed Juliana inside, but then a spirit of rebellion rose in his breast and he walked out to John Renebaud’s tavern. It was near his house, a haven to which he often repaired. Vincent patronised it too, but he would be busy at home. He needed a few moments’ peace, a quart of ale or a pint of good strong wine to set him up so that he could tolerate the graciousness of the good Receiver of the City, Vincent le Berwe. For although Karvinel was out of the woods now, thanks to his little windfall, courtesy of the Cathedral, he couldn’t let anyone know. The theft was too recent. Were they to hear of his sudden wealth, they might guess at the source of it – and that would be catastrophic. No, better keep his mouth shut. He would continue paying cash from his meagre supply of coins, waiting until he saw a suitable opportunity to declare his wealth. A ship with goods for him, something that would explain the appearance of his new money. After all, any man could speculate; a glover could double his income with a lucky gamble on a shipload of spices.