Ken Follett - World Without End

At the graveside, he looked at the men one by one, wondering which of them was most likely to employ him. He decided to approach Bill Watkin, the town’s second largest builder and no admirer of Elfric’s. Bill had a bald dome with a fringe of black hair, a natural version of the monkish tonsure. He did most of the house building in Kingsbridge. Like Elfric, he employed a stonemason and a carpenter, a handful of labourers and one or two apprentices.

Howell had not been prosperous, and his body was lowered into the grave in a shroud, without a coffin.

When Father Joffroi had departed, Merthin approached Bill Watkin. “Good day, Master Watkin,” he said formally.

Bill’s response was not warm. “Well, young Merthin?”

“I’ve parted company with Elfric.”

“I know that,” said Bill. “And I know why.”

“You’ve heard Elfric’s side of the story.”

“I’ve heard all I need to hear.”

Elfric had been talking to people before and during the service, Merthin realized. He was sure Elfric had left out of his account the fact that Griselda had tried to make Merthin the substitute father for Thurstan’s baby. But he felt he would do himself no good by making excuses. Better to admit his fault. “I realize I did wrong, and I’m sorry, but I’m still a good carpenter.”

Bill nodded agreement. “The new ferry testifies to that.”

Merthin was encouraged. “Will you hire me?”

“As what?”

“As a carpenter. You said I was a good one.”

“But where are your tools?”

“Elfric wouldn’t give them to me.”

“And he was right – because you haven’t finished your apprenticeship.”

“Then take me on as an apprentice for six months.”

“And give you a new set of tools for nothing at the end of it? I can’t afford that kind of generosity.” Tools were expensive because iron and steel were costly.

“I’ll work as a labourer, and save up to buy my own tools.” It would take a long time, but he was desperate.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got a daughter too.”

This was outrageous. “I’m not a menace to maidens, you know.”

“You’re an example to apprentices. If you get away with this, what’s to stop the others trying their luck?”

“That is so unjust!”

Bill shrugged. “You might think so. But ask any other master carpenter in town. I think you’ll find they feel as I do.”

“But what am I to do?”

“I don’t know. You should have thought of that before you shagged her.”

“You don’t care about losing a good carpenter?”

Bill shrugged again. “All the more work for the rest of us.”

Merthin turned away. That was the trouble with guilds, he thought bitterly: it was in their interest to exclude people, for good or bad reasons. A shortage of carpenters would just drive up their wages. They had no incentive to be fair.

Howell’s widow left, accompanied by her mother. Caris, liberated from her duty of commiseration, came over to Merthin. “Why do you look unhappy?” she said. “You hardly knew Howell.”

“I may have to leave Kingsbridge,” he said.

She went pale. “Why on earth would you do that?”

He told her what Bill Watkin had said. “So, you see, no one in Kingsbridge will hire me, and I can’t work on my own account for I’ve no tools. I could live with my parents, but I can’t take the food from their mouths. So I’ll have to seek work some place where no one knows about Griselda. In time, perhaps I can save up enough money to buy a hammer and chisel and then move to another town and try to gain admittance to the carpenters’ guild.”

As he explained this to Caris, he began to appreciate the full misery of the situation. He saw her familiar features as if for the first time, and he was enchanted again by her sparkling green eyes, her small, neat nose and the determined set of her jaw. Her mouth, he realized, did not quite fit the rest of her face: it was too wide, and the lips were too full. It unbalanced the regularity of her physiognomy the way her sensual nature subverted her tidy mind. It was a mouth made for sex, and the thought that he might have to go away and never kiss it again filled him with despair.

Caris was furious. “This is iniquitous! They have no right.”

“That’s what I think. But there seems to be nothing I can do about it. I just have to accept it.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s think about this. You can live with your parents, and have your dinner at my house.”

“I don’t want to become a dependant, like my father.”

“Nor should you. You can buy Howell Tyler’s tools – his widow was just telling me she’s asking a pound for them.”

“I haven’t any money.”

“Ask my father for a loan. He’s always liked you, I’m sure he’ll do it.”

“But it’s against the rules for anyone to employ a carpenter who isn’t in the guild.”

“Rules can be broken. There must be someone in town desperate enough to defy the guild.”

Merthin realized he had allowed the old men to quench his spirit, and he was grateful to Caris for refusing to accept defeat. She was right, of course: he should stay in Kingsbridge and fight this unjust ruling. And he knew someone who was in desperate need of his talents. “Father Joffroi,” he said.

“Is he desperate? Why?”

Merthin explained about the roof.

“Let’s go and see him,” Caris said.

The priest lived in a small house next to the church. They found him preparing a dinner of salt fish in a stew with spring greens. Joffroi was in his thirties, built like a soldier, tall with broad shoulders. His manner was brusque, but he had a reputation for sticking up for the poor.

Merthin said: “I can repair your roof without closing your church.”

Joffroi looked wary. “You’re an answer to prayer if you can.”

“I’ll build a hoist that will lift the roof timbers and deposit them in the graveyard.”

“Elfric sacked you.” The priest shot an embarrassed look in Caris’s direction.

She said: “I know what happened, Father.”

Merthin said: “He dismissed me because I would not marry his daughter. But the child she is bearing is not mine.”

Joffroi nodded. “Some say you were treated unjustly. I can believe it. I have no great love for the guilds – their decisions are rarely unselfish. All the same, you haven’t completed your apprenticeship.”

“Can any member of the carpenters’ guild repair your roof without closing your church?”

“I heard you haven’t even got any tools.”

“Leave that problem to me to solve.”

Joffroi looked thoughtful. “How much do you want to be paid?”

Merthin stuck his neck out. “Four pence a day, plus the cost of materials.”

“That’s a journeyman carpenter’s wage.”

“If I don’t have the skill of a qualified carpenter, you shouldn’t hire me.”

“You’re cocky.”

“I’m just saying what I can do.”

“Arrogance is not the worst sin in the world. And I can afford four pence a day if I can keep my church open. How long will it take you to build your hoist?”

“Two weeks at the most.”

“I’m not going to pay you until I can be sure it will work.”

Merthin breathed in. He would be penniless, but he could cope with that. He could live with his parents and eat at Edmund Wooler’s table. He would get by. “Pay for the materials, and save my wages up until the first roof timber is removed and safely brought to ground.”

Joffroi hesitated. “I’ll be unpopular… but I have no choice.” He held out his hand.

Merthin shook it.

All the way from Kingsbridge to Wigleigh – a distance of twenty miles, a full day’s walk – Gwenda was hoping for a chance to use the love potion; but she was disappointed.