Epic Historial Collection (193 page)

Consequently the work on the roof had stopped.

All the town's builders came to the funeral, including Elfric. Merthin tried to look unashamed as he stood in the church, but it was difficult: most of them knew he had been dismissed. He had been unjustly treated but, unfortunately, he was not completely innocent.

Howell had had a young wife who was friendly with Caris, and now Caris walked in with the widow and the bereaved family. Merthin moved next to Caris and told her what had happened with Elfric.

Father Joffroi conducted the service dressed in an old robe. Merthin thought about the roof. It seemed to him there must be a way to dismantle it without closing the church. The standard approach, when repairs had been postponed too long and the timbers were too badly rotted to bear the weight of workmen, was to build scaffolding around the church and knock the timbers down into the nave. The building was then open to the elements until the new roof was finished and tiled. But it should be possible to build a swiveling hoist, supported by the thick side wall of the church, which would lift the roof timbers up one by one, instead of pushing them down, and swing them across the wall and down into the graveyard. That way, the wooden ceiling could be left intact, and replaced only after the roof had been rebuilt.

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 laborers 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 laborer, 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 someplace 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 dependent, 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.

17

A
ll 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.

It was not that Wulfric was wary. On the contrary, he was open and friendly. He talked about his family, and told her how he wept every morning when he woke up and realized their deaths were not a dream. He was considerate, asking whether she was tired and needed to rest. He told her that he felt land was a trust, something a man held for a lifetime then passed to his heirs, and that when he improved his land—by weeding fields, fencing sheepfolds, or clearing stones from pasture—he was fulfilling his destiny.

He even patted Skip.

By the end of the day she was more in love with him than ever. Unfortunately, he showed no sign of feeling anything for her more than a kind of camaraderie, caring but not passionate. In the forest with Sim Chapman, she had wished with all her heart that men were not so much like wild beasts; but now she wanted Wulfric to have a bit more of the beast in him. All day she did little things to arouse his interest. As if by accident, she let him see her legs, which were firm and shapely. When the terrain was hilly, she made it an excuse to take deep breaths and stick out her chest. At every opportunity she brushed against him, touched his arm, or put a hand on his shoulder. None of it had the least effect. She was not pretty, she knew, but there was something about her that often made men look hard at her and breathe through their mouths—but it was not working on Wulfric.

They stopped for a rest at noon, and ate the bread and cheese they carried with them; but they drank water from a clear stream, using their hands as cups, and she had no opportunity to give him the potion.

All the same, she was happy. She had him all to herself for a whole day. She could look at him, talk to him, make him laugh, sympathize with him, and occasionally touch him. She pretended to herself that she could kiss him anytime she liked, but that at the moment she was not so disposed. It was almost like being married. And it was over too soon.

They arrived in Wigleigh early in the evening. The village stood on a rise, its fields sloping away to all sides, and it was always windy. After two weeks in the bustle of Kingsbridge, the familiar place seemed small and quiet, just a scatter of rough dwellings along the road that led to the manor house and the church. The manor was as large as a Kingsbridge merchant's home, with bedrooms on an upper floor. The priest's house was also a fine dwelling, and a few of the peasant houses were substantial. But most of the homes were two-room hovels, one room normally being occupied by livestock and the other serving as kitchen and bedroom for all the family. Only the church was built of stone.

The first of the more substantial houses belonged to Wulfric's family. Its doors and shutters were closed, giving it a desolate look. He walked past it to the second big house, which was where Annet lived with her parents. He gave Gwenda a casual wave of farewell and went inside, smiling in anticipation.

She felt the sharp tug of loss, as if she had just woken out of a delightful dream. She swallowed her discontent and set out across the fields. The early June rain had been good for the crops, and the wheat and barley were green, but now they needed sunshine to ripen them. Village women were moving along the rows of grain, bent double, pulling up weeds. Some waved to her.

As she approached her home, Gwenda felt a mixture of apprehension and anger. She had not seen her parents since the day her father had sold her to Sim Chapman for a cow. Almost certainly, Pa thought she was still with Sim. Her appearance would come as a shock. What would he say when he saw her? And what was she going to say to the father who had betrayed her trust?

She felt sure her mother knew nothing of the sale. Pa had probably told Ma some story about Gwenda running off with a boy. Ma was going to fly into a fearsome rage.