London - Edward Rutherfurd [104]
All Leofric knew, as he gazed at them, was that one of these two young men apparently wanted to marry his daughter.
So troubled was he by this thought that for a few moments he entered a kind of daze, and at first did not quite take in what Henri was earnestly telling him. “A great day for my family . . .” he was saying. “My father is building a church.”
A church! Now Leofric was all attention. He gazed at Henri in wonder. “Your father is endowing a church?” The young man nodded.
The Norman must be rich indeed, far richer than Leofric had realized. No wonder the priests were treating him with such respect.
There were already more than thirty churches in the Anglo-Danish city. Most were small Saxon buildings with wooden walls and earthen floors; some were little more than private chapels. But to found a church was a sure sign that a family had ascended to fortune.
Silversleeves, he learned, had just acquired a plot of land below his own holding. A good spot on Watling Street, above the area of wine warehouses known as the Vintry. “It will be dedicated to St Lawrence,” Henri explained. He smiled. “I dare say,” he coolly added, “that since there’s another St Lawrence nearby, they’ll call it St Lawrence Silversleeves.” This custom of double names commemorating both a saint and a founder was already becoming one of the features of London churches.
Nor was this all. That very day, the young man added, another solemn consecration had taken place: that of the merchant himself. “My father has taken holy orders,” he said proudly. “So that he can officiate at the church.”
It was not uncommon. Whatever the piety of Edward the Confessor himself, the English Church during his reign had sunk into a complete and cheerful cynicism. True, the Church was still a mighty institution. Its lands were everywhere, its monasteries like little kingdoms. A man on the run could still seek sanctuary in a church and not even the king could touch him. But morality was another thing. Priests were frequently and openly living with, in effect, common-law wives, and left their church livings to their children or even gave them as dowries. Rich merchants took orders, as Silversleeves was doing, and might even, if they fancied the dignity, become canons of St Paul’s. Indeed, it was in the pious hope that William of Normandy might reform these abuses that the Pope had given the planned invasion his blessing.
Whatever the Pope may have thought, however, it was clear to Leofric that the house of Silversleeves was grown powerful indeed.
Several minutes passed before the priests and merchants left, then Silversleeves himself advanced towards Leofric.
“So that we can take our time,” he said pleasantly, “I hope you will sup with us this evening.”
From behind a screen came three serving women, who spread a large white cloth upon the table. They brought two earthenware pitchers, knives, spoons, bowls and drinking vessels. Once this was speedily and quietly done, Silversleeves motioned him forward.
It happened that this was a fast day in the calendar of the Church; at this hour, devout men ate only a light collation of vegetables with their bread and water. Since Silversleeves was now a priest, Leofric resigned himself to a harsh diet, but in this, too, he underestimated his host. At last turning his gaze upon the three depressed lay monks, who were still sitting on their bench in the corner, Silversleeves beckoned them to approach. “These good men fast and say penances for us,” he blithely explained. And giving to each of these worthies a silver penny, he waved them away and they sadly retired. Then he said grace.
The meal began with a capon brewet – a rich broth with spices on top.
It was the practice of those times for men to sit along one side of the table only, the food being served from the other, as though across a counter. Leofric found himself placed on Silversleeves’s right, with Ralph beside him. Henri was furthest away, on his father’s left. The brewet