London - Edward Rutherfurd [110]
As Ralph turned it over in his large hands, he was thoughtful. If this serf of his master’s could be turned into a good craftsman, Mandeville would no doubt be glad of it. Certainly this squat little fellow with his large head and his split nose was of no particular value as a heavy labourer. At that moment, Osric was about to get his heart’s desire.
But for one fatal mistake.
“So, you think you could be a carpenter?” Ralph idly enquired.
Supposing it would help his cause, Osric replied eagerly: “Oh yes, sir. My older brother is a fine craftsman. I’m sure I could be one too.” And then wondered why a strange flicker almost like a wince of pain passed across the overseer’s face.
Poor Osric. He could not have known about the nerve he had struck. If I can never hope to equal my clever older brother, thought Ralph, why should this miserable fellow hope to equal his?
Calmly, therefore, and, it seemed, with a kind of grim pleasure, the big-nosed Norman delivered his verdict.
“Your brother is a carpenter, Osric. But you are only a beast of burden, and so, my little friend, you shall remain.”
Then, for no obvious reason, he flicked his whip across the boy’s solemn face before sending him back to work.
The two men sat facing each other across a table. For a while neither of them spoke as they considered their dangerous work, though either could have said, “If we get caught, they’ll kill us.”
It was Barnikel who had called the meeting in his house by the little church of All Hallows, which now overlooked the rising Tower, and he had done so for a simple reason. For the first time in the ten years of their criminal activities, he had just confessed: “I’m worried.” And he had outlined his problem.
To which Alfred had just offered a solution.
When Alfred the armourer looked back, it often amazed him how easily he had been drawn into the business. He had hardly realized it was happening. It had all started ten years ago, the summer that Barnikel’s wife had suddenly died. All Barnikel’s friends and family had rallied round, taking turns to keep him company. His children had encouraged the young apprentice to go too. Then, one evening, just as he was leaving, the Dane had put his huge arm round Alfred’s shoulders and muttered into his ear: “Would you do a little job for me? It could be dangerous.” He had hardly thought about it. Didn’t he owe the Dane everything? “Of course,” he had replied. “Your master the armourer will tell you what to do,” Barnikel had said quietly, and left it at that.
The situation at the time had often been tense. King William’s hold on his lands was by no means secure yet. In London, Mandeville was edgy and curfews were frequently imposed. Meanwhile the needs of the Norman garrison kept the armourers occupied. Many times after the evening curfew bell had signalled the end of labour, Alfred and his master had toiled on alone.
And then one autumn evening, the master had remarked to Alfred, “I’ve one more job tonight. But you can go.” When Alfred volunteered to help, the older man had continued quietly: “This one is for Barnikel. You don’t have to stay.”
In the short silence that followed, Alfred had understood. “I’ll do it,” he had said.
After that fateful night, master and apprentice had often stayed late in the workshop. Since their work was ostensibly for Mandeville, their strange hours gave rise to no suspicion. All the same, they were careful, always barring the door and keeping their official work on hand so that they could hide the illicit arms and display the regular ones while the door was being opened.
For Alfred, it was wonderful training. There was almost nothing now that he could not tackle. Helmets, swords, shields and spearheads he made by the dozen. The fact that he had concealed his skill from his fellow apprentices now came in doubly useful. For while they knew that he had made progress, those who saw him by day would have been astonished to see how at night, side by side with the master,