London - Edward Rutherfurd [115]
“Not a chance,” Ralph grunted. He hated being bullied by clever men.
Gundulf sighed, then struck.
“I said to the king only the other day how willing you were, how well suited to your great task,” he remarked. “I shall be seeing him again shortly.”
Since even he could not fail to see the implied threat, Ralph shrugged sulkily. “As you wish,” he muttered, and began to move away.
“I shall tell the king,” the bishop smoothly concluded, to punish the surly fellow for boring him, “that you will be able to complete the new task on exactly the same schedule as before. Not a day will be lost,” he called gaily. “He will be very pleased.”
Only moments after this, young Osric made his move.
Osric had often seen the portly bishop before, when Gundulf came to inspect the work.
Like many people in high position, Bishop Gundulf had easily assumed that mantle of cheerful politeness which protects and eases the path of those in public life. As he went round the building site, his courteous nods, even to the serfs, cost him nothing.
It was natural enough, therefore, that the little serf working miserably in the dark tunnel should have formed the plan he had.
Every instinct, even a physical craving in his fingertips, told him he should be a craftsman. Could this be wrong? Or had God decided he must suffer like this for his sins? The one thing he was sure of was that Ralph Silversleeves was no agent of God: he was the devil. But Bishop Gundulf, who was in charge of everything, was a man of God, and he looked kindly. Surely even a humble serf like him might approach a man of God?
Anyway, he thought, I’ve nothing else to lose.
He had waited for an opportunity. Now, as he came out from his shift in the tunnel and saw the bishop standing in front of the building site, he decided to take his chance. Running over to the carpenters’ workshop, he seized the piece of work he had done and shyly approached the great man.
Bishop Gundulf was surprised when he saw the earnest little figure caked in earth standing before him with his lump of wood. Nevertheless, he asked kindly, “What is it, my son?”
In a few words Osric explained. “This is my work. I want to be a carpenter.”
As he gazed at the serf, it was not difficult for Gundulf to guess the rest. The work, he saw, was good. His eyes strayed towards the carpenters’ workshop. Perhaps he should place the boy there to see what they could make of him. And he was about to stride over there when he heard a cry of rage behind him.
It was Ralph.
The moment he caught sight of them, he had realized what Osric was up to. Already in a furious temper about the change of plan, the sight of the wretched little serf going to Gundulf behind his back was more than he could bear. As he raced to the bishop’s side, his cry of rage was practically a howl.
“He says he wants to be a carpenter,” Gundulf observed mildly.
“Never.”
“The craftsman’s talents are a gift from God, you know,” the bishop remarked. “We are supposed to use them.”
And then Ralph had his inspiration.
“You don’t understand,” he replied. “We can’t trust him with a knife or sharp tools of any kind. He’s only labouring here because he tried to kill one of the king’s knights. That’s why they slit his nose.”
“He doesn’t look very dangerous.”
“But he is.”
Gundulf sighed. He was not sure he believed the overseer. On the other hand he’d given him enough trouble for one day. And the work on the Tower must go smoothly on.
“As you wish,” he said with a shrug.
And so it was that Osric, though he did not understand what they were saying, since they spoke to each other in Norman French, perceived that the last hope in his young life had been extinguished.
A few moments later, held by the ear, he found himself back at the entrance to the tunnel. Ralph was shouting at him.
“You think you’ll be a carpenter behind my back, do you? Well, look around you. This earth