The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

polite, always ducked his head respectfully and smiled as best he could with his face so wrecked where the blade had smashed through jaw, cheekbone and eyesocket, he won their sympathy as well as their money.
    And although it was cold, wet and miserable in the winter, Coppe knew that when the weather grew foul, Janekyn the porter would mutter and grumble, but would still drag a brazier out here for the beggars. Usually he would bring a small pot of spiced wine, or a tankard of ale for the old sailor. Coppe knew that Janekyn himself had been a fighter in the King’s host and didn’t grudge Coppe a sup, knowing that their rôles could so easily have been reversed.
    No, Coppe wasn’t the kind of man to be introspective and question his place in the world. As far as he was concerned, he was harmed, but there was nothing he could do about it. Railing and complaining was pointless. It wouldn’t alter his position.
    Coppe was content. He could talk to the people who passed by here – especially the priests. Most of them were happy to stop for a moment to talk to him. Of course, not everyone was like that. Lots turned from him. Some would meet his eye or chat, but more commonly folk would smile nervously, realising that what had so ruined Coppe’s life could affect any of them. He was a living reminder of the brutality men could show to each other. Some women would stop and talk to him gently.
    He frowned a little at that thought. Usually
she
would stop to talk to him, but today she had run past with her head averted, as if ashamed.
    Or scared.

Chapter Three
     
     
    ‘Master Ralph, are you there?’ Elias called hesitantly at the back door. There was no answer. He had been here for several minutes, jiggling the handle up and down as he tried to loosen the wooden peg that locked the latch, but it wouldn’t shift.
    He stood there, the bread cooling in his arm as he stared up at the house in consternation. His master should be back by now, but if he wasn’t, the fire would be sure to have gone out after being left untended for so long. Elias felt the guilt lying upon him. Ralph was an old man now. In this weather he needed a warm hall and a good fire. Elias didn’t fear a beating from his master, but the idea that he should have let down the kindly gentleman was nearly as painful as a blow from a cudgel.
    While he stood there undecided, he heard a movement indoors. Then there was the sound of a door slamming, and he felt himself relax a moment. His master was back! Almost immediately he felt the trepidation return. If his master was back, he would notice that Elias was
not
, and even the kindliest, most generous master would be sure to be irritable with an apprentice who had forgotten to take his keys with him. It wouldn’t have mattered normally: it was Ralph’s own lateness that had forced Elias to wait outside. Not that that was an excuse.
    Hurriedly, Elias darted back down the long, narrow garden, past the raised beds filled with cabbages and kale, carrots and alexanders, past the herbs and the fruit trees that lay further down near the wall, then out of the gate, slamming it behind him and running round to the front of the house. Here, panting, he pushed at the door, kicking it shut behind him and walking down the corridor.
    ‘Master?’ he called. ‘I was locked out, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Master, but I have the bread for your breakfast.’
    He entered the hall. The table was against the wall, with Ralph’s chair at one side, Elias’s stool at the other. The cupboard with Ralph’s small collection of pewter stood in one corner, the large chest with Ralph’s belongings was opposite, near the outer wall. Elias stared about him. The fire was crackling merrily in the middle of the floor, letting a thin, sweet-smelling smoke rise to the roof high overhead. A sudden spark glittered upwards, rising up to Elias’s eye-level before gradually fading out and falling away as ash. Elias walked through to the service