The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker Read Online Free PDF

safekeeping.
    Where was he? The lad should be back by now, but he had a ridiculous infatuation with Mary Skinner, the baker’s daughter, and was probably idling his time away with her. It was a pity, for Ralph was convinced that Elias was wasting his time. She was too flighty for a stolid fellow like Elias. Perhaps it was a good thing; there were times when her face was harsh and unkind, even when she was smiling at Elias. Not like his own dear wife Alice. Ralph allowed himself a moment’s quiet pleasure, recalling her gentle smile, her calm grey eyes and soft hair, like finest spun gold . . .
    The knock at his door broke into his reverie and startled him. It was early for a client. Most people wouldn’t be about for some time, which was why he and his apprentice tended to eat their breakfast at this hour. Then he remembered his invitation to the City Bailiff, asking him to call to discuss a sensitive matter. He must do his duty and explain what he had discovered in the Guildhall: an attempt to defraud the Cathedral.
    Bracing himself, Ralph went to answer his door but it was no client who had knocked: only death stood waiting for him.

Chapter Two
     
     
    After Ralph left the Cathedral grounds, the religious day continued. Every moment was spent in praise of God and no man was free from the great task. Each had his own duty. While Ralph passed through St Martin’s Gate, other Annuellars had already arrived at their altars up and down the Cathedral; at the same time fourteen Vicars appeared with some Choristers to sing the morning round of services: Matins, Lauds and the other Hours of Our Lady before beginning the Lady Mass in Her honour.
    And while they sang, the bells pealed for Prime, the first of the daytime services. For this all the Canons and their Vicars were on duty; all should attend.
    Dressed in his white surplice covered with the loose-fitting black cloak and cap, Canon Stephen cleared his mind of all the petty financial troubles involving the rebuilding works and prepared to leave his house to attend Mass.
    With him were his household, all in black with the occasional flash of white where a surplice showed. Stephen cast an eye over them all. Young Luke didn’t live with Stephen, of course, but he had come over from the Choristers’ Hall to join his Canon on the walk to the Cathedral, and Stephen was disgusted to see filth on Luke’s cheek and a muddy mark on his shoulder. Stephen was tempted to send him off to wash and change, but he knew that the clean laundry hadn’t been delivered yet and he swallowed his angry words. Instead he went over to Luke and, taking up the hem of his cloak, spat upon it and rubbed at the sullen face.
    Luke was still simmering with rage. Henry had teased and tormented him for years, but this latest trick was too much! If he had caught Henry, Luke would have beaten him to a pulp. He would have sat on his chest and battered Henry’s face until the bastard pleaded for mercy, but he wouldn’t have got any. Not from Luke. Not after all the things he’d done to him. It wasn’t fair! Henry seemed to think he could get away with murder. Well, he couldn’t. He’d see. When Luke was installed as boy-Bishop, he’d make Henry regret his actions. He’d make Henry apologise for dropping the beetle down his neck when he was singing, for throwing mud and horseshit at him, for catcalling and tipping water over him when he was asleep in bed. For all these indignities and more, Henry would have to pay.
    But Henry had escaped him
again
– as he always did. Luke wondered where his enemy could have hidden. Could he have discovered a secret way through to the Chapter House? Or had he found a shed to hide in – or maybe a storeroom with a dodgy lock. Wherever it was, Luke was determined to find it and punish Henry at the first opportunity.
    ‘Keep still, boy!’ Stephen snarled and Luke returned to the present. ‘Do you think you can insult God by arriving in His house with all this muck