The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker Read Online Free PDF Page B

on your face? My God, you stink! I don’t know what’s the matter with you today. You’re a disgrace to the Cathedral!’
    Satisfied at last, Stephen stood back and surveyed his work. The little devil was certainly not perfect, but he was greatly improved.
    Stephen nodded to his bottler at the door, who pulled it open, and the Canon and his household emerged into the chill morning air. Stephen went first, walking with his head sunk down meditatively, preparing himself for the service to come. After him came his Vicar Choral, a pleasant fellow, Arthur Hingstone, whom Stephen had appointed some few years before. Unfortunately, Stephen had been assigned a Secondary, not allowed to choose his own. The Canon preferred bookish, considerate youths, but instead the Dean had foisted Adam upon him – an incompetent reader, a worse writer, with the eating manners of a pig. Stephen was convinced that Adam’s presence at his table was the result of the Dean’s sense of humour, but then the thought that the Dean possessed something so human made Stephen grin sardonically.
    Behind Adam was the last of his choral retinue, Luke. The Choristers were selected by the Precentor, and Luke at least had the merit of being the best of the current crop, to Stephen’s mind. Luke was generally quiet, well-mannered and educated. Miraculous when one considered his father, Stephen considered wryly. All in all, Luke should win the election later today. He would become the next boy-Bishop.
    After Luke came the other clerics of his household. Stephen was wealthy enough in his own right and he was able to fund a goodly sized establishment. It went against the concept of shared possessions that the Canons were supposed to espouse, but more often than not, that rule was waived nowadays. Things had to move with the times, even in Cathedrals, and money mattered; as Treasurer, Stephen knew that only too well. Patronage was as important here in Exeter’s small Cathedral as it was elsewhere.
    His servants followed along behind the clerical staff. His bottler, cook, ushers and others trailed behind him, he knew, like a dark shadow, all with their heads lowered and hands clasped. He had no need to look to make sure of their obvious reverence, for they were all being exposed to a tight scrutiny. On all sides similar lines of religious men were converging at a slow and thoughtful pace to a point just before the great western doors of the Cathedral. It was the same each day and just as Stephen could observe each of the men in his colleagues’ retinues, they would at the same time be watching his own. Any lapse on the part of the lowliest kitchen attendant or bottler, let alone Chorister, would be noticed and be cause for restrained chuckles later. There was no escape from the Canons. Well, not yet, Stephen amended, thinking of the Feast of the Holy Innocents. But that day was different.
    He reached the door, entered, bowed to the altar, then to the Dean. The Bishop was away once more. He spent much of his time away now. Stephen wondered what interest the outside world of politics could hold for a man who was supposed to be dedicated to God, but squashed the thought. It wasn’t for him to wonder at the motivations of others, and Bishop Stapledon, Walter II of Exeter, was a most honourable man, spending time with his far-flung manors and priests, ensuring that the souls in his See were being ministered to and assisting any religious men by helping them find a place in his school or a seat at Oxford University, no matter how poor they might be. The meanest villein in a rustic manor could apply to him for education and perhaps professional training, if they showed that God had granted them the necessary intelligence.
    Walking past the Punctators, Stephen made his way to his own stall, his household separating behind him, the servants standing in the great, freezing nave, the Chorister moving forward to the centre of the choir, Adam the Secondary taking his place