by Alexa Aston
Rosalyne’s brow crinkled in thought as she studied what was available. She had him move pieces around, eliminating some and keeping others, till she chose what she wanted.
She pointed to the planks on the left. “These are the ones that we will use. They must all be sanded smooth and flat.”
“What should I do?”
“You must saw through some of the wood so that every piece is the size of this one.” She indicated the one that would be the model for him to use. “Once they are of equal length, I will select the ones that will need to be reduced again for the two side panels, which will be smaller in size. After that, you can use my plane to smooth and scrape the wood. No bumps can remain because they could affect the integrity of the work.”
Edward busied himself, sawing through the longer planks and lining each bit of wood beside the next until every bit of the approved poplar proved equal in size. Rosalyne studied the wood and told him which to leave in the center and what pieces should be moved to the left and right. Once he completed that task, Edward sawed through them in order to reduce the size for the remaining wood.
Rosalyne gave him shave-grass and he rubbed the herb into the wood and smoothed and scraped it with the plane till no flaws remained. He began to sweat and wished he could remove his gypon, as he did when he trained with his sword and other weapons. Instead, he mopped his brow with a sleeve and opened the door that led from the workshop to outside, hoping to catch a breeze from the sultry May day.
Next, she instructed him on how to mix the glue and had Edward join the edges of different boards together, pressing them tightly so that the glue would hold the wood in place.
“You can rest for a while,” she said once he completed the lengthy task. “Let me get you some ale to drink. The day has grown quite warm.”
Edward followed her to the small kitchen and insisted he pour ale for both of them since he saw it was still awkward for her to work with only one good hand.
“Shall we sit for a bit?” he asked and took their cups to the table.
“Let me check on Uncle first.”
After a few moments, she returned and said, “He is peacefully asleep. No coughing at all. Your potion has done wonders, Edward. I wish I had known to give it to him before.”
“I am happy to help him. Temp is an interesting man. What was it like being raised by him?”
A dreamy smile crossed Rosalyne’s face. Edward wanted to reach out and run his thumb over her full, bottom lip. He kept his hands in his lap, exercising control he did not know he possessed.
“I have never heard a cross word come from Uncle Temp’s lips. He loves everyone he meets and relishes each day.” She chuckled. “At least after he rises. It is hard to get him to leave his bed in the mornings. He claims it goes back to his days in Florence, where he would paint far into the night and then not arise until long after the sun came up. But my childhood was one of happiness. Uncle taught me how to look at an object and see it, really see it, and how to draw and then paint it.”
“So, you have been an artist yourself from an early age?”
She nodded. “I cannot remember a time when I didn’t have a brush in my hands. Art is what Uncle Temp knows through and through and he passed his love of it along to me.”
“You said he also paints portraits sometimes.”
“Aye, it has become a large part of how he earns his living. I suppose noblemen fancy letting future generations see how they looked, for Uncle has been kept busy painting their likenesses the last several years.”
“You mentioned before that you accompany him.”
“I do. My friend, Metylda, feeds the chickens we leave behind but we take some with us so that we have their eggs to use in creating the tempera paints.”
“Describe how you create the paints,” he urged. “This is all so new to me.”
Rosalyne smiled. “Uncle Temp prefers a pure egg tempera, which is egg yolk mixed with a pigment. ’Tis what the Florentines that he studied under always used. Before tempera painting, Byzantine panels only contained darker colors. With tempera paints, an artist can give an impression that daylight is falling across a scene. The colors created with tempera are also incredibly vivid and bright and last for an incredibly long time.”
She sipped her ale and continued, her eyes bright and eager as she said, “The Latin word temperare means ‘to mix in proportion’. But Uncle says that the verb temper means ‘to bring to a desired consistency’. So from the two words, we get tempera. An artist must take dry pigments and temper them with a binding agent, such as egg yolk. Only then can the paints be used to bring people and objects to life.”
Edward’s curiosity about the process grew. “But what do you mix with the yolk? What pigments give color to the paint itself?”
Her rich laugh drew him in. “I am sorry I didn’t make myself clear. Working with pigments so often, I forget that others are not as familiar with them. They come from nature—plants, animals, and even minerals within the soil itself. Shades of siennas, ochres, and umbers can be dug from the earth, often from iron, clay, or silica. Those pigments are the most inexpensive to use and so the most common colors in a painting draw from these earth tones.”
“I see. You dig them up and then what? Grind them?”
“Aye, to a very fine powder.” She shrugged and indicated her arm in its sling. “That is why I was upset about losing the use of my arm and hand with this injured wrist. You already see how much physical labor goes into preparing the wood.”
“You usually do all of what I have done today by yourself?”
Rosalyne’s dark blue eyes sparkled. “Of course. I watched Uncle do it for years and he now allows me to do all of the preparation. I saw and sand and glue and grind.”
His respect for her talents grew.
“Other pigments can be bought,” she continued, “but at a much higher cost. You rarely see blue in a painting and if you do? ’Tis reserved for the most special person who is the focus of the work because lapis lazuli and azurite are outrageously expensive.”
“Ah, that is why the Madonna is always pictured wearing blue.”
“You are quick to understand, Edward.” She gave him an admiring smile. “Also, the precious metal of gold is used in small amounts within paintings. Uncle melts the gold and applies it directly to the wood, shaping it quickly. After it dries he possesses tools, including a soft brush, which can remove the excess.”
“Which will then be put to use in a different painting or portrait, I gather.”
She beamed at him. “You have the mind of an artist, Edward. I wonder if you possess the skill to actually paint something.”
He laughed. “I doubt it. I have never picked up a brush in my life and have no intention of doing so.”
Rosalyne studied him. “Mayhap I will give you a lesson or two and you can see for yourself if you possess any talent.” She paused. “But for now, we have more work ahead of us.”
They returned to her uncle’s workshop. Rosalyne inspected the wood to see if the glue held and gave him an approving nod.
“Our next step will be to cover the panel with a thin linen cloth. I am afraid it will be up to you to glue this cloth to the front of the wood. I can help hold it in place with my good hand but the majority of the work will be left up to you.”
“May I ask why we do this?” Edward asked. “The wood has already been smoothed. Surely, your uncle can paint on the surface now.”
“The cloth helps to conceal where you joined the various planks together.”
He frowned. “I don’t see how that will hide it.”
She grinned. “Because you will cover this linen with many, many layers of gesso and then rub it smooth between each coat. By the end, the surface will be flat and stable and incredibly easy to paint upon.”
“And how many layers of this gesso must I apply?”
“Usually ten and five,” she replied. “And they must dry between each layer being swept across the linen. But the
layers are thin and dry quickly. By the end, the surface is a brilliant white.”
He sighed in mock exasperation. “Who knew wood preparation would prove to be so complicated?”
“Come, Edward. I will instruct you on mixing the gesso. It’s a simple formula of combining chalk and glue.”
“But in just the right amounts,” he added, his lips twitching in amusement.
“You learn quickly,” she complimented him, though a wisp of a smile played about the corners of her mouth and he thought she might be teasing him.
They spent a few hours cutting the cloth and gluing it to the surface of the wood. Rosalyne used her right hand to hold it tightly in place as Edward smoothed the linen against the planks. Gradually, the seam between the planks started to disappear. She assured him once the numerous layers of gesso were applied, the many planks of poplar would seem as a single piece.
“That is enough for one day,” Rosalyne proclaimed. “I like for the linen to dry overnight before beginning the next step.”
“Who knew I could build such an appetite with simple wood preparation?” he remarked. “I think I could eat an entire roasted chicken by myself.”
“I am afraid I haven’t got that,” she apologized. “We have been so caught up in work for Uncle Temp that I neglected to prepare anything for our evening meal. ’Twill be stale bread and cheese for us.”
“Nay, I will go out and purchase some meat pies,” Edward said. “I had one yesterday when I arrived in Canterbury. It was absolutely delicious and I promised myself I would eat many of them in the coming weeks.”
“Oh, I cannot let you do that. You are our guest.”
“Nay, I am your paying tenant.”
“But I promised to provide meals for you. Already, I am neglecting my duty.” She sighed. “We have never had someone rent out our spare bedchamber. I fear I have much to learn about managing my time now that you are in our household.”
“Why don’t you prepare a little of the mixture I gave Temp this morning? While you do that, I will see to purchasing those meat pies.”
“I will repay you, Edward,” Rosalyne promised.
He winked at her and exited the cottage, heading in the direction of the cathedral since all of the stalls and vendors seem to lie that way.
The day had proven to be interesting and educational. Edward already had much more respect for the painted panels he’d viewed in various churches. Knowing what he did now about how much work went into them, he could appreciate the time and effort spent to produce one.
It felt good to be out and about, stretching his limbs, though he had enjoyed the labor put in today. Edward realized how quickly the day had passed in Rosalyne’s company. It surprised him at how physical this portion was and how strong she had to be to organize and complete the steps leading up to her uncle working with the wood. Though a woman, she must be very sturdy to do everything he had done today.
Edward imagined her strong, callused hands taking his. No court beauty could have done a tenth of the kind of work Rosalyne did for her uncle every day. They never lifted a comb to their own hair, much less bathed or dressed themselves. And their conversations revolved around only what they saw and heard at court. He had tired of the gossip and empty chatter almost immediately after his arrival to serve in the royal guard.
He thought of the women he had coupled with during his time in London and Windsor and all of the other palaces the king frequented. Suddenly, each of them paled against the liveliness and intelligence of Rosalyne Parry.
In that moment, Edward knew he had to find a way to gracefully leave the king’s guard because he wanted a life apart from all the shallowness that had surrounded him for the past year. He wanted a life away from serving the king.
One with Rosalyne.
Chapter 10
As Rosalyne gathered eggs from her hens, she looked forward to another day in Edward’s presence. Though part of her felt guilty that he would remain again to help her in her uncle’s workshop, she enjoyed his company too much to insist he leave her on her own. Besides, after today, her wrist would be sufficiently healed so that he could seek work in the city. She only needed both hands when readying the wood and all of those stages would be completed today. Her right hand did all the work when it came to sketching and painting.
And this would be the most important piece she had ever worked on.
She fed the chickens once her basket was filled and entered the house, surprised to hear voices. She realized both Edward and her uncle had risen. Coming into the main room, she saw them seated at the table with food in front of them.
“Good morning, Rosalyne,” Uncle Temp called out cheerfully. “Come join us and break your fast.”
She took a seat and marveled, “When did you ever wake up in such jovial spirits?”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “Mayhap Edward’s concoction has something to do with it.”
“Good morning,” Edward said to her. “I have already mixed some of the herbs to suppress your uncle’s cough and he partook of it.”
“I feel like a new man,” Uncle Temp proclaimed. “Younger certainly, though my sides and chest still ache from coughing so much.”
“Alas, I have no cure for that,” Edward lamented. “Still, under Rosalyne’s supervision, your panel will be ready for your brush to touch it later today.”
“You had Edward’s help?” Uncle Temp asked her.
“Aye. He served as my hands and did quite well. I will have him apply the layers of gesso today, so by early afternoon the panel will be ready for you to start.” Rosalyne gave him a pointed look and saw that he understood what to say next.
“Then I will try my best today to sketch out on it what I will paint later.”
“Only if you feel up to it,” Edward said.
They ate in companionable silence and then her uncle said, “I have missed the sunshine while lying abed.”
Rosalyne told Edward, “Uncle Temp enjoys walking the streets of Canterbury as much as he does painting.”
“Instead of walking, how about sitting in the sunshine?” Edward suggested. “The fresh air might do you some good and you can enjoy it and still conserve your strength for your drawing. I could place a chair outside the door for you.”
“I would appreciate that, Edward. Thank you.”
“I’ll do it now.” He rose and picked up a chair to carry outside.
The moment he stepped through the door, Rosalyne said, “Remember, Edward has helped me prepare the panel and knows I always do that for you.”
“But we must keep the secret that you will be the one who produces the final work for the chapel,” Uncle Temp added. “Once it is in place and has the archbishop’s approval, I will let Courtenay know you were responsible. Only then can Edward—and the rest of the world—know what you are capable of.”
Edward rejoined them. “Would you like me to assist you, Temp? I have found the perfect spot where you can soak up the sunshine and speak to passing neighbors.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Edward.” He allowed Edward to help him to his feet.
“I will clear the table,” Edward said to her. “Your wrist still needs a last day of rest in its sling with no straining.”
Rosalyne nodded in agreement and sat until he returned and took everything into the kitchen for her. She heard him rinsing the cups and putting away things. He was a kind, thoughtful man, handsome and well-spoken.
And his kisses stirred something unnamed within her.
She wondered if he would ever kiss her again and thought not. She would not encourage him to do so. He seemed too polite to try again without her permission. Rosalyne supposed their brief encounter had been one of curiosity on his part. He had not attempted to touch her since. His tone had been light and friendly. She hoped they would become—and remain—friends.
Though a hidden part of her desired much more.
“I am ready for mixing the gesso,” he said. “And proud that I remembered such an u
nusual name.”
She had been lost in thought and had not realized he stood beside her. Rosalyne rose and accompanied him to her uncle’s workshop, where the panel awaited them. Checking to see that the linen had dried completely, she found it to her satisfaction.
“Time to create our gesso,” she said, showing him where the chalk and glue were located.
Edward ground the chalk to a fine powder. “Is this also how you would grind pigment for the tempera paints?”
“Aye.”
It took him time to perfect the gesso mixture but once he did, the process went quickly. Edward would apply a thin layer across the linen-covered poplar and then they would talk for a few minutes before he stroked another coat onto the wood.
Several hours passed until Rosalyne decided he could stop.
Edward studied it a few minutes. “This was a laborious process but I see now how hard and smooth the surface truly is. The layers of gesso have turned it opaque and a brilliant white.”
“Aye. The treated surface will actually help reflect the light of the paints.”
He gave her a smile. “This has been most interesting, Rosalyne. I know I will never enter a church and view a painted panel in the same way.”
She laughed. “And this was the easy part.”
“So what will Temp do now?”
“Uncle will use the sketches Archbishop Courtenay approved as his guide and replicate them in charcoal directly onto the panel before he ever applies the paint. The most difficult aspect is to take his smaller drawings and transfer them to a much larger scale.”
“I can see how that might be complicated,” Edward said. “Has he ever had to start over? Add more layers of gesso to cover a mistake?”
Rosalyne shrugged. “Not that I know of. Mayhap in his early days but Uncle Temp is skilled and has much experience. He says besides getting the sketch to his liking, the most difficult aspect is mixing the paints correctly.”
“And you also do that for him?”
“He has given me that task for the last four years. In my youth, I would watch him as he tinkered with amounts of pigment and yolk. Later, he supervised me in mixing them, much as I have done with you these past two days.”
