by Toni Mount
‘Thus, you be correct regarding the gilding of our reputation but what of the cost for so elaborate a volume? We could be the losers in this commission, Adam, and I be uncertain whether the possibility of it inspiring future, lucrative orders from other customers will make good such losses. The bejewelled binding alone, as per the instructions, could cost us a small fortune. That be the reason why my delight stands tempered by caution.’
Adam sighed, his shoulders drooped.
‘I hadn’t realised getting payment might be a problem. But you’ll still accept the commission?’
‘Of course. How may I refuse the king? ’Tis a royal command, no less. The matter requiring most thought though is… do we do the work to a reasonably high standard but trim our use of materials to reduce costs? Or do we oblige our sovereign to the utmost of our abilities, stinting naught, and pray that it so impresses him he actually hands over coin for it? I do not know if we even dare send him the reckoning? What be the etiquette for asking money of the king?’
‘Who might you ask about such delicate matters, Seb? There must be someone who can advise us afore we begin ordering the finest parchment, gold leaf and lapis lazuli?’
‘Aye: Master Collop. I trust his judgement in all things regarding business.’
‘But not in his choice of a second wife, eh?’ Adam laughed. This had been a source of mystery, aye, and mirth to many of our fellow stationers in recent years. ‘She’s a dainty piece but not a suitable spouse for the Warden Master of the Stationers’ Guild, being barely one-third of his age. She was giving me the come-hither look across the tablecloth at the Whitsun feast, the saucy wench. If I were Warden Collop, I wouldn’t trust her an inch or take my eye off her for one moment.’
‘Twas but your imagination, cousin, I be certain. Mistress Collop may be young but a good wife for all that. Master Collop would not have wed her elsewise.’
Adam grinned and chuckled.
‘You’re innocent as a newborn lamb, aren’t you, Seb? When it comes to women, at least.’
‘That be untrue. I be no fool, cousin.’
He simply laughed all the more, the knave.
Master Richard Collop’s Stationer’s Shop, Cheapside
Later that afternoon, we made our way to Master Collop’s shop along Cheapside, to the north end of Soper Lane, opposite the Hospital of St Thomas Acon. How many times had I made my way here in my youth from my father’s house by St Martin-le-Grand, lame and leaning upon my staff, to learn my craft as a scribe, illuminator and book-binder?
Richard Collop had been a good and kindly master to me, realising my talent as an artist early on. Not so my fellow apprentices who made mock of my affliction at every opportunity. Had it not been for Mistress Collop’s keen eye – she who had been the master’s first wife – my years served there could have been an enduring penance but she succeeded in shielding me from my fellows’ worst taunts much of the time. Only occasionally did the eldest of we three apprentices – Guy Linton by name, I recall – manage to hurt me with his words as well as deeds. But that was in the past; matters are quite different now.
‘Good day to you, Sebastian, Adam.’ Master Collop greeted us as we entered his shop. It was twofold larger than our premises, at least and I noted an impressive array of handsome volumes, set out upon new bookshelves that I had not seen afore. ‘Come you through to the parlour and we may share ale and wafers and speak in comfort.’
As we passed the workshop doorway – once so familiar to me – I could not help but glance in. There, at the desk where I used to sit, I glimpsed a dark, tousled head bent low over a ruled page. It might have been me… until the lad glanced up. The snub nose and a thousand freckles scattered like ochre pigment powder across his face were never mine. Then I saw he held the pen cack-handed, as they say, in his left hand.
‘That’s young Hugh Gardyner, the Lord Mayor’s nephew,’ Master Collop said, seeing the direction of my gaze. ‘God be praised, he’s a promising lad and a hard-working apprentice. Unlike so many,’ he added, sighing.
Did we not all make that discovery where youngsters were concerned?
‘You may recall your fellow: Guy Linton?’ my master continued.
Indeed I did: one who would avoid labour whenever he might.
‘He was asking after you at the guildhall a few days since.’
‘Oh? Did he give a reason?’ I asked. ‘I cannot imagine why he should. We were never close in age or fellowship except for both being in your service for those times when our terms overlapped – a matter of months only.’
‘He never said.’
‘I misdoubt he was concerned for my welfare. It must be a matter of business. ’Tis quite an odd happenstance. I pray you, good master, should he ask after me again, if you would kindly enquire of him the reason.’
Master Collop led us to a well-appointed room. A tapestry hung upon the wall. I remembered it: ‘Jason and the Argonauts’, although lowly apprentices were permitted in the parlour but rarely.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ our host enquired once we were settled upon a cushioned bench, ale cups in hand. ‘You did not come simply to ask after my health and discuss old times, I know.’
I felt a surge of guilt. I ought to visit him more often. His hair remained thick as ever but was now bleach-white at his forehead and around his ears, marking the passing years.
‘’Tis true, master, for which I apologise sincerely. I have come in need of your sound advice upon a delicate matter.’ I sipped my ale, watching my master discreetly over the cup rim.
‘Hence why you did not wish to ask me at the guildhall yesterday.’
‘The matter did not arise until an hour or two since.’
‘Urgent then? Well, tell me of this business that is of such import.’
I delved into my purse and retrieved the little roll of parchment tied with red ribbon. I passed it to my master.
‘Tis a commission from King Edward, no less,’ I explained.
He undid the bow and unrolled my instructions. He read it silently but his lips formed each word. He frowned once or twice and nodded approval at the end. The parchment re-rolled itself as he set it down.
‘The instructions appear to be clear enough, but it will be an expensive volume to produce as the king requires. He means it to be an impressive gift indeed. Who is his intended recipient of such an elaborate work?’
‘The messenger mentioned the Lord of Florence, or some such.’
‘Lorenzo de’ Medici,’ Adam said, having remembered the name better than I had.
‘The expense be my main concern,’ I said. ‘You will have noted there is no mention of any payments to be made.’
Master Collop read the parchment once more.
‘I see your difficulty, young Sebastian.’ Almost word for word, as I had explained to Adam earlier, my master reiterated the problem: to make a good copy, well bound, and trust it was found acceptable to the king; or fulfil every last, lavish detail of the commission and pray that we were paid the price eventually.
‘Can you advise me, master?’ I asked, retying the ribbon and replacing the parchment in my purse. ‘For this piece will empty our coffer, if we follow the instructions precisely.’
He rubbed his brow, turning his gaze to the painted roof beams, deep in thought.
We waited, drinking our ale. Adam helped himself to another wafer and a marchpane-stuffed date. I was too concerned for my master’s words of wisdom to have any interest in sweetmeats.
‘It would be tempting to suggest you complete the work to a good standard but spend no more than is necessary to make it appear that you have followed the instructions to the letter. No one outside the craft will be able to tell lapis lazuli from the cheaper alternative, azurite. The jewels need not be rubies and amethysts when coloured glass may serve as well. Once the book is in Florence, in some rich man’s
collection, who will notice if the colours fade forty years hence?
‘However, you and I will know. Deceiving the king… it is a serious step to take. You are a man of conscience, Sebastian: could you be easy in your mind, knowing of the deception?’
Master Collop had come upon the heart of the matter. Did I follow the dictates of my conscience or my purse? He knew me well indeed. And there was always the possibility that the king would pay after all.
‘I fear I could not, master.’
‘Then I believe you have answered your own query. Do you have an exemplar of Vegetius’ treatise? You will need an accurate version. It will save you time and trouble, although I know you are more than capable of correcting any errors in the previous scribe’s Latin grammar as you copy it: the fewer mistakes, the better, else they may require the layout of the pages to be changed.’
‘We have an English version of the most popular Book Three. This we sell as a separate booklet: five copies sold so far this year. Which brings me to the second purpose of our visit…’
‘You wish to borrow my complete Latin copy.’
‘If ’tis not in use, I shall be most grateful for it.’
‘None has worked on it since you left, Sebastian. As you say, the English version sells more readily these days. I will instruct young Hugh to dust it off and bring it along to you at Paternoster Row in the morning. I know he will be glad to have time away from his desk; any errand is welcome.’
I set down my cup and rose to my feet.
Adam did likewise, though he was yet chewing a sweetmeat.
‘I thank you, master. You have made my decision for me. I should ever suffer sleepless nights if I fail to follow the king’s instructions as required.’
‘Aye. I believed that would be the case.’
‘And I shall be pleased to see Hugh Gardyner upon the morrow.’
Master Collop came with us to the parlour door but held my sleeve to detain me. ‘If money becomes a problem in this instance,’ he whispered so Adam could not hear, ‘Officially, the guild has funds to lend out at a most reasonable rate, if required. Unofficially, I also have coin available. And for my best apprentice, this would be loaned at a further reduced rate of interest: that is to say, naught but the capital need be repaid at a time to suit ourselves. Don’t let this commission cause you hardship, Sebastian.’
‘I be most grateful, Master Collop, both for your advice and your generous offer. Fare you well.’ I touched my cap courteously and bowed my head so he might bless me. Kindly, he also bestowed his benediction upon Adam.
‘What offer was that?’ Adam asked as we returned along Cheapside. I explained about the possibility of borrowing money, though, in truth, such an action would be utterly against my nature.
‘I hope and pray that it never comes to such a pass,’ I said.
‘We’re going to make the most extravagant book, then? Cost no object?’
‘Aye. Something of the kind. Master Collop was correct: I cannot give less than my very best in working for the king. Mayhap, that be why we were chosen. If our workshop was recommended to His Grace by the Duke of Gloucester, think what he would say, if he e’er discovered I had given his royal brother a shoddy piece and called it craftsmanship. I cannot do that, Adam. I am a better man than that – as are you. We are no charlatans. Together we will do justice to the king’s commission and show ourselves worthy of his patronage and our own fair and goodly reputation. I wonder that I had dared consider, however briefly, doing otherwise. Come. Let us tell Rose, Kate and everyone our good tidings.’
Chapter 2
Saturday, the twelfth day of June
The Foxley House
A light mist had swathed the city earlier, like a rich lady’s gossamer-fine veil, but the sun soon parted the grey drapery to burn bright in a cloudless, azure sky as I opened the shop front, in preparation for Saturday’s half-day trading. Of late, I was allowing Kate to deal with customers alone in the shop, she proving so capable, whilst Adam and I had a list to compile of things needful for King Edward’s commission.
Parchment – or rather the best quality calf-skin vellum – was specified and headed the list but without the exemplar available to count the folios, it was difficult to judge how many skins we should require. Likewise, the number of illuminated capitals and rubrics for which we would need coloured inks and pigments. Thus, the list was long but much adorned with query marks regarding quantities unknown for numerous items. All we knew for certain were the two oaken boards and their dimensions to form the covers of the book, then to be clad in gilded leather and garnished with gemstones in filigree work. These last would needs be discussed with a goldsmith but were hardly a pressing matter when we had yet to commence writing the book. I was impatient to begin: the end of July was not so far distant – just seven weeks afore the king’s ambassador would depart, taking the gift to Florence and the king desired time to approve it afore that. Six weeks at most, I supposed, to create this luxurious volume and time was wasting until I had the exemplar in my hands.
After a good breakfast of bacon collops, oatcakes and honey and a brief exploration of the garden plot with little Dickon and Gawain, I was thinking what might be done to begin the new commission. I fetched our English copy of Vegetius’ Book Three and used it to work out likely margin widths and line spacings for the best presentation of the text. Our text was well spread to make it easy on the reader’s eye following the lines of words but it might be the case that doing likewise with the whole book would make for an unwieldy volume. Together with the ornate cover, as specified, it could result in a heavy tome, too weighty to hold and read at ease. That was supposing the noble Florentine recipient ever bothered to open the pages over which we would take such care. I made notes and sketched out two possible page designs: one with a well-spaced text, the other more closely set. I wished I had a better remembrance of the book when I worked upon it, copying it out as an apprentice, to improve my Latin and my scribal hand.
At last, Kate called me into the shop. I had described Hugh Gardyner to her beforehand, such that she would recognise him.
‘Master Seb! Hugh Gardyner is come,’ she cried. ‘See what he brings.’
I hastened to greet the lad, Adam following me.
‘God give you good day, Hugh,’ I said.
The lad removed his cap and bowed to me, then to Adam. He was somewhat taller than I had supposed, seeing him seated at his desk yesterday.
‘Good day to you, Master Foxley. Master Collop has sent these for you.’ He handed me a well-worn scrip, heavy with the book required – a weighty thing indeed. But ’neath his arm, he carried a linen-wrapped bundle: rolls of calf-skin vellum, smooth and perfect as the Virgin Mary’s cheek. Master Collop was generous as ever, knowing our requirements for the king’s work.
But I saw then that the lad lacked a thumb upon his right hand. No wonder he had to use his left, yet that was ever considered to do the Devil’s work.
I near made the sign of the Cross at sight of it but refrained. No doubt Hugh saw folk making such a gesture far too often. It must vex and sadden him to be regarded as an instrument of Satan at every turn. I felt an affinity with him straightway forwhy I had suffered likewise as a cripple in the past. How the other apprentices must mock him. Little wonder he was Master Collop’s most industrious apprentice. No doubt, he engrossed himself in his work, as I used to do, keeping away from his fellows as far as he might and attempting to avoid their attentions. I also realised why my old master said Hugh would relish this errand, knowing that my own past experiences meant I should offer only kindliness and make naught of the lad’s affliction.
‘Would you like a cup of ale, Hugh? And some cakes I helped to bake?’ Kate offered, overstepping the bounds of propriety. The offer was mine to make but she had forestalled me. Yet, I noted, her smile, lacking for so long, was there, like sunlight shining from her face. ‘He i
s allowed, isn’t he, Master Seb?’ she said, realising her error.
‘For certain. Why do you not fetch it here and Hugh may take his refreshment whilst you await customers. If he so wishes…’
Adam gave me a knowing glance, raising his eyebrows.
‘I’d be honoured, master,’ Hugh said, his eyes bright with pleasure.
I nodded. It was heartening to see Kate nigh-dancing along the passage to the kitchen.
With Master Collop’s copy of Vegetius in my possession, I was eager to begin work. I could now revise the page layout and, with the gift of vellum, Adam could commence ruling up and pricking the folios without further delay.
I returned to the shop but briefly to see that all was well. I found Kate making sketches of Hugh whilst he drank his ale, the pair laughing together. I do believe our Kate has taken a fancy to him and why not? He be the Lord Mayor’s nephew after all: a far better prospect for an alderman’s daughter than a fatherless joiner like Jack. It was a wondrous thing to have her smiling once more.
‘What do you think, Adam?’ I showed him a sketch for a large capital letter ‘A’. ‘The instructions say ‘well-decorated’ but a surfeit of ornamentation makes the letters difficult to read. I have tried to achieve something betwixt two extremes: sufficient elaboration without rendering the capital illegible. Be this too much or no? I would have your opinion, cousin.’
Adam groaned and muttered under his breath afore setting aside another set of ruled folios.
‘I gave you my opinion on the previous five versions of the letter ‘A’, Seb. The first one was fine – as are they all. Are we to suffer this degree of deliberation over every capital? If so, the book won’t be finished before Judgement Day.’
I had closed up the shop at dinnertime, it being Saturday. The afternoon was, of custom, a period of leisure for all but I insisted I would work. Adam had agreed to do likewise but I sensed he was regretting that decision now.
‘But ’tis the king’s commission. It has to be perfect.’
