The Journeyman

The torn remnants of a summer mist were hanging in the trees along the riverbanks, filling the hollows and wreathing the hazel copses. From the distant hills down to the sea, the county was flat enough that even a modest rise afforded a view which would encompass half a dozen villages, and, always there in the distance, rising, it seemed, almost into the clouds, the cathedral spire.

John never looked to find that awesome landmark; he had resolved weeks earlier to turn his back on that unfinished stump of stone, and to walk until it was no longer there to see.

He allowed himself to enjoy the cool morning, to listen to the birdsong and the sounds of country life. At first such simple things had been beyond him, his grief and his rage had all but denied him the will to draw breath. Coming back to the world was a nice surprise, like the feeling coming back after frostbite.

‘Good morning to you’ he said to a stout woman who was leading a fine brown cow through a gate on to the lane.

The woman smiled. ‘Good morning to you as well.’ There were some folks who didn’t take at all kindly to travellers on the road; evidently here was a more generous soul than that.

They walked and talked for a while, the ageing carpenter and the farmer’s wife. They found that they shared a cousin in a village on the coast, and they spoke word-for-word a dialect that bound them tightly to people and place.

‘That’s the barn’ Anne said, ‘I tell you it’s been worrying us this past year, but it has been one of those jobs that has got away from all of us here.’

‘If your good husband has the wood set aside as you say, then I’ll have a look at it for you Cousin. I have my tools here in this bag.’

Anne was pleased to be called Cousin, but suddenly she was flustered and a little red faced. ‘We have not much by way of money to pay a craftsman.’

‘I’ll not trouble your husband’s purse Cousin. You feed me and let me sleep in a hayloft whilst I am here working, and that will be enough. Once I have finished I’ll move along.’

And so the bargain was made. Anne left John at the barn, and the carpenter had his first proper look at the job he had taken on.

The bottom of that big oak post was rotten and soon enough the corner of this fine old barn would start to sag; eventually the whole frame would distort and a repair would become a rebuild.

John had envied farmers for most of his working life, but he knew enough of their lot to be perfectly aware that sometimes there were just too many demands on their time. For a carpenter this barn was in need of urgent attention; for a busy farmer it was a worry to walk past every morning on his way to do a hundred other things before dusk.

* * * * *

‘Why did you go and do that wife?’

‘Well Martin, it has needed doing for a long time and, after all, he is a cousin of mine.’

‘He is no more than a tramp carpenter. I hope you told him that he’s not going to get any money. You know that I am no miser Anne, but we don’t have money to pay travellers to do our work for us.’

‘I told him Martin. He is happy with food and a bed of hay.’

‘He’ll probably eat like a horse and be no better a carpenter than one either.’

‘Oh Martin I am sure that he will do a fine job. You’ll see.’

‘Indeed I will. Indeed I will.’

* * * * *

John propped the corner of the barn, and carefully planned how he would cut back to the good wood of the post before making a scarf joint that would take the replacement base and leave the barn ready for hundreds of years of work yet to come.

The farm was in a pleasant little village, prosperous with good land all around, healthy livestock in every paddock and people happy enough to say hello to the carpenter working on Martin and Anne’s barn. The only problem was, that the lie of the land and the orientation of the barn meant that whenever the carpenter stood up from his work, to watch the swallows pass low over the pastures, or just to ease his back, there was a better than even chance that he would catch sight of that tower in the distance, that cathedral that he would have called accursed but for the trouble that such careless talk could bring.

The days were fine and the starry nights were warm. John slept in deep hay, and for once had no fear of being woken for want of permission to do so. Still, he knew that he was a long way from being well.

‘How is the work going Cousin John?’
‘It goes well Cousin, thank you. I am most likely to be finished the day after tomorrow.’

Anne had caught the carpenter by surprise; he was standing gazing into the distance. He rubbed his eyes as if he had something in them.

‘Do your eyes trouble you Cousin?’

‘No, I am well. Thank you for your concern.’

‘I shall set you a jug of beer down here then, and there is some bread to go along with it.’ Anne would push the man no further than that, but she caught the tremble in his voice, and saw very well that he did not turn all the way to face her.

‘I thank you for your gracious hospitality Cousin.’

That night John dreamed of the tower. His father had worked there before him. The scaffolding, his father used to say, was the coldest place in all of the World; up there an icy wind straight from Hell could freeze the tools to your hands.

Over the long years of building that symbol of faith and piety, plenty of men and boys had died on the tower, but only one of them walked in John’s dreams.

He would see the young apprentice working, see his smile and hear him say ‘How is this Master? I have done it just as you asked have I not?’

Then John would always struggle to wake, to fight his way out of the dream before it turned into the nightmare, but he never could. Just as it had happened in life, the rope would break and the winch would fail; John could never get to the boy in time.

He would hold the lad he loved like a son as he coughed and choked on blood that would not stop; as his breathing raced and slowed time and again, and as his terrified eyes searched John’s face. John tried to be strong for the boy, but he sobbed as the apprentice died; he held him close, as if love alone might keep him safe from the darkness.

The morning and wakefulness brought blessed relief. John worked from dawn that day and took no rest until the job was done. He sat ashen-faced and drained a final jug of beer; he spared not even a glance at the work he had done, or a word for the people he had met. In the late afternoon of that summer’s day he walked away and didn’t look once behind him.

‘I’ll admit Wife that that is the finest work I have ever seen outside of the church. It makes the rest of the barn look right rough.’

‘He’s gone Martin’ Anne replied, ‘Just gone.’

‘What? Not a word? That’s odd. I’d like to shake him by the hand and have him eat with us this evening. In fact Anne I’d like to pay him a little something despite what I said.’

‘Well I think we should Martin. Why don’t we send Mark after him with a few pennies?’

Seeing no way out of at least trying to pay the carpenter now, having only mentioned it because the fellow was gone, Martin agreed, and Mark ran off searching the lanes to hand over the little purse of coins.

‘I do ask myself one thing about your cousin the carpenter’ Martin said later to his wife. ‘What is a man of that skill, a master of his trade, doing mending my barn, when he should be serving God in the building of that great cathedral?’