grief of Edward Herepath and Mistress Ford without some kind of introduction. Would you.., could you provide me with a letter?'
Alderman Weaver considered my request, then nodded briskly. 'Accompany me to the weaving sheds, and I'll dictate some lines to my clerk after I have finished with the aulnager. Meantime, you can take yourself down to the tenter ground. It was two of the tenterers' children who fished William's hat from the Frome. You may gain some further information from them, although after all this time, I would not wish to raise false hopes. But something new may be discovered.'
He called for his manservant to bring his hat and warm frieze cloak, and together we set out, along Broad Street, down High Street, and across the bridge with its shops and tall, narrow houses. Spanning the middle of the bridge was a chapel dedicated to the Virgin and, as we passed through, I sent up a prayer, asking Our Lady's blessing on my mission. I might have asked for its successful conclusion, except I had learned at an early age that neither God, nor His gracious Lady Mother, nor His Son, our Saviour, are prepared to give something for nothing. I should have to work to ensure a happy outcome.
The weaving sheds were busy at that time of day, and the clack of the looms could be heard even before we reached St Thomas's Church. From every cottage there sounded the hum of spinning-wheels. The aulnager was already waiting outside the counting-house, tapping an impatient foot and resisting the head weaver's attempts to placate him for the alderman's tardiness. An alderman of Bristol, however, was unlikely to be intimidated by the annoyance of a mere city inspector, and Alderman Weaver took much longer than was necessary instructing me how to reach the tenter grounds, which lay on the other side of the Redcliffe wall, along the bank of the Avon.
'Come back later,' he told me finally, 'and you shall have your letter.'
I thanked him and went out by the Redcliffe Gate. To my left, William Canynges's beautiful church of St Mary stood guard over the row of houses climbing Redcliffe Gate but I turned to my right, past the gravel pits to where the fullers had their small community, soaking and hammering the newly woven cloth before dispatching it to the tenters to be stretched. The tenter fields were further on again, looking across the river towards the Great Marsh and the Backs, where ships rode at anchor, waiting to be relieved of their cargoes or loaded for the journey home.
I cursed myself for a second time when I realized I had failed to ask the alderman for the two boys' names, but set about remedying the omission. There were a number of men working at the wooden frames. One couple near me fixed the selvedge of a piece of fulled cloth to the tenterhooks of the crossbar, before hooking the other selvedge to an even heavier wooden bar which was then allowed to swing free, its weight pulling and stretching the wet material into shape. When they had finished, I approached them cautiously and made my request. I knew from experience how loath closely knit communities of craftsmen were to give information to prying strangers, and was not surprised to be met with tightly shut mouths and uncomprehending stares. But once I had mentioned the names of Margaret Walker and Alderman Weaver, I was treated with less suspicion, and one of the two men told me what I needed to know.
'You're wanting Burl Hodge's young lads,' he said, giving me a long hard look. 'Come to think of it, Burl's mentioned you. You're the chapman who was taken sick some weeks back, just after Christmas. He helped carry you to Widow Walker's cottage, if I remember rightly.' I assured him that he did and asked where I could find Burl Hodge's sons this time of day.
'You'd best ask Burl himself,' my informant answered grudgingly, and nodded towards the opposite end of the field. 'Over there, with the green jerkin and brown hood.' I thanked him and made my way between the frames
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