The church is poor?’ asked Martin of Smithy. ‘Well, like any other business,’ said the man. ‘If people don’t like
what you’re selling —’
‘Selling!’ said Martin. ‘Yet surely pilgrims have come from every road, just as we have, with gifts for the Great Church?’
‘Gifts!’ said Smithy, ‘Well put it this way. You’re probably the first.’
‘Aye!’ said Connor, for he had watched Griffin’s excitement, and knew the boy had brought them another step of the way. ‘Cum- brian copper!’
or God’s Great Church!’ said Searle, and up- ended his pack so the copper pigs spilled across the floor.
‘For the spike. Smithy!’ cried Griffin, tugging at the man, and dancing about with excitement. ‘You’ve got to cast it, you’ve got to. Please? Cast it — you must!’
‘Sshhh, boy,’ said Smithy, yet he could not stop smiling, and even as he turned to his two guild workers, the answer to the boy’s question was written on his face.
And so the molten spike came true, red and glowing. But at the foundrymen’s insistence it was left to cool slowly lest it crack, and Connor paced the foundry yard, pent up and anxious. Again and again his eyes turned to the moon as it passed its zenith, and began its quick slide towards dawn.
For at dawn the spike must be raised or their mission fail, and the incubus of contagion hatch in the village.
And Connor chafed and fretted and checked their ropes and pulleys that they might be sufficient to do their job, and paced the yard and then upon the instant stood listening intently, and slipped away and was gone half an hour .
Upon Connor’s return the spike was turned from the mould, yet it was still hot enough to blister the skin, and the foundry men gave to Connor leathern gauntlets that he might carry it onward, and bade the miners farewell.
