Wilfrid hesitated again. It might have been thought that he was wondering how much he could possibly ask. But it was not that.
“I met you in London, Master Bouverel,” he said finally, “and I understood you to be a worker in amail.”
Amail was the common name for enamel. The corruption may have come from the fancied likeness of the work to the richly ornamented “mail,” or from the fact that the enamel covered the gold as mail covers a man’s body.
“Amail, gold and silver work, and jewelry,” said Guy.
“Is it hard to learn?”
“That depends,” returned the goldsmith. “I was brought up to the craft, and I’ve been at it ten year now in Limoges, but I’m a prentice lad beside the masters.”
“Well, it’s like this,” said the potter slowly. “I saw amail in France and Limoges that fair made me silly. I know a bit of glass-work, and something of my own trade, but this was beyond me. I’ll never be aught but a potter, but if you can give me a piece o’ that I’ll give you the chest and what you like besides to make up the price.”
Guy smiled—he had never suspected that Wilfrid felt about the enameling as he himself did. “You shall have it and welcome,” he answered. “But why not come to the Abbey and learn to do the work yourself—if you can leave your own workshop? We can do with more men, and there might be things about the glazing and that which would be useful in your pottery.”
Wilfrid met the suggestion gladly. He could make arrangements to leave the pottery in the hands of his head man for a while; for all the work they did was common ware which a man could almost make in his sleep. If he could study some of the secrets of glazing and color work with Guy, he might come back with ideas worth the journey.
He did not tell Edwitha anything about the enamel-work. That was to be a surprise.