The Field of the Cloth of Gold Page 11

  By now, though, I was paying scant attention to Thomas and his concerns. During the course of the morning, fresh eruptions had occurred in the north-east as Hogust’s comrades greeted another day. An endless series of bangs and crashes shattered the peace, so eventually I decided to wander over and give Hartopp some moral support. I made my way through the chaotic ranks of tents to his beleaguered settlement and found him carrying out a daily inspection. Evidently, he was trying his best to adhere to his routine, but it was no easy task with fights and squabbles breaking out every few minutes. So far his property had survived unscathed, but Hartopp confessed his nerves were beginning to jangle. Indeed, he was so distracted that he’d only just noticed the return of the shimmering white tent. It was a fact he observed with dismay.

  ‘I was hoping Hogust would move to the south-east,’ he said. ‘Little chance of that now.’

  Further up the river bank, several longboats had been drawn ashore. Their sails were fully rigged as if in readiness for a forthcoming raid, but actually they were going nowhere.

  ‘They’re forever putting up their sails and taking them down again,’ explained Hartopp. ‘Must be force of habit.’

  Among the men standing around the longboats I could see Hollis and Eldred. They seemed totally absorbed by the spectacle, and quite at ease in the company of strangers. I viewed this as a positive sign for future integration. Hartopp, on the other hand, was less optimistic.

  ‘Bound to be a bad influence,’ he remarked. ‘I don’t want my boys setting off downriver on some sortie.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I doubt if you do.’

  ‘Probably never see them again.’

  ‘No.’

  Clearly, Hartopp’s policy of learning to live with the newcomers had its limitations, so I thought it wise to change the subject.

  ‘By the way,’ I said, ‘I haven’t seen Brigant lately.’

  ‘No,’ replied Hartopp, ‘you won’t have. He retired to his tent with a headache shortly after the longboats arrived.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Could be days before he recovers.’

  ‘Weeks more like, knowing Brigant.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hartopp. ‘Maybe.’

  The disclosure made me smile to myself: henceforward, Brigant would have to be careful who he called ‘soft’.

  While we’d been talking, I’d noticed Hogust standing alone on the river bank. He’d already glanced our way once or twice, and now he came strolling purposefully towards us.

  ‘Hello,’ I murmured, as he approached. ‘Looks as if he means business.’

  Hogust didn’t bother to introduce himself.

  ‘Right,’ he said, speaking directly to Hartopp. ‘Proposition for you. One of my boats for one of yours.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Hartopp answered, ‘they’re not for sale.’

  Hogust instantly adopted a pained expression.

  ‘I didn’t mention selling, did I?’ he said. ‘Did I mention selling? No, I didn’t. I meant a straight swap.’

  ‘Same answer,’ said Hartopp. ‘Sorry.’

  Now Hogust turned to me.

  ‘Straight swap’s fair enough, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s fair in principle.’

  At this point Hartopp glared at me as though I’d betrayed him, and I suddenly realized that Hogust was a wily operator who knew all the tricks in the book. Plainly he was trying to use me to probe Hartopp’s defences. He was standing very close and peering at us from beneath his jutting brow; first at Hartopp, then at me, then at Hartopp again.

  ‘Trouble is,’ I added quickly, ‘fairness doesn’t enter into it.’

  Hogust was obviously impressed by my words. For several moments he stared at the ground in silence, then finally he let out a sigh.

  ‘Fairness doesn’t enter into it,’ he repeated. ‘How’s that for gratitude? I was only trying to do the man a favour.’

  I had a feeling this comment was simply another trick in Hogust’s repertoire; namely, an attempt to gain sympathy. Fortunately it didn’t wash with Hartopp, who made it quite clear that negotiations were at an end.

  ‘Thanks all the same,’ he said, ‘but no thanks.’

  Hogust was apparently unaccustomed to being stood up to, and I could see that Hartopp had thereby earned his respect. Nevertheless, he wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said, in a last flourish, ‘I’ll give you a few more days to think about it.’

  Hartopp said nothing else, and for the next minute or so we all gazed idly at the distant white tent, shimmering in the south-east. It was partially obscured from view by the earthwork which divided the field so effectively, and which the northerners had labelled the ‘turf wall’. In consequence, the white tent appeared to belong to another world entirely. Detached and remote, it stood in stark contrast to the crowded encampments of the north-east.

  ‘That earthwork,’ said Hogust, finally breaking the silence, ‘blocks the way south, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Hartopp. ‘That’s why it was built in the first place.’

  ‘And for drainage,’ I added.

  ‘Drainage?’ said Hogust. ‘For whose benefit, exactly?’

  ‘The people in the south-east,’ I said, ‘although it’s still to be tried and tested.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s been no rain since the job was completed.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘All that talk about drainage was just an excuse,’ declared Hartopp. ‘The real purpose was to keep the rest of us out.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like to me,’ agreed Hogust. ‘A defensive rampart.’

  ‘But it doesn’t go right across the field,’ I protested. ‘You can easily skirt it in the west.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Hogust, ‘but at the end of the day a wall’s still a wall.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Hartopp.

  There was a brief pause in the conversation, during which Hogust stared thoughtfully at the earthwork.

  ‘What it really needs,’ he said at length, ‘is a sally port here and there.’

  Hartopp nodded his approval, and it struck me that an affinity was beginning to develop between him and Hogust. I had no idea what a sally port was, but I guessed it must be some kind of opening or breach in the embankment. Soon the pair of them were discussing the best way to approach the task, and I realized that with so many men at their disposal it could be readily accomplished. Whether talk would evolve into action was a different question altogether. I left them making their plans and headed for home.

  I’d been gone for a good hour, so I was surprised to see that Thomas was still down at the crossing, gazing southward. The doorway of his tent, meanwhile, remained firmly closed. I found the situation totally baffling, so eventually I went over and asked Hen what he made of it all.

  ‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching Thomas all afternoon and he hasn’t once deserted his post.’

  ‘Must be expecting somebody important,’ I ventured.

  ‘Yes, probably,’ said Hen, ‘although I can’t imagine who.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Hen’s tent was standing nearby, and I noticed that during the past few days he’d added an extra flysheet.

  ‘This dry spell can’t last for ever,’ he remarked, by way of explanation. ‘We’re due a downpour very soon.’

  Hen had made similar utterances ever since I’d known him, and I was quite used to his seasonal predictions. Generally I paid them little heed because it was more or less impossible to forecast the weather in the Great Field. Today, however, Hen’s earnest tone of voice suggested his gloomy outlook might just be correct. I realized I’d made no preparations whatsoever for the onset of autumn, and I determined to deal with the matter over the next few days. As I pondered all this, Hen reached into his tent and produced a tin box.

  ‘Like a biscuit?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’
I replied. ‘I didn’t know you had any.’

  ‘They’re a recent acquisition.’

  The biscuit he offered me was familiar in size, shape and texture, and was imprinted with the letter J.

  ‘Aha,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen these before.’

  ‘Thought you might have,’ said Hen. ‘I traded them with Yadegarian for some supplies.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Hopefully it’ll encourage him to bake some more.’

  Hen closed the tin box and put it away.

  ‘Do you mind if I save this for later?’ I enquired.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Be my guest.’

  After thanking him again, I returned to my tent and stored the biscuit in a safe place (next to my dish and spoon).

  Down at the crossing, Thomas’s long wait seemed to be coming to an end. He’d ceased pacing back and forth and was now peering fixedly into the distance. I followed the line of his gaze, and after a few moments I spotted a troop of men advancing from the south, all laden with baggage. Immediately, Thomas entered the water and waded over to meet them. He appeared quite tense, as if uncertain of the new arrivals, and as they gathered around him I couldn’t help thinking how large they all were. He greeted two of them with cautious handshakes and they held a brief discussion; then he turned and led the entire troop towards the Great Field. By now the light was beginning to fade, but when they neared the bank I could clearly see that they were all wearing iron helmets. After a further word from Thomas, they removed these and stowed them away.

  Something else caught my attention too. Amongst the heavy baggage I noticed two or three rather delicate items. A strange sensation passed through me as I recognized an eiderdown (tied with silk cord), a tapestry (wrapped in ticking), and a collection of velvet cushions (loose).

  12

  With darkness falling, Thomas directed his guests to the south-east and they started setting up camp. Meanwhile, at the far side of the embankment, Hogust’s people resumed their revelries, apparently oblivious to the newcomers. It was the usual story: a constant stream of disturbances that continued late into the evening. I could still hear them cavorting in the moonlight when I went to bed.

  Needless to say I endured a very restless night, and on this occasion it wasn’t Hogust keeping me awake. The sight of Isabella’s belongings had left me wondering where she could be, while at the same time guessing the probable answer. Finally, at dawn, I gave up trying to sleep and went outside. Over in the south-east, a ring of tents surrounded Thomas’s effulgent dwelling. There was no sign of Thomas; nor could I see Hen or any of the others. For the time being I had the field completely to myself, so I decided to make the most of the peace and quiet.

  One thing was definite: I had no intention of being excluded from any part of the field simply because Thomas had chosen to return. I was free to roam wherever I wanted; therefore, I sauntered across to have a closer look at the newly pitched tents. Their occupants were presumably asleep inside, so I approached stealthily and gave them a thorough examination. The nearest tent was cream and turquoise in colour, with steep walls and a pointed roof. The next was orange and purple. To judge by its rather ‘weathered’ condition it was very well-travelled, and I imagined it had been employed on countless expeditions to faraway places. The edge of the roof was encircled by an ornate fringe, and from its peak flew a forked pennant. I noticed this had an unusual design, so I stood on tiptoe to try and get a better view. Next instant somebody grabbed my ankles, my feet were jerked from under me and I fell flat on my face. Quickly my arms were pinioned behind my back; then I felt my assailant’s knee bearing down on my neck. I was completely unable to move, and I could scarcely breathe.

  A few seconds passed, and then a voice spoke quietly in my ear. ‘Not planning to stick your nose into my affairs, are you?’

  When I failed to answer, the knee was pressed down harder, so eventually I shook my head.

  ‘Does that mean “no”?’

  I managed a nod.

  ‘Good,’ said the voice. ‘In future, I don’t want any comments, meddling or interference. You must understand that what I do and where I go is none of your business. Now, have you got the message?’

  I nodded once more, and at last I was allowed to breathe again. The pressure was removed from my neck and my arms were released, but for a while I remained lying face down in the grass. I was in a mild state of shock, partly because of the casual violence, and partly because the voice belonged to Isabella.

  ‘Come on,’ she said at length. ‘Stand up.’

  ‘Alright,’ I answered. ‘Give me a chance.’

  I got slowly to my feet and brushed myself down before glancing around the field.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Isabella. ‘There’s nobody watching.’

  She was clad all in crimson, and stood eyeing me with her hands on her hips.

  ‘How did you do that?’ I asked. ‘You’re smaller than me.’

  ‘I’ve learned a few things on my travels,’ she replied.

  ‘So you thought you’d teach me a lesson.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Even though I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Not yet, no,’ she said, ‘but your track record is hardly encouraging. Let’s call it a preventative strike.’

  Inside the tent, there was a loud grunt followed by a yawn. Somebody had just woken up, so Isabella put her finger to her lips and we moved away a short distance.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to your exploits and I’ll continue with my own. Our paths needn’t cross again.’

  ‘Is this your final decision?’ I enquired.

  Isabella gazed at me and shook her head sadly, but she had nothing further to add. Instead, she turned and walked silently away. As I watched her go, I debated the possibility that she actually meant the opposite of what she said; that she’d subjected me to a kind of ‘rough wooing’ with the promise of better things to come. My hopes were dashed, however, when she reached the shimmering white tent and slipped gracefully inside.

  Meanwhile, the grunts and yawns were getting louder and more persistent, so I walked briskly to the river bank and followed it all the way round to the west. I was just passing Hen’s tent when he came out and wished me a good morning. I could barely bring myself to reply, but I murmured some nicety and together we stood looking towards the south-east.

  ‘I see Thomas has company,’ Hen remarked.

  I presumed he was referring to the new tents, but I couldn’t be sure. Hen often knew more than he let on.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Arrived late yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘“Late” being the operative word,’ said Hen. ‘No wonder Thomas was pacing up and down so much.’

  By now, the sun had fully risen. All across the field we could hear the sounds of another day beginning, and in due course Thomas emerged from the shimmering white tent. He was followed soon afterwards by Isabella.

  ‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Hen.

  Evidently he’d been unaware of Isabella’s presence, and I had to admit it was odd that she’d kept such a low profile since returning. After all, she was hardly a shrinking violet. Suddenly, though, the answer occurred to me: she’d been waiting to be reunited with her personal effects. Not until the eiderdown, the tapestry and the velvet cushions were installed in their proper place would she be satisfied. I was coming to realize that what mattered most to Isabella was the inner tent, rather than the outer trappings.

  Considering she’d only just moved in with him, Thomas was paying her remarkably little attention. He stood with his back to Isabella, gazing around the field in his customary manner, and eventually his eyes alighted on the embankment. Next moment, he went strolling over to inspect it more closely. I watched intrigued as he walked its length from east to west, casting critical glances here and there, and appraising the earthwork in general. By now it had begun to blend in fully with its surroundings: it was grassing over nicely, and I was proud of the p
art I’d played in its construction. Accordingly, the sight of Thomas taking a proprietorial interest annoyed me no end. True enough, he was the main beneficiary of the drainage scheme; yet surely all the organization, the hard graft, the misunderstandings and the disagreements weren’t just so that he could swan around without getting his feet wet!

  What the newcomers made of their enrobed and bearded host was anybody’s guess. They were plainly here at Thomas’s invitation, but they looked a formidable bunch, and somehow I couldn’t picture them going barefoot through the pasture (heavy boots were much more likely). The exact purpose of their visit was far from clear, and as I gazed at their circle of tents I wondered how long they proposed to stay. There’d been no sign of them in the morning, so I assumed they were still resting after their arduous journey. Doubtless they’d surface sooner or later.

  Over on the other side of the embankment, it was business as usual. Random shouts and yells signalled that Hogust’s people were up and about and causing mayhem. Already I’d seen a few sails being hoisted on the river bank, only to be subsequently lowered again. This was typical of the way they lived. From what I’d observed, they were restive people who hadn’t really got enough to do; therefore, they spent their time making a nuisance of themselves. Poor Hartopp acted as a sort of buffer zone, and to some extent he was a calming influence. Nonetheless, sooner or later they were bound to break out of the north-east and head southward: the temptation of the lush, open grassland was simply far too great.

  Of course, there was one thing the northerners all had in common. Without exception, they viewed the earthwork as a defensive rampart. They saw it as a barrier between the upper and lower field, and the idea of creating an opening had already been mooted. I was unsure whether such a plan would improve relations or simply cause hostilities, especially in the light of recent developments, but I decided I should at least find out if any progress was being made. The last time I saw Hartopp and Hogust they’d been discussing the project in earnest, so with some urgency I set off for the north-east.