The Field of the Cloth of Gold

11

After a couple of days, I decided to call on Yadegarian and his fellow settlers in the south-west. They’d chosen a spot at the furthermost turn of the river, and the difference between this and their former dwelling was quite a revelation. I was immediately impressed by the way they’d used leaves and grasses to transform their dull, buff-coloured tents into garlanded bowers. Additional decorations were provided by colourful bunting. The setting was very pleasant, and they were all delighted with their good fortune. Even so, they were hardly living in the lap of luxury. Yadegarian showed me the provisions they’d been allocated: these consisted entirely of biscuits from the emergency reserve. He offered me one to sample, and I noticed it was imprinted with the letter J.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Yadegarian. ‘It must have come from the very bottom of the stash.’

‘Did you bake it?’ I enquired.

‘We baked all of them,’ he replied. ‘Biscuits are our speciality.’

Despite its apparent vintage, the biscuit was delicious. Actually, in size, shape and texture it was remarkably similar to Hartopp’s biscuits, and it occurred to me that in terms of cuisine the two parties had much in common. This gave me an idea: perhaps if they engaged with one another it would help to reduce the sense of division which had lately befallen the Great Field. I made a mental note to discuss the subject with Hen.

Such thoughts were for the future, of course. Meanwhile, the prime concern was the empty space created by Aldebaran’s departure. Apart from the unwanted bath, the south-east now lay empty and desolate. Nevertheless, it would only be a matter of time before the whole region was up for grabs again. Personally, I had no wish to discourage newcomers, but I knew that some of my neighbours were less tolerant. To forestall another incursion, therefore, I made the suggestion that one of our own number should seize the unoccupied land.

‘It’s a golden opportunity for somebody,’ I said. ‘The views of the river are outstanding.’

Regrettably, there were no takers. Brigant was determined to remain north of the ‘turf wall’ (as he called it), and Hartopp felt that his stranded boats tied him to the north-east. Not even his sons were interested, although I often saw them roaming the deserted river bank. They told me they were looking for adventure, but ultimately they decided the lowlands were too tame for them.

Once again I was the only contender. The rich pastures were mine for the taking, and I had to confess the temptation was hard to resist. At the back of my mind, however, a doubt was lurking. Experience told me that whoever held the south-east soon became the object of intense scrutiny by the rest of the field. This was an inescapable truth, brought about by a combination of factors ranging from curiosity to outright envy, and I wasn’t sure whether I welcomed the prospect. Consequently, I deferred making any move for the time being. I didn’t rule it out entirely, but I decided I should at least sleep on it.

That was the plan, anyway.

As it turned out, sleep was rather hard to come by. In the dead of night I was awoken by a harsh clanging noise which seemed to emanate from the empty quarter. Quickly I put on my boots and went outside. I could see nothing in the darkness, but the clanging persisted in sporadic bursts, accompanied by assorted shouts and curses. The sounds I heard were strange and unfamiliar, and I was beginning to feel uneasy about the situation when suddenly an angry voice cried, ‘Hey!’

The clanging ceased immediately.

The voice I recognized as belonging to Hartopp, and in a moment he appeared silhouetted on top of the embankment. Beside him were two other figures who I assumed to be Hollis and Eldred.

After a brief pause the clanging resumed again, only to be silenced by a further cry of ‘Hey!’

There followed a chorus of derisive hoots and catcalls. These faded into the distance as the clamour gradually subsided. Intermittent blasts of wind continued to beat against my tent, but there was nothing else. The disturbance, apparently, was over.

In the morning I asked Hartopp what had happened.

‘We had some visitors,’ he replied. ‘Men in boats.’

‘That was quite a din they were making.’

‘They were hammering the copper bath,’ said Hartopp. ‘Trying to break it up, I suppose.’

‘Until you scared them off.’

‘Yes.’

Presently we were joined by Brigant, then the three of us wandered down to the south-east to inspect the bath. Apart from a number of dents, I was pleased to note there was little obvious damage. If the raiders had been trying to extract value from the copper, they’d plainly gone the wrong way about it.

‘They could keep hammering all day long and get nowhere,’ I remarked. ‘You can’t break copper into pieces.’

‘I wonder if they knew the bath’s real purpose?’ said Brigant.

‘To judge by appearances, probably not,’ said Hartopp.

‘You saw them, then?’

‘Only vaguely, I admit, but I can tell you just who they were. I caught a glimpse of their boats when they were sailing away and I realized I’d seen them before. They’re inveterate marauders from the distant north, led by a man called Hogust. We encountered them when we were travelling downriver.’

‘Did we?’ said Brigant. ‘I don’t remember that.’

‘It was before you came aboard,’ said Hartopp. ‘Don’t forget, the river has many tributaries.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘This Hogust is a born menace, actually. I could hear him egging them all on last night.’

‘Do you think they’ll try again?’ I asked.

‘Not sure,’ Hartopp replied. ‘It depends what mood they’re in.’

‘Maybe they’ll come and settle in the south-east.’

‘Maybe,’ said Hartopp, ‘but again I’m not sure. They’re not really the types to settle in any one place for very long: it’s just as likely they’ll go back upriver.’

‘Well, let’s hope they do,’ said Brigant. ‘We don’t want them landing here.’

For a while we stood gazing at the horizon in silent speculation, then we all returned to the sanctuary of our tents. For my part, I’d found Hartopp’s description of the raiders rather disquieting, and clearly Brigant felt the same way. As I mentioned earlier, I had absolutely nothing against newcomers; indeed, they often brought a wealth of variety and colour to the field, Isabella being a perfect example. There were certain limits, however, which Hogust and his comrades had patently exceeded. To arrive in the dead of night armed with hammers was wholly unacceptable, especially when people were trying to sleep. If this was how they behaved, then they definitely wouldn’t be welcome, and I knew I wasn’t alone in this sentiment.

The abandoned bath, of course, was an open invitation for further trouble. As long as it lay exposed for all to see then it was bound to attract unwanted attention, and I spent some time pondering what could be done. In the event, though, it was Yadegarian who provided a solution. Around mid-afternoon I spotted him leading a small party towards the south-east. When they reached the bath they gave it a thorough examination; then they began hauling it back the way they’d come. It was evidently quite heavy and they had a bit of a struggle. Nonetheless, they persevered until they got it home.

I assumed that Yadegarian had learnt about the raid and decided to take the bath into his safekeeping. This was a worthy deed, but in all probability it was destined to be forgotten. The bath would doubtless remain neglected in some obscure part of the field, surrounded by nettles and corroded by the elements, until it was totally lost from memory. An unfortunate fate, yet more or less inevitable. I was surprised, therefore, when Yadegarian set to work restoring it to its former glory. For hour after hour, he and his companions carefully hammered out the dents with wooden mallets; then they burnished the copper to a lustrous sheen. Finally, they placed the bath on an earthen pedestal in the centre of the camp. There it rested, gleaming in the sunshine.

Hen and I observed the entire process from start to finish. It was a fascinating spectacle, but later I discovered that Hen harboured deep misgivings. During the next few days he kept his promise to Aldebaran, dutifully watching over the settlers and making sure that all was well. As with everything else, he took the task very seriously. Even so, he was completely baffled by their obsession with the copper bath.

‘I can’t fathom them out,’ he told me. ‘They polish it over and over again, morning, noon and night.’

‘Perhaps they’re drawn to its unnatural splendour,’ I suggested. ‘After all, it’s a fine piece of workmanship.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said Hen, ‘but it’s still a worry as far as I’m concerned. They really ought to be busy preparing for the end of the season, conserving their supplies, gathering fuel and so forth. Instead, they pass their evenings dancing around that blessed bath.’

‘Lucky them,’ I said. ‘Sounds like a pleasant enough pastime.’

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ he retorted. ‘Summer won’t last for ever.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘They should at least be baking fresh biscuits.’

Hen’s comments reminded me of the idea I’d been considering.

‘Oh, by the way,’ I said, ‘talking of biscuits…’

It was as far as I got.

All at once, a commotion erupted in the north-east. We heard a warning shout from Hartopp, and the next moment a number of long, narrow sailing boats came sweeping down the river. Immediately, Yadegarian’s people rushed to the copper bath and concealed it beneath a tarpaulin; then they retired to their tents. Meanwhile, the boats reached the south-east corner and several men scrambled ashore. Another group stayed afloat, as if primed for a swift getaway. It seemed the raiders had returned, and on this occasion they’d arrived in broad daylight.

We watched the landing party as they scoured the area where the bath had previously lain. When they realized it was gone they stood staring blankly at the empty ground; obviously this was something they hadn’t bargained for. A delay followed, after which we heard instructions being barked from one of the boats. At such a distance we couldn’t tell what was being said, but the meaning soon became clear. Within minutes, all the boats had been pulled onto the bank and their sails dropped; then everyone started unloading tents and equipment. Everyone, that is, except the man giving the orders. He was a stocky fellow with a gruff voice, and was the very last to come ashore.

‘Hogust, I presume,’ said Hen.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He must have decided to stay after all.’

‘Perhaps it’s only temporary.’

‘Yes, perhaps.’

We continued to watch while Hogust surveyed his new surroundings. The men under his command were an undisciplined bunch. They were wandering about in a haphazard manner, apparently choosing places to pitch their tents, then changing their minds again. Two or three, I noticed, were squabbling over some items of baggage. They pushed and shoved one another with voices raised, and looked as if they were about to come to blows. Next instant, however, the dispute dissolved into raucous laughter. A couple of playful punches were thrown, and that was the end of it.

Hogust, in the meantime, had taken several paces away from his rowdy associates. He was now standing alone, peering at the vacant swathe of grass that lay before him. Evidently something had caught his attention. All of a sudden he turned on his heels and rejoined the others, snapping out a new set of instructions. A howl of protest rose up, but Hogust silenced it by cuffing the ear of the man nearest to him. After that, they all did as they were told. With their leader urging them to get a move on, they quickly reloaded the boats and hoisted the sails. Finally, they pushed off and headed back upriver.

Hen and I witnessed the undignified withdrawal in astonishment.

‘What’s caused that, I wonder?’ said Hen.

‘Not sure,’ I replied. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’

We made certain the visitors had properly gone, then strolled over to the south-east. It was eerily quiet, and there was nothing to suggest that only ten minutes earlier a horde of unruly men had been roving all over the place. The only signs of habitation were those left by Aldebaran and his people. During the past week, the flattened grass had begun to make a partial recovery. Nonetheless, we could plainly see the impressions left by a multitude of tents. They stretched away in every direction and told the story of a huge force recently departed. The vision they conjured up must have unnerved Hogust; hence his rapid retreat.

The truth, of course, was slightly different: the impressions in the grass were the last traces of a fading power that was unlikely ever to return. If he’d so chosen, Hogust could have stayed where he was for as long as he wished. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to have been ambushed by his own imagination.

Even so, the incident had demonstrated yet again the need for a permanent presence in the south-east. Ideally, it required a person of substance to fulfil the role: someone whose natural gravitas expressed their irrefutable right to be there; someone whose tent was majestic rather than showy; grand but not overbearing. Only when this was achieved would the other residents feel less imposed upon, and only then would outsiders like Hogust be dissuaded from chancing their luck.

As it transpired, we hadn’t seen the last of that character. The following morning his boats landed in the north-east, and again the men brought their baggage ashore. They completely ignored Hartopp, who was watching from a short distance away; then, without a ‘by your leave’, they began setting up camp right next door to him. Needless to say, they didn’t go about this task quietly: it appeared every move, however small, entailed a stream of shouting, horseplay and general rowdiness. Bedecked with barbaric pennants, their tents were garish and ugly. They pitched them side-by-side and back-to-back, all jammed together with hardly a space in between. It was a tight squeeze, and by the time they’d finished they were practically butting up against Hartopp’s meticulously ordered encampment.

Understandably, Hartopp was appalled but, as he later remarked, there was nothing he could do. Hogust and his confederates had as much right to be in the field as anybody else.

‘We’ve no choice,’ said Hartopp in a resigned tone. ‘I’m afraid we’ll just have to learn to live with them.’

Why Hogust decided to settle so close by was anybody’s guess. The only explanation I could think of was that he’d seen Hartopp’s upturned boats and recognized him as a fellow sailor. All the same, the notion of going and introducing himself seemed not to have entered Hogust’s head. Instead, once established, he started poking around the area, presumably in search of plunder. At one stage he barged into the clump of nettles, apparently insensitive to their stings, and studied the three boats in detail. He tapped their hulls and prodded their keels for signs of rot, then ran his hands over the paintwork as though contemplating whether it was worthwhile salvaging the vessels. I could have told him they were in superb condition (they were bound to be, knowing Hartopp) but that was beside the point. Obviously Hogust had no concept of private property; and it was equally obvious that Hartopp would need to keep a sharp eye on him.

In the meantime, some of the crew had forayed inland. Eventually, they encountered the trench crossing their path. It, too, was now full of burgeoning nettles, but undeterred they jumped across and climbed onto the grassy embankment. There they stood gazing into the south, but for some reason they ventured no further. I could see them clearly from my tent, and I noticed they all had jutting brows. They grinned at me for a moment or two, and I nodded in acknowledgement; then they went back the way they’d come. Seemingly, they’d roamed far enough for the present.

It was difficult to tell if they were going to be a perpetual nuisance, or whether they would quieten down after a day or two. Sadly, the forecasts were not encouraging. To judge by the constant racket they made, they had absolutely no consideration for the people living around them. Nor was there any let-up when darkness fell: the noise persisted throughout the evening as they caroused and argued on the river bank. I lay awake in my tent and reflected on the peaceful life we’d known long ago, before the advent of strident bugles, tuneless clanging and boisterous laughter, when the only sound had been the gentle stirring of the wind. Those days were now remote indeed.

Ultimately, however, even Hogust and his men required sleep. Sometime after midnight they went to bed and silence descended over the field at last. For a while I continued listening, just to make sure there was nobody on the prowl. As a matter of fact I did hear something: a kind of distant murmuring, or perhaps a whirring of wings; but then it, too, subsided. I pondered the question of the newcomers and realized that Hartopp was probably correct: we would simply have to learn to live with them. Finally, I sank into a deep sleep.

In the morning I was slowly awoken by the sunlight filtering through my canvas walls. All was quiet, and I assumed the longboatmen were still at their slumbers. The height of the sun told me I’d slept much later than usual, so after a few more minutes I roused myself and got up. I unfastened my doorway, then peered outside and beheld a shimmering white tent in the south-east.

Blinking with disbelief I looked again, but I was not mistaken. The tent stood in exactly the same place as it had before, dominating the river and perfectly befitting its lush surroundings. Moreover, it still retained its air of timelessness, so that it appeared to have been there for ever, rather than only a few hours. The tent’s magnificence was beyond compare. Splendid and gracious in equal measure, it bestowed a certain tranquillity upon the Great Field, and for these reasons I welcomed its return.

Even so, my feelings were tempered when the doorway parted and Thomas emerged. As usual he was barefoot, bearded, and dressed in flowing white robes. He paused a moment, and I waited for him to glance around the field in his usual all-encompassing manner. Instead, though, he turned and addressed someone inside the tent. This I found rather perplexing because in the past he’d always travelled alone; indeed, his self-regard was so inflated that I wouldn’t have thought he needed any companionship.

I watched with mounting interest as the conversation continued. Thomas was now standing fairly close to the entrance, his shoulders hunched and his arms outstretched, and gradually I realized that it was not so much a conversation as an argument. Furthermore, to judge by his awkward stance, Thomas seemed to be losing. The person inside the tent clearly had him on the ropes, and casually I wondered what he could have done to deserve such disapprobation. Perhaps if he’d raised his voice a little I could have picked up a few details, but to his credit Thomas remained calm and merely shrugged in a gesture of apparent defeat. Next moment he headed towards the crossing. I had no idea whether he saw me peering out from the recess of my tent; if he did, he gave no indication, but I sensed that he’d rather nobody had witnessed his discomfiture. Accordingly, I withdrew slightly into the shadows.

When Thomas reached the crossing I expected him to enter the water and head directly for the opposite side, as he had done so many times in the past. Today, however, he stopped abruptly at the bank and stood gazing into the south. There was nothing to be seen. Apart from a few scattered trees, the fields beyond the river were quite empty, yet Thomas continued to scrutinize the horizon. I surmised, therefore, that he must be waiting for someone. Whoever it was, they were plainly overdue. The sun was gaining height with the approach of midday, but still nobody appeared. For his part, Thomas was becoming increasingly impatient. He paced back and forth on the river bank, occasionally casting a glance towards the shimmering white tent, then turning to resume his vigil once again.

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).