The Field of the Cloth of Gold

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 part 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.

Halfway there I encountered Brigant. He’d seemingly put an end to his period of self-imposed confinement and was about to rejoin society. I didn’t need to ask how he was feeling. His opening remark was both caustic and spiky: ample proof that he’d made a full recovery.

‘He’s come back then,’ he said, ‘our fairweather friend.’

‘You mean Thomas?’ I replied. ‘Yes, it’s been a couple of days now.’

‘Never see him when it’s raining, do we?’ Brigant continued.

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Nor when there’s a howling gale.’

‘No.’

‘Like I said: fairweather friend.’

Obviously Brigant had lost touch with current affairs while he was laid up. His store of gossip was totally out of date, and he was due for a bit of a shock next time he peered into the south. I didn’t say anything though: he’d find out for himself soon enough.

When I reached the north-east, I was pleased to discover that plans for breaching the embankment had been shelved. Hartopp and Hogust remained on cordial terms with one another, but they’d failed to agree who would be in charge of the operation. Actually, Hartopp had enough on his plate dealing with Hollis and Eldred. They pestered him unceasingly to let them take the boats so they could ply the river in search of adventure. So far he’d resisted their demands, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold out much longer.

‘They think life under sail is all fun and games,’ he said. ‘They’ve forgotten the hard slog when you have to come back upstream.’

Hogust, meanwhile, had made a further offer for Hartopp’s vessels. Apparently he now wanted all three.

‘Why’s he so eager to get hold of them?’ I enquired.

‘Because his longboats are all worn out,’ replied Hartopp. ‘He’s been sailing them for years.’

‘What’s on the table? Straight swap?’

‘Yep.’

‘But the answer’s still “no”.’

‘Correct,’ said Hartopp. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘Quite.’

‘In any case, I need workhorses not jollyboats.’

He gave a weary sigh. Evidently he had much to contend with, and the strain was beginning to show. Apart from his worries over Hollis and Eldred, he was obliged to keep a constant watch over his turbulent neighbours. Thanks to Hogust and his crew, the entire north-east had drifted into a state of ferment. Hartopp was under pressure from all directions, and for this reason his decision to stand firm was all the more admirable.

‘Oh, by the way,’ he remarked, ‘I noticed some new tents appeared overnight.’

‘Actually they arrived late yesterday afternoon,’ I said. ‘Around dusk.’

I didn’t mean to sound as if I was correcting Hartopp, but regrettably that was how it came out.

‘Alright,’ he said, in a flat tone of voice. ‘Dusk then. It hardly makes any difference, does it?’

‘It made a difference to Isabella,’ I announced. ‘They kept her waiting for hours.’

When he heard Isabella’s name, Hartopp’s eyes widened.

‘She’s back then?’ he murmured.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Well, why didn’t you mention it before?’

Now he had that betrayed look on his face again, and I realized I needed to choose my words even more carefully. At the back of my mind there also lurked Isabella’s injunction, forbidding me from discussing her private affairs. I’d already gone too far, if the truth be told, but I didn’t want to make matters any worse.

‘I couldn’t really,’ I said. ‘Not under the circumstances.’

Hartopp regarded me for a long moment, then turned and peered southward.

‘Where’s her crimson tent?’ he asked. ‘I can’t see it.’

Again I was unable to answer.

Down in the south-east, a few of the newcomers were roaming around near the river bank. They moved slowly and purposefully, and had an air of quiet authority about them. Further away, at the very turn of the river, stood Thomas. He was talking to two of the men (they looked like the two he’d shaken hands with the previous day) and the discussion continued for some time. Meanwhile, Isabella emerged from the shimmering white tent and began a series of bending and stretching exercises.

Hartopp turned to face me. He’d gone rather pale.

‘So she’s with him?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Seems as if I’m the last to know,’ he said solemnly. ‘Just shows what she thinks of me, doesn’t it?’

I gave no reply. Hartopp was plainly shaken by what he’d seen, so I desperately cast about for some way to distract him from his troubles. What I required was a subject close to his heart (apart from Isabella), and it occurred to me that I should have brought along the biscuit imprinted with the letter J. Over the past day or two, I’d been harbouring a vague notion about using it to demonstrate the similarity between the various settlements dotted across the field; and maybe even initiate some rudimentary trading. Naturally, Hartopp would have been a key player in such a project (he was, after all, a leading exponent of biscuits) but unfortunately I’d forgotten my sample. The opportunity was lost.

Just then, to cap it all, I saw Hogust strolling towards us.

‘Not now, Hogust,’ I thought to myself. ‘Hartopp can probably do without your ceaseless badgering.’

In the event, however, Hogust provided exactly the kind of distraction I’d been seeking. Apparently he had yet another proposal for Hartopp.

‘How would you like us to clear those nettles from around your boats?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks,’ Hartopp answered.

‘We’ll do it free of charge,’ Hogust added.

This was obviously a ploy to gain easier access to the vessels, but Hartopp was having none of it.

‘I’ll clear them in my own good time,’ he said, ‘thank you very much.’

Hogust tutted with exasperation, then he tried changing tack.

‘Look, Hartopp,’ he said, ‘you don’t really need your boats any more, so why not let me take them off your hands? I mean to say, you’re nicely settled here and you’ve probably done with travelling.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Hartopp, ‘but I’d prefer to keep my boats in reserve.’

‘Whatever for?’

Hartopp didn’t reply to this question. Instead, he went on the offensive.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘you’re nicely settled here too. You must be. Whenever you prepare to leave, you change your mind at the last minute and take your sails down again.’

‘That’s our choice,’ said Hogust. ‘We’re a nautical people. We come and go when we please.’

‘Well, if you’re a nautical people,’ said Hartopp, ‘why don’t you build some new boats?’

For a few moments Hogust was rendered speechless by the observation. The look of surprise on his face suggested it had never occurred to him to build any vessels of his own. How he’d acquired his present, ageing fleet was known only to him, but judging by his predatory instincts I could hazard a fair guess.

‘Of course, we could build some if we wanted to,’ he spluttered, ‘but we’ve rarely had the need.’

‘It’s fairly simple when you know what you’re doing,’ Hartopp added.

‘Of course it is.’

‘I could give you a hand if you like.’

‘No, no,’ said Hogust. ‘Thanks anyway, but we’ve got plenty enough boats when I think about it.’

There was a movement beside me, and I realized that sometime during the conversation we’d been joined by Brigant. To get here he would have had to pass through Hogust’s cluttered encampment, but clearly his distaste for the noise and squalor had been overcome by sheer curiosity. Now he stood peering with interest at the man with the jutting brow.

‘You off then?’ he asked.

‘Hadn’t planned on it,’ Hogust replied. ‘Depends on the weather.’

To my ears this sounded like an excuse for inaction. It was quite obvious Hogust wasn’t going anywhere, but he refused to admit the fact (especially to himself). Moreover, to invoke the weather was completely spurious: a man of his experience should be able to sail in any conditions if he so desired. As it happened, there hadn’t been a drop of rain since Aldebaran’s hurried departure several weeks ago. Despite all prophesies, the Great Field remained dry. Consequently it was attractive to people who dwelt in tents, and these naturally included Hogust. Nevertheless, he continued the charade of being ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Hartopp, meanwhile, had given a very impressive performance. He’d channelled his disappointment over Isabella into a successful sparring match with Hogust, and he seemed all the better for it. Furthermore, he now had Brigant for reinforcement.

‘I was thinking,’ he remarked at length, ‘that a few of us could move up to the north-west.’

‘How do you mean?’ enquired Hogust.

‘Well,’ said Hartopp, ‘it’s the only part of the field that’s still unoccupied. Oh, I know it’s a bit wild and windswept in that direction, but there’s ample space for anyone who likes a challenge. Actually, I’m surprised nobody’s settled there already.’

‘Probably too harsh for most types,’ adjoined Brigant. ‘You’d need to be pretty resilient to last very long.’

‘Really?’ said Hogust.

He turned and peered into the north-west, with the dark hills rising in the distance beyond.

‘A challenge, eh?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, I suppose it would be.’

Hartopp and Brigant plainly had the measure of Hogust. I left the three of them discussing the merits and pitfalls of a move to the north-west, and wandered homeward. There was no telling if Hartopp had truly set aside his feelings for Isabella, or whether he’d merely adopted a brave face. Either way, he was putting on a more convincing show than I could manage. I was sliding gradually into the depths of despond, and the matter wasn’t helped when I glanced at the shimmering white tent. There, reposing beneath its ornate canopy, lay Thomas and Isabella, the afternoon sunlight bathing them in a soft, warm glow.

Now it was me who needed a distraction. I turned away and was glad to see Hen hovering casually near the river bank in the west. In general, Hen was the last person to hover casually, so I guessed he had some news to impart. I also sensed that it was not for public consumption. Adjusting my course, I advanced towards the river until our paths converged; then, without speaking, we strolled together along the bank. Not until we’d gone a good way did Hen break the silence. Apparently, during my absence, he’d received a courtesy visit from Thomas.

‘Just turned up at my tent,’ said Hen. ‘Quite unexpected.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Must have been.’

‘He apologized for deserting the field at such a crucial juncture, but the fault lay wholly with Julian’s people.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘It seems they treated Thomas very shoddily,’ Hen continued. ‘They lured him away under false pretences; then they used all kinds of tricks and obfuscation to delay his return.’

Once again I was struck by Thomas’s overweening sense of self-importance. From what I could gather, he assumed the entire population had been waiting for him to come back and take up his former residence. Why he thought any of us should care one way or another was beyond me, but Hen was certainly indignant on his behalf.

‘What were these false pretences?’ I asked. ‘Precisely?’

‘It makes a sorry tale,’ said Hen. ‘Initially they tried to play down their interest in the Great Field and insisted they were “just looking”. On close questioning, however, it soon became clear they had a speculative motive. They told Thomas they were also considering a number of similar options elsewhere; and as proof of their good faith they invited him to accompany them while they reviewed several other possibilities in the southern lands beyond the river. On the spur of the moment he agreed to go with them, but it was a decision he came to regret. In the course of the journey Julian was revealed to be a man of great ambition, and relations between him and Thomas eventually soured.’

‘Ambition,’ I said. ‘Is that why Julian was overthrown?’

‘Most probably,’ answered Hen. ‘Thereafter, Thomas found life very difficult. Julian’s successors claimed that nothing had changed and that he remained their honoured guest. In reality, though, he felt as if he was being held hostage: he was friendless and far from home, and only after a long struggle did he manage to break free of them.’

Hen paused and glanced into the south-east.

‘The upshot of all this,’ he announced, ‘is that Thomas no longer trusts anybody, which is why he enlisted the services of Horsefall and Griep.’

‘The people who arrived last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Hen. ‘By all accounts they’re seasoned campaigners.’

‘They look like thugs to me.’

‘Well, Hogust looks like a thug,’ Hen replied, ‘but you seem to have made friends with him alright.’

‘That’s different,’ I said. ‘Hogust’s based in the north-east, whereas this lot are practically next door.’

Hen gave a shrug.

‘If you don’t like it,’ he said, ‘you’ll just have to move somewhere else, won’t you?’

Evidently, Hen was prepared to brook no criticism of Thomas’s judgement. I found his perpetual loyalty quite inexplicable, but there was no point in arguing with him. Even so, I still had my doubts. As we resumed our stroll, I debated whether Thomas hadn’t made a grave error. After all, Horsefall and Griep could hardly be described as meek and mild retainers: on the contrary, they were heavyweights who’d arrived with a band of equally heavy accomplices. True enough, their circle of tents was likely to discourage anyone else from settling nearby, and perhaps this was just what Thomas wanted. Nonetheless, I wondered at what cost his splendid isolation had been achieved.

Presently, our stroll took us to the extreme south-west of the field. Here we encountered a very pleasant scene: Yadegarian and his followers peacefully decorating their bowers, baking biscuits and tending the copper bath. Hen was rather pleased about the biscuits, especially since they’d acted on his advice and replenished their stocks.

‘We regard you as a sort of father figure,’ Yadegarian told him. ‘You’re welcome here whenever you wish.’

‘Thanks,’ Hen replied, glancing all around him. ‘I must confess, you seem to have created a perfect settlement.’

Indeed, the contrast with the hubbub of the north-east was striking. Instead of tumult, there was tranquillity; instead of fights and squabbles, there was harmony. At the same time, I couldn’t help noticing the air of vulnerability that lay over the camp. Kindness and hospitality were all very well, but they offered no defence against incursion, plunder and pillage.

‘Like a biscuit?’ said Yadegarian.

‘Wouldn’t say no,’ I answered.

‘They’re freshly baked.’

‘Even better.’

The biscuit he offered me was imprinted with a depiction of the sun rising, which I thought was most appropriate given Yadegarian’s hopes and aspirations. I sat munching it in silence, then all of a sudden a fantastic idea occurred to me. During the afternoon, Hartopp had suggested that somebody might move to the unclaimed territory of the north-west. Obviously the shot was aimed squarely at Hogust, but whether it had sunk in or not was still open to question. Meanwhile, there was no reason why I shouldn’t make the move myself. In fact, when I considered it properly, I realized it was a chance not to be missed. For a start, I’d be spared the unbearable sight of Thomas and Isabella emerging each morning from the shimmering white tent. Second, I could enjoy a new start with new outlooks and new horizons. Finally, I could put to the test Brigant’s bold assertion that life in the north was more ‘interesting’.

I decided not to mention it to the others, though. At least not yet. In the morning I’d simply pack up my tent and leave without explanation. Just for a change, it would be me who was the man of destiny, the adventurer and the pioneer. Possibly my foray into the north-west would cause a stir, but even if it did I no longer cared. All at once I felt a freedom I hadn’t known since my earliest days in the field; indeed, I was so pleased with myself I almost gave the game away.

‘What are you smiling about?’ asked Hen.

‘Nothing in particular,’ I replied. ‘Just pondering the future really.’

Eventually we wished Yadegarian a good evening and returned the way we’d come. Over in the south-east we could see Thomas and Isabella deep in conversation with one another. Or, more correctly, Isabella was talking to Thomas while he stood gazing vaguely into the distance. Plainly he still had a lot to learn about Isabella. I didn’t know much, but I could have told him he ignored her at his peril. She had her hands on her hips (always a dangerous sign) and was addressing him earnestly on some burning issue, but he continued to pay her no attention whatsoever. Well, more fool him! If he wasn’t careful he was going to lose her altogether (or so I hoped anyway).