The Field of the Cloth of Gold (10 page)

‘We produced a shortage of milk pudding. We measured the ingredients in the wrong quantities.’

‘Not again!’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And this is your punishment?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good grief,’ I said. ‘What kind of regime is it, exactly?’

The cooks ventured no opinion. Instead, they just stood there, silent and forlorn.

I puffed out my cheeks and stared thoughtfully at the length of string stretching away into the distance.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it looks as if you’ve no choice but to get on with the job.’

‘But we’ve no idea how to do it!’ protested Yadegarian. He was plainly very concerned.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ I replied. ‘I can give you a few pointers.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, for instance, you’re all wearing sandals. They’re wholly inappropriate for heavy labouring: you’d be much better off in proper workboots.’

I indicated my own footwear.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Yadegarian, with a glimmer of recognition. ‘I think we can get those from our quartermaster.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘As soon as possible then.’

‘Alright.’

With a wave of my hand I grouped the cooks around me so they could see what I was talking about.

‘Next,’ I continued, ‘you’ll need to learn about the wide range of tools at your disposal. Each has a specific role: pick-axes are for breaking up the earth; spades are for digging; shovels are for excavation: you’ll soon get the hang of it and then I can show you how to use them correctly.’

In order to get the job started, I grabbed a spade and dug the first section of ground myself. The going was fairly easy, and I soon had the beginnings of a trench. Alongside it lay a neat pile of earth.

‘There you are,’ I said. ‘Just use the string line as a guide and it should be nice and straight when it’s finished.’

Obviously I couldn’t leave them unsupervised, at least not until they’d tried doing it themselves, so I watched while they took turns with the spades, shovels and picks. Initially they struggled, but I offered plenty of encouragement and gradually they developed a suitable work rate. Even so, it had become clear that digging the trench was no small undertaking. By my reckoning, the job could last four or five days. In the meantime, I assumed the cooks were excused kitchen duties. When I asked them, however, they all shook their heads.

‘The demands of the kitchen remain the same,’ explained Yadegarian. ‘We’re having to get up extra early just to keep on top of everything.’

‘How early?’

‘Well, this morning we were baking biscuits before dawn.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘I like biscuits.’

‘They’re our speciality,’ said Yadegarian.

‘Not milk pudding?’

‘No.’

I mentioned that Hartopp was a keen advocate of biscuits and always maintained a copious stock; but Yadegarian seemed too preoccupied by the present task to absorb the information. It was patently weighing heavily upon him.

Naturally, I felt rather guilty about standing idly by when the cooks had been working all hours. Therefore, I decided to pitch in and help them finish the trench. I selected a shovel as my weapon of choice; then I set to and laboured until late afternoon. With an extra man in the team we made excellent progress, though the cooks began to flag when evening drew near. Finally, at dusk, I suggested we called a halt, and they thanked me for my assistance before wandering back to the encampment. The trench was starting to take definite shape and form, and as I gazed at our handiwork I suddenly realized that neither Hartopp, Brigant nor any of the others had been over to have a look. It was too late now, of course, because it was almost dark, but I was surprised that nobody had come and shown any interest in the project. Actually, when I thought about it, they were all noticeable by their absence, and vaguely I wondered what could be the reason.

8

On the third evening I received a visit from Aldebaran. I was tidying up after another day’s work when I saw him approaching from the south-east, evidently with the purpose of inspecting the trench. I was glad to see him: the job was three-quarters complete and I was looking forward to showing him what we’d accomplished. Our trench was deep and wide and unerringly straight, all in accordance with the surveyor’s plans. As a matter of fact, I was so pleased with the cooks that I’d let them go off slightly earlier than usual. I thought they’d earned a bit of a break, especially since it had been so warm during the afternoon. The fine weather had returned at last, and in the dry conditions we’d made good headway. Now, with night falling, the sky was tinged pink and silver. As the sun sank towards the horizon, Aldebaran’s advancing figure cast a long shadow across the field.

When he reached the trench he paused and stood peering in.

‘Exemplary,’ he declared. ‘Should be very effective.’

‘Couple more days and it’ll be finished,’ I said, ‘providing the weather holds.’

‘I gather you’ve taken charge of the operation.’

‘Yes, I have,’ I affirmed. ‘They seem to work much better when they receive direct orders.’

‘Indeed.’ Aldebaran reflected for a moment, and then said, ‘It’s a shame we can’t reward you with some milk pudding. Unfortunately, there’s been a hiatus in the production process and we’ve run out entirely.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘The cooks told me all about it.’

Aldebaran glanced at me.

‘Been blubbing to you, have they?’ he asked.

‘No, on the contrary,’ I replied, ‘they’ve taken their punishment in their stride.’

‘Really?’

‘They’re turning into a proper workforce.’

‘Then plainly we’re in your debt.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ I said. ‘Glad to be of assistance.’

After this courteous exchange I accompanied Aldebaran as he walked the length of the trench. For a while he was silent, but then another thought occurred to him.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘it’s not punishment: it’s discipline.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize.’

‘No need to apologize,’ he remarked. ‘Just setting you straight, that’s all. We’re very particular about these details.’

‘Right.’

The inspection now being over, Aldebaran murmured some pleasantry and departed. I spent a few minutes watching the sunset, then returned to the comparative comfort of my tent. I slept well that night, just as I had every night since I’d been involved with the venture. It had been hard graft, but quite fulfilling in its own way, and now the end was in sight.

9

During the course of the excavations, an earthwork had been raised along one side of the trench. We’d made a fairly good job of it, packing the earth hard so that it wouldn’t collapse, then crowning it with a layer of turf. The resulting embankment looked formidable, a landmark in its own right, but it was soon to be a source of dissension.

Around mid-afternoon on the fourth day I was toiling alone in the middle section of the trench, making sure that it ran evenly. For various reasons I’d become separated from my co-workers who were further over to the west, but I could still hear occasional snatches of distant conversation. I stopped and listened. Several times in recent days I’d tried to explain to them that talking on the job was a distraction which reduced productivity. Nevertheless, they persisted in chattering whenever my back was turned. I was just about to walk along the trench and reprimand them, when a familiar voice addressed me from directly above. I looked up and saw Brigant standing on the edge, gazing down.

‘I suppose they’re satisfied now, are they?’ he said.

‘Who?’ I enquired.

‘Those people from the camp.’

‘Oh, well,’ I said, ‘yes, they do seem rather pleased with the outcome.’

‘I’m sure they do,’ said Brigant. ‘In fact, they must be delighted. They made it clear from the beginning they wanted to exclude us, and now they’ve built a wall to prove it.’

I leaned on my shovel and stared at him with disbelief.

‘Where’d you get that idea?’ I said. ‘Of course it’s not a wall.’

‘What is it then?’ asked Brigant.

‘It’s for drainage.’

At this moment, a second face loomed into view. It belonged to Hartopp.

‘Looks like a wall to me,’ he said.

‘I’d go further than that,’ proclaimed Brigant. ‘I’d describe it as nothing less than a defensive rampart.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘It’s for drainage, pure and simple. You know how wet the ground gets in the south-east. That last dose of rainfall was the worst in months. It almost flooded their tents, so they decided to find a remedy.’

‘But we get more rain in the upper field,’ said Brigant.

‘Possibly,’ I replied, ‘but it all drains into the south-east: that’s why the grass is so rich and lush.’

Hartopp peered into the trench.

‘It’s completely dry,’ he said. ‘Who told you it was for drainage?’

‘Nobody, really,’ I said, ‘but it’s obvious it must be.’

‘It’s just as obvious it’s a wall,’ remarked Brigant. ‘A wall of earth.’

Just then, Yadegarian came walking along the trench. When he saw the three of us talking he stopped in his tracks.

‘Everything alright here?’ he asked, eyeing Hartopp and Brigant intently.

All at once I realized he’d never met them before; nor they him.

‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ I said quickly. ‘Yadegarian, may I introduce Hartopp and Brigant? Brigant, Hartopp: this is Yadegarian.’

There followed a polite yet awkward exchange of greetings, after which Hartopp and Brigant retired a short distance.

‘I’ve just come to tell you,’ said Yadegarian, ‘that we’ve reached the end of the string line.’

‘Ah, good,’ I answered. ‘No more digging then?’

‘Just tidying up,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll be finished.’

‘Alright, I’ll be along to have a look in a minute.’

After Yadegarian had gone, I scrambled out of the trench and joined Hartopp and Brigant. They were scrutinizing the embankment with undisguised mistrust, and to some extent I could understand why they felt aggrieved: from where they stood it indeed had the semblance of an imposing wall. At the same time, however, I thought they were both being a little unreasonable. The raised earthwork was an inevitable consequence of the drainage scheme and couldn’t be helped: surely they could see that? As for Brigant’s assertion that it rained more in the upper field, well, frankly, I’d never heard anything so preposterous. Rain was rain as far as I was concerned, and had the same effect everywhere, but Brigant saw it all differently. He seemed to think that hardship and discomfort were the sole preserve of the north; and that such conditions were unheard of in the south, east or west; he was becoming increasingly outspoken on the subject and now, apparently, he’d infected Hartopp with a similar malaise; hence, their concerted criticism of the so-called ‘wall’. Moreover, Brigant gave the impression that he’d been forcibly displaced by the construction work, whereas in truth he’d opted to move northward of his own volition. He evidently regarded the embankment as a kind of personal affront, and I realized I was incapable of changing his outlook.

Before we parted he delivered a final broadside. ‘You’re fortunate you didn’t try to build it any further north,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you’d have run into flinty ground: that would have put a stop to your game.’

‘How do you know what’s in the ground?’ I asked. ‘I’ve never seen you digging.’

‘Believe me,’ said Brigant. ‘I just know.’

Hartopp’s standpoint was equally uncompromising. I’d expected him to view the earthwork through the eyes of an engineer: after all, it was quite an achievement and made a majestic sight as it traversed the Great Field from east to west. In addition, it was perfectly straight, which I hoped would appeal to his geometric inclinations. Instead, though, he judged it to be a gross infringement. In this sense, he shared Brigant’s perspective: as they saw it, they were forever being imposed upon by outsiders, offcomers and interlopers; and the earthwork was merely the most recent example.

Feeling rather disappointed, I left the pair of them nursing their grievances and went back to join my workmates. I’d neglected Yadegarian and the others slightly longer than intended, so I was pleased to find them putting the finishing touches to the job. Standing nearby was Hen. He, too, had been wary of the trench when the work began: he’d assumed the excavations were heading directly into his camp, but once I’d convinced him otherwise he’d observed our progress with friendly detachment. Also, he’d discovered that the cooks shared his affinity with the west: seemingly, there was a certain quality in the daylight which reminded them of their distant homeland. They even talked of settling in the west, if only their employers would allow it. Sadly, this was out of the question.

‘We have to do as we’re told,’ said Yadegarian. ‘Tomorrow we’ll be baking biscuits again.’