The Field of the Cloth of Gold (14 page)

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.