The Field of the Cloth of Gold (7 page)

The opening exchange was polite enough.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Morning,’ I replied.

‘Weather’s freshening up.’

‘Yes, seems that way.’

‘I expect the water’s cold.’

‘It’s not too bad.’

He regarded me in silence for a few moments, then nodded at the shimmering white tent.

‘That yours, is it?’ he asked.

He knew very well it wasn’t mine: he and his subordinates had been spying on the field for the past twenty-four hours, and they knew precisely which was my tent, which was Thomas’s and so forth.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It isn’t.’

‘So who’s in charge then?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Really?’ he said. ‘That’s an odd arrangement.’

‘Not for us, it isn’t. As a matter of fact, it’s perfectly normal.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

His tone so far had been conversational, probably in an attempt to put me at my ease.

Now, however, he dispensed with the subtlety.

‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘State your business.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘some of us who’ve been here for a while were wondering what your plans might be.’

He gave me a quizzical look. ‘What difference does it make how long you’ve been here?’

‘It makes a difference to some,’ I assured him.

‘I see.’ He paused briefly before continuing. ‘Our plans,’ he said at length, ‘depend on what’s on offer.’

‘Ah.’

‘So if you’ll spell out your terms we can take it from there.’

‘Right.’

I was beginning to realize I’d crossed the river entirely unprepared for this encounter. I had no idea what kind of offer he was referring to, or how it could possibly affect his plans. Moreover, it was becoming clear that I needed to be circumspect in my dealings with these people. I could tell they weren’t here just to play games: on the contrary, the outcome of our meeting could be critical.

‘Before we start,’ I said, ‘may I enquire who I’m talking to?’

‘I would have assumed you knew that already,’ he answered tersely. ‘I am Julian.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course.’

I glanced towards the three conical tents, where the other men stood observing the proceedings. From the peak of each tent flew a white pennant, emblazoned with a purple letter J.

Julian, in the meantime, was waiting for my next move.

‘So?’ he said.

‘I’ll probably need to consult with the others,’ I replied.

‘Consult?’ he repeated. ‘But surely you were sent over to negotiate.’

‘Sort of, yes,’ I said.

‘What do you mean “sort of”?’

Julian’s manner was getting increasingly irritable, unfriendly even, and I was at a loss for what to say next without causing further upset. Just then, however, he began peering into the distance.

‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Who’s this coming?’

Immediately I turned and saw Thomas entering the river at the far side, his white robes swirling all around him. Julian instantly forgot about me and marched to the water’s edge; then he stood stock still, waiting, as Thomas drew near. His followers, meanwhile, watched attentively.

I never thought I’d be pleased to see Thomas wading across the river, but on this occasion I was more than pleased: I was delighted, not to mention thoroughly relieved. Undoubtedly, I’d taken on more than I could handle. All at once, with Thomas riding to my rescue, I felt a great burden being lifted from me.

Nonetheless, there was a price to pay. As Thomas stepped ashore, he shook hands courteously with Julian. The pair then came wandering inland together, deep in conversation. Evidently, Julian had invited Thomas to inspect the three conical tents. The route they took passed within a few yards of where I was standing, yet neither of them granted me so much as a nod. They simply ignored me and continued on their way. Julian’s underlings witnessed this blatant snub and openly smirked about it amongst themselves. In response, I turned and stalked off to the river bank. Next minute I was in the shallows and heading back towards the Great Field.

By the time I reached the opposite shore, my mood had subsided into sheer disgruntlement. The episode with Julian had been highly embarrassing, and I was inclined to make directly for my tent and lie low for several days. What I didn’t want to face was a reception committee, so when I saw Isabella and Hartopp coming to meet me I quickened my pace. It was no use, though: they cut across and intercepted me before I reached sanctuary.

‘What’s this?’ I demanded. ‘A post-mortem?’

Hartopp appeared startled by my harsh words.

‘No,’ he said, ‘we’ve come to congratulate you.’

‘Oh?’

‘A brilliant move,’ he added.

I stared at him with bewilderment. ‘What move?’

‘Don’t be modest,’ said Isabella. ‘It was you who set the wheels in motion. You went and parleyed with the newcomers and prepared the ground for Thomas. Excellent work!’

For a few moments I allowed myself to bask in this unexpected praise, then I offered a verdict of my own.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘he’ll need to keep his wits about him when he’s talking to those people.’

‘Why, what are they like?’ asked Hartopp.

‘I only spoke to Julian,’ I replied, ‘and he struck me as a rather prickly customer.’

‘Is he the one with the purple sash?’

‘Correct.’

‘He looks very athletic,’ said Isabella.

‘An apt description,’ I said. ‘Yes, I imagine he’s quite competitive when it comes to the cut and thrust.’

‘Still,’ said Hartopp, ‘they’ve only got three tents, so we’ll most likely manage to find them a place.’

Hartopp was being his usual generous self, but I had a feeling that matters weren’t as simple as he thought. Somehow, I couldn’t picture the newcomers meekly settling amongst the rest of us. The way they’d surveyed the field from a distance suggested that their intentions were altogether much grander; and Julian’s remarks about what might be on offer only underlined my suspicions.

At the other side of the river, Thomas’s mission was ongoing. We watched as he was given a guided tour of the conical tents; then he sat down for further discussions with Julian. These lasted an hour or so before the pair of them rose abruptly to their feet and headed for the crossing. Side by side they entered the water and waded towards the Great Field.

‘Here they come,’ announced Isabella.

I noted with interest that she didn’t venture down to greet Julian; neither did Hartopp.

As soon as they stepped ashore, Thomas led his guest to the shimmering white tent, presumably for a reciprocal tour of inspection. Afterwards, Julian spent a good while pacing around in the south-east, gazing in all directions and generally studying the lie of the land. Thomas, in the meantime, stood quietly aside.

Darkness was falling when I saw Julian returning across the river. Isabella and Hartopp had long since drifted back to their tents, both apparently in the belief that the meeting had reached a satisfactory conclusion. I wasn’t quite so sure. Over the past few days Thomas seemed to have lost much of his previous strut and swagger. For reasons of his own he’d shouldered the mantle of responsibility, but I was uncertain whether he was a match for Julian.

Unsurprisingly, I had another restless night. In a series of peculiar dreams featuring Isabella, Julian and me, I constantly found myself on the wrong side of the river trying to get across. Sometime after daybreak I woke up all in a tangle and peered out through my doorway. I half-expected Julian’s tents to have moved into the Great Field. To my amazement, however, they’d vanished completely, and so had the shimmering white tent.

It took me a few seconds to adjust to this drastic change of scenery. The south-east suddenly appeared forsaken and empty without its prize exhibit overlooking the river, and the surrounding fields had a similar air of abandonment. Beneath a grey, overcast sky, an unseasonably brisk wind came gusting out of the east, doing little to enhance the gloomy prospect. With a mounting sense of disquiet I emerged from my tent and glanced all around. Thankfully, nobody else had gone: Isabella, Hartopp, Brigant and Hen were still in their usual places.

Actually, Hen was already up and about, and when he saw me he came sauntering over.

‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Quite a change from yesterday.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘The birds have flown.’

‘Did you see them go?’

‘Yes, very early,’ said Hen. ‘They all went off together.’

‘Really?’

‘Those other people helped Thomas with his tent, then the entire company headed southward.’

Hen’s disclosure was most intriguing, and for a while I pondered the information in silence.

Over at the far side of the field we could see Hollis slowly making his way along the river bank, pausing from time to time at the various viewpoints. Keeping a respectful distance, he skirted around Isabella’s crimson abode before continuing towards the south-east. When he reached the turn of the river he stopped and peered at the ground. I knew precisely what he was looking at: he was examining the octagonal impression left in the grass by Thomas’s tent. Over the past few weeks I’d noticed that Hollis approached most subjects in a forensic manner, a trait which I supposed he’d inherited from Hartopp. He seemed fascinated by everything scientific, mechanical, mathematical and, in this case, geometrical.

Hen, who was still standing beside me, said nothing. Was he tempted, I wondered, to go and see the impression for himself, just to confirm that Thomas had definitely gone?

Hollis, meanwhile, had resumed his journey along the river bank, and was now on the southern stretch. When he neared the crossing he halted for a moment as if contemplating his options, then without further delay he entered the water and waded to the other side. As Hen and I looked on, he went ashore and headed for the spot where the three conical tents had stood. Once again he inspected the ground, closely studying the impression left by Julian and his comrades.

‘Did you find out what they wanted?’ asked Hen, finally breaking the silence.

‘Not really, no,’ I replied. ‘It was all rather vague.’

‘Maybe Thomas found out.’

‘Yes, maybe,’ I said, ‘but we’ll probably never know.’

Eventually Hollis turned and retraced his steps back to the north-east. Whether he’d learnt anything from his investigations was unclear, but Hen and I were certainly no wiser than he was. A great unanswered question now hung over the field, a question that would dominate everyone’s thoughts and conversations during the succeeding days. Despite endless conjecture, nobody could explain the swift departure of both Thomas and Julian’s people.

There was also a secondary matter for consideration, raised largely at the behest of Isabella.

‘The field looks completely wrong now,’ she announced, one blustery afternoon. ‘It’s all gone out of balance.’

She was referring to the emptiness of the south-east, her implication being that the vacant space should be taken over by one of us.

‘Why don’t you move then?’ I suggested.

‘No, I’m perfectly happy where I am,’ she said. ‘I actually meant you.’

I could see the logic of her argument. In reality, I was the only candidate. Neither Hartopp nor Brigant showed the slightest inclination to head southward, and I knew that Hen was firmly embedded in the west. The trouble for me, as always, lay with the impression in the grass. Once again I was reluctant to transplant my tent until all traces of the previous occupant had faded away. Therefore, I decided to stay where I was for the present.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Isabella, ‘but you’re missing a golden opportunity.’

That night I lay listening to the wind as it gradually increased in strength. Without doubt we were in for a period of inclement weather. I was confident it would improve again sooner or later: there was no reason why it shouldn’t. Nevertheless, the halcyon days of summer now felt far removed, and it occurred to me that they’d passed without my even noticing.

Around dawn the clamour of the wind was augmented by another sound which at first I couldn’t identify. It was coming from the south, and as I slowly awakened I recognized the distant blast of a trumpet. I looked out through my doorway and saw a huge assembly of men on the other side of the river. They were all clad in buff-coloured tunics, and as I observed them a sort of dull realization crept over me: Julian and his minions were merely the advance party; now, at last, the main body had arrived.

There was nothing to be done, of course. We few settlers were powerless to prevent an influx of such magnitude. Quickly I alerted Hartopp and the others to the situation in the south, then we watched in silence as the newcomers got themselves organized. Within an hour they were swarming across the river, carrying all kinds of equipment, supplies and baggage. Their logistical proficiency was astonishing to behold: it was evident they’d selected their ground beforehand, and every move appeared part of a carefully planned operation. They deployed their tents in a perfect grid formation, with all the pitches marked out precisely. Each tent was identical in size, colour and shape; each faced in the same direction; and each had a white pennant flying from its peak. When the work was finished the new encampment commanded the whole of the south-east. Along its perimeter ran a low picket fence, and at every corner stood a flagpole.