Magnus Mills - The Field of the Cloth of Gold

‘Morning,’ he said, when he drew near. ‘You’ll have gathered by now that we’re clearing out.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘Several actually,’ said Aldebaran in a weary tone, ‘but the upshot is we need to return to headquarters fairly soon.’

‘Oh,’ I said, with surprise, ‘I always assumed this was your headquarters.’

‘No, no,’ came the reply, ‘this is little more than a mere outpost in a far-flung province.’

He went on to explain that running the camp had generated untold costs and expenses. It had been a burden on their resources which they could really do without under the current circumstances. Therefore, they’d decided simply to cut their losses and leave.

‘I’m afraid we’ve rather overreached ourselves,’ he concluded.

While Aldebaran was talking I gazed across at the embankment so recently completed by me, Yadegarian and the rest of the cooks. Casually I pondered whether this counted as a ‘cost’ or an ‘expense’. I didn’t say anything though: Aldebaran seemed to be in a melancholy mood and I had no wish to make it worse.

Over in the south-east, the cooks and the attendants were busily reorganizing some of the baggage. When Aldebaran noticed the flurry of activity it must have triggered a secondary line of thought. Next moment he turned and addressed Hen, who’d been standing quietly nearby.

‘I understand you were here before anyone else,’ said Aldebaran. ‘In the west, I mean.’

‘Oh… er… yes,’ replied Hen. ‘Yes, I was.’

He appeared thoroughly taken aback by the remark, as if he’d forgotten his long-standing claim.

‘The reason I mention it,’ continued Aldebaran, ‘is because we’re leaving a small detachment behind. Some of the cooks and handmaidens have requested release from service, and this has been granted. It leaves us with fewer mouths to feed. We’ve also allowed them two or three tents which were surplus to requirements; and a small proportion of the remaining provisions.’

‘What’s it all got to do with me?’ Hen enquired.

‘Well,’ said Aldebaran, ‘they’ve expressed a desire to settle in the south-west, so they’d be bordering your territory.’

‘I see.’

‘Obviously, we wouldn’t sanction it without your permission. So, do you have any objections?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Hen. ‘They’re most welcome.’

‘Then maybe you could keep an eye on them until they’re established?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Good,’ said Aldebaran. ‘That’s most satisfactory.’

As it happened, the cooks and handmaidens had already begun their move to the south-west. They walked slowly in single file, carrying their few possessions, and every now and again we could hear excited voices drifting on the breeze. Meanwhile, Aldebaran’s attendants had collected the last of the baggage and were now waiting for him by the crossing.

He was about to depart when I remembered I had a question of my own.

‘Before you go,’ I said, ‘could you resolve a debate that’s been raging amongst the rest of us?’

‘I’ll try,’ said Aldebaran. ‘What’s it about?’

‘The earthwork,’ I said. ‘We wondered whether its purpose was drainage or defence?’

Aldebaran did not need to consider his answer.

‘Both,’ he replied.

With that, he gave each of us a cursory nod before turning towards the crossing. His men watched his approach, then they all waded to the other side and set off in brisk pursuit of the baggage train. I noticed that none of them looked back as they left the Great Field behind them. Gradually they gained on their retreating comrades, and soon they were all dwindling into the distant haze. The last we heard of them was the plaintive call of the bugle, and then they were gone.

Over in the south-east something was glaring in the sunshine. The harsh, reflected light had an unnatural quality which made its source impossible to identify, so eventually Hen and I went to investigate. Only when we got closer did we realize what it was: the great copper bath lay abandoned on its side.

‘Obviously surplus to requirements,’ commented Hen.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘No use without hot water.’

With its splayed copper feet and elegantly curved rim, the bath was an excellent piece of workmanship. All the same, it made a sorry sight. It had been brought here especially as a gift for Isabella, yet she’d rejected it and gone her own way. Now it seemed little more than a worthless folly, serving only to remind me of the chances I’d missed.

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!’