Magnus Mills - The Field of the Cloth of Gold

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.

‘That earthwork,’ said Hogust, finally breaking the silence, ‘blocks the way south, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Hartopp. ‘That’s why it was built in the first place.’

‘And for drainage,’ I added.

‘Drainage?’ said Hogust. ‘For whose benefit, exactly?’

‘The people in the south-east,’ I said, ‘although it’s still to be tried and tested.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s been no rain since the job was completed.’

‘I see.’

‘All that talk about drainage was just an excuse,’ declared Hartopp. ‘The real purpose was to keep the rest of us out.’

‘That’s what it looks like to me,’ agreed Hogust. ‘A defensive rampart.’

‘But it doesn’t go right across the field,’ I protested. ‘You can easily skirt it in the west.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Hogust, ‘but at the end of the day a wall’s still a wall.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Hartopp.

There was a brief pause in the conversation, during which Hogust stared thoughtfully at the earthwork.

‘What it really needs,’ he said at length, ‘is a sally port here and there.’

Hartopp nodded his approval, and it struck me that an affinity was beginning to develop between him and Hogust. I had no idea what a sally port was, but I guessed it must be some kind of opening or breach in the embankment. Soon the pair of them were discussing the best way to approach the task, and I realized that with so many men at their disposal it could be readily accomplished. Whether talk would evolve into action was a different question altogether. I left them making their plans and headed for home.

I’d been gone for a good hour, so I was surprised to see that Thomas was still down at the crossing, gazing southward. The doorway of his tent, meanwhile, remained firmly closed. I found the situation totally baffling, so eventually I went over and asked Hen what he made of it all.

‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching Thomas all afternoon and he hasn’t once deserted his post.’

‘Must be expecting somebody important,’ I ventured.