Magnus Mills - The Field of the Cloth of Gold

‘So she’s with him?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Seems as if I’m the last to know,’ he said solemnly. ‘Just shows what she thinks of me, doesn’t it?’

I gave no reply. Hartopp was plainly shaken by what he’d seen, so I desperately cast about for some way to distract him from his troubles. What I required was a subject close to his heart (apart from Isabella), and it occurred to me that I should have brought along the biscuit imprinted with the letter J. Over the past day or two, I’d been harbouring a vague notion about using it to demonstrate the similarity between the various settlements dotted across the field; and maybe even initiate some rudimentary trading. Naturally, Hartopp would have been a key player in such a project (he was, after all, a leading exponent of biscuits) but unfortunately I’d forgotten my sample. The opportunity was lost.

Just then, to cap it all, I saw Hogust strolling towards us.

‘Not now, Hogust,’ I thought to myself. ‘Hartopp can probably do without your ceaseless badgering.’

In the event, however, Hogust provided exactly the kind of distraction I’d been seeking. Apparently he had yet another proposal for Hartopp.

‘How would you like us to clear those nettles from around your boats?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks,’ Hartopp answered.

‘We’ll do it free of charge,’ Hogust added.

This was obviously a ploy to gain easier access to the vessels, but Hartopp was having none of it.

‘I’ll clear them in my own good time,’ he said, ‘thank you very much.’

Hogust tutted with exasperation, then he tried changing tack.

‘Look, Hartopp,’ he said, ‘you don’t really need your boats any more, so why not let me take them off your hands? I mean to say, you’re nicely settled here and you’ve probably done with travelling.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Hartopp, ‘but I’d prefer to keep my boats in reserve.’

‘Whatever for?’

Hartopp didn’t reply to this question. Instead, he went on the offensive.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘you’re nicely settled here too. You must be. Whenever you prepare to leave, you change your mind at the last minute and take your sails down again.’

‘That’s our choice,’ said Hogust. ‘We’re a nautical people. We come and go when we please.’

‘Well, if you’re a nautical people,’ said Hartopp, ‘why don’t you build some new boats?’

For a few moments Hogust was rendered speechless by the observation. The look of surprise on his face suggested it had never occurred to him to build any vessels of his own. How he’d acquired his present, ageing fleet was known only to him, but judging by his predatory instincts I could hazard a fair guess.

‘Of course, we could build some if we wanted to,’ he spluttered, ‘but we’ve rarely had the need.’

‘It’s fairly simple when you know what you’re doing,’ Hartopp added.

‘Of course it is.’

‘I could give you a hand if you like.’

‘No, no,’ said Hogust. ‘Thanks anyway, but we’ve got plenty enough boats when I think about it.’

There was a movement beside me, and I realized that sometime during the conversation we’d been joined by Brigant. To get here he would have had to pass through Hogust’s cluttered encampment, but clearly his distaste for the noise and squalor had been overcome by sheer curiosity. Now he stood peering with interest at the man with the jutting brow.

‘You off then?’ he asked.

‘Hadn’t planned on it,’ Hogust replied. ‘Depends on the weather.’

To my ears this sounded like an excuse for inaction. It was quite obvious Hogust wasn’t going anywhere, but he refused to admit the fact (especially to himself). Moreover, to invoke the weather was completely spurious: a man of his experience should be able to sail in any conditions if he so desired. As it happened, there hadn’t been a drop of rain since Aldebaran’s hurried departure several weeks ago. Despite all prophesies, the Great Field remained dry. Consequently it was attractive to people who dwelt in tents, and these naturally included Hogust. Nevertheless, he continued the charade of being ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Hartopp, meanwhile, had given a very impressive performance. He’d channelled his disappointment over Isabella into a successful sparring match with Hogust, and he seemed all the better for it. Furthermore, he now had Brigant for reinforcement.

‘I was thinking,’ he remarked at length, ‘that a few of us could move up to the north-west.’

‘How do you mean?’ enquired Hogust.

‘Well,’ said Hartopp, ‘it’s the only part of the field that’s still unoccupied. Oh, I know it’s a bit wild and windswept in that direction, but there’s ample space for anyone who likes a challenge. Actually, I’m surprised nobody’s settled there already.’

‘Probably too harsh for most types,’ adjoined Brigant. ‘You’d need to be pretty resilient to last very long.’

‘Really?’ said Hogust.

He turned and peered into the north-west, with the dark hills rising in the distance beyond.

‘A challenge, eh?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, I suppose it would be.’

Hartopp and Brigant plainly had the measure of Hogust. I left the three of them discussing the merits and pitfalls of a move to the north-west, and wandered homeward. There was no telling if Hartopp had truly set aside his feelings for Isabella, or whether he’d merely adopted a brave face. Either way, he was putting on a more convincing show than I could manage. I was sliding gradually into the depths of despond, and the matter wasn’t helped when I glanced at the shimmering white tent. There, reposing beneath its ornate canopy, lay Thomas and Isabella, the afternoon sunlight bathing them in a soft, warm glow.

Now it was me who needed a distraction. I turned away and was glad to see Hen hovering casually near the river bank in the west. In general, Hen was the last person to hover casually, so I guessed he had some news to impart. I also sensed that it was not for public consumption. Adjusting my course, I advanced towards the river until our paths converged; then, without speaking, we strolled together along the bank. Not until we’d gone a good way did Hen break the silence. Apparently, during my absence, he’d received a courtesy visit from Thomas.

‘Just turned up at my tent,’ said Hen. ‘Quite unexpected.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Must have been.’

‘He apologized for deserting the field at such a crucial juncture, but the fault lay wholly with Julian’s people.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘It seems they treated Thomas very shoddily,’ Hen continued. ‘They lured him away under false pretences; then they used all kinds of tricks and obfuscation to delay his return.’

Once again I was struck by Thomas’s overweening sense of self-importance. From what I could gather, he assumed the entire population had been waiting for him to come back and take up his former residence. Why he thought any of us should care one way or another was beyond me, but Hen was certainly indignant on his behalf.

‘What were these false pretences?’ I asked. ‘Precisely?’

‘It makes a sorry tale,’ said Hen. ‘Initially they tried to play down their interest in the Great Field and insisted they were “just looking”. On close questioning, however, it soon became clear they had a speculative motive. They told Thomas they were also considering a number of similar options elsewhere; and as proof of their good faith they invited him to accompany them while they reviewed several other possibilities in the southern lands beyond the river. On the spur of the moment he agreed to go with them, but it was a decision he came to regret. In the course of the journey Julian was revealed to be a man of great ambition, and relations between him and Thomas eventually soured.’