Magnus Mills - The Field of the Cloth of Gold

To my surprise, Isabella was unperturbed by her loss.

‘Never mind,’ she said, once we’d regained dry land. ‘I can easily build another boat.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I suppose so.’

‘If things work out here, of course, I won’t need to.’

‘So you’re planning on staying?’ said Hen.

‘Certainly,’ said Isabella.

Her belongings lay nearby, and amongst them I could see a neatly folded tent. There was also an eiderdown (tied with silk cord), a tapestry (wrapped in ticking) and a collection of velvet cushions (loose). She stood for a long while taking in her new surroundings, a dreamy expression on her face.

‘Aren’t we fortunate,’ she said at last, ‘to have such a lovely meadow?’

‘Actually,’ I replied, ‘it’s properly known as the Great Field.’

The dreamy expression vanished.

‘I’m fully aware of that!’ she snapped.

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘sorry.’

‘Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got a tent to put up!’

‘You don’t need any help then?’

‘Correct.’

Without further comment, Hen and I made a swift withdrawal. When next we looked back, Isabella had already begun her task. She’d chosen a site at the extreme east of the field, close to the river. Evidently she’d done the job before: she tackled it with speed and efficiency, and seemed to be following a tried and tested routine; then, when everything was in place, she heaved on a slender rope and a beautiful crimson tent rose up from the ground. Within minutes, she had the whole structure securely pegged and guyed.

‘Most impressive,’ said Hen, as he set off for his own modest quarters.

Isabella’s work was far from complete. She now began installing her possessions, and this turned out to be a much slower process. She’d positioned the tent facing west, presumably to catch the sun going down, which meant that her doorway was plainly in my view. I lost count of the number of times she carried those precious items in and out while she decided what went where, and only after constant rearrangement was she eventually satisfied.

Darkness had not yet fallen when Isabella retired for the evening (doubtless in need of a rest after all her exertions). She failed, therefore, to witness Thomas returning across the river. I’d been wondering when he would next grace us with his presence and now, all of a sudden, here he was. I watched intrigued as he came ashore and caught sight of the crimson tent. It looked spectacular in the fiery rays of sunset, and even from a distance I could tell it aroused his interest. Normally, when he arrived back, he swept the field with an all-encompassing glance before switching his attention inward once more: in general he found nothing more engrossing than himself. The crimson tent, by contrast, held his gaze for several seconds. He stood stock still, swathed in his habitual white robes, and gave it a thorough appraisal; then, when presumably he’d seen enough, he continued on his way. A little later I noticed a lamp glowing faintly in the south-east, but it was soon extinguished as he, too, retired for the night.

The following morning was warm and sunny. A promising day lay ahead, and when I looked out I expected to see one or two early-risers making the most of it. Instead I saw nobody, not even Hen. I knew for sure he’d be roving around somewhere in the west, but for the time being he remained outside my line of vision. All I could see were the two faraway tents, one white and one crimson, both with their entrances fastened, and both silent.

An hour passed and the sun climbed higher in the sky, yet still nothing stirred. Personally, I found this incomprehensible: how anyone could sleep so late in the morning was quite beyond me. After a further ten minutes, however, there was movement at last. Isabella emerged from her tent, wrapped in a towel, and tiptoed across the grass to the river bank. She spent a while searching for a suitable spot where it wasn’t too steep; then she dropped her towel to the ground and slipped into the water. Effortlessly, she swam over to the other side, then back to where she started, then back over again. She repeated this exercise a few times before pausing in the shallows. The river rolled quietly on. Isabella lay motionless as the soft morning sunlight dappled the surface; then gradually the current took hold and she was borne downstream. She spread her arms languidly and offered no resistance. There was a bed of reeds at the water’s edge, and when she drifted past she must have brushed their stems with her fingertips; all their heads bowed and swayed in a series of gentle ripples. For a brief period she was lost from view behind these reeds, but eventually she reappeared and continued to glide slowly along. She was now approaching the south-east curve of the river and had almost drawn level with the shimmering white tent; at which moment its doorway parted and Thomas stepped out.

He glanced all around, and immediately his eyes alighted on Isabella’s recumbent figure. Naturally, under the circumstances, I expected him to show some discretion and pretend not to notice. Instead, I watched astounded as he strode casually to the river bank and engaged her in direct conversation. Obviously I was unable to hear what was being said, but seemingly Isabella was a willing participant in the exchange. She floated idly towards him as they passed the time of day together; then she gave a little laugh and began swimming upstream once more. Thomas strolled in parallel along the grassy bank, his white robes in full flow. When he spotted her discarded towel he picked it up and folded it carefully over his arm; then he stood at the water’s edge and waited. In due course Isabella rose from the shallows and he tossed the towel to her. The discussion resumed as she dried herself down. What exactly they found to talk about so soon in their acquaintanceship I didn’t know, but he detained her much longer than I would have thought necessary. For her part, Isabella made no attempt to get dressed. Instead she just stayed where she was with the towel wrapped tightly around her. Occasionally she placed her hands on her hips, rocked her head, and swished her hair from side to side, presumably hoping to dry it in the sun’s warm rays. Thomas was standing so close to her that the drops of water must have fallen on his bare feet, yet he showed no sign of having felt them. I carried on observing the pair’s behaviour for several minutes: it was a fascinating display from both parties, but their performance was about to be interrupted.

Suddenly a sail appeared coming downriver. Isabella took one look at it and vanished inside her tent. Meanwhile, Thomas stared at the approaching boat. A moment later it ran against the bank and a man jumped ashore with a painter in his hand. He held it secure as the boat swung round with the current. Then two other men dropped the sail. They had landed in the extreme north-east corner of the field, and they paused briefly to take stock of their surroundings. I was quite some way away, but even at this distance I could tell they were only making a tentative appraisal. They were gazing over the field and speaking quietly among themselves. All three of them seemed most unassuming. Whether they were planning to stay or merely breaking their journey was unclear, yet a swish of white robes told me that someone had decided to intervene. Thomas went striding along the bank just as the other two men gained dry land; there then followed a rather one-sided exchange during which he addressed them loudly and pointed in various directions, including back up the river to where they’d come from.

The three men stood in a group, facing him but apparently saying little. They had a certain stillness about them which I found admirable, and I was pleased to see that they were standing firm. When Thomas had finished berating them they simply shrugged and remained where they were; then he turned and marched away towards the south-east. When he passed the crimson tent he didn’t even glance at it: evidently he’d forgotten about Isabella for the time being.