by Maria McCann
When Ferris and I rose from the bed, stepping over the men half dead from drink, we were ordered to the great hall and there put with one Rigby, our task to count, and sort, the gowns taken from the women. My head ached, and Ferris looked bruised round the eyes. Rigby too seemed as if he could have wished for more self-governance, or a stronger stomach.
We had scarce begun piling the garments up on the table when Nathan came up to us and asked if he might help; the captain had told him to make himself useful where he could.
Ferris brightened at the sight of the lad, kissed him on both cheeks and said he was right glad to see all his limbs in one piece. Nathan beamed at me in a fashion I could ill endure and I almost thought he would come over and kiss my cheeks as recompense for my saving of him, but he stayed himself at smiling.
‘Let us make three piles,’ offered Rigby, ‘gentlewomen’s, servants’, and one where the stuffs are spoilt.’
This seemed a good plan. Ferris was a sound judge of the linen, and Nathan evidently a keen observer of ladies for he pronounced upon which were the rarest cloths and costliest laces.
Laughing, Ferris asked him, ‘How does a lad get to be such a proficient in silk?’
‘O, my sisters: they were mad for robes, always on at Father to buy new stuffs. And they are brave, these things, are they not?’ He held up a dazzling crimson skirt. ‘I’ll marry no dull mouse, she must be bright and beautiful.’
‘A noble lady?’ Ferris teased him.
Rigby joined in, ‘A princess!’
We were as merry, for a moment, as I had once been at home. But then Ferris held up a shining green robe with a deep slit in it, and around the slit a blackening crust of blood. Flies buzzed away as he shook it out. Nathan’s laugh stopped short.
‘Not hard to guess what happened to her,’ said Ferris.
‘I saw it,’ I said, feeling the same cold within me as I had then. ‘She gave our man a sharp answer.’
‘And he gave her another.’ He spread out the glistening, ruined stuff. ‘I wonder who will they find in London to buy that? Some thrifty citizen—!’
Rigby looked sheepish at this talk. I said to him, ‘He cut her down for nothing.’
‘Not doing God’s work?’ asked Ferris, but his voice was gentler than it would have been two days before.
‘Rupert did God’s work,’ said Nathan.
I bridled up but got command of myself, and it was well, for he went on, ‘He saved me in the assault. I had otherwise died, there was a fellow all set to knock out my brains.’
Ferris stared at me, lowering the gown without knowing it until his hands rested on the table. I raised my eyebrows, as one who says, Well?
‘There was none other there, he was my only help,’ Nathan prattled on, making my happiness complete.
Ferris seemed dazed. I took the wounded gown from him and laid it to one side.
‘You had great good fortune, Nat,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s all hear the tale, but first could you take that green one and ask the captain what we shall do with it? He’s somewhere upstairs.’
Nathan bounded off like a deer.
‘The man’s outside,’ said Ferris. He pulled me over to the corner, away from Rigby; I was surprised at his vehemence. ‘Can this be possible?’ he whispered. ‘Why did you? And don’t say it was for love of him.’
‘I don’t say so.’
‘So why?’
I glanced round. Rigby was staring after us curiously. For once in my life the right thing came to me by nature, as it would have come to Zeb. I pulled out the woman’s cap from my shirtbreast and gave it to Ferris.
‘Look inside,’ I said.
He unfolded the cloth, found the glass with its inscription and hung his head. I listened to his breath as it came fast and then slowed again. At last he looked up to me, smiling on the good side of his mouth.
‘What shall I do with you, Prince Rupert? It seems I cannot stay angry for long.’
‘For a start, call me by my own name,’ I said. ‘I’m not myself without my name.
‘What man can be himself here?’ He scratched his head. ‘So what would you be called? Cullen?’
‘I can’t go from Rupert to Cullen.’ I had never liked my sir-name in any case. ‘Call me Jacob.’
‘And what will you call me?’
‘You are Ferris.’
‘Jacob.’ He tried the name against my face. ‘Jacob, I have something I must tell you.’
‘This is about Tommy,’ I said. ‘He told you my name before.’
Ferris hesitated, then drew me further from Rigby. His lips worked an instant before he stuttered, ‘I, I am—’
‘Say it!’ I cried.
‘I am – leaving. Leaving the army.’
I had known one day he would say this. My loneliness had whispered it in nightmares; I would dream he was run away, gone out of the New Model and lost to me.
‘May – God – be with you.’ Each word cut me as it came, and after the last I felt my throat close. I knew what that presaged, and indeed the water was already in my eyes. I raged inwardly that at such a moment I should dissolve like any mewling girl, like Nathan, and so be remembered. ‘I guess you go to London,’ I forced out, tongue strangling in my mouth.
‘We will go,’ he said. ‘Do you think I am so cruel, to tell you and then leave you behind?’
The tears burst out then. I smeared them away with the palm of my hand, and begged him to say it again.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘If you will,’ and I felt his smile go warm through my blood.
I was panting, laughing and crying together as I hugged Ferris to me; over his shoulder, I saw Rigby’s face duck down to the linen.
‘If! If!’ I cried, light and free through all my flesh. It was the feeling called happiness, which I had near forgotten.
Ferris put me away from him. ‘The army is bad for you,’ he said. ‘I got you in, I must get you out.’
‘When shall it be?’ I asked.
The door was kicked open and Nathan burst in upon us. Ferris laid a finger across his lips. ‘Nat’ was not to know, then. I was a soul in bliss as we went towards the table where Rigby was trying to look as if the piles of clothes occupied him entirely.
‘He says to cut out the stains,’ Nathan called, ‘but keep the rest to be sold in pieces.’
We went on with our work, the boy ripping at the bloody stuff with a swaggering relish born of fear. I wondered why Ferris had chosen to leave him behind, perhaps because Nathan had Russ and other comrades. I hoped it was because he had to choose between us, and though turbulent and troublesome, I was the friend with whom, in the end, he could not part.
ELEVEN
The Man of Bones
Towards evening a chill breeze sprang up. Men complained, after their drunkenness, of aching heads; weariness possessed the camp. We sprawled in the park, on a heap of blankets we had found, mocking Nathan’s tale of a miraculous fish.
‘I tell you true,’ Nathan insisted. ‘Twenty pounds’ weight.’
‘Who weighed it? Does he carry scales with him?’ Russ mocked.
‘Aye, fish scales,’ offered another.
Ferris rolled his eyes in disbelief. ‘No matter for the weight. But as to the rest—’
‘Will you listen to me?’ Nathan was flushed. ‘This was witnessed – sworn to – there was a paper in its mouth, and this paper said—’
‘Throw me back in!’ a man shouted. The rest laughed.
Ferris asked, ‘Nat, how could they read a paper all wet?’
The day had been too long; none was in the mood for foolish stories. Hoping to stop his mouth, I handed Nathan a piece of cheese, my thigh wounds paining me as I did so.
‘My thanks Rupert, and – but will you listen! This paper was a prophecy, that the war should end with the Second Coming—’
‘Aye, to be sure,’ said Russ. ‘It won’t go on after it, at any rate.’
The others grinned. Nathan, sulking, bit into his chee
se.
All around stood barrows and carts stacked with goods. Most of Basing had already been devoured, though men still crawled over the skeleton.
‘Look there,’ said Russ.
An orange light was sprung up inside the pillaged house.
‘He’s had it fired,’ Nathan exclaimed.
Ferris said, ‘But there was stuff yet left to sell.’
I admired the fragile sparks floating like angels in the deepening blue sky. The orange light dimmed, and a pale smoke began pouring from the windows as the flames found doors, carved panels and beams. Some things, at least, would escape the dealers, and I was glad, for though I knew that they paid for what they took, yet I resented their easy scuttling off with what we had won with sweat and blood.
But I could not feel much anger. Though it was hours since Ferris had made my happiness, the excitement was scarce gone down. I sat gloating.
‘And so an end to Basing,’ Russ said. ‘What are they doing, there?’
Soldiers were running towards the ruin. The crash and crackle of burning drifted to us on the wind, then swept away.
‘I shall go and see,’ exclaimed Nathan, making to rise.
‘Nat—’ Ferris clutched at the boy’s jacket. ‘Stay here.’
‘Be easy, I won’t go in!’ Nathan wriggled free and ran towards the crowd.
‘Nat!’ Ferris called after him. ‘Nat – wait—’
I stood to get a better look. ‘There’s Cromwell riding up,’ I told Ferris. ‘What is it? Do you know?’
‘There are wounded under the rubble,’ Russ answered for him.
I stared at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘Why else would—’ He broke off as the wind again veered in our direction. The sounds from the burning house grew louder and I could distinguish shouts and screams. Ferris, his eyes on the retreating Nathan, sat biting his lip.
All was packed and ready for the next day’s march on the West Country; soldiers sat around, glancing from time to time at the ruins. The sky was now black except for the orange-bellied smoke clouds over Basing.
‘I must show you something,’ Ferris whispered to me. ‘Go to the courtyard. I will stay for you.’
I waited awhile, making a point of talking to others as he rose and walked off towards the carts drawn up for the night. When I judged it right I went directly to the place, where I found my friend in talk with a man I had not met before, the two of them leaning against a cart and their voices very low. There was a stink of scorched brick and of something else which I did not choose to name. The man looked up and froze as I approached. ‘My friend,’ I heard Ferris whisper.
‘Lord, how big is he?’ the man exclaimed.
‘Not too big,’ Ferris answered. He called to me in a more natural fashion, ‘Jacob, this is Mister Bradmore, a carter. Mister Bradmore, Jacob Cullen, that some call Prince Rupert.’
At this the man wheezed rather than laughed. We bowed to one another.
‘Are you buying?’ I asked Ferris.
‘Carpets,’ he replied. I thought his voice strangely loud. ‘They are in here, and this,’ tapping the side of the cart and whispering again, ‘is your bedchamber for tonight.’
‘Sleep here?’ I turned to Bradmore. ‘To guard it? What will you pay?’
‘He doesn’t know,’ Ferris murmured to the man. ‘Aye, Jacob,’ again his voice swelled, ‘to guard it.’ He beckoned me closer and breathed into my ear, ‘He will take us out of camp hidden beneath his load.’
‘Why in a cart? We could cross the camp on foot,’ I hissed back.
‘This cart goes to London,’ Ferris answered. ‘We will come back when all are asleep.’
‘Why not now?’
‘I have business to attend to. And Jacob, we must keep sober tonight.’
‘Not a drop,’ I promised.
‘Until tonight then,’ Ferris whispered to the man.
‘Fear me not,’ replied Bradmore. He spat in his hand and clapped it to Ferris’s, then to mine.
We went back to sit with our group of friends, Ferris again walking in front. From a distance I saw a soldier hanging his head and looking into the fire. He scarce moved as Ferris went to sit beside him; I knew him for Nathan when I saw my friend’s arm go about the soldier’s waist.
As I came up Ferris raised pitying eyes to me. ‘There were men burnt alive. Nat heard them.’
‘Romanists,’ I said. ‘Enemies of God.’
‘Where have you been all this while?’ Ferris began stroking the back of Nathan’s head and neck. ‘We were in the courtyard—’
‘Our own men!’ the boy cried. ‘Crying for quarter – they thought it was us set the fire—’
Under the smuts and the smears of blood his face showed white as if poisoned.
‘But you tried to bring them out,’ Ferris said.
The boy covered his eyes.
Ferris sighed. ‘He’s shivering like a dog. Here, Nat, try to sleep.’ He took off his coat and put it across Nathan’s knees, tucking it round him for warmth.
Watching and waiting was misery. It was almost worse than the assault, for I had nothing to do and everything to think on. Ferris and I had made a point of sleeping on the outer edge of the group and away from the fire, the more easily to get away. Now cold air washed over me and I shivered worse than Nathan.
This was the first time since the fight I had lain down with no drink in my guts. Whenever I turned over to ease my back and hips each wound pained me by rote. The thigh constantly opened up and bled, causing the stuff of my breeches to stick to it; wincing, I pulled away the stiffened cloth once more. The hand that plucked at the breeches was stiff and sore. My knuckles, rimmed with an ugly yellow, were not scabbing over as fast as I would like, my brow was hot where the blade had slit it, and I suffered sharp aches in the breast.
Even after the terrible sights I had seen, women run through, men trampling in entrails, I could find it in me to hope I would not be much scarred, so selfish is the flesh. I thought of the mark of Cain, and of Ferris, unable to lay down his torn face in sleep, and how little I had reckoned with his suffering.
There was a moon. I did not know if this was good or bad for us, but thought it most likely bad. Still wrapped in Ferris’s coat, Nathan muttered in sleep, perhaps talking in his dream with the friend who was leaving him.
I woke with a violent pang in the chest: someone had touched my neck. I must have slept at last, for Ferris was risen without my knowledge, his hair white in the bluish light. He was in shirtsleeves. Clutching my snapsack, I rose and followed him across stiffened mud which crunched beneath my boots. As I did so I felt a familiar stab and trickle: the thigh wound opening. At the entrance to the courtyard he stopped and waited for me to come up.
‘You’ve left your jacket,’ I hissed, trying to still the thumping of my heart.
He put one finger to his lips, then pointed. Not ten yards off men lay asleep.
I could not see our cart and bent to whisper in his ear, ‘Now where?’
‘Follow me. If you hear anything, if they wake, stop dead.’
We passed between heavily laden wagons, the inside of my shirt all sweat and my mouth as dry as ever it had been before the assault. From inside my snapsack came a clink and I bit my lip, expecting the guards to rise up roaring. This was where the priests had been tied. Now there were so many carts there, a man could see nothing but their sides. London was licking her lips for the fruits of sin. Ferris pulled me alongside a covered wagon and out of the moonlight. I jumped, feeling his fingers on my face in the dark; he tugged at my hair to make me decline my head.
‘There are men in these,’ he mouthed into my ear. ‘Yonder is ours.’ He turned my jaw with his hand and I saw a cart standing in the full beams of the moon. Something moved next to it.
‘The guards are there,’ I gasped.
Ferris at once pinched my lips together. He pulled my head down again and I knew then what a fright I had given him, for his breathing came fast.
He stepped out and I was very content to let him go first. Surely moon was never so bright before, nor frost so crackling. As we drew near, the thing I had seen shaped itself into the ghostly driver of a ghostly cart. I thought of an old wives’ tale told in the country round Beaurepair, of the Man of Bones: to see him was to the within the year. The apparition remained motionless until we came up to it, and then pointed to where we should mount. Ferris stepped up delicately and lowered himself onto some sacks. I tried to do the same. The wood groaned under my weight and the base of the thing tilted; sweat sprang in the palms of my hands so that they slipped along the rail. The grey man covered his face. Then I was in and lying beside Ferris, seeing his breath curl upwards to the moon.
My friend reached down and pulled what looked like a carpet over him, offering one edge to me. The rich thing showed oddly dulled by moonlight, as if silvered and soiled by some monstrous snail. Between us we silently tugged it this way and that until we were covered. It shut out some of the cold, but the dust from it put me in a terror lest I sneeze. If we are caught, I wondered, will they shoot him before my face?
The Man of Bones moved silently about, tying and untying. A hood was hoisted over us, and he lay down at the opening of it as if to sleep.
‘Rest.’ Ferris’s breath warmed my cheek. ‘If I snore, wake me, and if you hear anything else, pull the carpet over our heads.’
‘Trust me for that,’ I whispered back. ‘What if I need to piss?’
‘Don’t.’
‘Would you had told me before.’ My knees knocked into his; I tried to get more comfortable. The smell of carpet took me back to the hangings at Beaurepair; I saw Izzy smiling, swishing about with his Turkish withy, and sent up a prayer that he might be safer and warmer that night than I.
It seemed but a minute before the carpet slapped at me, pressing on my face and limbs so that I feared to be smothered. I screwed my eyes shut against the dust. On opening them again, I observed a frail subterranean light trickling in. Ferris, roused by the sudden movement, had raised an edge of the carpet on his fingers so that we could breathe. More weight slammed onto us: the man was loading up.
