by Maria McCann
The last words were barked out. Elizabeth put her hand in Harry’s. I studied the blank faces of the servants behind these messengers; the nearest to me held my eye and the flatness of his look melted to furtive pity. The man next to him turned in my direction and the kindly one at once looked away.
‘If Sir George chooses to commit rapine and murder we have not the means to stop him,’ said Ferris. The man in green spat at him, just missing his face; I saw the spittle run down his neck and inside his shirt. Ferris did not move, but glanced anxiously at me. I showed him my arms hanging limp by my sides.
The five of them turned and galloped over the cornfield, the pitying one hanging back a little until he could twist in the saddle and show his empty palm in a shrug of impotence. Dust rose from the furrows. My friend scrubbed his shirt against his skin.
‘You should not have sent Botts away,’ said Harry.
Ferris moved from one foot to the other, gazing at the departing men.
‘What will they do to us?’ Catherine asked him. She was trembling, lips pale in her brown face. Ferris turned away from her.
‘They said we were whores,’ whispered Hepsibah. ‘That’s what the soldiers do, they – they call the women whores, they—’ she faltered into silence. As if by common consent we sank onto the grass.
‘They will destroy the crops,’ Ferris said, fingering the scar on his cheek. ‘And arm the villagers against us.’
Elizabeth said to Harry, ‘We must take the children to my sister.’ Hepsibah began to weep, noisy tearing sobs, and her husband drew her head down onto his breast, saying, ‘He is better where he is, my love.’ He rocked her to and fro. Ferris bowed his neck, uncomforted, and I ached to embrace him.
‘Come, let us talk.’ I pulled my friend up by the arm and led him away. ‘Into the wood,’ I said when we were out of earshot.
‘Do you think I want that!’
He came with me nonetheless, and we turned into the sweet green track leading past the spring, down to our usual place. I went in first and waited. He crawled under the bush and as he came through to my side I put my arms about him and kissed his neck where the horseman had spat on it.
‘Don’t, Jacob! You’ll unman me.’ He struggled away. ‘I have to think.’
‘Easy enough to understand,’ I said. ‘We go home, we let them ride over us, or we fight.’
‘And fighting’s your choice.’ He smiled drearily.
‘No indeed. I’d sooner go.’
Ferris sighed. ‘In the army,’ he began, then broke off. I again embraced him and this time he laid his head on my shoulder. ‘In the army I had courage for anything.’
‘You have.’ I stroked his arm, seeing his profile uplifted against the dark coat of the horse.
He shook his head. ‘Something is gone from me. Broken.’
‘You are weary, that is all.’
‘Do you think, Jacob, that what we do—?’
I stared at him. ‘What we do?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Never mind.’ He sighed again, and went on, ‘I have drawn others along with me, promised miracles. They have laboured without cease. Now I see I cannot defend them.’
‘They must defend themselves. They know it,’ I replied.
‘Then we all suffer.’ He stared at me. ‘But to give way – to submit to the likes of George Byars—’
‘He has a village fighting on his side,’ I replied. ‘Our friends came freely, you heard Harry say as much, and can go freely back.’
‘Harry can. What of the servants?’
‘You have money enough to help,’ I said. ‘Let’s go home, back to pamphleteering. I’ll be your printer’s devil.’
Ferris tried to smile. ‘Incubus.’
‘Whatever you wish,’ and I folded him to me, comforting him as I had been comforted long ago, by Izzy. ‘Don’t make this your Basing-House. I couldn’t bear it.’
We sat quietly and I soothed his back, my hand saddened by the bony feel of his spine.
‘This is foolish talk,’ he said at last. ‘I knew it must come to this. We have set ourselves up for freedom. If we run away as soon as Mammon looks big on us and stamps his feet, of what use was it to start the thing?’
A bitter struggle was going on in me as we gazed at one another. I saw the shadows under his eyes; his lips were tight. A word from me now might break his courage and pull him back. Then we could go home; but he would despise himself ever after.
At last I forced out, ‘Very well. We will face it like men, only, only—’
‘Yes?’
‘Should they want to go, for God’s sake let us go. Promise me, Ferris!’
He squeezed my hand.
We came out from the wood silent, dragging our feet, and were at once spied by Jonathan.
‘Brothers! Come here, see this!’
I strolled towards him.
‘Nay, man, hurry!’
This was a sheet of paper folded over and addressed to Mister Christopher Ferris. ‘You can read it,’ said Jonathan to me. ‘We all have. Brother Christopher, come on!’
I unfolded the paper and read:
Sir,
Though you will have some ado to guess at the writer of this epistle, yet your friend, he of the sallow complexion, may have an idea not so very far from the truth.
Ferris came up beside me, jostling for a view.
You have been cruelly used today and may expect further ill treatment. However, you should know that talk of a fortnight is but puffery, the plan being to let you go on, if you have a mind to do so, until the main crop is in, and then take it from you. Yours is not the first little commonwealth to have sprung up with the mushrooms hereabouts, and your enemies have found from experience that attacks too early in the year do not answer, while the loss of the corn, after a summer’s labour, invariably proves efficacious.
If you are wise you will cease now; but if you must continue, your best hope is an appeal to Parliament, for Sir George is by no means a Parliament man, and not much loved by any party. He has a neighbour, one Sir Timothy Heys, who might be persuaded to uphold your cause for the mere hatred of Sir George, and who is now in London: write to him at the Palace of Westminster. Sir Tim. is a man of tender conscience and open-handed towards the poor.
By far the better course, however, were to quit now; that is the best advice that can be got from one who, though he dare not sign this, yet considers himself
Your Friend
Post scriptum: there is a taking up of mail from the inn, and paper and quills to be had there.
The rest of the community were now crowding round us. Ferris and I stared at one another.
‘This was quick in arriving,’ he said suspiciously. ‘Who brought it?’
‘Here,’ said Hepsibah. She held up the hand of a little boy whom I had not previously remarked, and who might be eight years old. ‘He lives at the inn.’
‘The innkeeper has heard them talking,’ said Ferris.
‘No.’ I said. ‘It’s one of the servants that were here. See, “he of the sallow complexion”, that’s me. One of them was looking very kindly at me: that’s our unknown friend.’
‘It could be a trick,’ mused Jeremiah.
‘Tell us again who gave you the note, sweetheart,’ crooned Hepsibah.
‘A gentleman,’ said the child. ‘There was five come in for some sack and he said he had some business to write to his brother that was in London, and could he have a quill, and then he give it my Dad and said it was to go on the coach. And he give him a groat and winked, and wrote something else down on it. And when they was all gone my Dad says, Walter, go over the common.’
I turned over the letter. On the verso, we found the words ‘By hand to the diggers at Page Common, I pray you fail me not’.
‘That’s it then,’ said Susannah.
‘But this puts a different complexion on it,’ Catherine cried excitedly. ‘We must write to this Sir Timothy.’
‘We must,’ Hathersage echoed her. ‘Wh
o shall be the one to write?’
I looked at Ferris. His face was grey. He walked slowly into the hayfield, took up a sickle and began to cut.
‘Let us all consider, and decide what’s to be done later,’ I said. I wandered back into the wood and went round the snares by myself. In one of them I found a rabbit, and in another a rook. The rabbit, caught by the hindleg, plunged in terror seeing its deathsman approach. It began to scream as I came within a yard of it and only ceased when I twisted its head nearly off the neck. The rook, luckier, was already dead and maggoty. I threw it into a bush.
When I went back, rabbit over my shoulder, I found the rest gathered round a dish of pottage, all except Ferris, whose back was still bent over the sheaves of grass.
‘He doesn’t wish for company,’ said Hepsibah in reply to my look. ‘Leave him, Jacob, and eat.’ She lifted the rabbit and dropped it onto Harry’s makeshift table, then ladled some of the hot mess of lentils into a bowl for me. I hesitated, but in the end seated myself on the grass next to Jeremiah. Catherine, who was sitting opposite, seemed disappointed that I was not to bring Ferris back to the fireside.
‘What have you been talking of?’ I asked, wanting to know what kept my friend in the hayfield while others took food and rest.
‘We think of staying here at least two weeks,’ said Hathersage. ‘If we get through that, well, something may happen in our favour.’
‘Such as?’ I cooled the pottage by blowing on it.
‘Sir Timothy. We want Brother Christopher to write.’
‘Does he want to?’
‘Surely he will,’ said Catherine. ‘He brought us all together, he’ll not abandon us now, will he?’
‘He may not wish to endanger you, Catherine,’ said Hepsibah.
I added, ‘He wanted peace in this place. He’s no swordsman.’
‘He was in the army,’ the young woman insisted.
‘He hated it.’ I was not come so far with Ferris only to see him heroically spitted. A coldness against Catherine was spreading within me, and I turned to Hepsibah. ‘You think we were best depart?’
‘I am unsure, Jonathan likewise. The letter does count for something, but—’ she frowned.
‘Harry?’
He did not hear me, for he was looking over at the figure crouched in the field, but Elizabeth pleadingly answered, ‘The children, Jacob.’
‘You do right,’ Susannah soothed her.
Jonathan and Jeremiah examined their bowls and spoons.
‘If we were right once, we are right now,’ exclaimed Hathersage. ‘God rewards the faithful servant. Our part is to labour in the vineyard, leaving the pay to Him. This I told Brother Christopher.’
‘He needs no telling,’ I heard myself say.
Hathersage ignored me. ‘A glorious future awaits! He must not be suffered to fall back from the heat of the combat.’
‘Do you mean a glorious martyrdom?’ I asked. ‘Seek it yourself if you please, I see no reason why he should drain the cup with you.
The others were gone very quiet. Catherine regarded Hathersage with ardent eyes; he caught the look and took a deep breath to go on. My poor Ferris, I thought, now you pay for charming these two.
‘My conscience demands I speak to him,’ added Hathersage. He laid aside the bowl of pottage as if about to rise. ‘Speak, and wrestle for his soul.’
‘I hope you’re a good wrestler,’ I said. ‘Because if you go near him now, much less preach, I’ll break your arm.’
‘Jacob!’ cried Catherine. I looked about me and saw shock on the women’s faces, all except Susannah, who was silently shaking her head at me.
‘Not another Botts,’ warned Jonathan.
‘If you value this enthusiast, persuade him to sit in peace,’ I hissed. To Hathersage I spoke no more, but fixed on him as a cat watches a mousehole.
‘Why may Wisdom not speak with him or with any, the same as yourself?’ pouted Catherine.
I felt myself on dangerous ground. ‘Brother Christopher,’ I hesitated at the feel of the name in my mouth, ‘is in travail; he knows only too well all that you would say. Pray do not torment him.’
‘But Wisdom wishes only—’
‘Catherine, not a word,’ rapped out Susannah.
Hathersage again made to rise and I sprang to my feet. He faltered and sank down.
‘What!’ I taunted. ‘Is the heat of combat all for him?’
Hathersage burnt scarlet.
‘Jacob,’ said Jeremiah.
‘Aye?’ I screwed my eyes into Hathersage’s.
‘Suppose Brother Christopher chooses to stay.’
‘Then he chooses.’
‘He is coming,’ said Harry. Ferris was crossing the field, slowly, shaking out his slender arms and rubbing his elbows. He squatted innocently next to Hathersage, who passed him some lentils. After one mouthful Ferris laid down the spoon.
‘I have been thinking, friends,’ he announced, in so humble a voice it made me want to weep. ‘Whoever wishes to go must go. I shall write to my aunt to give you a consideration when you get back to London.’
‘We shall not be wanting that,’ said Harry promptly.
‘And for those who want to stay, I shall write to Sir Timothy,’ he went on. He did not look at me. ‘But we may wait at least a month for his help.’
‘Or lack of it,’ I muttered. I held out my bowl for more pottage and ate it too hot, burning all the way down.
That afternoon, Harry and Elizabeth packed up their gear and left; they purchased a mule in the village, at great cost, and took with them the anvil and other gear on a cart.
‘We’ll not come to want, for he’s excellent at his trade,’ said Elizabeth, standing with her infant clutched to her neck and the eldest, suddenly tearful, by her side. ‘It is you we think of, friends. I would you were all safe.’ She kissed each of us on the cheek.
Her husband, the little girl on his back, bowed to us all; the child crowed at the sudden motion. He placed his hands on Ferris’s shoulders and held his gaze. ‘Be not braver than the times require.’
Elizabeth’s eyes were wet. Her husband laid a hand on her arm as she said, ‘Let us make an end. Take care of my sisters, you men. Brothers and husbands are meant for our protectors.’
I thought she looked at me, perhaps because, Harry gone, I was the only man of any strength. We stood and watched them depart just as Ferris’s neighbours had watched us. Before disappearing behind a hedge at the end of the field they both turned and waved their arms as if to send us good fortune. I saw they had some trouble with the mule, and then the cart was round the hedge and they were gone.
The rest of us went silently to the field to ted the hay. I would say each felt himself diminished, for the Bestes had been loved. I owed Harry much, and in the days that followed I found, to my surprise, that I missed the prattle of their children.
That same afternoon, about an hour after their departure, Ferris leapt up from the field and went to the tent, not reappearing until the evening meal was served. After it, he drew me aside and showed me his work. He had scrubbed his hands, found some paper and composed two letters: one to his aunt, telling her nothing of his danger but only that she must reimburse, for their pains, any of our company who came to her; the other, not unlike one of his pamphlets in happier times, to Sir Timothy Heys. This letter to Sir Timothy he showed also to the other colonists, then sealed it up and joined in the haymaking.
We laboured on in the clear bright evening as the moon rose purplish-red. I watched it take the colour of an apricot, then turn to purest snow, cooling both sky and earth.
Ferris was up by moonlight to put his letters in the mail bag in person. Lying sleepless, I heard him stumbling around in the next hut, then his footsteps thudding over the grass. I opened my door and a low white mist came pouring in like the sea, a sea which parted in swirls as Ferris moved through it, a solitary wader in the darkness.
I rose shortly after sunrise and began feeding the embers for the
new day’s fire. The mist had lifted; a sharp wind fanned the flames into the pine cones and wood shavings I had laid as kindling. It looked to be a clear, dry morning. I fetched some beer and cold cooked beans from the tent; beans, beans, beans, like the army. Soon I had a good-sized blaze in the firepit; I swung the cauldron over it for an early start.
Susannah came out from the hut she shared with her sister-in-law. I thought how the colony had made a difference between the two of them, for while Catherine was grown more bouncing, Susannah had aged. Her eyes were rheumy and puffy, her skin daubed with yellowish splotches. She sat beside me with no more salutation than a nod, and I was grateful for the quiet. I passed over my dish of beans and we shared it, taking mouthfuls by turns.
‘Where is he?’ she asked, licking the spoon.
‘Gone to post his letters.’ I saw no reason to tell her he had set out in the dark.
‘Can’t you make him go home, Jacob?’
That was the first time I ever really saw her. I had examined Catherine Domremy many a time, taking stock of her beauty and how it might move Ferris, but in looking at Susannah I had remarked nothing save the injuries Page Common had done her complexion.
She went on, ‘Catherine adores her hero. Wisdom is – unwise.’ Her look was level. ‘But the rest will hear reason.’
‘I can make him do nothing.’
Her mouth sagged in disappointment.
I added, ‘I never wished to come here.’
‘You can be made to do things, Jacob?’ She smiled wryly. ‘You are too fond of your fists, my friend. Break Wisdom’s arm, forsooth!’
‘He merits it. Thanks to Hathersage and – and others, Ferris feels himself bound to stay.’
Susannah let out a long sigh. ‘There I can do little. But tell me, is he not afraid?’
‘Mortally.’
I put fresh branches on the fire. Susannah covered her eyes with her hands, yawning noisily through the soft O of her lips, before going back to the beans. I watched her smooth the hair back from her brow, and felt that this woman might be capable of good counsel.
