by Maria McCann
The line moves slowly as the boats weave back and forth, loading passengers and their goods to row them out to the Fortitude. The wind again dampens Mistress Knowell’s cheeks with tears.
‘Lord, Mercy, why must you?’ cries the exasperated husband. To me he adds, ‘We have a plot of land all cleared and made ready, Sir. My brother and his wife are gone before.’
‘You are indeed fortunate,’ I reply.
‘Indeed! Yet my wife does nought but grizzle.’ He turns away from us, looking outwards to the ship. Mercy Knowell, who has not the look of a spoilt or wilful woman, dabs her face on her sleeve. ‘Husband,’ she says.
He inclines towards his weeping spouse and I edge forward, for she is low-voiced and I wish to hear her over the fluttering of my hat set up by the salt wind.
‘I am most grateful for James’s work.’ Her eyes glaze afresh with unfallen tears. ‘But it is here that William and Anne are buried.’
He sighs resignedly, takes her hand. Tears spill over her eyelids.
I say, ‘You must not weep for the past, Madam, but cultivate hope for the future.’
She turns a watery smile upon me. ‘Excellent advice, Sir, and I wonder that you yourself do not profit thereby.’
‘Profit? In what wise—’
Mercy Knowell wipes the back of her finger along my cheek and then shows it me. The finger gleams with wet.
‘Nothing,’ I say, ‘an affliction of the eyes.’
It has now been three days that I weep and do not know it.
The boat rocks as I lower myself onto her boards. Packed in with the Knowells, with my enemy from the night before and two families, the anxious parents bidding their children sit still, I am cradled in a wooden shell. The mariners heave, bringing us little by little to our ship. How formless, I think, is the sea, swelling, folding upon itself, the folds dissolving as soon as seen. I look back at England, a heap of dead filth gilded by the early sun.
To my left there is a family where the youngest brother, fearful of the water, whimpers and snuffles like any girl. Someone says, ‘Courage,’ and I see Ferris take his wife by the hand and walk the length of Cheapside with her while the neighbours talk of shame.
Think not on him.
I see him in the army, defending Nathan against the Bad Angel he already loves more, and in London, composing the type for his uncle’s press, his face bright with visions of a better time.
He betrayed you. Think not on him.
He sits alone, writing the letter which I scattered on the sea, and hoping I will not turn from him in disgust. He stands defenceless, in dispute with the green horseman, and I say nothing, but later kiss his neck where the man has spat on it. He raises his fists beneath the blows, while I look on.
Why did You bid me drown the letter? I have lost something that he touched, and the destruction of it has gained You nothing, for now I no longer read the words, I hear them, as if he implored me face to face.
Speak to me, Jacob, do not play the tyrant.
Speak to me.
Acknowledgements
I am most grateful for the help and support of Tony Curtis and Gillian Clarke of the University of Glamorgan, for the generosity of Alan Turton, who showed me the ruins of Basing House, and to Andy Pickering for passing on helpful information. Neither Alan nor Andy is responsible for any liberties I have taken with history.
Thanks are also due to my friends Frances Day, Deborah Gregory, Elorin Grey, Elizabeth Lindsay, Julie-Ann Rowell and Dana Little page-Smith, both for the pleasure of working with them and for their excellent taste in pubs.
About the Author
Maria McCann was born in Liverpool in 1956 and educated there and at the University of Durham. Since 1985 she has been a lecturer in English at a Somerset college, and has an MA in Writing from the University of Glamorgan. As Meat Loves Salt is her first book.
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Praise
From the reviews for As Meat Loves Salt:
‘Lavish, eloquent, rich: a striking period tragedy of the English Civil War.’ Independent
‘A consuming and headlong read, As Meat Loves Salt is highly accurate as a historical novel and electric as a story of love and war. An unusual and memorable achievement.’ Economist ‘Books of the Year’
‘A novel teeming with life…a triumphant piece of historical evocation. McCann’s unflinching descriptions of battle are matched by the power of her depiction of London in all its fetid splendour. And in the character of Jacob himself, a strong but selfish man weakened by a violent temper and haunted by guilty dreams, McCann shows the imaginative empathy that is the hallmark of a true novelist.’ Vogue
‘A darkly intriguing read about passion, obsession and need’ Sunday Tribune (Dublin)
‘An intriguing and disturbing first novel which lingers in the mind…Tense with anguish, intimacy and shame and overlooked by the menacing presence of the Devil, it imaginatively re-creates the mentality of a society racked by war and intoxicated by radical new ideas of freedom and change.’ TLS
‘Takes off at a great pace from the first word…The skill and the grace of the storytelling are both refreshing and strong.’ Oxford Times
‘Set against brilliantly-wrought scenes of life in 17th-century England…Cullen and Ferris’ relationship spirals into a brooding, heated power-play. Violent and hot-headed, Cullen can only accomplish mastery through force, whereas Ferris, despite his idealistic, generous image, is prepared to do whatever it takes to turn strong, capable Cullen into his creature…A powerful, unsettling debut which leaves you chilled.’ Big Issue
‘An authentic, fiery tale of 17th-century England and a nation plunged into Civil War…McCann is an engaging storyteller with her finger firmly on the pulse of revolutionary England: pages sizzle with startling events.’ Time Out
‘Gripping…the writing is urgent and energetic, full of voluptuous descriptions of food, paintings and lifestyles. As Meat Loves Salt is a highly accomplished novel with some powerful writing. McCann’s language is bold and alive, and the reader is drawn into the story right from the start.’ Independent on Sunday
‘A distinguished debut…compelling, engrossing and utterly unputdownable. It demands a sequel.’ Gay Times
‘Few novels in a reader’s year live in the mind as this one does. The story is driven by guilt, desire and a sense of sin. It’s beautifully written, spare, with moments of poetry. Surely flesh has never been described with such a combination of pathology and beauty.’
GILLIAN CLARKE
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Copyright © Maria McCann 2001
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
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