by Ann Swinfen
‘And I,’ said Toby.
I kept silence, though I wanted to cry out: But where is he? What has become of him? Is he still alive? What if his injuries have exacted their toll in the end?
In my heart I was sure that I would know if he had died, but the fear never left me.
‘There’s something else,’ Toby said. ‘A few of us have been out scouting around. Baker’s Lode is higher than I’ve ever seen it. And Jack rode all the way to the river, though the water in the fields was up to his horse’s knees. He thinks the river will burst its banks soon.’
My head went up. This was dangerous news indeed.
‘What about all the new ditches?’
‘Full and getting fuller. The pumping mill over where Hannah’s cottage used to be is sending more and more water along from the Fen. And the one over at Crowthorne must be working by now as well. It will all be heading towards us.’
We thought about this in silence. Crowthorne stood on slightly higher ground than we did. Not much, but enough to determine the flow of the water.
‘Do they man the mill?’ I asked. ‘The one in our pasture?’
‘They did at first, but when they moved over to Crowthorne they only sent a man over every few days to make sure it was working. Now, it seems, the drainers have left, saying they cannot work in this weather.’
‘But that means the mill will go on moving the water from the Fen to us. It has to be stopped!’
‘Some of us should go and stop it!’ Tom half rose from his chair, then fell back, a look of angry frustration on his face.
‘I don’t understand how these pumps work,’ Toby said, ‘or I’d gladly try to reach it and attempt something.’
‘Will might know,’ I said.
‘He might. We’d probably need to break in. They’ll have the place locked up.’
‘Crowbars,’ said Tom. ‘Mallets to smash the locks.’
At that moment we all heard a loud noise out in the yard, shouting and screaming. I realised that while we had been talking I had half heard something in the distance. Nehemiah was out there with the soldiers, shoring up one wall of the barn which was being undermined by the rising water in the yard, now a foot deep. The cows and Blaze were standing in water in the barn. The hens at least could take refuge on their perches.
Toby and I went to the door, Tom hobbling behind us. The yard was full of people. Where had they all come from? Nehemiah was there, making shooing gestures with his hands while the soldiers looked on, astonished. There were whole families there, families with children, all of them carrying bundles. A few dogs ran about their feet. One woman had a hen under her arm, another held a singing bird in a cage.
From their clothes, I knew who they were – the men in those wide baggy breeches, the woman in caps much bigger than ours, with large flaps at the sides of their faces. It was the people from the settlement. What were they doing here?
I threw my cloak around my shoulders and stepped outside, realising at once that I should have put on my boots as the water rose over my shoes and filled them.
‘What is the matter?’ I said to Nehemiah. ‘Why have they come here?’
‘I don’t know, Mistress Mercy. I can’t make these foreigners understand.’
‘Do any of you speak English?’ I raised my voice, as though I thought that would help. It did at least quieten them a little.
One of the older men stepped forward. ‘Me a little, Mevrouw.’
‘Why have you come here?’
‘The stroom, the river, he come in our house.’
‘The water in the field, you mean? That field always floods in winter. You should never have built there.’
‘Water in field, ja, that come, it is a week. Now the river, he come.’
He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.
‘You mean the river has burst its banks?’
‘I not understand.’
‘The river,’ I tried to think how to explain. ‘The river, he – it – isn’t where it was? The river gets very wide?’ I spread out my arms.
‘Ja, ja. He is very wide. Come fast into our house. Take our sheeps. We run. Here it is higher.’
Not much higher, I thought.
I turned to Tom and Toby. ‘If the river has burst its banks there, the flood will be here soon. We’d better send them to the village.’
‘It won’t even be safe there for long,’ Toby said. ‘The only ground likely to be safe is the glebe land and the church.’
‘We’ll send them there. Ben,’ I called, ‘take these people to the village and get them on to the glebe land. You know, where the sheep are.’
‘I know, mistress.’
I turned to the Dutchman. ‘You go with this boy. He will show you a safe place. Not here. The water will be here soon.’
He nodded and directed a stream of Dutch at the other settlers. They bowed their heads submissively. The shouting and screaming had stopped, except for a few children who were still crying. For the first time I felt sorry for them. Brought to a strange country, almost certainly on false promises, merely to be exploited by rich men. And now flooded out of their homes.
‘Go quickly, Ben. As fast as you can get them to move. Then stay there with them.’
‘I’m going to warn them in the village and find Will,’ Toby said. ‘We’ll see if we can stop the mill pumping any more water on to us from the Fen.’ He ran to his horse and was off down the lane before the settlers had started after him.
‘We’ll need to move our stock,’ Tom said.
‘The cows will have to go to the glebe land too.’ I laughed a little wildly. ‘It really will be like Noah’s Flood.’
‘Nehemiah,’ Tom said, ‘can you drive the cows to the village and up to the glebe land?’
‘Aye, I heard what you were saying, Master Tom. I’ll get one of the lads to help me.’
I ran into the house. ‘Kitty, come quickly. The river is flooding, coming this way. Nehemiah is taking the cows to the village. I want you to help me carry the hens into the attic. They should be high enough there.’
We ran to the hen-hus, splashing through the water in the yard, which already seemed higher than it had a few minutes ago. The hens were restless, aware something was happening, but we stuffed them into the carrying baskets without much care for their feelings. It took us two trips. Tipped out of the baskets, they scuttled about the attic floor amongst the soldiers’ untidy belongings. Polly squatted at my feet, looking at me reproachfully out of a sideways yellow eye. Elderly, a little tattered now, and hardly laying any longer, she still remained precious to me for Hannah’s sake. We closed the attic door on them, leaving them pecking at the grain we had scattered.
‘Tobit,’ I said. ‘Have you seen Tobit?’
Kitty shook her head. Tobit lived his own separate and secret life, and was nowhere to be found.
‘I hope he uses his feline sense to find a place of safety.’
We climbed down the ladder to the first floor.
‘Mother!’ I said suddenly. ‘What are we going to do about Mother? She can never walk to the village in time.’
‘Could she ride Blaze?’ Kitty asked. ‘I’ve never seen her ride, but . . .’
‘She hasn’t ridden a horse for years. But if she went two to a horse . . . Oh, if only Tom could ride!’
‘You could take her, Mistress Mercy.’
‘No, I have more to do here. Go and get her up and dressed in something warm, then bring her down to the kitchen.’
When I reached the kitchen myself, I found that the water was already six inches deep on the floor. I waded across the yard to where Nehemiah and Tom on his crutches were persuading the reluctant cattle to leave the barn. Nehemiah had a loop of rope around Blackthorn’s neck and was leading her to the front. Jem followed behind with Jasper as they set off down the lane.
‘Kitty is getting Mother ready,’ I told Tom. ‘We thought someone could take her to the village on Blaze. She will be safe in the church.’
‘You could take her.’
‘No, I think it needs to be a man. A strong man, in case she turns violent. Beside, I’ve had an idea.’ I turned to the remaining soldiers. ‘Can one of you ride?’
‘I can.’ It was Seth.
‘Get Blaze and saddle him. I need you to take Mistress Bennington to the village. Do you think you can do that? She is, she is . . .’ The words stuck in my throat.
‘Don’t you worry, Mistress Mercy. I’ll manage her.’
He had Blaze ready in the yard when Kitty and I brought my mother out. She seemed dazed and stared at the lake which spread across the yard and the lane, joining them in one featureless mass. Seth mounted and George lifted my mother up to him, where he settled her in front of him, between the reins. She looked suddenly tiny and frightened.
‘Where is Isaac?’ she cried out. ‘Is Isaac coming?’
‘We’re all going to the village, Mother,’ I said. ‘To get away from the flood. We’ll see you there.’
They began to move off.
‘Kitty, you go with them. Mother will need someone she knows.’
‘Don’t you need me here?’
‘It’s more important for you to look after her.’
She nodded, then ran after the horse. I saw Seth lean down to speak to her, then she took hold of his stirrup. Good, that was sensible. If only they could reach the village in time.
‘You must go too, Tom,’ I said. ‘You know you will be slow. I can catch you up.’
‘I am going nowhere until I know what you are planning, Mercy.’
Only Tom and I, and three of the soldiers were left in the yard now – George, Aaron and Col.
‘I’ve remembered that old dyke, down near where Baker’s Lode meets the river. When we were children – do you remember? There was a worse flood than usual one year. I think it was in ’39. Father and the others opened the sluice gate to the old dyke and it carried off some of the water from the Lode into that part of the Fen, to stop the river bursting its banks. It’s lower than we are here. It could help to hold back the flood until Toby and Will stop the pumping mill. If they can.’
‘That was eight years ago. It’s never been opened since. The sluice will be rusted and the wood swollen. Nobody could move it now. Besides, the river has already overflowed.’
‘It’s worth trying. Before even more water pours out of the river.’
Tom freed his hand from one of his crutches and grabbed me by the shoulder. ‘I forbid you to do this, Mercy. With Father gone and Mother . . . weakened in her mind, I am responsible for you. It would be deadly dangerous to go down there, into the teeth of the flood. You will drown.’
‘I’ve survived drowning once. And being sucked down by the Fen. See, I lead a charmed life!’
He ignored my bantering tone and shook me.
‘No! Mercy, please listen!’
‘If it seems too dangerous, we will come back. You’ll come with me, won’t you, lads?’
‘Aye,’ said George. ‘We’ll see she does nothing foolish, Master Tom.’
I jerked my shoulder out of Tom’s grip and ran across to the barn.
‘We need tools. Anything you can find that will help us break down the old sluice gate. It won’t matter if we destroy it.’
A few minutes later we were wading back the way the settlers had come, with a motley collection of tools – two axes, a crowbar, and three pitchforks. I would not look back at Tom, standing frustrated and alone in the yard.
‘Start walking to the village, Tom,’ I called back over my shoulder. ‘We’ll catch you up before you are there.’
A little further on I stopped to remove my sodden shoes and stow them in my pockets.
‘I’ll keep my footing better without my shoes,’ I explained to George. ‘I didn’t have time to put on my boots. The soles of my house shoes are too slippery.’
As we neared Baker’s Lode, we could feel the slight rise in the ground under our feet, which meant we had reached the embankment.
‘Careful now, I said. ‘Don’t step into the Lode by mistake.’
The water was up to our knees now and I wished I had had time to don breeches again, for my sodden skirts were dragging me down.
‘Wait while I find the top of the bank.’
I felt my way up until I reached the flat top of turf. The water tugged at me, trying to pull me away, so I curled my toes to get a grip of the ground. The view from here was terrifying, glimpsed through wavering curtains of sleet. In every direction the flood covered the land. Here and there a line of sallows or poplars, apparently growing out of the water, marked the course of one of the old ditches which fed into the Lode. Across what used to be the barley field, the tops of the settlers’ houses poked above the flood, which had now reached the windows of the upper stories. The water swirled ominously around them, carrying several dead sheep.
‘All right. Come up carefully now. No further than this or you’ll be in the Lode.’
The three men climbed up beside me. They all looked terrified, even George. I suppose that for anyone who lives where land remains land and water flows where it is supposed to, our shifting world where land and water blend and change places must seem like some cold version of Hell.
‘Where is this sluice gate you spoke of?’ Aaron asked.
‘Not far. Over there.’ I pointed across the Lode and down towards the river.
‘You mean it’s on the other side of this . . . this “Lode”?’
‘Aye.’
‘But how can we get across?’ George asked. He looked down at the line of fast-flowing water at our feet which marked the Lode.
‘If you were a fenlander, you would vault across, but as you’re not, we’ll go over the foot bridge, just before the sluice.’
He looked dubiously in the direction I had pointed. ‘I don’t see a bridge.’
‘It’s there. Or it will be if it hasn’t been swept away. The water must be a few inches over it now, but we can feel our way across. It’s just a flat plank bridge, no side rails, so we must be careful not to stray off the edge.’
All three of them looked at me now as if I were mad. Perhaps I was. I ignored them and began to follow the bank along the edge of the barley field and past the settlement, feeling my way with the handle of a pitchfork. It was becoming very cold. The sleet was now mixed with large flakes of snow.
‘Somewhere here.’
I stopped. To my relief, I could see the top of the old sluice gate on the far side of the Lode. Over there the ground was wet, but not yet flooded, for it stood higher than the land on this side. The line of the old relief ditch ran clearly away out of sight, still empty except for a dribble of rain water in the bottom. It would provide an escape for the water coming down the Lode, augmented by all the water pumped from the Fen. If we could open that escape route, the level would drop in the Lode and it would ease the pressure on the river, until the pumping mill was stopped and prevented from drowning us all.
To the left of the sluice gate the far end of the foot bridge showed, just rising out of the Lode. In the centre it was covered by no more than three inches of water.
‘There is the bridge,’ I said, pointing with my pitchfork. ‘It will probably be slippery, but if we’re careful it should not be difficult. I’ll go first.’
‘With your permission, mistress.’ George put me firmly aside. ‘I will go first. I’m the heaviest of us. The bridge may have been weakened by the flood. If it holds me, it will hold the rest of you.’
He set off across the bridge, using the axe he carried to steady himself against the invisible planks. That was brave of him, I thought, after what he had endured in the bog.
‘It seems firm enough,’ he called back to us from the other side. ‘But be careful. It is slippery and the water tries to pull you off.’
I realised that my wet skirts made me even more likely to be dragged away than the men. I went next, clutching my skirts tight around me with one hand, and feeling my way with the
handle of the pitchfork. My feet found the other bank, and I was over. The other two followed me.
George was already examining the portion of the old sluice gate which projected above the level of the Lode. On the far side, where the ditch led away, we could see the whole gate, bulging as the weight of the water pressed against it. The men immediately started discussing the best way to break it down. I realised that, having brought them here, I could leave the work to them. They would know what to do. I was suddenly very tired and sank down on the end of the bridge, wet as it was. I could hardly be much wetter. I smiled wryly to myself. I seemed to have been spending much of my time lately in sodden clothes, battling with water in one form or another.
The men began to chop at the planks with their axes, but seemed to be making little impression. These old sluice gates are made from oak and are as hard as iron. After a while they paused and tried to prise the hinges loose with the crowbar. There was a plop as part of a hinge fell into the mud in the bottom of the ditch, then another. Still the gates remained firm.
I heard them muttering, ‘This one is giving a little. Get the end of the crowbar in there, Col.’
Aaron said, ‘Aye. It’s going! Over here, George. See if you can break this hinge.’
The water was coming down the Lode as fast as ever. I wondered whether Toby and Will had been able to break into the mill and stop the pump. Even if they had succeeded, it would be some time before all the water from the drainers’ new ditch and the upper part of the Lode had flowed through here.
Suddenly my attention was caught by movement on the far side of the Lode, though it was difficult to see, now that the sleet had turned finally to whirling snow. It might be one of the settlers’ animals, seeking higher ground. Then I realised it was a man. A man swinging himself painfully forward on crutches.
‘Tom!’ I shouted. ‘What are you doing here? Get back! The men have nearly broken down the old sluice gate. There’s no need for you to come.’
I was so angry with him. Why could he not accept that he could no longer do what he had always done? That he could not always be my protector? Oh, it was hard for him. I knew it was hard, but now he must go back to the village.
