Free The Field of the Cloth of Gold by Magnus Mills Page A

Aldebaran said nothing. Slightly puzzled by his silence, I glanced at him and saw that he was studying the nearest pennant intently, as though he’d only just noticed it. When at last he spoke, his tone was grave.
    ‘Nobody liked Julian,’ he said, ‘so we got rid of him.’
    I was uncertain how to respond to this news. I’d only met Julian once and we hadn’t exactly taken to one another, yet he’d appeared to be a very capable individual and the idea that he’d been ‘got rid of’ was rather unsettling. Privately I wondered if they had the habit of summarily dispensing with people they didn’t like, but I decided it would be best not to pursue the matter further. Instead, I merely nodded as if it was an everyday occurrence, before thanking Aldebaran for the guided tour and heading homeward. It was only after I’d trudged across the field to my tent that I realized I’d forgotten my dish and spoon. By this time the entire encampment had started mustering for the afternoon parade, so I decided to postpone collecting them until a later date.
    Next morning I listened attentively for the sound of the bugle, hoping it would be muted as I’d requested. It had been a dark night, and when dawn came the sun tried but failed to break through the gathering clouds. I waited for almost half an hour and heard nothing: the sky turned red, yet there was still no bugle call. I concluded, therefore, that my mission had been more successful than I’d dared hope. Aldebaran had evidently heeded my plea and cancelled the bugle altogether.
    ‘Hmm,’ I thought to myself. ‘Isabella will be delighted.’
    A good while later she took her daily swim, and then came ashore to get dried and dressed. After a polite interlude, I expected to see Eamont approach her tent bearing an invitation to visit the camp. To my surprise, though, there was no sign of him, and I soon discovered the reason why. Around noon another train of baggage and supplies arrived at the far side of the river, accompanied by a host of men in buff-coloured tunics. There were also several women. Immediately the whole of the south-east became a hive of activity, with hordes of people coming and going in all directions: no doubt Eamont was too busy to run up and down with invitations for Isabella. Amongst the supplies I spotted a bulky item which had to be carried across the river by four men. I was unable to tell what it was because it was wrapped in a tarpaulin, and anyway the porters were quickly lost from view amid the milling throng.
    The majority of the baggage consisted of tents. These were swiftly laid out and erected under the watchful eyes of a surveyor, a quartermaster and a clerk of works. I’d often noticed this trio of officials during my visits to the encampment, and I presumed they acted as deputies to Aldebaran. From what I observed, they were always highly efficient. Before the end of the day, a new row of tents was established and the camp’s perimeter extended.
    In the early evening I went over to see Hen. He was the person least affected by the developments in the south-east, and I looked forward to a refreshing conversation with someone who didn’t constantly complain about the newcomers. On this point my wishes were met: Hen was apparently unconcerned about the enlargement of the camp. I was taken aback, however, by his response when I told him what had happened to Julian. I recounted what Aldebaran had said, and when I finished Hen raised his eyebrows.
    ‘I would have thought,’ he remarked, ‘that you’d be more worried about Thomas than Julian.’
    ‘Oh, yes, Thomas,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten all about him.’
    ‘Forgotten?’ said Hen, plainly astonished. ‘But he’s one of us.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that,’ I said.
    ‘Of course he is,’ Hen declared. ‘He was amongst the first here.’
    I peered at Hen with mild disbelief. It struck me that he was being surprisingly loyal to Thomas, considering the rival claims of