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

days gone by. Clearly his perceptions had altered. At the same moment I realized that my own loyalty was to the Great Field itself, rather than any particular person (and especially not Thomas). Nonetheless, I had no desire to fall out with Hen, so I simply shrugged and remained silent.
    ‘For all we know, Thomas could be in all sorts of difficulty,’ Hen continued. ‘He left with Julian’s people, seemingly of his own accord, but it’s obvious there’s been a change of circumstance.’
    ‘Yes,’ I conceded, ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘Perhaps you could find out more.’
    ‘Me?’ I said. ‘How can I find out?’
    ‘You’re friendly with them, aren’t you?’ replied Hen. ‘You know who’s in charge over there.’
    ‘Yes, it’s Aldebaran,’ I said, ‘but he never really tells me anything. Most of the time he’s busy asking questions about Isabella.’
    ‘And you answer them?’
    ‘Yes, usually.’
    ‘Singing for your supper,’ said Hen.
    ‘No, you’re wrong,’ I said. ‘I accept their hospitality, that’s all: I’m very partial to their milk pudding.’
    Hen shook his head solemnly.
    ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ll see.’
    I returned to my tent feeling slightly disquieted by Hen’s comments. It had begun to dawn on me that I may have incurred a cost for all those liberal helpings I’d enjoyed. I should have known better. It was one thing being an ‘honoured guest’ in the encampment: it was quite another to be derided by my companions. I resolved to be careful in future about where I went and what I said to whom.
    As it happened, the newcomers focused more attention on Isabella than all the rest of us put together. After a few days she received a visit from Eamont. I witnessed the event at a distance but, even so, I could see he was looking rather harassed. He brought a note informing Isabella that a command tent had been set aside for her exclusive use. Within its walls were a copper bath and an ample supply of hot water. A selection of soaps and freshly laundered towels had been provided, and a number of handmaidens would be in attendance at all hours. Could she please be so kind as to accept the offer forthwith?
    Needless to say, Eamont returned to the camp thoroughly disappointed. His superiors had clearly gone to the utmost lengths to win Isabella over, yet despite their blandishments she maintained her custom of bathing naked in the river. I could have told them they were wasting their efforts from the very start, but they never asked me.
    In the meantime, the weather continued to deteriorate. Across the entire field, all the flags and pennants were at full stretch. There was definitely some rain on the way. Over in the north-east, Hartopp began to prepare for the oncoming deluge, cautiously adjusting his awnings and tightening his guy ropes. Likewise, Brigant improved his defences with an oilcloth flysheet.
    By now, of course, we’d all heard about Isabella rejecting the invitation. Brigant and I discussed it one afternoon as the sky darkened.
    ‘It sounded most luxurious,’ I said. ‘Hot water in abundance, handmaidens, freshly laundered towels.’
    ‘Decadent, more like,’ uttered Brigant.
    ‘To tell the truth, I would welcome a hot bath myself.’
    ‘Maybe so,’ he said, ‘but it’s Isabella they’re trying to tame, not you.’
    ‘I’m fully aware of that,’ I replied. ‘Still, it’s a pity the bath’s gone unused, especially with the weather on the turn.’
    ‘Why?’ said Brigant. ‘Are you finding life in the field too tough?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well stop being so soft then!’
    This wasn’t the first time Brigant had spoken in such terms. He was becoming increasingly intolerant of the soft life, as he called it. Other targets included frailty and decadence, but the general heading was softness (he tended to forget that he was once quite soft himself). It all arose from his division of the field into upper and lower parts. The division was purely notional, a